Rough Justice (32 page)

He was close, a hand on her shoulder now, and as she still gripped the umbrella, he was not aware of her right hand with the knife, thrusting it into his left side. He cried out in pain, trying to push her away, half turning, and now she stabbed him under the left shoulder so deeply that the knife stuck for a moment. He pulled away, his hand scrabbling in his pocket and finding the Walther.

As he pulled it out, his leg collapsed so that he fell on his back and tried to scramble up, an arm raised to ward her off. She was a demon that could not be satisfied, and as she stabbed again and again, he pushed the end of the silencer against her heart and fired, only the once, but that was all it took, and she was hurled back against the doors of the mausoleum and slid down.

He crawled over to her, slipping the Walther into his pocket with a bloodstained hand. He was racked with pain, blood oozing from so many places, but the only important thing was her and what the half-light from the church revealed. The young face gravely peaceful, eyes half open in death.

He was aware of a strange buzzing from inside the other pocket and realized it was his Codex. Roper’s voice was urgent. “Are you all right, Harry? Dillon and Billy are on their way.”

“Bleeding like a stuck pig, but then maybe that’s what I am. I kill kids now.” A kind of weeping possessed him.

“What is it, old son? What’s wrong?”

“It was the Broker himself who made that call. The bastard sent a young disciple, a lovely girl of sixteen or so. I wasn’t expecting it and tried to talk to her.” He was fading now. “She told me I was accursed in the sight of Allah and she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. In the end, I shot her.” He took a deep breath. “So Dillon and Billy are coming?”

“They sure are.”

“And you’ve alerted the disposal team? We mustn’t forget them.” He tried to laugh. “What bastards we are, Roper.”

“It’s the world we live in, old son.”

And then Billy Salter’s red Alfa Romeo pulled inside the entrance and Dillon was out and running, dropping to one knee.

Miller opened his eyes. “Who’s that coming in behind the car?”

“It’s what we call the dark ambulance. We have a very private hospital called Rosedene. Absolute total security and privacy, and the finest general surgeon in London, Professor Henry Bellamy.”

The paramedics hurrying up the park were all in black tracksuits. “It’s bloody funny, really,” Miller said. “It’s getting more like a funeral every minute.” He lost consciousness.

 
 
AT ROSEDENE,
Dillon sat with a very stressed Monica and Ferguson. They were subdued, waiting for news, and the matron, Maggie Duncan, looked in. “Before you ask me, he’s been stabbed several times, so it’s taking ages doing the necessary repair work. He’s lost a lot of blood, but that’s being taken care of. I’ll have one of the girls bring more tea and coffee. If you want anything stronger, Sean, you know where the medicinal whiskey is kept in Professor Bellamy’s office.” She turned to Monica. “Lady Starling, he isn’t going to die, so stop worrying. He’s in a mess, yes, but it will heal in time. I’m an expert. We specialize in people who end up in here badly knocked about. It’s the name of the game.”

Monica jumped up and went across and kissed her. “Thank you so much.”

Maggie smiled and went out, and a moment later Roper entered in his wheelchair, Billy and Harry Salter with him. Roper said, “Has Bellamy given the good word yet?”

“No, but Maggie Duncan’s been helpful,” Ferguson said.

Monica put in, “She said he’s in a mess, but it will heal in time.”

“But there’s the other side to this business,” Roper told her. “The Broker set Harry up. The girl was very high on coke and a couple of other things that are worse. A blood test showed it. The Broker used her as a weapon, it’s as simple as that. She told Harry she knew he was accursed in the sight of Allah. She’d been turned into a religious zombie by a truly evil man. Harry was weeping as he spoke to me. He said: ‘I kill kids now.’”

“That’s bleeding nonsense,” Harry Salter said. “There’s only one guy bad in this business, and Gawd help him if I ever get my hands on him.”

“Join the queue,” Ferguson said. “It would be a long one.” He turned to Roper. “That poor girl?”

“The disposal team took care of it an hour ago.” He sighed. “Billy and I attended.”

Bill was embarrassed. “I didn’t feel comfortable about her being alone. All she had with her was the knife, so there’s no means of knowing her identity. The Broker was covering his back in case anything went wrong.”

Harry Salter said, “There’ll be a judgment day, you’ll see.”

