by Jack Higgins
“But what are you doing coming back so quickly?”
“Oh, she told me it was my duty to stay with Jake Cazalet and continue the fight with the Master, so she suggested we go straight back to where we came from. The President agreed and sent you his regards.”
“You’re making that up,” Roper said.
“Only the bit about the President. I didn’t want you to feel left out!”
“Thank you. I leave you to attempt to rest for your five hours of flying in the happy knowledge that according to the weather reports on my screens very severe storms are expected in the mid-Atlantic. I wish you joy and try not to worry that Ferguson and Jake Cazalet were not exactly thrilled to hear of your trip.”
“Which you were kind enough to permit.”
“So we’re all in trouble. I look forward to seeing you,” and he switched off.
—
IN THE BARGE on the Quai des Brumes, the Master sipped coffee and considered the quick trip to Washington with a certain perverted enjoyment, because, although Daniel Holley was an enemy, the élan with which he’d been able to offer a friend the use of one of the most expensive jet planes in the world was quite admirable.
The only thing more extraordinary was the thought of Alice Quarmby sitting up in bed and drinking through a straw. More bungling. It was infuriating. It was time to find some good news, and his thoughts turned to Pound Street. He wondered how the new imam was surviving. Not easy being the new man, especially since he’d lost his strong right arm, Omar Bey, the one they called the Beast.
A few minutes later, Imam Yousef Shah was sitting at his desk when he got a call. He was shocked, as always, by the quiet voice.
“There is one God and Osama is his Prophet. This is the Master, concerned by your problems. Has there been any word about Omar Bey?”
“Nothing,” the imam said. “I have discussed the matter with Scotland Yard, but they merely shrug their shoulders. As far as they are concerned, he had a bad reputation for violence and met someone who was worse. Do you have some thoughts on the matter?”
“The man Dillon we have spoken of, I believe him to have somehow put Omar Bey into the river. It is a favored method of his and the gangsters along the Thames. With strong tidal currents, anyone who goes in is swallowed by the sea eventually.”
“What can we do about this man?”
“I am thinking about it now. I’ll be in touch when it is time to strike.”
—
DILLON AND HOLLEY were in the computer room with Roper when Sara and Hannah arrived from Highfield Court.
“Well, that was a memorable trip,” Sara told them.
“Yes,” Hannah said. “And great news about Alice!”
“Blake was thrilled,” Holley said. “But all that activity proved too much for him. He’s sleeping his head off in the guest wing. Ferguson slept over, too.”
“General to you, Major,” Ferguson said, as he entered. “The heroes return, is that how you see it?” He sighed. “Well, I suppose it was in a way. On the other hand, it was a gross breach of discipline, so don’t do it again.”
Roper looked suitably serious. “Of course not, General.”
“Just so we understand each other. Get the Daimler ready, Sergeant; I’m needed at Downing Street.”
“At once, General,” Tony Doyle barked, and was out like a flash.
“That’s what I like to see, good order and military discipline. What about you, Hannah? Why aren’t you at college?”
“I’m dropping her off, General,” Sara told him. Hannah started to say something and stopped.
“Excellent. I see your birthday is coming up, Sara.”
“Yes, General.”
“Rather more impressive, it will also be a celebration of your fifteen years in the army.” He turned to Roper. “I think that calls for a party, don’t you, Major?”
“I certainly do.”
“Well, see what you can arrange with the Salters.”
He left, the Daimler roared as it drove off, and Roper grinned, and said to Sara, “Will you want a cake?”
12
THE MOMENT THE sound of the Daimler had faded into the distance, Sara said, “It won’t be a very big party, though. My grandfather left for Israel yesterday, and Kate Munro and her aunt are still down in Sussex. So I have just Hannah and Sadie.”
“And Giles, Daniel, and me,” Dillon said. “And to show you we all love you, Daniel and I will take care of dropping Hannah off at college and carry on to see Tad and Larry Magee.”
