Jack Higgins - Dark Justice

Roper sipped his tea. “Don’t forget, though, sir – Sean Dillon is a legend to many of those people.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Still, I’d feel easier if I could talk to him. Is that possible?”

Roper lifted a kind of handbag. “I have a Codex Four in here. As you know, you can use it even on an aircraft in flight.”

“Then get Dillon for me.”

Roper said, “It’s me. Where are you?”

“Halfway across the Irish Sea. How’s Ferguson?” Roper told him. “I’m putting him on.”

Dillon said, “I’m glad you’re in one piece, Charles.”

“Oh, never mind me. It was worse on the Hook in Korea when I was eighteen.”

“Which would mean you’re past your sell-by date, Charles. Time to consider.”

“Cheeky bugger. You’re hardly a spring chicken yourself, and you’re going into harm’s way again.”

“Can’t help it, it’s my nature.”

“Then think of the boy. Young Salter’s been through the mill if anyone has.”

“It’s his nature, too, Charles. He’s a warrior.”

“Only the two of you,” Ferguson said. “It’s not on, Sean.”

“Well, it will be in about fifteen minutes. What about Hannah?”

“In good hands. But about her future in our line of work – I don’t know.”

“Well, there you go. Give me Roper.”

Ferguson did. “Sean?”

“Fifteen minutes. Almost a full moon, as it happens, but sea fog below. Lacey will make one pass at six hundred.”

Roper felt a shiver go through him. “Take care, Sean.”

Dillon laughed. “Nobody lives forever. I’ll be in touch. Sounding off.”

In the Great Hall, Belov, Greta and Ashimov sat at the huge dining table and worked their way through a roast duck, old Hamilton standing by as the wine waiter.

“Excellent,” Belov said. “Mrs. Ryan has just served me a better duck than the Ritz Hotel. Will you tell her that, Hamilton?”

“She’s gone, sir, home to the village, leaving strawberries and cream for your afters.”

“So you’re the only person left in the castle?”

“Well, all the daily staff have gone, sir. They’d rather be out of it. It’s a feeling people get. Dermot, Tod and two of their boys are here, finishing off Mrs. Ryan’s leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Would you like to go home?”

“I think I would, sir. It’s like the old days. They’re sitting eating and drinking with rifles all over the place.”

“Well, off you go, then. Check in at breakfast time and tell Murphy to come and see me.” Hamilton scurried out, and Belov said, “Now, why would things be so disturbed? Have you got a theory, Major?”

Greta said, “Not really, sir.”

Belov poured a glass of port and lit a Russian cigarette. “It’s as if Kelly and company are expecting somebody. Do you think they know something?”

Tod Murphy came in, an AK over one shoulder.

“Good, I’m glad to see you’re prepared,” Belov said.

“For what, sir?”

“Don’t fool with me, Mr. Murphy. It could only be for one man.”

At that very moment, they heard the sound of a plane passing very low. They all looked up instinctively. Belov said, “Why, there he is.”

Tod turned and ran out, and Ashimov said, “No, it can’t be.”

It was Greta who said, “You only had to read the files. I kept saying that, but nobody would listen.”

On the Lear, Parry had left the cockpit and helped Dillon and Billy to put their parachutes on and rearm themselves. “Seven minutes,” he said. “We’ll still stick to six hundred. There’s heavy ground fog but clear beach below, and the tide is well out.”

He turned as Lacey throttled back to almost stalling speed, opened the door and dropped the steps. There was a huge rush of wind.

Dillon moved forward and turned to Billy. “We should do this more often.”

Billy said, “Get the hell out of it,” pushed and dived after him.

They descended, the moon above, into the fog at six hundred, then swung clear at two hundred and there was the sea, the beach, the harbor in swirling fog, a handful of boats and Kelly’s Kathleen tied to the end of the jetty in the channel.

Dillon made a perfect landing, punched his quick release, didn’t even have to roll, glanced over and saw the other parachute billowing, just clear of the tidal surge. Dillon stamped on it, and Billy unclipped and stood up.

“It’s coming in,” he said. “We’d better get moving.”

Dillon said, “Toward the jetty.”

“Why?” Billy demanded.

“I want to check that boat of Kelly’s,” and he led the way, half running, the jump bag in his left hand.

The fog swirled, half obscuring the village, a few lights gleaming through from the Royal George. The Kathleen was tied up at the end of the jetty. Dillon said to Billy, “Just keep an eye out. I’ll only be a minute.”

“What are you up to?”

“Never mind.”

Dillon went over the rail, checked the wheelhouse, then went aft, carrying the jump bag with him. He got what he wanted from it, then took off the engine hatch and did what he had to do inside. He replaced the hatch.

“Come on, Dillon,” Billy hissed. “What in hell are you doing?”

“Just immobilizing the engine,” Dillon said. “Now let’s get moving.”

They started up through the village.

On the terrace, Kelly and Tod, Ashimov and Belov stood in the darkness, Greta behind them. Belov searched the bay through night glasses and caught the two pale mushrooms descending out of the fog.

“Parachutes – two.”

He passed the glasses to Ashimov, who looked for a few moments, then caught a clear glimpse of Dillon’s face when he and Billy moved to the end of the jetty.

“Dillon.” He passed the glasses to Tod.

“We’ll take the bastard now,” Kelly said.

“No.” It was Belov who spoke. “An old rule, Mr. Kelly. Let the enemy come to you.”

Which was fine except for the fact that Dillon had produced a pair of night glasses himself and caught them on the terrace.

“They’re there, Billy – Tod, Kelly, Belov, Ashimov and the girl – and they’ve seen us.”

“You think that’s the lot?”

“No, at the least there would be McGuire and O’Neill, maybe more.”

“Is that all?” Billy laughed. “Let’s get on with it.”

They moved out from the jetty, turned into a narrow cobbled street and started up the slope toward the castle.

In the hall, Tod Murphy took charge. “We’ll draw them in by leaving the French windows of the library at the east end of the grand terrace open, also the windows at the western end, that’s the drawing-room end, open. You take the library, Danny,” he said to McGuire. “There’s a trellised summerhouse there. You wait and try to get them from the back as they pass, making for the windows. You, Patrick,” he said to O’Neill, “do the same thing at the other end by the dining room.”

“And what about us?” Ashimov demanded.

“You wait in the library and you in the dining room, Dermot,” he said to Kelly. “Catch them in cross fire.”

“And me and Major Novikova?” Belov asked.

“I’ll stand back with you as guard at the rear of the Great Hall until it’s all over.”

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Kelly said. “Sort the bastards out once and for all,” and they dispersed.

Billy and Dillon crouched together, fog swirling, a slight drizzle falling. Dillon looked at the terrace through his night glasses. “Not very bright. They’ve left the windows open to draw us in. Have a look. There’s a movement in that trellised summerhouse, and look at the one to the right.”

“Very naïve,” Billy said. “What do you want to do?”

“I think there’s someone waiting inside the house as well. We’ll do it our way,” and he quickly explained.