Edge of Danger (23 page)

As she removed the cork, Dillon looked round the room. There was no sign of Rashid. The girl poured, offered Billy one and he waved it away.

‘The Earl doesn’t seem to be here.’ Dillon emptied the glass in a single swallow.

The girl looked bewildered. ‘That’s strange, sir. He was at the fireplace with Lady Kate.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Oh, yes, he said if you’d call in, he’d buy you the other half.’

‘Well, that’s nice of him.’

‘Another glass, sir?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll have a large Bushmills whiskey. It could be my last. No water.’

She gave it to him. Betty Moody moved in from the back kitchen. Her face was swollen with weeping. Dillon raised his glass.

‘A terrible day for you, Mrs Moody.’

‘For all of us.’

He said, ‘L’chaim’ and swallowed the Bushmills down.

‘L’chaim? What’s that?’

‘A Hebrew toast. It means “to life”.’ He put down his glass and turned to Billy. ‘We must go,’ and led the way out.

Dauncey Place was quiet when Rashid and his sister went in through the massive door and entered the Great Hall. As he had arranged, there was no staff: it was theirs alone. The logs burned in the fireplace, and on the centre table was an ice bucket with a bottle of Bollinger and four glasses. He helped

her off with her raincoat and moved to open the champagne bottle.

‘Why four glasses?’ she asked. ‘Two for Dillon and Billy Salter.’ He poured. ‘They’ll come and I’m a gracious host, both as a Rashid and a Dauncey.’ He gave her a glass and raised his own. ‘To us, little sister, and George and Michael, and to Dillon.’

She drank a little. ‘You don’t hate him.’ It was a statement, not a question.

He shrugged. ‘Kate, our father was a soldier and took a soldier’s risks. Sean Dillon is a soldier, I am still a soldier, George took a soldier’s risks in Hazar, Michael at Wapping. Each time, Dillon took the same risks.’ ‘You really think that?’

‘Of course.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Sean Dillon from Paul Rashid, one brave man to another.’ She said, ‘Do you want to do this, brother?’ He refilled his glass. ‘My darling girl, I’ve done everything in my time, put my life on the line, made incredible riches, but at the end of the day how much money can you spend?’ “So what’s important?’

‘ I suspect Dillon would say the game.’ ‘And that’s how you see it?’

He swallowed his champagne and laughed out loud. ‘Oh, yes, Kate, the only game in town.’

The fire crackled, it was very quiet. She looked around the Great Hall. ‘All we have ever been as Daunceys.’

‘All our yesterdays is the phrase.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘Dillon will come with Billy Salter.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘Face him, Kate, a far more interesting prospect than making another billion.’

There was a long pause, and she sighed. ‘You haven’t answered, Paul.’

By the champagne bucket, there were two small transceivers. He picked one up. ‘These are very simple things. Press the red button and you’re in touch with me.’

‘But why?’

He smiled. ‘I’ll explain, but first you must have a final glass with me.’

‘I don’t like that. It’s as if you’re saying goodbye.’

‘Never, my darling. We’ll always be together, always.’

Dillon and Billy found Baxter, drove up to Dauncey Place in the Jaguar and pulled into the stable yard. They got out, Baxter opened the boot and Dillon unzipped the weaponry bag. He took out two Walthers, put one in his belt at the rear, and gave the other to Billy.

“Is this it?’ Billy asked.

‘No.’ Dillon took out two Parker-Hales. ‘Just like Rama.’ He put one in the left-hand pocket of his coat.

‘So how do we do it?’ Billy asked. ‘Unless he’s brought reinforcements, he’s in there with his sister, but I’d discount her.’ ‘How do you know?’ “Just a feeling.’

‘So we knock on the front door?’ Maybe it’s open. Let’s see. You come with us, Joe, and bring your Browning.’

The three of them went up the steps of the great pillared doorway. Dillon tried the ornate handle, the ring in the lion’s mouth. The door opened a couple of inches and he closed it.

‘Too obvious an invitation. Let’s try the terrace.’ Exactly as Rashid had anticipated. They moved along the series of french windows that fronted the library. One of them stood open.

‘So, he’s giving us a chance.’

Inside, between ornate curtains, was a book cupboard, the kind of thing usually concealed and painted in seventeenth-century Italian style. It stood slightly open, Kate inside.

‘Now what?’ Billy asked.

