Jack Higgins: Drink With The Devil

Keogh said, “What about your own people? You’ve as many gunmen out on the street as the IRA. More even. I know that from army days.” He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “Unless there’s another truth here. That you’re in it for the money, you’re in it for yourself.”

Kathleen Ryan jumped up. “Damn you for saying that. My uncle has given more for our people than anyone I know. Better you get out of here while you can.”

Ryan held up a hand. “Softly, child, any intelligent man would see it as a possibility. It’s happened before, God knows, and on both sides.”

“So?” Keogh said.

“I can be as hungry as the next man where money is concerned, but my cause is a just one, the one certainty in my life. Any money that passes through my hands goes to the Protestant cause. That’s what my life is about.”

“Then why not use some of your own men?”

“Because people talk too much, a weakness in all revolutionary movements. The IRA have the same problem. I’ve always preferred to use what I call hired help, and for that I go to the underworld. An honest thief who is working for wages is a sounder proposition than some revolutionary hothead.”

“So that’s where I come in?” Keogh said. “Hired help, just like anyone else you need?”

“Exactly. So, are you in or out? If it’s no, then say so. After what you did for Kathleen tonight you’ll come to no harm from me.”

“Well that’s nice to know.” Keogh shrugged. “Oh, what the hell, I might as well give it a try. A change from the North Sea. Terrible weather there at this time of the year.”

“Good man yourself.” Ryan smiled. “A couple of Bushmills, Kathleen, and we’ll drink to it.”

“WHERE ARE YOU staying?” Ryan asked.

“A fleapit called the Albert Hotel,” Keogh told him.

“Fleapit, indeed,” Ryan toasted him. “Our country too.”

“May you die in Ireland,” Keogh replied.

“An excellent sentiment.” Ryan swallowed his Bushmills in a single gulp.

“So what happens now?”

“I’ll tell you in London. We’ll fly there, you, me, and Kathleen. There’s someone I have to see.”

Keogh turned to the girl. “An activist is it? A little young I would have thought.”

“I bloody told you, they blew up my family when I was ten years old, Mr. Keogh,” she said fiercely. “I grew up fast after that.”

“A hard world.”

“And I’ll make it harder for the other side, believe me.”

“You hate well, I’ll say that.” Keogh turned back to her uncle. “So that’s it, then?” He shook his hand. “What am I really getting into? I should know more.”

“All right, a taster only. How well do you know the northwest of England? The Lake District?”

“I’ve never been there.”

“A wild and lonely area at this time of the year with the tourists gone.”

“So?”

“A certain truck will be passing through there, a meat transporter. You and I will hijack it. Very simple, very fast. A five-minute job.”

“You did say meat transporter?”

Ryan smiled. “That’s what this truck is. What’s inside is another matter. You find that out later.”

“And what happens afterwards?”

“We drive to a place on the Cumbrian coast where there’s an old disused jetty. There will be a boat waiting, a Siemens ferry. Do you know what that is?”

“The Germans used them in World War Two to transport heavy equipment and men in coastal attacks.”

“You’re well informed. We drive on board and sail for Ulster. I’ve found a suitable spot on the coast where there’s a disused quarry pier. We drive the truck off the boat and disappear into the night. All beautifully simple.”

“So it would seem,” Keogh said. “And the crew of this Siemens ferry? What are they doing?”

“Earning their wages. As far as they are concerned, it’s just some sort of illegal traffic or other. They do it all the time. They’re those sort of people.”

“Crooks, you mean.”

“Exactly. The boat is tied up near Wapping at the moment. That’s why we’re going to London. To finalize things.”

There was a pause and then Kathleen Ryan said, “What do you think, Mr. Keogh?”

“That you’d better start calling me Martin as it seems we’re going to spend some time together.”

“But do you think it would work?”

“Its greatest virtue, as your uncle says, is its simplicity. It could work perfectly just like a Swiss watch. On the other hand, even Swiss watches break down sometimes.”

“O ye of little faith.” Ryan smiled. “Of course it will work. It’s got to. My organization needs the means to buy arms for our people. It’s essential. There’s a passage in the Koran that says there is more truth in one sword than ten thousand words.”

“I take your point.” Keogh stood up. “It’s late. I’d better get back to my hotel.”

“Join us here for breakfast in the morning,” Ryan told him. “We’ll catch the noon plane. I’ll take care of the tickets.”

“I’ll say goodnight, then.”

“The bar is closed. Kathleen will let you out. I’ll keep your Walther here. No way of passing through airport security with that, but it doesn’t matter. Our London connection will provide any weapons we need.” He held out his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

THE GIRL OPENED the door and rain drove in on the wind.

“A dirty old night,” she said.

“You can say that again.” Keogh turned up his collar. “An Ulster fry-up will do me fine for breakfast especially if you cook it yourself. Two eggs and don’t forget the sausage.”

“Go on, get on your way.” She pushed him out and laughed that distinctive harsh laugh of hers and closed the door.

KEOGH HAD DIFFICULTY finding a phone box. Most of them seemed to be vandalized. He finally struck luck when he was quite close to the hotel. He closed the glass door to keep out the rain and rang the Dublin number. Barry was seated at the desk of his small study with his Chief of Intelligence for Ulster, a man named John Cassidy, when he took the call.

“It’s me,” Keogh said. “Worked like a charm. I’m in it up to my neck. Ryan’s taken me on board.”

“Tell me everything.”

Which Keogh did in a few brief sentences. Finally, he said, “What could be in this meat transporter?”

“Gold bullion if it’s the job I’m thinking of. It was put to the Loyalist Army Council about a year ago and thrown out as being too risky.”

“So Ryan has decided to do it on his own initiative.”

“Exactly, but then he always was the wild one. That’s why I wanted you in there when I got the whisper through an informer that he was up to something.”

“Up to something big,” Keogh told him.

“That’s right. Stay in close touch. You’ve got those alternate numbers for the mobile phone, and watch your back.”

BARRY LEANED BACK thoughtfully and lit a cigarette. Cassidy said, “Trouble?”

“Michael Ryan up to his old tricks.” He ran through what Keogh had told him.

Cassidy said, “My God, if it is gold bullion, the bastards would have enough money to arm for a civil war. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t need to do a thing except have a suitable reception committee waiting when that boat delivers the truck somewhere on the Ulster coast. Then we’ll have enough money to start a civil war.”

“And you’re certain of knowing the time and place?”

“Oh, yes. The man on the other end of the phone just now is one of our own. He’s infiltrated under a false identity. He’ll be going along for the ride every step of the way.”

“A good man?”

“The best.”

“Would I be knowing him?”