Jack Higgins - Without Mercy

“So what are you saying to me?”

“That if I was Dillon and fired up like he is, I’d be on the next plane over on Fitzgerald’s case. If he can find him and squeeze him, he’ll know it was Liam Bell behind the execution of Mary Killane, and that’s a direct lead to Drumore Place and what goes with that.”

“Do you think I don’t know?”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Get after Fitzgerald. Get rid of him.”

“Are you going to come?”

“I’ve other things to do.”

“Can I say something?”

“Anything you like as long as it’s relevant.”

“Getting on Fitzgerald’s tail is one thing, but there’s another side to it. Why waste him? If Dillon comes after him, which he will, we’d get two for the price of one.”

Ashimov said, “That’s good. I like that.” He thought about it. “I tell you what. I’ll send a company Falcon from Ballykelly. It can bring Greta. She could be useful to you. It’ll collect you at Archbury, then onwards to Ibiza.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Then let’s do it.”

At Holland Park, Dillon found Roper and gave him the information he’d obtained from Docherty about Fitzgerald. He had no known criminal connections, but was on the books at London University. A BA in English literature. His thesis for his master’s degree was on the pending list.

Roper trawled through the passenger lists for Ibiza and confirmed that Fitzgerald had left. “Anything else?”

“This diving business. Check that out if you can.”

“I can do anything, old lad.” Roper went through the PADI list, the world association of professional divers, and nodded. “There you are. A master diver. So what do you want to do?”

“I think I should go after him. I know Ibiza well. I used to go there a lot in the old days. A good friend of mine ran an outfit flying floatplanes between the islands. I flew for him. I wonder if he’s still at it? Aldo Russo, Eagle Air. He’s Italian. Has strong Mafia connections, or did have.”

Roper went back to his computer, which came up trumps again. “There you go. Still up and running, but would you be? How much flying have you done lately?”

“I’ve kept my hand in. Mostly weekend stuff these days. I can fly anything short of a jumbo, but who says I’m going to fly?”

“I think Ferguson will say no to you going. He wants the Hannah investigation to stay in the hands of Scotland Yard.”

“Look, Mary Killane eased Hannah’s going with those pills, but the IRA contact between her and Fitzgerald is more than a coincidence, and I’d take a large bet with you he killed her. It makes sense. She’s the nurse with access. Afterwards she’s got to be got rid of. On top of that, he clears off to Ibiza.”

“You could persuade me,” Roper said, but at that moment, Ferguson came in, immaculate in black tie.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Dillon told him, not that it did any good. “I told you, I don’t want you to intervene. The Yard will handle it. All right, you’ve done well, Sean, and so has young Salter in Dublin. It’s a step forward knowing that Liam Bell is at Drumore Place, but I’m not having you running off to Ibiza. I’m at Saint James’s Palace for a luncheon with the Prime Minister. He’ll want to know how things are, so leave it alone.”

“Whatever you say.”

He went out. Roper said, “But you’re not going to leave it alone, are you?”

“Not a chance. I’m going to presume on friendship. I’m going to phone Lacey at Farley Field and tell him a priority job’s come up and I need a Citation flight to Ibiza tonight. I’ll say Ferguson has ordered it. That clears you.”

Roper sat back, frowning, then said, “Give me a Marlboro and we’ll call it quits.”

“My pleasure.” Dillon took one himself.

“Only one thing,” Roper said. “I make the call. Lacey trusts me.”

“So where does that leave you with Ferguson?”

“What can he do?” Roper smiled. “I’m handicapped. He’d end up in front of a tribunal. I’ll tell Lacey you’ll be there in two hours. Go on, get out of here.”

He phoned Lacey and stated his requirements, the usual schedule, the Quartermaster for weaponry, and then he phoned Billy Salter.

“Something’s come up,” he said, and told him. “What do you think?”

“That he’s not been the same since she died, not his old self at all. What’s more, to go off on a hunt like this, on his own, in the state he’s in, is barmy.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Pack a suitcase.”

“I thought you’d say that. They’re expecting you at Farley, too. Stay in touch.”

The Falcon, with Greta on board, dropped in at Archbury and picked up Levin. “You’ve been busy,” she said as they took off again.

“What’s happening?”

“The net’s closing in.” She told him about Billy Salter in Dublin.

“So now they know definitely,” Levin said. “Thanks to a family-minded Dublin detective.”

“They know Liam Bell is in charge of Drumore, they’re aware that Max Zubin is playing Belov at Station Gorky. They don’t know about Ashimov or me.”

He smiled. “Or me.”

“So let’s keep it that way.”

“You’ve got Fitzgerald’s address, details of what he’s up to? He knows we’re coming?”

“Oh, yes. Bell’s been in touch with him.”

“That was a mistake.” Levin opened the bar cabinet and got out the vodka.

“Why?” she asked as he poured.

“He could wonder why. He could wonder whether the only present we’re bringing is a bullet in the head.”

“Not with me along.”

“A good-looking woman to make him feel comfortable?”

“Why not? Tell me one thing. You really think Dillon will turn up?”

“Absolutely.”

“It should be an interesting trip, then,” and they toasted each other. “Here’s to Mary Hall.”

“Who’s that?”

“Me, Igor. That’s what it says on my passport.”

When Billy arrived at Farley Field, he was delivered by Harry, grumbling as usual. “I mean, what’s he got you into now?”

“I’m a member of the Security Services, Harry. They yell, I jump. It’s called doing your duty.”

“Only Ferguson doesn’t know.”

“He will when he’s finished dinner. Roper will see to that.”

They parked outside the terminal building, went in and there was Lacey in flight overalls talking to Dillon. “The Quartermaster’s left you the usual bag, Sean, said you’ll find everything you want inside.”

Billy and Harry looked on. “There you are, you little Irish bastard,” Harry said.

Lacey said, “I’ll go and get us started.”

Dillon frowned. “Does Ferguson know about this?”

“He soon will. Roper’s in charge.” Billy picked up the Quartermaster’s bag and took his own from Harry. “Come on, Dillon, let’s get moving,” and he led the way out and walked to the Citation X.

Flying through the night at thirty thousand feet, Dillon indulged himself on half a bottle of Krug champagne.

“So what’s the first move?” asked Billy.

“To find Fitzgerald. Roper’s going to check diving sites and the kind of hotels divers use. If that doesn’t work, I’ll try my old friend Aldo Russo.”

“Italian, not Spanish? How come you were involved with him?”

“Way back in the old days when I was the pride of the IRA, I was sent to Sicily to buy arms, only the Mafia knew British intelligence was onto them, so they moved Russo, his wife and son to Ibiza, and used that as a base. There were Spanish elements who didn’t like it, thought the Mafia were encroaching on their territory.”

“What happened?”