Jack Higgins - Without Mercy

“What about the murder inquiry?” asked Dillon.

“Still proceeding, Sean.”

“Then maybe I should have a look myself.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Dillon shrugged. “I’ll get on, then.”

Outside, he paused at his desk, only for a moment. Billy said, “What are you going to do?”

“What do you think? I’ll see you later,” and he went out.

“Wait for me, Dillon,” Billy called, and went after him.

On the phone to Volkov, Levin explained everything that had happened. He waited while Volkov considered the matter. Finally, he said, “I agree with you, Igor, Major Ashimov has been foolish in this matter. Dillon is far from being an idiot. He’s probably already made the link between the nurse and the IRA. Now this thing at Drumore. With Roper’s assistance, Dillon may hunt down the Bell connection sooner than you think.”

“What should I do?” Levin asked.

“Watch them all carefully, Igor. One day soon we’ll need to make hard decisions, and we’ll need to know what – and who – our liabilities are.”

Levin went into the Dorchester, but instead of going up to his suite, he went into the Piano Bar. It was half busy, cheerful and sophisticated as usual. He sat on one of the banquettes, ordered a glass of champagne and glanced at the newspaper. At that moment, Dillon and Billy walked in.

The bar manager, Guiliano, approached. “Mr. Dillon, a pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“I’ll have the usual and the boy here orange juice. And if you don’t mind it, I’ll give you a tune on Liberace’s grand piano there, before your usual pianist comes in.”

“It’d be a pleasure,” Guiliano said.

Levin slipped on his earpiece. He could hear them perfectly.

“So what’s new?”

“I’m leaving it to Roper for the time being. Let’s see if this Bell thing hangs together. If anybody can find the answer, it’s Roper.”

“Oh, dear,” Igor murmured, as Dillon walked down to the piano, opened it and started to play. “We can’t have that.”

As he got up, Dillon seemed to look across at him. Levin smiled and called, in his finest public school voice, “ ‘As Time Goes By,’ old man. Never fails.”

He walked out and went upstairs. Billy went to the piano. “Who was that?”

“God knows,” Dillon said. “I think I’ve seen him somewhere before, but for the life of me I can’t remember where. Good idea on the music, though,” and he started to play the tune.

Upstairs in his suite, Levin opened the file he’d received in Moscow, found a number and rang it. When there was an answer, he said, “George Moon?”

“That’s right.”

“The midnight bell is ringing.”

Moon said, “That’s fine by me.” Silly buggers, all this code stuff, he thought.

“I’ll see you in half an hour at the Harvest Moon pub in Trenchard Street. I’ll recognize you. Be alone.”

“Fine by me. Side entrance. There’s a light like a moon over the door. A moon for a Moon – fitting, right?”

Levin checked his briefcase, the Walther with the silencer. In the room safe in the wardrobe of the suite, he had five thousand pounds in mad money. He took out two thousand in fifties, stowed them in the briefcase, put on his trench coat and left.

He took his Mercedes, drove in the general direction of Soho, and beyond Brewer Street he finally came to the pub in Trenchard Street, an old Victorian sort of place. He parked some distance away and walked through the rain, not bothering with an umbrella.

The light over the door in the side alley had the shape of a half-moon on it, sure enough. Levin glanced up, then pressed the bell. After a moment, the door opened and a rather tarty young woman appeared.

“I’ve an appointment with Mr. Moon.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Mr. Nobody to you, sweetheart. Just lead the way.”

“All right, keep your shirt on.” She was quite attractive in her own way, a cotton skirt tightening over her buttocks, high-heeled ankle boots on her feet.

She turned at the top of the stairs and paused to open a door. “Had a good look, did you?”

“Definitely. Not to be missed.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Most men are.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You like having the last word, don’t you? In here.”

She opened a door and ushered him into a room lined with books like a small library. There was a large desk with a lamp, the light low, and the man seated there was small, balding, wearing steel spectacles. He nodded to Levin, and held out a limp hand without getting up. Behind him a man leaned against the wall, hard, brutal, with the flattened nose of an ex-boxer, and arms folded.

“I’m George Moon, no need to say who you are. I know your principals and that’s sufficient. Cup of tea for me, Ruby, although considering this gentleman’s antecedents, I expect he’d prefer a large vodka.”

“Yes, O Great One.”

She went out. Levin said, “A lot of character there.”

“A lot of everything. A very naughty girl. Harold?”

The man behind him moved close enough to smell, and it was not good. Ruby opened the door and said, “Tea’s brewing, George.” She had a bar tray, a bottle of vodka and a glass on it.

Harold said, “All right, china, arms wide.” His hands went for a body search.

Levin said, “Now who’s being naughty? I don’t like that, Harold.” His right hand came out of his pocket clutching the Walther, and he rammed it under Harold’s chin. “Now go back to propping up the wall like a good boy, or I’ll castrate you.”

Harold, in shock, eased away. “Do as the gentleman says, Harold.” That was Moon.

Levin turned to Ruby, who was smiling. She said, “My God, a right hard bastard. Who’d have thought it? Ready for your vodka, then?”

“Why not?”

She poured a large one and he drank it down.

“Fabulous. I’ll have another.”

He held the glass out and placed the Walther on the desk as if daring Harold, who glowered at him.

“So what can we do for you?”

Levin opened his briefcase and took out the money it contained in two packets.

“It’s simple enough. A man lives in Regency Square, in a wheelchair most of the time, a Major Roper. I want him seen to.”

“Permanently?”

“That would be the best solution. After all, anything could happen to somebody like that. He could end up dead in his wheelchair, the victim of an opportunistic burglar. There’s two thousand here; if you accept the assignment, another two on completion. Just one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“You do it now – tonight.”

There was silence for a moment. Harold said, “Regency Square’s only twenty minutes away.”

“That’s true.” Moon nodded. “As I know your principals,” he said to Levin, “I presume this is a political matter?”

“None of your affair.”

Moon nodded and turned to Ruby. “You’ll keep an eye on those bastards behind the bar. You never know what they’ll get up to.” He handed her the two thousand. “Look after that, love.”

“You’re going yourself, George?”

“Why not? I’ll keep an eye on Harold. Find a raincoat for me and an umbrella.”

“Yes, George.”

Levin took a computer printout from his briefcase, with a photo of Roper on it and his address. Moon picked it up and checked it, then handed it to Harold, who looked and shrugged.

“Piece of cake.”

Moon said to Levin, “You coming or are you just watching from afar?”

“I’ll see you after your successful completion, or let’s hope I do.”

“That will be entirely satisfactory.”

“So you trust me not to vanish into the night?”