“I’ve kept telling you all,” Hannah said. “It’s half term. I don’t have any classes. However, I’d be happy to see the Magees again.”
“I thought they might like to come to the party.”
“So we’ll go and ask,” Hannah said. “And see you lot later. Come on, Sean.”
As they turned out into the main road in the Mini, Dillon said, “What do you think you are, a marriage broker or something?”
“So Sara and Daniel were once an item.” Hannah shrugged. “Nothing wrong with trying to help a friend.”
—
THEY TURNED OUT of Park Lane into Curzon Street and paused for the gates to swing open. Tad opened the door to them, smiling. “What a surprise. Larry’s going to be delighted.” He kissed Hannah on the cheeks. “Molly’s gone home to Ulster. The funeral of an old girlfriend.”
They went through to the conservatory, where Larry dropped his newspaper, forced himself up, and embraced Hannah.
“You’re still giving college your full attention, I hope?”
She grinned. “Well . . . most of the time.”
Dillon said, “She lends us the occasional hand.”
“But surely Hannah has got better things to do.”
“Than fire a pistol?” Dillon shrugged. “There was a stupid boy waiting to blow my head off the other day in the depths of Sussex. She went in the back door and shot his weapon right off the table.”
“When she should have been playing Bach,” Tad said.
Hannah grinned. “Or Cole Porter. Now, if you’ll point me toward the kitchen, I’ll make us all a pot of Irish tea while Sean tells you why we’re here.”
When she brought the tea back, the matter had already been discussed, and as she poured, Hannah said, “General Ferguson is the one who suggested the Salters’ place. I think it’s for a special reason, but I’m not going to speculate.”
“You’ve got me wondering now,” Dillon said.
Tad laughed. “All very intriguing, so we’ll be there if only to find out what it’s all about.”
“We’ll see,” Hannah said. “But would it be all right for me to inquire how things are at Drumore House? My visit there was pretty remarkable.”
“You’ll be interested to know that Eli’s proved an impregnable wall where Finbar is concerned. The big man has grown even bigger, in a way. Since I transferred ownership to him to keep it in the family but out of Finbar’s grasp, Eli has become more than able to control Finbar.”
“And the legend of the Maria Blanco?” Hannah asked.
“Hugh Tulley, the IRA chief of staff for County Down, is still alive, but the original story is still the same, and the whereabouts of the boat itself a mystery.”
“We have to accept that there’s no answer,” Dillon said.
“Or there’s something so simple that it is eluding all of us?” Hannah said.
“Well, I’m damned if I know what it might be,” Tad declared.
Dillon got up. “We’ll see you at the party, but now duty calls. If the Master tries it on with you again, let me know. We can compare notes.”
—
ROPER WAS ALONE when they returned to the computer room, Sara and Holley having gone off for a drive around the countryside.
“Are the Magees coming?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hannah said. “Have you spoken to the Salters?”
“Not yet, but I thought we’d call round this evening to the Dark Man. With any luck, Dora’s hot pot will be on,” Roper told her.
“That suits me,” Dillon said. “I’ll take you in the back of the van. What time?”
“Let’s say seven. I bet Sara and Daniel will join us,” Hannah said.
“That’s fine. Now I’ll give myself an hour in the steam room. I suggest you sit down at the dining-room piano for an hour, Hannah. Half term or not, you need to practice.”
—
GEORGE MOON HAD BEEN AWAKENED early by the drumming of heavy rain on the cabin roof of his motor launch, the Moonglow. The heating system had packed up, and when Moon rolled over, he realized his bedclothes were damp.
Cursing, he got out of bed, searching drawers for fresh clothes, his wardrobe for a decent suit, a small insignificant man scrabbling for his steel spectacles that had fallen to the floor in the night. As he straightened, Moon’s mobile buzzed again.
“Who the hell is this?” he demanded.
“You sound annoyed, Mr. Moon,” the Master told him.