Shortly afterward, Bellamy came in straight from the operating theater. “A nasty business, and it’s taken some fancy embroidery, as they say in the trade. One thrust could have cost a kidney, but missed by a whisker. There were many wounds, but the trench coat he was wearing helped stop full penetration of most.”

“Can I see him?” Monica asked.

“Not for some time. He’s still under. If you’d care to stay with us, Matron can find you a room, no problem.”

“Yes, I think I’d like that very much.”

Bellamy turned to Ferguson. “He’ll need a couple of weeks to pull round to a reasonable level. We’ll say he’s got pneumonia, that’s to cover him with the Whips in Parliament. He hasn’t a cut on the face, and the rest of him will be covered one way or another.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Bellamy left, and Ferguson said to Monica, “I’m damned sorry things have turned out this way, but it makes me more determined than ever to push the Irish trip through. We’ll leave you now to see how he gets on.” He glanced at his watch. “One o’clock.”

Monica managed a faint smile. “Good luck to you all.” She went out to Maggie Duncan’s office.

Ferguson said, “Yes, I know it’s early in the morning, but I suggest we adjourn to Holland Park to discuss matters.”

 
 
“ALL RIGHT,
what’s changed?” he said later.

“Harry Miller and his sister won’t be coming,” Billy said. “That’s Dillon, Helen Black, me and you, General. Can it be done?”

“Well, I could say stuff the arthritis,” Harry said.

“All very well,” Dillon said, “but I’ve had an idea. We pick up the boat at Oban tomorrow afternoon, leave that night or early the following morning. We sail through the North Channel into the Irish Sea and skirt the coast of County Down and the Mourne Mountains.”

“Is this a geography lesson?” Ferguson asked.

“My uncle on my mother’s side, Mickeen Oge Flynn, has a garage in a place called Collyban. A mile round the point is a disused quarry in the cliff and a rather nice Victorian jetty. You’ll drop me off. I’ll walk a mile or two and call in on Mickeen, who’ll have a car waiting for me. I’ll wear a black suit and trilby hat, a clerical collar, a pair of Zeiss tinted glasses, the kind that change color, a slight disguise if you like.”

“And what the hell do we do?”

“Anchor off the harbor at Drumore as planned. Volkov and his heavies will drive down the coast road to Drumore when they get off their plane. I’ll see what they get up to.”

“What you get up to, you mean,” Ferguson said.

“If I can do myself a bit of good with the Russians, it would make up for Harry being in a bed at Rosedene, and it would just leave Quinn and company to deal with.”

“Crackers,” Billy told him. “You can’t do much with the Russkies on your own.”

“Ah, but it won’t be me. Father Martin Sharkey, that’s the name.”

“Well, I’m against it,” Billy said.

Ferguson shook his head. “Harry Miller is a significant loss to the operation. Dillon’s right. Anything he can do to even things up could prove crucial.” He turned to Dillon. “Okay, you get your way.” He stood up. “I don’t know what the rest of you are going to do, but I’m going to bed for a few hours. Staff accommodation will be fine. I suggest you do the same.”

He left, and Harry Salter said, “We’ll go back to the Dark Man, Billy and me, and save him a trip in the morning. Farley Field at noon. We’ll see you there, Dillon.” He led the way out.

Roper said, “Are you staying or going, Sean?”

“I might as well get off to Stable Mews and get my disguise together. Mickeen Oge Flynn wouldn’t thank me for phoning him at this time.”

“You never know.”

“That’s true. He was always up for it during the Troubles.” He took his Codex out and thumbed the number. “There you are, transfer to your system and we can both listen.”

The number rang for a couple of minutes and then there was a drowsy, slightly drunken voice. “Who the Christ is calling at this fuggin hour?”

“It’s your nephew, you ould sod.”

The other voice changed, came to life. “Sean, is it yourself?”

“And no other. I’ll be dropping in to see you early in the morning, not today, tomorrow.”

“Where from?”

“The sea, you daft idiot. You’ll have a motorcar waiting for me, and I’ll have one thousand pounds in fifty-pound notes to slap in your hand.”

“What is it, Sean, what are ye up to? Is it back to the great days?”

“Gone forever,
avic,
but there are still those who need sorting out down Drumore way. Are you sound on this?”

