Jack Higgins - Drink With The Devil

“A hot-tempered lad.”

“And these two, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall, more of the same, Dillon. A very unsavory bunch.”

“Who might just suit my purposes.”

“Except for one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“The River Police had a tip-off. Salter and his gang will be down river tonight at nine in one of his pleasure boats, the River Queen . There’s a Dutch boat coming in called the Amsterdam . The River Queen will be at anchor off Harley Dock. As the Amsterdam goes past, one of the stewards throws a package across. Uncut diamonds. Two hundred thousand pounds.”

“And the River Police waiting to pounce?”

“Not at all. They’ll be waiting for the River Queen to berth at Cable Wharfe by Salter’s pub, the Dark Man, at Wapping. They’ll pick him up there.”

“What a shame. It could have been such a lovely relationship.”

“Anything else I can do for you?” Hannah Bernstein demanded.

“Not really. I can see you’ve shafted me pretty thoroughly and taken pleasure in it. I’ll just go away and think again.”

AT EIGHT-THIRTY, DILLON was waiting on Harley Dock in an ancient and inconspicuous Toyota van he had borrowed from the vehicle pool at the Ministry of Defence. He was already wearing a black diving suit, the cowl up over his head. Occasionally a boat passed on the river and he sat behind the wheel of the Toyota and watched through a pair of infrared night glasses as the River Queen arrived and anchored. There was movement on deck, two men and two more on the upper deck wheelhouse.

He waited and then there was a noise of engines down river and the Amsterdam appeared, a medium-sized freighter. With his night glasses, he could actually see the man at the rail and the bundle he hurled. It landed on the pleasure boat’s canopy.

The freighter moved on and Dillon was already clamping a tank to his inflatable. He picked up his fins, moved to the edge of the dock, and pulled them on. Then he pulled on his mask, reached for his mouthpiece, and jumped.

HE SURFACED BY the anchor line, pulled off his inflatable and the tank, then his fins, and fastened them to the line. He waited for a moment, then went up hand-over-hand.

He went in through the anchor chain port and crouched on deck, listening. There was the sound of laughter coming from the deck cabin and he went forward, stood and peered through a port hole. Salter was there, his nephew Billy, Baxter, and Hall. Salter was cutting open a yellow life jacket at the table. He took out the cloth bundle.

“Two hundred grand.”

Dillon unzipped his diving suit and took out the silenced Walther. He went to the door, paused, then threw it open and stepped inside.

“God bless all here.”

There was silence, the four of them grouped around the table like some tableau, Harry Salter and his nephew seated, Baxter and Hall standing, beer glasses in their hands.

Salter said, “And what’s your game, then?”

“Open the bundle.”

“I’m fucked if I will. I don’t think you’ve got the bottle to use that thing.”

Dillon fired on the instant, shattering the whiskey glass on the table at Salter’s right hand, doing the same thing to the beer glass Baxter was holding. Billy Salter cried out sharply as a jagged splinter of glass cut his right cheek.

There was silence and so then Dillon said, “More?”

“Okay, you made your point,” Salter said. “What do you want?”

“The diamonds – show me.”

“Tell him to get stuffed,” Billy said, a hand to his cheek where blood flowed.

“Then what?” Salter asked him.

He unfastened the cloth bundle. Inside was a yellow oilskin pouch with a zip fastener. “Open it,” Dillon ordered.

Salter did as he was told and tossed the pouch across where it fell at Dillon’s feet. He picked it up, unzipped the front of his diving suit, and stowed it away. He half turned and took the key out of the door.

Salter said, “I’ll find you. Nobody does this to Harry Salter and gets away with it.”

“And didn’t I hear James Cagney saying that in an old gangster film on the Midnight Movie show on television last week?” Dillon grinned. “I know it doesn’t look it right now, but I’ve actually done you a good turn. Maybe you can do me one sometime.”

He slipped out and closed the door. Hall and Baxter rushed it but too late as Dillon turned the key in the lock. He vaulted over the stern down into the water, retrieved his inflatable jack, air tank, and fins and pulled them on. Then he went under the surface and swam back to Harley Dock.

On board the River Queen in the saloon Baxter stood on the table and unclipped the deck hatch above his head. When it was open, Harry Salter and Hall gave him a push up. A few moments later and he was outside the saloon door and opening it.

“Here, how’s my face?” Billy asked his uncle.

Salter inspected it. “You’ll live. It’s only a scratch. There’s sticking plaster in the medical kit in the wheelhouse.”

“So what are we going to do?” Billy demanded.

“Find out who shopped us,” Salter said. “Let’s face it, only a limited range of people knew about this job. So the sooner I run that bastard to earth, the sooner I’ll find our friend.” He turned to Baxter and Hall. “Haul up the anchor and let’s get out of here and back to Wapping.”

DILLON HAD STRIPPED his diving suit, dressed in shirt, jeans, and his old reefer and was already making his way to Wapping. It was ten-thirty as he drove along streets that were deserted and lined by decaying warehouses of what had once been the greatest port in the world. Eventually he cut through a part of the city that was considerably more busy and eventually passed the Tower of London and reached Wapping High Street.

He parked the Toyota at the curb and proceeded on foot to Cable Wharfe. He had already checked out Salter’s pub, the Dark Man, earlier. It was almost eleven o’clock and closing time. A drink would give him an excuse to be in the area, so he walked along the wharf openly and went into the saloon bar. There were two old women at a marble-topped table drinking stout and three men at the end of the bar with beer in front of them, who looked as if they might be seamen, but only just.

The barmaid was in her forties, blonde hair swept back from a face that was heavily made up. “What’s your pleasure, sunshine?” she asked Dillon.

Dillon smiled that special smile of his, nothing but warmth and immense charm. “Well, if it’s only drink we’re talking about, let’s make it Bushmills.”

“Sorry, but you’ll have to drink up fast,” she told him as she gave him the Bushmills. “Closing time and I’ve got to think of my license with coppers around.”

“And where would they be?”

“The three at the end of the bar. They’re no more seamen than my arse.”

“So what are they up to?”

“God knows.”

“Then I’ll get out of it.” Dillon swallowed his Bushmills. “I’ll say goodnight to you.”

The two old women were leaving and Dillon followed them along the wharf aware of a police van parked in a courtyard to the left, a police car across the road.

“A trifle conspicuous,” he said softly, reached Wapping High Street, and doubled back. He found what he wanted, another disused warehouse, carefully negotiated stairs leading to the first floor, and crouched on one of the old loading platforms beneath a crane. He had a perfect view of the river, the wharf, and the Dark Man. He took out his infrared night glasses, focused them, and the River Queen came into view.

AS THE R IVER Q UEEN docked all hell broke loose. The police van and car that Dillon had noticed earlier drove onto the wharf and at the same time two River Police patrol boats moved out of the shadows where they had been waiting and pulled alongside. As uniformed police came over the rail, they found Hall and Baxter tying up. Salter and Billy came out of the saloon and looked up at the half dozen policemen on the wharf. The line parted and a tall man in his fifties in the uniform of a Superintendent came forward.