Jack Higgins - Drink With The Devil

“Yes, sir,” Dillon said.

He stood against the wall with other waiters, and a few moments later Members of Parliament started to flood in. It was amazing how quickly the Terrace filled up, and the waiters got to work and served refreshments. Dillon did his bit, taking a tray of canapés around, and then he caught sight of Ferguson, Hannah Bernstein, and Carter entering.

Dillon turned away but stood close enough to hear Carter say, “Sorry for you, Ferguson, that little bastard’s left you with egg on your face.”

“If you say so,” Ferguson said.

A moment later, an announcement sounded over the Tannoy. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Prime Minister and the President of the United States.”

They came through the entrance and stood there and the crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Dillon crossed to the table, picked up a canapé dish with a lid, hovered over it for a moment, then turned. The President and the Prime Minister were moving through the crowd, pausing to speak to people. They reached Simon Carter, Ferguson, and Hannah Bernstein and stopped.

Dillon heard the President say, “Brigadier Ferguson. Good to see you again.” He greeted Carter, then Hannah.

Dillon walked forward. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

He was aware of the look of amazement on Hannah’s face, of Ferguson’s incredulous frown, and on Carter’s face nothing but shock. Dillon lifted the lid of the canapé dish disclosing a five-pound note nestling on top.

“Your fiver, sir.”

Carter was incandescent with rage, but the most interesting reaction was from President Clinton. “Why, Mr. Dillon, is that you?” he said.

IT WAS THE middle of the afternoon and they were together in Ferguson’s office, the three of them.

There was a look of unholy joy on Ferguson’s face. “You cunning Irish bastard.”

“And you a half one.”

“The look on Carter’s face. Delicious. I had to explain to the President and the Prime Minister, of course, which didn’t help Carter. The President thought it was fantastic. I must tell you that after our previous help to him with the peace process in Ireland last year he had a high opinion of you, Dillon. It’s now even higher. So, how did you do it?”

“From the river, Brigadier, but I’d rather not get into details.”

Ferguson turned to Hannah Bernstein. “Do you know, Chief Inspector?”

“I’m afraid I do, sir.”

“As bad as that, is it?”

“Let’s put it this way. The background to it is so criminal that if I were still working for Special Branch at Scotland Yard I’d have no other choice but to read Dillon his rights and arrest him. However, under the peculiar circumstances of my employment with you, such considerations do not apply.”

“Good God.” Ferguson shook his head. “Still, I knew what I was taking on when I recruited you, Dillon, only myself to blame. Go about your business, the both of you,” and he opened a file in front of him.

AT THE SAME time at Green Rapids Detention Center Kathleen Ryan and her uncle walked through the park. There were as usual, thanks to the warden’s liberal visitation policy, a large number of visitors. Paolo Salamone walked some little distance behind. He had received a phone call from Sollazo as his lawyer just after breakfast.

It had been brief and to the point. “Regarding the matter we discussed the other day and the individual concerned, any further information would certainly help your case.”

Salamone hadn’t known such excitement in a long time. There was a real chance now, with Sollazo and the Don on his side, that he might get some review of his sentence and anything was worth that, which was why he kept an eye out for the Kelly girl. He knew from talking to her uncle that she mainly worked the night shift at the hospital, which was why she was able to visit three, sometimes four times a week.

They didn’t seem to be talking much and he saw them stroll toward one of the small rustic shelters beside the lake. Salamone hurried through a small plantation of trees behind the hut and stood at the back. He could hear them talking quite plainly.

“You seem depressed today, girl.”

“And why shouldn’t I be, you in here like a caged animal.”

“Little I can do about that, little anyone can do.”

“You know, when they transferred you here I was full of hope. That’s why I saw that fella Cassidy you shared a cell with once at Ossining and got the forged passports. I thought there would be a chance of making a break,” Kathleen said.

“Not from here. You know why the regime here is so liberal. Because the security is so tight. Every modern electronic marvel on these walls, cameras scrutinizing every move. I’m going to die here, Kathleen, and that’s the truth of it. Time we talked about your future, time you moved on, and when you decide to go, I’ve things to say.”

“Such as?”

“It can wait.”

“Then don’t talk rubbish. How’s your health?”

“Not bad. I take the pills, do as I’m told. They’ll be taking me down to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning for another heart scan.”

“I’m on the night shift, but I’ll go in and look out for you. I’ll see you again tomorrow anyway, I’ve got the time in the morning. Around eleven.”

“That’s nice.”

They got up and walked away and Salamone went back up through the trees.

As they approached the security gates, Kathleen said, “Are you still on the same pills?”

“No, a new one.” He took a plastic bottle from his shirt pocket. “There you go.”

She checked it. “Dazane?” That’s a new one on me. I’ll check it out at the hospital.” She gave the bottle back to him and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.”

SALAMONE PHONED THROUGH to Sollazo’s office using one of the prisoners’ call boxes. The secretary was dubious. Mr. Sollazo was busy, but she finally gave in to Salamone’s persistence and put him through.

“What have you got?” Sollazo asked. “It better be good.”

“I overheard Kelly and his niece talking. She talked about how she’d hoped he’d be able to make a break when he transferred from Ossining to Green Rapids. Some chance. Nobody’s crashed out of here since it opened.”

“So why should this interest me?”

“She was talking about false passports she’d got from some forger called Cassidy, who used to share a cell with Kelly at Ossining.”

“Now that is interesting,” Sollazo said. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Oh, yes, he’s going to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning to have a heart scan. As I said, he suffers from angina. By the way, she said she was going to see him again in the morning at eleven.”

“You’ve done well, Paolo, keep up the good work. Just one thing I didn’t tell you. Liam Kelly is actually Michael Ryan, once a big activist in Irish politics on the Protestant side, and never take him for granted. He’s killed more men than he can remember.”

“Jesus!” Salamone said.

“His niece is Kathleen Ryan. She, too, has killed in her time. These aren’t ordinary crooks, Paolo, they are revolutionaries and, as we know, such people are like wild dogs, a little touched in the head. Never take them for granted.”

“I won’t, Mr. Sollazo, and you’ll do what you can for me?”

“That goes without saying.”

Sollazo put down the phone, sat there thinking about it, then buzzed his secretary. “Find Mori for me, he should be somewhere about.”

He went back to the legal brief in front of him, smiling slightly as he saw the fatal flaw in the District Attorney’s case. There was a knock at the door and Mori entered.

“Yes, Signore,” he said in Sicilian.

Sollazo sat back. “I’ve heard from Salamone, more information on Ryan and his niece. It seems she got false passports from a forger called Cassidy, who shared a cell with Ryan in Sing-Sing. Find him and bring him to me. Somebody will know him.”