Jack Higgins - Rain on the Dead

They were no longer smiling. Their faces were like death masks, their eyes pinpricks. They were obviously on drugs, which exasperated Tod, though there was no point in mentioning it now.

‘I’m going back to that boat.’ He indicated the Dolphin . ‘I’ll see you there in forty-five minutes.’

They didn’t reply, simply turned and swam away, and so did he.

Hawkins was Tim Kelly, and Jackson, Tod Flynn, both of them Provisional IRA who had served sentences in the Maze Prison in Northern Ireland for many killings. Released during the peace process, they had become mercenaries. The situations in Bosnia, Kosovo, Iraq, and elsewhere offered highly paid security work and sometimes rather more than that, for Flynn had been a top enforcer with the IRA, and reputation was everything in the Death Trade. It brought the cautious phone calls, the offers of the big money that went with them, and the offer for this present job had been very big.

In the cabin belowdecks, he had a large whiskey, feeling strangely cold, and told Kelly about his meeting with the Chechens. Kelly said, ‘I knew it was a mistake to get involved with sodding Muslims. What are we going to do?’

‘There’s not much we can do, but I’ll tell you this. I’m putting a pistol in my pocket for when they come, just in case it gets nasty. You should, too,’ and he hurried away to his cabin.

He showered and dressed, and as he did so, remembered the first time he’d heard the Master’s voice, filled with quiet authority, and a touch of English upper class.

‘Would that be Mr Tod Flynn?’ the voice had asked.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’ve just credited your bank account with a hundred thousand dollars. Check for yourself, and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.’

Tod frowned, but called his bank and received the happy news that the money had indeed been deposited from a Swiss bank in Geneva.

When the second call came, he said instantly, ‘Who is this?’

‘People know me as the Master. That will do for the moment.’

‘Al Qaeda,’ Tod said. ‘Everyone in the business knows about you guys and the way you operate. Don’t you have enough of your own people to call on? What do you want me for?’

‘Oh, I’m a great admirer. That finance man in Nigeria you took care of – five hundred yards through an open window of a car doing seventy. Splendid work. I have a list. My favourite was the Russian paratroop general who glanced out of the turret of his tank for a moment during a street battle and you took him at five hundred yards.’

‘Four hundred,’ Tod said. ‘And it was snowing. So what do you want?’

‘I have a target, living quietly in a house on the island of Nantucket with a manservant. I’m sending in a couple of Chechen boys to knock him off. All I need from you is to keep an eye on things and pick them up when they’re done. You’ll be waiting in a boat off the beach and they’ll swim out to you.’

‘So I’m the getaway driver, is that it?’ Tod laughed harshly. ‘What’s he done, this target?’

‘No need for you to know. Let’s just say he’s an old enemy.’

Tod nodded. ‘And what would be in it for me?’

‘You’ve already got one hundred thousand. That’s for you and your friend Kelly. I’ll give you another hundred afterwards and take care of your expenses.’

As usual, greed won the day. ‘Add another fifty thousand,’ Tod said. ‘Which rounds it to a quarter of a million, and I expect the full advance before we go.’

The man who called himself the Master paused, then said, ‘Agreed.’

And Tod, some part of him already regretting it, said, ‘Done. When do we meet?’

‘That will never happen, my friend. You’ll have to be content with my voice on the phone. I’ll send you a coded mobile with the tickets.’

Tim Kelly was shocked when Tod told him about the call. ‘Holy Mary, do we have to get involved with a bunch of Muslims like Al Qaeda?’

‘You’ll dance a jig when that money turns up in your bank account,’ Tod said. Later, he did wonder why the Master wanted him at all. The mystery man had made all the arrangements and the plan itself was simple enough. It was the height of tourist season, and the two assassins would be just another couple of people strolling along by night, carrying beach bags that would contain a couple of silenced Glocks, more than adequate to handle the situation. When they were done, they could just walk away from the scene of silent slaughter, which wouldn’t be discovered until morning, long after they had swum out to sea, each with a phosphorescent signalling ball held in his palm to guide in the waiting Dolphin .

It seemed too simple, and Tod couldn’t think why, still couldn’t as he finished dressing now, and then he heard a disturbance above. He hurried through the cabin, went on deck, and found Kelly switching on all the lights against the hurrying dark. The Chechens were there.

‘What’s going on?’ Tod demanded.

‘These two bastards are cracked, if you ask me,’ Kelly said. ‘They were sharing a bottle as they came along the jetty. That young guy from the harbourmaster’s office remonstrated with them as they were boarding.’ He pointed at Khalid. ‘This one told him to fuck off.’

Tod grabbed Khalid by the front of his shirt. ‘Stupid bastard, are you crazy? That kind of trouble is the last thing we need.’

Yanni reached in his beach bag and produced a silenced Glock. ‘Touch my brother again and I’ll kill you.’

Kelly, standing behind them, drew a Walther, but Tod released Khalid, laughing harshly. ‘Go on, do it. Kill both of us, why don’t you? Then tell me who’s going to wait off that beach to pick you up.’

Yanni put the Glock away and smiled falsely. ‘Hey, can’t you take a joke, Mr Jackson? Khalid was having a laugh. Like boxers going in the ring for a big fight. You get kind of nervous waiting for the action.’

‘Then I suggest you go, find the action, and get on with it, and we’ll get on with our part of the job.’

Yanni laughed out loud. ‘You know something, you’re a real funny man, Mr Jackson. I like you, I really do …’

He gave his brother a push and they scrambled up onto the jetty. Khalid took a bottle from his pocket, held it up, then tossed it into the harbour. ‘Just kidding, Mr Jackson,’ he said, and they walked away.

‘Total fruitcakes,’ Kelly said in disgust. ‘Where the hell did this Master find them? Don’t tell me he didn’t know they had problems.’

‘Never mind that for now. We’ve got half an hour to spare before we have to cast off and go round the coast to wait for them. I could do with coffee and a sandwich,’ Todd said.

He led the way below, and as they reached the kitchen area, the coded mobile phone the Master had given him trembled. He took it out and switched it to speaker. He turned to Kelly, touched a finger to his lips and waited.

‘Mr Flynn, I’m afraid something’s come up that affects our plans,’ the voice said.

‘And what would that be?’ Tod demanded.

‘I’ve just heard from a source that the target is receiving guests tonight by helicopter.’

‘We heard one arriving somewhere in the island not long ago,’ Tod told him.

The Master’s voice was unemotional. ‘Probably the one delivering them.’

‘They’ll get a shock when they find themselves invaded by two crazy Chechens.’

‘It’s the Chechens we need to worry about,’ the Master said. ‘His guests are General Charles Ferguson – who commands the British Prime Minister’s private hit squad – and two of his top people, a Captain Sara Gideon and one Sean Dillon, a notorious IRA gunman who now works for Ferguson.’

‘But I know these people, everyone in the Death Trade does.’ Flynn was angry now. ‘Why the hell would they be here?’