“On a morning like this, the London waterfront is not exactly the Riviera. Most uncomfortable.” Moon hesitated, his door open to the deck, and told himself to stay calm. “What do you want?”
“To remind you that only a few days ago I deposited seventy-five thousand pounds in your bank account.”
Moon took a deep breath. “Yes, I remember, so again, what do you want?”
“Some civility, you nasty little man, or I promise you’ll regret it. So struggle up the steps from the pier, knock on the door of the pub, and talk to your disgusting cousin Harold, who I expect to put to work for me tomorrow night. And remember this: For the kind of money I’m paying, I suspect Harold would be happy to dispose of you in the Thames, too.”
Which was undoubtedly true. Moon took comfort in the fact that he had an original Walther PPK loaded for action in a hidden drawer of the old Victorian desk in his cabin. He quickly checked that it was still there, then went out into the heavy drizzle, put up his umbrella, and mounted the steps to the pub, where Harold opened the door.
“There you are. I thought I’d lost you.” Moon noticed he seemed a trifle strained. “Dirty morning. You get in and I’ll see to your usual.”
“The Master called,” Moon said. “He wants to speak to both of us.”
“Really?” Harold said, and his tone made it plain to Moon that something odd was going on, and it put him on high alert and even more grateful for the Walther in the desk drawer.
Moon’s mobile buzzed, and the Master said, “To business. Harry and Billy Salter are hosting a birthday party at their restaurant, Harry’s Place, the night after tomorrow.”
“I like it,” Harold said. “I’ve got a few scores to settle with the Salters. Do you want us to smash them up?”
The Master said, “No, something more subtle. Get a gang of young villains to frighten the hell out of them. Shake them up a bit. And one thing more. I understand that Harry Salter’s proud of the Linda Jones, an old Victorian Thames boat he’s spent thousands renovating. He keeps it on the end of the jetty outside the Dark Man. Sink it.”
“I could sail up there in the inflatable,” Harold said. “I’d love to see the bastard’s face when it goes down. The Thames is forty feet deep off that jetty. And since you mentioned the young villains before, I’ve already put together a posse of very bad lads indeed,” he added. “They’ll be led by a guy named Barry McGuire, who got ten for manslaughter and was released after five—which was a big mistake from society’s point of view.”
“And you?” the Master inquired.
“I’ll be visiting the Linda Jones in the inflatable.”
Moon asked, “Is Harold’s plan to your liking?”
“Certainly,” the Master said. “In fact, it would seem to cover everything except you, who don’t seem to be doing very much.”
“I drive the inflatable. It’s the same type used by the River Police and rather complicated for Harold, but not for me. You forgot to mention that, Harold.”
“All right, then,” the Master said. “Get to work. There will be a fifty-thousand-pound bonus for wrecking the party and sinking the boat. Nothing for failure,” and he switched off.
There was silence for a moment, and then Harold said, “We’re in the money here all right.”
“So it would appear,” Moon said. “In fact, it all looks too easy.”
“You worry too much,” Harold said. “Just leave it to me.”
—
IT WAS SEVEN-THIRTY when Dillon drove up to the Dark Man in the people carrier, Hannah, Sara, and Holley up in front, Roper in his wheelchair in the rear with the hydraulic lift that lowered him to the ground.
There were lights along the jetty to the Linda Jones tied up at the end. Looking across the Thames was always a pleasure, with Big Ben and Parliament in the distance and the sudden fast charge past of a riverboat ablaze with lights.
They went into the Dark Man and sat in their usual corner booth, joining Harry and Billy. Joe Baxter and Sam Hall, Harry’s minders, kept an eye on things from the bar. Roper, with hair hanging almost to his shoulders these days, sat in his wheelchair like some medieval king with his bomb-scarred face.
Harry called, “Dora, my love, those two bleeders at the bar can stick to their beer. Cristal for us. Will there be enough hot pot to go around?”
“If not, there’s lovely chops or a really nice salmon.”
“Dora, you’re a treasure,” Sara told her.
