The Midnight Bell

by Jack Higgins

  “There is no such thing as an old Mini,” Dillon said. “I tell myself that every time I get in mine. Of course, it’s supercharged.”

  Kate said, “So is mine.”

  “Well, there you are, then, obviously a lady of taste and discrimination. I allow Sara and my cousin to use mine.” He turned to Sara. “You could start a club.”

  “Never mind that,” Sara told him. “We’ve business to take care of. General Ferguson would very much like to meet you, Kate. That would be at our safe house in Holland Park. It wouldn’t be out of the way to call in on Rosedene first.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Kate said. “I’ll just tell Aunt Molly what’s happening, then I’ll get ready.”

  —

  AT ROSEDENE, Maggie Duncan was unable to see them for a while. A young nurse informed them that a trauma or two had erupted, but she’d be available soon. In the meantime, coffee would be provided in reception.

  “This is nice,” Kate said to Dillon.

  “Small, but superbly equipped,” Dillon said. “It’s run by Professor Charles Bellamy to take care of people damaged in our line of work.”

  Tony Doyle, sipping his coffee, said, “He put you together a few times.”

  “I’m happy to say,” Dillon told him.

  “A lot better than trying to get the nuns to take you in or the village doctor when you were on the run.”

  “The first time I was shot was in Belfast, all of nineteen, and I thought I was bound to be lifted,” Dillon said.

  “So what happened?” Tony asked.

  “You know the British Army never stopped ambulances, so the Provos sent me and four others down to the border in one, where we could cross to a convent run by the Little Sisters of Pity. The mother superior, a surgeon who’d trained at London University, was first class.”

  Kate said, “You mean you were in the Provisional IRA?”

  “Probably its top enforcer,” Tony told her.

  Kate looked at Sara. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re not meant to. One of our best chaps is a convert from al-Qaeda; I shot forty men in Afghanistan. We find it takes all sorts.”

  At that moment, Maggie Duncan appeared wearing theater scrubs. “Sorry, it’s been all hands to the pumps today, and Professor Bellamy is busy reassuring two or three patients. He’ll be with you soon, but come along the corridor and have a look at Colonel Hunter through the viewing window.”

  He was festooned with tubes and electronic lines, fluid of one kind or another pumping into his body. There was a slight humming, the room dimly lit, and there was a corpselike look to him.

  “What are his chances?” Sara asked Maggie.

  It was Bellamy who answered as he came up behind them. “Not good at all, I’m afraid. It wasn’t until I opened him up that I discovered Florian had been using hollow-point cartridges. I hardly need point out to you, Sara, the appalling damage such rounds can cause.”

  “We’ll stay in touch,” Sara said. “This is Kate Munro, a new friend, and we’ve got to have words with Ferguson, so we’d better get moving.”

  As they went back to reception, Philip Hardy entered. “I thought I’d better show my face. How is he?”

  “Professor Bellamy can tell you that,” Sara said. “He’s still here.” She turned to Kate. “I’m sure you remember Ambassador Hardy from Hedley Court. This young lady is the journalist who asked President Cazalet why he’d left Harvard.”

  Hardy shook her hand. “And thank God he did. He saved my life more than once in Vietnam. I’ll go see Bellamy. I’m pressed for time.”

  Sara turned to Kate. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, you know how it is,” Kate told her. “I’ve met one of the few women in the British Army to be awarded a Military Cross, the top enforcer of the Provisional IRA, and the American ambassador, and am about to have words with the general commanding the Prime Minister’s private army. Just another day, I suppose.”

  “Not quite. You also get the army’s finest bomb disposal officer, Major Giles Roper, winner of the George Cross, and though that’s as good as it gets, it also earned him a wheelchair. He’s the man who traced you so quickly.”

  “That’s it,” Kate said. “I give in, so let’s get moving to this Holland Park place.”

  It astounded her when they got there, the grim walls and electric gates, all rather intimidating, but Roper’s computer room with its multiplicity of screens she found quite amazing, as she did the man himself, sitting in his wheelchair and devouring a bacon sandwich while reviewing the world.

  “You asked Jake Cazalet exactly the right question the other night,” he said. “Because his answer told us so much about him, and the ability to extract such information with accuracy is what good journalism is all about.”

  “Why, Major Roper,” she said, “I suspect that praise from you is praise indeed, if slightly overdone.”

  Dillon said, “There you go, Giles, the lady’s got the measure of you straightaway.”

  Ferguson entered at that moment, followed by Sara, who had gone to get him. “Don’t listen to him, Miss Munro,” he said. “Dillon, as you’ll find, seldom takes life seriously for very long, but let’s get down to business. The approach the Master made to you was the first time he’s been in touch?”

  “Absolutely,” Kate said. “He called me out of the blue and told me how good I’d been at Hedley Court. I asked him for his name, and when he said that people called him the Master, I decided he was a crank and told him I was cutting off. That was when he launched into the whole Hunter affair and what a big deal it could be for me if I became involved. He said I’d be famous in America, on television. Everything. He told me about Rosedene, Captain Gideon.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Checked that Hunter was at Rosedene and that Captain Gideon existed, and he phoned me back, and we were talking when she and Dillon arrived at my house. I didn’t know who they were at the time, so he cut off.”

