Jack Higgins - Without Mercy

When he got into the BMW, however, his keys were missing. When he got out, Casey and Magee were standing there.

Up on the hill, Ashimov and Greta each watched through binoculars and Bell stood by.

Casey said to Blake, “What a pity, but that’s life.” He moved behind him and Magee took a Browning out of his waistband.

“You’ve made a mistake, my friend.”

Casey reached inside Blake’s jacket and removed the Walther. “Well, would you look at that? I’m amazed a tourist would get through security with that.” He put it in his pocket.

“Oh, it happens,” Blake said.

“Yes, well, you just come with us and we’ll show you the grand place Drumore is. Mr. Bell’s orders.”

Casey pushed him along and Blake went, Magee in the rear, all the way down to the tiny harbor and those few fishing boats, and not a soul in the place.

They went along the wharf and pushed Blake down to the deck of a fishing boat. Casey followed him, Magee cast off, went in the wheelhouse and turned the engine on and moved through the harbor, turning at the end of the point. Casey presented the Browning and Blake sat down in the stern, took the.25 Colt from the ankle holster and shot Casey between the eyes. He went backward, the Browning flying from one hand, and over the rail into the water.

The boat swerved. Magee killed the engine and came to the entrance of the wheelhouse. Blake shot him in the right thigh, knocking him over.

He leaned down. “I’ve been good to you. I could have killed you. Instead, I’ve crippled you. I’m sure your IRA chums will see to you when I’ve gone.” He reached in Magee’s jacket and found an old Smith amp; Wesson.38. “I’ll see you in hell, son.”

The boat had bounced back against the wharf. He went over the rail and up to the pub, a gun in each hand, and high on the hill, Greta said, “You got it wrong, Yuri, and you, Liam.”

At the Royal George, Blake burst in the front door and discovered Ryan turning from the bar. “Hold it right there. My keys. I’d say you’re the most likely to have them.”

He held up the weapons like a gunfighter and Ryan was terrified. “All right, I’ve got them.”

He handed them over and Blake said, “So, Belov’s in Russia and you’ve got a new boss since Mr. Kelly passed on, a Mr. Bell.” He smiled, on a high. “I’ve got a friend named Sean Dillon. He says he has an excellent remedy for people like you.” He rammed the Colt.25 against Ryan’s left ear and fired. Ryan cried out and went down.

“You’re lucky, you bastard,” Blake said. “You’re still alive.”

He left Ryan writhing on the floor, went out, got in the BMW and drove off.

On the hill, Greta lowered her binoculars. “Well, I don’t know what we’re going to find inside the Royal George, but I’d say the whole thing has been a monumental cock-up.”

On his way back over the Atlantic, Blake called Ferguson and went over the experience.

“My God, you’ve been in the wars,” Ferguson told him. “You say one of the men mentioned someone called Bell as being in charge?”

“That’s it. See if that strikes a chord with Dillon, and I’d give it to Roper as well. He usually comes up with someone.”

“I’ll see to it. Safe journey, Blake, regards to the President.”

Blake switched off and leaned back. He felt great. Mary said, “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Actually, you can, Mary.” He smiled. “You can get me a Horse’s Neck.”

The carnage in the village was immediately apparent. Greta, Ashimov and Bell stood on the wharf while two of his men assisted Magee over the rail of the boat and into a Land Rover. “Shall we pick up Pat Ryan at the pub as well? He’s lost half an ear, Mr. Bell.”

“What else would you do with him? Take them to the convent at Ballykelly. They’re in safe hands with Sister Teresa.”

The men drove away. Beyond, by the harbor entrance, the body of Jack Casey floated up and was swept out to sea.

“What happens to him?” Greta said.

“This is my patch,” Bell said. “Everybody keeps their head down, nobody sees a thing. None of this happened. As for Casey, just on the other side of the jetty where the body’s drifting now, there’s a ten-knot bore running because the tide’s turning. It’ll take Casey out into the Irish Sea fast, food for fishes.”

“Really? How interesting.”

She left him talking to Ashimov and walked back to the pub and onward to Drumore Place. She went into the Great Hall, got herself a vodka, went and stood by the fire thinking about it, then phoned Levin, who was in the Piano Bar at the Dorchester, having a late lunch.

“Why, Greta, darling girl.”

“None of that nonsense. Blake Johnson arrived at Drumore posing as an American tourist. Igor, he’s so old he was in Vietnam. He’s fifty-five at least. He should have been in his box by now.”

“You know, my mother was English, but her mother was Irish. And whenever there was bad news, that old Irish lady would say to me, It was as certain as the coffin lid closing.”

“Well, the coffin lid’s closed tight.”

“Really?” He was laughing. “Tell me the worst.”

When she was finished, he said, “So he sends one corpse drifting out to sea, cripples another and disposes of half the ear of Ryan, the publican at the Royal George?”

“There’s more to it than that. Ryan said that when threatening him, Johnson mentioned Bell having taken over from Kelly. He also mentioned his friend Sean Dillon.”

“Oh, dear. What’s happening to the walking wounded?”

“Taken to the convent hospital at Ballykelly. The Little Sisters of Pity. They’ll keep quiet enough.”

“I should hope so.”

“Ashimov should have let Johnson nose around, have lunch and move on.”

“Well, he didn’t. He’s on a holy crusade to get the lot of them, and the chance of stiffing Blake Johnson was too good to miss.”

“What happens now?”

“I should imagine Blake has already phoned Ferguson, who will ask Dillon and the good Major Roper if the name Bell means anything to them in connection with the IRA.”

“It’s a mess,” she said.

“It’s a can of worms, my love. However, I’ll handle it. I’ll phone Volkov in Moscow, give him the bad news and cover your back as well as my own. But that’s only because I like you.”

She thought about it for only a second. He had something about him, this young man, she recognized that and took it on board.

“Right, we’ll see how it goes.”

“As far as Yuri’s concerned, if anyone gets blamed for it all coming out, it’s me not you, so keep your mouth shut.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll leave it to you.”

She switched off, went and got another vodka, and Ashimov stamped in. “What a mess!”

“It was certainly that, Yuri.”

He went and poured himself a drink. “I had him in my hand, Blake Johnson, the President’s man, the ultimate coup.”

“It would have been a greater coup to allow him to pass through empty-handed,” she said. “I told you. But you just had to give Bell the wink, didn’t you? Sometimes, Yuri – I just don’t know,” and she walked out.

In London, at the Ministry of Defence, Ferguson listened to Blake, then called Dillon and Billy into his office. He gave them an account of what Blake had told him.

“Bloody marvelous,” Billy said. “That’s put the bastards in their place. What do you think, Dillon?”

“So there’s a new bunch in power from the Provisional IRA. And some guy told Blake that Belov was in Russia. Where does that get us?”

“Maybe if we traced that Bell person they mentioned. Does the name mean anything to you?”

Ferguson shook his head. “I’ll give it to Roper. He might find something.”