“Would you insult your old uncle? I’ll be here, and your car.” He chuckled. “But bring the cash!”

He went, and Dillon turned to Roper. “You see, all you have to do is live right.”

“So it would appear. Anything else you need?”

“Yes, ask the quartermaster to get me a twelve-bore double-barreled shotgun, sawn off, naturally. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He went out and Roper lit a cigarette, poured whiskey into a paper cup, and started to probe cyberspace.

13

MONICA FOLLOWED MAGGIE DUNCAN’S ADVICE AND TOOK A SLEEPING PILL
so that it was nine o’clock before she stirred, Maggie’s hand on her shoulder.

“How is he?” Monica swung her legs to the floor.

“Believe it or not, but he’s just had a cup of tea, with my assistance. Have a shower, shake yourself up, and you can see him.”

When she went in his room, he was gaunter than she had ever seen him, eyes sunken. They had raised the bed behind him, he was on two drips, and a loose clinical smock covered his bandaged wounds.

“Hello, love, sorry to put you through it again.”

She kissed him fondly. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

“That poor girl. She was like a demon, stabbing, stabbing.” He was very emotional. “I was desperate, and there was the gun in my pocket.”

She sat on a chair beside the bed and tried to soothe him. “It wasn’t your fault. The Broker used that girl abominably, made sure she was on drugs, persuaded her she would be doing Allah’s bidding. I don’t accept that for a moment. The Prophet himself would damn him. The true evil of this man was to persuade the girl to do
his
bidding.”

The door had opened quietly, and Dillon entered. “I couldn’t agree more.” He said to Miller, “The lady’s right. You’re as much a victim in this as anyone. How do you feel?”

“Bloody awful, but the morphine’s kicked in. What’s happening, Sean?”

“We leave at noon as planned.”

“But without me, and that leaves you short. Could Harry Salter take my place?”

“He’s not really up to that sort of thing anymore, but we’re determined to go through with it. I’ve spoken to Helen and she’s still with us. I’ve rearranged the plan just to try and even things up.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Resurrect Father Martin Sharkey.”

 
 
WHEN HE WAS FINISHED,
Miller nodded. “I can see what you’re getting at and it’s a bold plan, Sean, but you’ll be on your own.”

“Sure, and I’ve been on my own for most of my life, and I’m still here. I’ll be fine.”

“Makeev and Grigorin are the best the GRU can provide, and that means damn good.”

Monica looked troubled. “Don’t worry about me, love,” Dillon told her. “Let me tell you how I got into all this in the first place. Charles Ferguson got me out of a Serb prison, where I was awaiting a firing squad, but only on condition that I agreed to work for him. He said he had so many bad guys to handle, he wanted someone on his side who was worse than they were.”

She was angry. “That’s so stupid.”

“Not really. He saw me for what I was, and so should you.” He turned to Harry. “I’ll be in touch, you can count on it.”

Monica didn’t stand up. “What about me, can I count on it?”

“There’s an old Irish poem. ‘She turned my head not once, but twice.’” He smiled. “And that’s the kind of woman you are, Lady Starling. So let me get away out of this before I find myself in trouble. God bless all here.”

The door closed behind him and Harry caught Monica smiling. “You like him, don’t you?” he said.

“He’s an easy man to like.” There was sweat on Miller’s face, and she wiped it dry with a paper towel.

“But frightening, I suppose?”

She paused, frowning slightly. “But I don’t find you frightening, not in the slightest. Why would I feel differently about Dillon?”

Miller smiled. “Maybe he finds you frightening?”

“I very much doubt it, and I’m a woman, we know these things. God created us with moral superiority, which is a good thing because, without us, man would have wrecked the planet years ago.”

“Forget the slick Oxbridge talk, Monica, those Russian bastards he intends to have a go at on his own really are bad news.” He was angry now and sweating again. “And here I am lying on my back.”

“I know what you mean. Now calm down.” She pressed a button and, when a nurse glanced in, said, “Could you ask Matron to check on my brother’s morphine situation? I believe he’s in pain again. And tea for two, if that’s possible.”

The nurse went out, and Miller said, “You’re a cool one.”

“Not really, but I know you’re in good hands here. As for Sean Dillon, it’s the GRU who would worry if they knew he was on his way. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s all hands to the pumps.”