“Well, you’ve got to be to get any respect around here.”
“Bloody nonsense,” Harry said, “but never mind that. I couldn’t be more pleased to get the booking for your birthday, Sara, just surprised it came from Ferguson. I never considered him a sentimentalist.”
“Hannah thinks there’s something going on. It’s not just her birthday. She’ll be celebrating fifteen years in the army,” Roper told him.
“Well, that sounds like a bleeding sentence to me,” Harry said. “Here’s to you, Sara. Any special guests?”
“The Magee brothers,” Hannah announced.
“God help us,” Harry said to Billy. “We’ll have to put our good suits on, but seriously, I’ve got nothing but respect for those two.”
“And distaste for their father,” Hannah said. “Who can go to hell as soon as he likes. Implied I was a crippled tart so I pushed the barrel of my Colt into his mouth and splintered his teeth.”
“My God,” Harry said. “I must remember not to offend you.”
Hannah said to Billy, “How is Hasim these days?”
“He’s really come on, learning to crew the inflatable. It’s the same type the River Police use, so it’s quite technical, but he’s really taken to it. Hasim’s mother died and Dora never had a son, but she does now, a beautiful Muslim Cockney, and she adores him. Thinks I’m teaching him bad ways.”
“And you are?” Hannah asked.
“Dammit all, I’m in MI5, Hannah, got my warrant card just like you,” Billy told her.
“Enough said.” She burst into laughter, and then the door banged open and Hasim walked in, his naval storm coat streaming with rain, and he pulled back his hood, ignored the group in the corner booth, and went behind the bar and stood talking to Dora. He was obviously excited, and she glanced across, then pushed him into the back room.
Harry said, “See what’s going on, Billy.”
Billy did, following them into the back room, finally emerging with Hasim, whom he brought across. “Tell Harry what you told me.”
Hasim said, “Do you remember my friend Caspar Hassan, Mr. Salter?”
“Yes, I do. A third-rate petty thief who specialized in breaking into old folks’ houses
. They gave him eighteen months and he deserved more.”
“He’s going straight now.”
“Don’t make me laugh. He’ll be a thief till the day he dies.”
To everyone’s shock, Billy took his uncle on. “Just shut up, Harry, and let the kid talk. It’s important.”
Harry scowled. “Well, it better be good.”
“Oh, it is,” Billy said. “And I’ve not even heard the half of it.”
“Well, come on then,” Harry said. “Just put us all out of our misery, for God’s sake. What’s the story?”
“I was at Wally’s looking for somebody to try a few rounds with in the ring. I go in now and then when I’ve got time.”
“I know, young punks pretending to be hard men. I’ve told you before, you’re better than that trash.”
“Okay, but it was different tonight. This old geezer called George Moon was there. A right creepy specimen, believe me, and he had his cousin with him, an oaf named Harold who really did believe he was the terror of the neighborhood. He got in the ring with me once; told me not to worry, he’d go easy on me because I was a Muslim.”
“The bastard,” Dora said.
“So what did you do?” Harry asked.
“Knocked him down, so he said he’d slipped and got out.”
“Bravo,” Harry said. “But where is this leading?”
“Moon and his cousin were recruiting a posse to make trouble at the party.”
“You’re sure about this?” Billy asked.
“I know what the plan is because Caspar told me. They intend to turn our customers over in the car park. There was a lot of drink taken and loose talk, and this stupid idiot Harold was boasting away. Said there was plenty of money in it because they were doing it for a man called the Master, who was very rich, and Moon told him to shut his mouth.”
There was silence for a moment, and Roper said, “How did you fit in to all this? Didn’t it occur to these people that you would warn Harry?”
“The only person who knew I worked for Harry was Caspar, and whatever you think, he’s going to stay quiet. He’s just another Muslim to these guys, like me, the Muslim Cockney with a brown face, always despised by those kind of people, but there’s stuff I haven’t told you yet. Make your mind up if you want to know, because I want to sit down and eat.”