‘I’ll take the front door, you go this way, only try not to shoot me by mistake.’ Dillon turned to Baxter. ‘You go round the back of the house. Fire the Browning in the air three times and take off the Carswell so he’ll hear it.’

‘And think we’re coming in that way? That’s crap,’ Billy told him.

‘I know, but it’s the best I can do. Billy, it’s a question of what Rashid wants to do.’ He turned to Baxter. ‘On your way and we’ll go straight in. See you, Billy.’

‘In hell,’ Billy told him.

‘No chance. A bottle of champagne for me and Irish stew for both of us at the Dark Man,’ and Dillon moved away.

Kate, having heard everything, closed the cupboard door and signalled her brother. He responded at once. ‘What’s happening?’ She told him. He said,

‘Good. I’ll draw him up to the Bell Tower, meet him on Angel Terrace. You stay out of it.’

He clicked off. Up there, on the minstrel gallery, he moved to the balustrade holding a silenced AK-47, its butt folded. He was still wearing his uniform, but no cap. He waited.

The shots rang out, Baxter ran for it, Billy pushed the window in and went through. Dillon, at the front door, turned the lion’s head handle and moved in.

The hall was a place of shadows, flames from the burning logs reflected in a strange way. Dillon was behind the chairs of the enormous dining table. Rashid saw him for a moment but didn’t bother to fire.

‘Hey, Dillon. Why the big coat? Parker-Hale in the pocket?’ Dillon crouched, the Walther in his hand. ‘I can see you. Infra-red sight. I’m up here on the minstrel gallery. Take the main staircase, then what we call the Blue Arch to the circular stairway up the Bell Tower. Angel Terrace is above the leads. I’ll wait for you, if you have the courage. If you need a machine pistol, okay, but a Walther’s fine with me, or bare fists.’

He laughed and the library door creaked open. Billy whispered, ‘You there, Dillon?’

Using his infra-red sight, Rashid targeted the chest and fired twice. Dillon recognized the distinctive muted crack of a silenced AK-47 at once. Billy was hurled back.

‘One down,’ Rashid called, and his laughter faded away.

Dillon crawled to Billy, who moaned, gasped for breath. Dillon tore his shirt open, felt around and found the two rounds sticking in the titanium waistcoat.

‘Take your time,’ he whispered. ‘You’ve got traumatic shock to the cardiovascular system, but the vest stopped penetration. Buy shares in the Wilkinson Sword Company.’ Billy gasped, ‘I’ll make it.’ ‘Hang on until your breathing is right. I’m going up this Bell Tower after him.’

He stood, took off his coat and left it with the Parker-Hale. When he crossed the hall and went up the stairs, his only weapon was the Walther in his right hand.

Billy lay there, trying to steady his breathing. The library door behind him creaked again. Lady Kate Rashid peered down at him, then dashed across the hall and went up the great staircase after Dillon.

Dillon took no particular precautions going up the circular stairway of the Bell Tower. Rashid wanted him on top, wanted to face him, that was an essential part of the situation. Beside the door at the top was a slit window. He peered through. What was obviously the Angel Terrace curled away, with no sign of Rashid.

Dillon opened the door, flattened himself to one side and looked out. The rain had increased into an almost tropic downpour. There was a curved railing and on the other side, the old-fashioned roof, made of sheets of lead, sloped down to an edge that looked like a foot of granite.

Behind him, although he didn’t know it, Kate Rashid mounted the circular stairs. Dillon took a deep breath and moved out into the rain, Walther extended. Nothing. He took another breath, and from above, the top of the cover over the door, Paul Rashid dropped on him, sending him to his knees. He chopped Dillon across the right wrist, so that he dropped the Walther. Dillon raised his elbow back into Rashid’s face and managed to stand. He turned, and Rashid faced him, that magnificent uniform soaked in rain.

‘Now then, my friend, at last.’

He launched himself at Dillon and they met breast-to-breast. Behind, the door opened and Kate appeared. She cried out as Rashid’s greater weight forced Dillon back against the rail. There was a moment of struggle, then they went over together on to the leads, sliding apart.

The pouring rain had made the wet leads almost as slippery as ice. Rashid slid one way, lurched and went over the edge of the granite. Dillon slid a few yards away, but was more fortunate, his feet slamming against the granite.

He started to work his way along and held out a hand. ‘Come on.’

‘Go to hell.’

Down below, Joe Baxter and Billy looked up.

Dillon said. ‘For God’s sake, just take my hand and argue later.’

