Jack Higgins - Dark Justice

“I’ll see you later, then, back at the office.”

She left, and Billy emerged. “No big deal.”

“Good. I hate needles.”

Billy said, “I’ll see you later. I’ve got a bit of business back at the Dark Man.”

“You’re an idiot, Billy. Smuggled cigarettes from Amsterdam and you don’t even need the money. You’ll be back behind bars at Wandsworth.”

“That’ll be the day,” Billy said and left.

When Dillon emerged into Harley Street, it was still raining. He lit a cigarette, looked down the pavement in the direction Hannah had gone and walked the same way. St. Paul’s Church was on the other side of the street when he turned the corner, a notice board in front with the times of services and the name of the priest. He went up the steps, eased open the small Judas gate in the main door and stepped inside.

It was Victorian, a half-dark sort of place, and there was the smell of damp, candles and incense. He noticed a statue of the Virgin and Child, more candles flickering there, all very old-fashioned Church of England, except for the newer fashion that allowed women priests.

Susan Haden-Taylor was a calm, pleasant woman in a clerical collar and cassock. She was sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Hannah, two pews away, but facing her.

“Yes,” she was saying. “Charles Ferguson has spoken to me of your dilemma. And his.”

“And his?” Hannah was astonished and showed it.

“Yes. There are always two sides to everything, however simplistic that may sound. Charles tells me you read psychology at Cambridge.”

“That’s right.”

“And that your father is Arnold Bernstein. I know his work. One of the finest general surgeons in London.”

“And my grandfather is Rabbi Julian Bernstein.”

“Leaving you totally walled in by morality.”

“Something like that.”

At the back of the church, Dillon sat on a chair behind a pillar in the corner and listened.

“During my time with the police,” said Hannah, “I’ve killed when I had no choice and I’ve been wounded myself. I even killed a woman once, a truly evil person who was trying to kill a friend. I could accept all this as somehow being part of the job.”

“So what is the problem now? You know you can speak freely. As both a priest and a psychiatrist, I must keep your confidence.”

Hannah told her. When she was done, Susan Haden-Taylor said, “I’m not taking sides, just examining the situation. In spite of what he’s been responsible for, you want Selim to have a legal representative, which means due process of law and an eventual trial, which will probably take six months to come to court, if not longer.”

“I know all the difficulties.”

“Whereas Ferguson wants the details of all those who’ve passed through this Wrath of Allah organization before they have time to set more bombs off. In pursuit of that aim, he obviously feels that giving Selim a hard time is worth it. Don’t you?”

“Dammit.” Hannah was extremely frustrated. “It makes me sound so bloody unreasonable. I’ve been raised on the law, I believe in the law. It’s all we’ve got.”

“So do I, but the times are changing very rapidly and we must face that. Global terrorism provides a whole new perspective. It’s not that you’re wrong, Hannah, but it’s not that Ferguson is wrong either. And one final point. As in all things, each of us has personal choice.”

“Which means?”

“If you really feel strongly about this matter, it would be better if you resigned. Better for yourself. In fact, better for everyone.”

“How strange,” Hannah said. “That makes me feel as if I’d be running away.”

“It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks, I’d better get on.”

Dillon got up at once and slipped out through the Judas gate, where he lit a cigarette and stood waiting. She came out a few minutes later.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I thought I’d hang around outside and see how you got on.”

“You were right. She is a remarkable woman.”

They started along Harley Street. “Are you still with us, then?”

“I suppose so. I’ll give it another week or two and see. As I was leaving, she said the strangest thing.”

“And what was that?”

“That when Christ told us to turn the other cheek, he didn’t tell us to do it twice. What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

Dillon grinned. “It makes perfect sense to me,” and he hailed a cab.

At Dunkley in Kent, the visibility was poor in the pouring rain as Smith eased the Navajo down on the old decaying bomber runway and rolled to a halt by the decrepit hangars. A white Ford Transit was parked nearby, a man in a cloth cap and bomber jacket holding an umbrella.

Tod got the door open and they all piled out with their bags. Smith peered out, and Kelly said, “Keep your mobile with you at all times. When I call, you come running.”

“You can rely on me, Dermot, but I’m best out of it now.”

He closed the door, went into the cockpit and took off fast a moment later. Dermot led the way to the Transit, holding out his hand.

“So you came yourself, Danny.” He turned to Fahy and Regan. “Danny Malone. Runs the best pub in Kilburn, the Green Man, and a good friend from the great days.”

“Sure, and I thought I’d come myself, Dermot.” They got in and he climbed behind the wheel. “And I’ve spoken to your aunt Molly about China Wharf, only she isn’t there, Dermot. She’s spending time at Brighton with an old friend.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Tod put in.

“No trouble. She told me where a key was hidden and I checked and it was there. I’ve been to the supermarket, stocked you up with provisions. You’ll be as right as rain. The job? Is it big?”

“When the time’s right,” Kelly said. “Dillon’s involved. That’s all you need to know. Maybe we’ll get him this time.”

At the Ministry of Defence, Hannah knocked on the door of Ferguson’s office and went in, followed by Dillon. Ferguson, at his desk, looked up and sat back.

“So you’re both part of Omega now. We should form a club.”

“A very exclusive one, sir,” Hannah said.

“Did you see Susan Haden-Taylor?” She nodded. “And what did she think?”

“What did you expect her to think?” Dillon said. “That difficult decisions are the privilege of rank whereas we, the poor bloody foot soldiers, just pull the trigger?”

“Oh, shut up for once, Dillon,” Ferguson told him. “Have you made any decision yet, Superintendent?”

“If I could think it over for a week or so, sir, I’ll soldier on.”

The phone rang, he picked it up. “Ferguson.” Suddenly he smiled. “Excellent. I’ll be with you shortly.” He put the phone down. “It looks like you’ll have to, Superintendent. That was Dalton. Selim wants to see me. You’d both better come along.”

China Wharf was a relic of the old tea clipper days, but times had changed and most of the warehouses were developed or boarded up and awaiting their turn. Danny Malone unlocked the door and led the way in, followed by the others. There was a large sitting room, all the furniture old-fashioned, a kitchen on the same scale. He put the key on the table.

“Two bedrooms and a bathroom down the hall, five bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs from when it was a lodging house.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kelly said, and turned to Tod. “I’ll phone Ashimov and let him know we made it. Then we’ll get together with him and Novikova, see what she’s got.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now bacon and eggs, a good old fry-up, sounds good to me. But who’s going to cook it, that’s the thing.”