Jack Higgins - On dangerous ground

Morgan sat at the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a check book. "Over here."

"Yes, Mr. Morgan." Murdoch crossed the room and Morgan wrote a check and handed it to him. The factor looked at it in astonishment. "Twenty-five thousand pounds. But what's this for, Mr. Morgan?"

"Loyalty, Murdoch, I like greedy people and I've formed the opinion that that's what you are."

Murdoch was stunned. "If you say so, sir."

"Oh, but I do, and here's the good news, Murdoch. When I leave, you get the same amount, for services rendered, naturally."

Murdoch had control of himself now, a slight smile on his face. "Of course, sir, anything you say."

Morgan said, "For several hundred years the Lairds of Loch Dhu took a silver Bible into battle. It was always recovered, even when they died. It was with the old Laird when his plane crashed in India in nineteen forty-four. I've reason to believe it was returned to the castle, but where is it, Murdoch, that's the thing?"

"Lady Katherine, sir…"

"Knows nothing, hasn't seen it in years. It's here, Murdoch, tucked away somewhere, and we're going to find it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Discuss it with the servants. Just tell them it's a valuable family heirloom and there's a reward for whoever finds it."

"I will, sir."

"You can go now." Murdoch had the door open when Morgan called, "And Murdoch?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Brigadier Ferguson and Dillon, they're not on our side."

"I understand, sir."

"Good and don't forget. I want to know where that bastard Fergus Munro is to be found, preferably tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"One more thing. Is there anyone on the estate staff who works at Ardmurchan Lodge?"

"Ferguson has his own man, sir, this Ghurka body servant. There's Lady Katherine's gardener, Angus. He sees to the garden and the daily wood supply."

"Can he be bought?"

Murdoch nodded. "I'd say so."

"Good. Eyes and ears is what I want. See to it, and find Fergus."

"I will, sir." Murdoch went out, closing the door.

Morgan sat there for a while, then noticed a library ladder. On impulse he got up, pushed it to one end of the shelves on one of the walls, and mounted. He climbed to the top and started to remove the books a few at a time, peering behind.

Dillon,having bathed and changed into a comfortable track suit, sprawled in front of the fire, Hannah Bernstein in the chair opposite. He had just finished his account of the day's events and Ferguson was pouring drinks at the cabinet in the corner.

"Anything for you, Chief Inspector?"

"No thank you, sir."

"Well, the boy here could do with a brandy, I'm sure."

"It was rather a long walk," Dillon said and accepted the glass. "What do you think?"

"About Morgan? Oh, he knows, that was totally apparent from our little exchange."

"So what will his next move be?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not sure, we'll see what tomorrow brings." Ferguson sat down. "It's an interesting situation, by the way, the shooting rights and the fishing. Kim tells me he was fishing in Loch Dhu on the day before we arrived when some damn rascals who work for this Murdoch fellow as keepers turned up and suggested he leave and not too pleasantly."

"Who are they?"

"I've made inquiries. Tinkers-the last remnants of a broken clan. You know, a touch of all that Scottish romantic nonsense. They've wandered the Highlands since Culloden and all that sort of tosh. Old Hector Munro and his brood. I saw them in Ardmurchan Village yesterday and there's nothing romantic about them. Bunch of ragged, foul-smelling rogues. There's old Hector, Fergus…"

"He'll be the one I had the run-in with."

"Then there's the other brother, Rory, big, rough-looking lout, hair tied in a pony tail. I mean, why do they do that, Dillon? Earrings as well. After all, it's not the seventeenth century."

Hannah burst out laughing and Dillon said, "They broke the mould with you, Brigadier. And you say they ran Kim off the place?"

"Yes, I sent him round to the castle with a stiff letter of complaint to this Murdoch chap, the factor, told him I was considering laying a complaint with the Chief Constable of the county."

"What happened?"

"Murdoch was round like a shot, full of apologies. Said he'd keep them in line. Gave me some cock-and-bull story about arctic tern nesting near Loch Dhu and not wanting to disturb them. Apologized for the Munros. Said he'd kick their backsides and so on."

Dillon went and helped himself to another brandy. He came back to the fire. "We're entitled to be here, to shoot deer in the forest, to fish in the loch?"

"Of course we are," Ferguson said. "Mind you, Morgan doesn't like it, I mean, he made that clear on the doorstep, didn't he?"

"Let's draw his teeth then. I'll put my head in the jaws of the tiger tomorrow. You've got all we need for the fishing?"

"And the shooting."

"Good, I'll try Loch Dhu in the morning, plenty of trout, I suppose?"

"Masses, dear boy. Quarter-pounders-or occasional pounders."

"Good, I'll take a rod down there after breakfast."

Hannah said, "The Munros could prove unpleasant if they catch you, especially after your bout with Fergus. I was with the Brigadier when we saw them in Ardmurchan Village. They really are a fearsome-looking clan. I'd say they are the sort who don't take kindly to being beaten."

"And neither do I." Dillon finished his drink. "I'll see you at breakfast," and he went up to bed.

At the same moment, Asta was sitting opposite Morgan by the fire in the great hall at the castle when Marco came in, a piece of paper in his hand.

"Fax from London, Signore."

Morgan read it quickly, then laughed out loud. "Dear God, listen to this. The Bernstein woman is a Detective Chief Inspector, Special Branch, at Scotland Yard, but it's Dillon who takes the biscuit. Sean Dillon, once an actor, RADA and the National Theatre, superb linguist, speaks many languages. First-class pilot, expert diver. Good God, he worked for the Israelis in Beirut."

"But what was he doing there?"

"Sinking PLO boats, apparently. Not choosy, our Mr. Dillon. He's worked for just about everyone you've ever heard of and that includes the KGB in the old days."

"You mean he's some kind of mercenary?" Asta asked.

"That's one way of putting it, but before that he was for some years with the Provisional IRA, one of their most feared enforcers. There's even a suggestion he was behind the attack on Downing Street during the Gulf War."

"Then why would he be working for Ferguson?"

"I suppose the Brits were the only people he hadn't worked for and you know how unscrupulous they are. They'd use anybody to suit their purposes."

"A thoroughly dangerous man," Asta said. "How exciting."

Morgan handed the fax to Marco. "Oh, we've handled thoroughly dangerous men before, haven't we, Marco."

"Many times, Signore, will there be anything else?"

"Yes, bring me some coffee and tell Murdoch I'll see him now."

Asta got up. "I'm for bed. Can we ride tomorrow?"

"Why not?" He took her hand. "Sleep well."

She kissed him on the forehead and went away up the great staircase. Morgan reached for a cigar, clipped it and lit it, and Murdoch entered, his oilskin coat wet.

"Well?" Morgan asked.

"No luck, I'm afraid, that old bastard Hector Munro was immovable. He said Fergus had gone off on his evening rounds and they hadn't seen him since. He's lying, of course."

"What did you do?"

"Searched their stinking caravans, which he didn't like, but I insisted."

"I want Fergus," Morgan said. "I want him where I can deal with him personally. He put his filthy hands on my daughter and no man does that and gets away with it. Try again tomorrow."

"Yes, Mr. Morgan, good night, sir."