‘No, damn you.’

There was a cry, and above them, Kate Rashid appeared. ‘Paul, no.’ She ducked under the rail and slid down the wet slope of the leads, finishing with her feet against the granite edge. Rashid was slipping further. She braced herself, reached and grabbed his left hand.

‘Come on, Paul, just hang on to me.’ He did for a

moment, and his weight pulled her forward so that she almost went headfirst over the edge.

He smiled up at her, nothing but love and understanding and a strange kind of grace, a most heartbreaking thing that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

‘Hey, little sister, enough is enough. Not you, too.’

He pulled his hand free, almost floating away from her, turning over once in mid-air before hitting the terrace below beside Billy and Baxter.

There was no scream from her, nothing like that. It was as if every possibility of such a reaction had died for all time, such was the shock. Dillon caught her right hand and reached up for the first edge on the leads.

‘Come on.’ For a moment, she hesitated, and he tried again. ‘Come on, unless you want to go, too.’

Something went out of her in a shuddering sigh, and he reached again, pulling them up to the railing.

She broke away from him and then ran down the stairs and through the Great Hall. Dillon picked up his coat and went after her. He paused on the steps and put the coat on her as she knelt over her brother. Billy, slightly dazed, and Baxter

stood beside her. She looked up, her face incredibly calm.

‘He’s gone. You’ve done for all of them, Dillon, all my brothers.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It was the instinctive reply, empty and stupid. ‘Go away.’ ‘For God’s sake, girl.’

‘This is my business, Dillon. Just go, you and your people. I’ll deal with you later at a more suitable time.’

Dillon hesitated, then nodded to Baxter and Billy. ‘Let’s get out of it.’

They got in the Jaguar, Baxter started the engine and drove away. Dillon turned and looked. She was still kneeling.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked Billy. ‘Sore as hell. What happened up there?’ ‘At the end, it was hand-to-hand. We fell across the rail, down the roof, and he went over. I offered my hand when he was hanging there, but he didn’t want it. She slid down to join us, but he pulled away because he thought she’d go over, too.’ When Dillon lit a cigarette, his hand shook. ‘He said, “Hey, little sister, enough is enough. Not you, too.”’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Billy said. ‘What did she mean, I’ll deal with you later at a more suitable time?’

‘Simple, Billy, it means it’s not over. Now I’d better phone Ferguson,’ and he took out his mobile.

To the world in general and the media in particular, it was a sensational story. That on a day of family tragedy, the funeral of two brothers, Paul Rashid, Earl of Loch Dhu and one of the richest men in the world, had fallen from the Angel Terrace of the Bell Tower at the ancient family home.

The sister’s story had been simple. Leaving the reception after the funerals, he’d been distressed. He’d wanted to be alone and had gone up to the top of the Bell Tower, a favourite place. The stories were muted, the Rashids being who they were and having large holdings in both television and the newspaper world. Most newspapers spoke of a tragic accident, there was the odd hint of suicide, but that was all.

One story that was generally reported was the account of Paul Rashid’s funeral. All the newspapers carried it. It was a simple service, not

even the Dauncey villagers invited, an Imam from London joining the Rector, the only mourner Lady Kate Rashid. As usual, the media got it wrong, for someone else attended.

Sean Dillon didn’t go into the church for the service. He sat with Billy in the Jaguar and waited.

‘It’s raining again,’ Billy said.

‘Nearly always does,’ Dillon told him.

The cortege emerged from the church, Kate Rashid, now Countess of Loch Dhu, following behind the coffin. Dillon got out of the Jaguar.

Billy said, ‘Do you want the umbrella?’

‘What’s a little rain, Billy?’

He let them reach the Dauncey family mausoleum, moved forward and stood at the edge of the churchyard while the Rector and the Imam did their thing. Strange, but Kate Rashid didn’t have an umbrella and there was no one holding one over her. She stood in the rain, in her usual black, her only cover a black raincoat, while they took the coffin in. The Rector and the Imam shook hands, the undertakers dispersed.

She turned and started to walk away and came through the churchyard toward the gate where

Dillon stood. It was almost as if she moved in slow motion. She was totally alone, her dark hat shading her face, no emotion, not even when she got close to Dillon. It was as if he wasn’t there -no, more, as if he didn’t exist. She was so close that her coat almost touched him. She moved out of the gate and turned up the street toward Dauncey Place. Dillon watched her go, then returned to the Jaguar.