  “And that was it?” Ferguson said.

  “No, he called me back later, and when Captain Gideon realized he was on again, she took the phone and gave him a bad time.” She shrugged. “That’s it and I’ve not heard from him again.”

  “Well, thanks for being so frank.”

  “Look, General,” she said. “I want to be reasonable about this, and I’m not averse to serving my country, but what’s going on here?”

  “We are not fighting just ISIS these days,” he said. “But also al-Qaeda. Their Grand Council is based in Europe, but they have what they call Masters based all over the world controlling events at a local level.”

  “Can’t you do anything about them?”

  “Yes, we can, and we have disposed of a couple. Finding this one is proving particularly difficult.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I’m not certain. If he gets in touch with you again, you must let us know. Your aunt lives with you, I believe?”

  “Only now and then. She’s gone back to her cottage in West Sussex.”

  “I can’t say I’m happy about that,” Ferguson said. “You should have someone there, especially overnight. Somebody who knows what they are doing.”

  “And is capable of shooting the hell out of anyone who tries to gain access,” Dillon put in.

  “And who would you suggest, Sean?” Sara asked.

  “Well, as I mentioned to Kate, I have a cousin on the other side of the park at the Royal College of Music. Nineteen years of age and a genius. You wouldn’t happen to have a piano in the house, would you?”

  “Indeed I do. In the garden drawing room, there is an old upright Bechstein. I don’t play, but Aunt Molly does.”

  “Well, there you are, a sign from heaven indeed.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be excellent company, but aren’t you forgetting the security
part?”

  “Not where Hannah’s concerned. My cousin was raised from childhood in the depths of the Irish countryside during the Troubles. She was handling a pistol at twelve, carries a Colt .25 in her handbag, and sometimes uses a stick because, like Sara, she limps, in both their cases because of enemy action.”

  “I’m speechless,” Kate said.

  “You’ll be able to write a book about it,” he told her.

  —

  THE LAST HANS WEBER had seen of Colonel Samuel Hunter was his departure from Charnley in the Falcon with Dillon, Holley, and Sara Gideon. He was unaware of the events in Timbuktu or the fact that the Falcon had already returned. He had locked up at Charnley and moved to Hatherley Court, to await developments, which was where the Master found him.

  Weber listened in amazement to his account of events.

  “So Hunter’s prospects don’t look very good?”

  “Not really, in spite of his being in the hands of a great surgeon. Although I’m not suggesting he should be assisted into the next world, his demise would certainly be a relief to a wide range of people.”

  Weber was horrified but didn’t say so. “What do you want me to do with the Dakotas?”

  “Nothing is the answer, not at the moment. MI5 are aware of the first load of Muslim artifacts brought into the country, yet they haven’t arrested you and haven’t closed Charnley down. You can still leave it open for small aircraft and the like. There is a living there, so carry on as normal while we see how the other business works out. I’ll speak to you when I need to.”

  —

  ON HIS BARGE at the Quai des Brumes in Paris, the Master took a glass of red wine out to the stern and sat in one of the cane chairs, considering the situation. Weber was a faithful servant, events had shown that, and he could still be so in the future.

  Colonel Samuel Hunter had morphed from a rather bad man into a gallant hero, which would have made him totally useless for any future machinations the Master had in mind. On the other hand, that didn’t really matter now as his life touched the edge of death at Rosedene despite Professor Bellamy’s best work.

  Which left Kate Munro. A disappointment, really. It had started well. After all, he had offered her so much. Quite staggering professional opportunities that it would be stupid to refuse, but that was the problem with young women. So unreliable. He sighed. He decided to try one more attempt to make her see reason and reached for his phone.

  The garden at the back of Munro Place was small but charming, a small stone-flagged terrace leading to a lawn, flower beds, and two cypress trees. It was possible to walk around from where the Mini was parked, but French windows gave access inside, and when the Master phoned, Kate was sitting at the garden table. She was enjoying a cup of coffee while Dillon, who’d brought her home from Holland Park, went off to pick up Hannah so they might meet.

  When her phone buzzed, she answered it without a thought but recognized the voice at once.

  “There you are, Kate, a remarkable day, I would think, and full of surprises. Hunter still hanging on to life, I hear.”

  “Look, what do you want?” she demanded.

  “An answer to my offer of fame and fortune and an entry into the big time, New York, Washington, CNN.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’d be crazy to turn down such opportunities with your talent.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’d rather write about you, I think. Now that would be an eye-opener. A sure best seller. Whoa, I could even sell the movie rights.”

  “You are an intelligent woman, my dear, so you can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “Because I see I am wasting my time where Hunter is considered. He will probably die anyway, and if you try to investigate me, you’ll be signing not only your own death warrant but also Aunt Molly’s, I promise you.”

  “I’ll see you in hell,” she told him grimly, and switched off.

  Dillon and Hannah came around the corner, and he said, “What was that about?”

  “The Master again, one threat after another. So this is Hannah? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Hannah shook her hand. “That’s a top smartphone you’ve got there. Could we listen to what he said just now?”

  “Of course.” Kate picked up a tray. “As you’re Irish, I’ll go and make some tea.”

  When she came back, Dillon was coldly angry, but Hannah was calm and collected. She opened her shoulder bag and took out her usual weapon, which she placed on the table between them.

  “I’ve killed with that gun on several occasions. The circumstances of my life have made it necessary. It is a silenced Colt .25, and I fire hollow-point cartridges with it because they are more destructive than any other kind. I find it easy to administer justice that way, as I was the victim of a car bomb in Northern Ireland that left me crippled, the same affliction that Sara Gideon suffers from as you may have noticed.”

  “Yes, I have,” Kate said. “So what can I do about this situation?”

  “Sean and I will take you back to Holland Park now to the shooting range, where we’ll familiarize you with the same weapon as mine and make sure you know what you’re doing if you have to. The stopover tonight is fine by me, by the way, so I suggest we get moving.”

  —

  THE GARDEN OF THE SAFE HOUSE boasted a large bunker from the Second World War, with targets of soldiers brightly illuminated. Roper was practicing there with Sara when they arrived. He was firing an unsilenced Beretta, the noise terrible in the enclosed gallery. He stopped, and he and Sara turned to greet them.

  “There you are,” Roper said to Kate. “So you had trouble when you returned. Sean sent me the audio from your smartphone, the argument you had with the Master. Not nice.”

  “An understatement,” Kate said. “The threats to me are bad enough, but to include my old aunt Molly is despicable.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can teach you to be able to retaliate when it becomes essential,” Roper said. “We’ll make it simple. Each of us is to use the same weapon, and we’ll make it our standard-issue Colt .25.”

  —

  TWO HOURS PASSED and it was amazing how quickly Kate got the hang of it and the lack of sound made a huge difference. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said to Hannah. “And the silence is so eerie.”

  “Some people prefer the sound of the weapon when it’s not silenced,” Hannah told her, “because of the frightening effect.”

  “And what about you?”

  Hannah pulled a lever and six charging soldiers stood up straight. She raised her silenced Colt and very deliberately shot the first one in the head, then did the same to the other five.

  “There you go,” she said. “Six men dead, and silently. Now that’s really scary, don’t you think?”

  “I’m shivering all over,” Kate told her.

  “You did really well,” Dillon said, and passed a shopping bag to her. “A present for you from the Wilkinson Sword Company. A nylon-and-titanium bulletproof vest. I’m wearing one now, and so is Hannah. It will stop a Colt .45 fired at close quarters. In your present circumstances, I’d put it on at your earliest convenience. Ferguson would like to see us in the computer room, so let’s go there and wait for him.”

  —

  IN FACT, Ferguson was already in the computer room with Blake Johnson and Cazalet, and the Daimler waited outside with Tony Doyle at the wheel.

  “It’s going to be a long weekend. President Cazalet, Blake, and I are needed in New York for a series of secret meetings with antiterrorism people regarding a new way of meeting the ISIS threat. That means you’ll have to stand in at Highfield Court, Captain Gideon, with Dillon and Holley,” Ferguson said.

  “Which leaves Hannah to back up Kate Munro,” Roper said.

  “Are you suggesting
I’m not up to it?” Hannah asked.

  “Shame on you, Major Roper,” Kate told him. “She shot six soldiers through the head on the shooting range. What on earth has a woman to do to prove herself?”

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Ferguson told them. “I have every faith in our Hannah, and I’m sure you couldn’t be in better hands, Miss Munro, so let’s get out of here, gentlemen,” and he led the way.

  —

  SADIE HAVING BEEN left on her own at Highfield Court, Holley and Sara made tracks to help her, and it was left to Dillon to give Hannah and Kate a ride back to Green Street.

  “Would you like to come in?” Kate asked him, when they got there.

  “I could check inside the house if you like.”

  “Holy Mother of God, Sean,” Hannah said. “We’ve each got a Colt .25 about our person. Poor weak women we might be, but I think the two of us together might just manage any man who tried to jump us.”

  “Would you shut your gob, girl, and here’s me only conscious of my responsibility for you as your cousin. I’d hate to think of you getting into the kind of scrape that might require Mr. Teague’s assistance. After all, it’s been known.”

  “Get out of it before I brain you,” she said, hurrying in after Kate, then turning to slam the door. “Damn you, Sean Dillon.”

  “Don’t be silly, you adore the man, but then who wouldn’t. He’s a charmer. Your cousin, you say? What about your parents?” Kate asked.

  “Killed in that car bomb near Belfast when I was fourteen. Stone dead on the instant, the both of them. I was the survivor though I have to hobble around some days with a walking stick. It varies.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s strange, but that’s what people always say. I wonder why that is?”

  “Because they can’t think of anything else.”

  “Good answer. Where’s this piano you mentioned?”

  “Just through here.” Kate opened a clever folding door, obviously Victorian, and disclosed a charming sitting room with an outlook on the garden and an old black Bechstein upright piano in an alcove.

  Hannah sat down, flexed her fingers, and launched into a Bach prelude, very fast, very showy. Kate was astonished. “That’s absolutely brilliant.”