On dangerous ground sd-3

by Jack Higgins

  "Excellent." Ferguson handed them to Dillon. "Three hundred yards. Two hinds and a Royal Stag. Quite magnificent antlers."

  Dillon had a look. "My God, yes," he said and passed the binoculars to Asta.

  When she focused them, the stag and the hinds jumped clearly into view. "How marvelous," she breathed and turned to Ferguson. "We couldn't possibly shoot such wonderful creatures, could we?"

  "Just like a bloody woman," Ferguson said. "I might have known."

  Dillon said, "The fun is in the stalking, Asta, it's like a game. They're well able to look after themselves, believe me. We'll be lucky to get within a hundred yards."

  Kim wet a finger and raised it. "Downwind, Sahib, okay now." He looked up at the sky where clouds were forming. "I think wind change direction soon."

  "Then we move fast," Ferguson said. "Pass me the rifle."

  It was an old Jackson and Whitney bolt action. He loaded it carefully and said, "They're downhill from us, remember."

  "I know," Dillon said. "Shoot low. Let's get going."

  Asta found the next hour one of the most exhilarating she'd ever known. They moved through gulleys, crouching low, Kim leading the way.

  "He certainly knows his stuff," she said to Dillon at one point.

  "He should do," Ferguson told her. "The best tracker on a tiger shoot I ever knew in India in the old days."

  Finally, they took to the heather and crawled in single file until Kim called a halt and paused in a small hollow. He peered over the top cautiously. The deer browsed contentedly no more than seventy-five yards away.

  "No closer, Sahib." He glanced up. "Wind changing already."

  "Right." Ferguson moved the bolt and rammed a round into the breech. "Your honor, my dear."

  "Really?" Asta was flushed with excitement, took the rifle from him gingerly, then settled herself on her elbows, the stock firmly into her shoulder.

  "Don't pull, just squeeze gently," Dillon told her.

  "I know that."

  "And aim low," Ferguson added.

  "All right." What seemed like rather a long time passed and suddenly she rolled over and thrust the rifle at him. "I can't do it, Brigadier, that stag is too beautiful to die."

  "Well we all bloody-well die sometime," Ferguson said, and at that moment, the stag raised its head.

  "Wind change, Sahib, he has our scent," Kim said, and in an instant the stag and the two hinds were leaping away through the bracken at an incredible speed.

  Dillon rolled over, laughing, and Ferguson said, "Damn!" And then he scowled. "Not funny, Dillon, not funny at all." He handed the rifle to Kim. "All right, put it away and break out the sandwiches."

  On the way back some time later they paused for a rest on a crest that gave an excellent view of the glen below the castle above Loch Dhu and Ardmurchan Lodge on the other side. Dillon noticed something he hadn't appreciated before. There was a landing stage below the castle, a boat moored beside it.

  "Give me the binoculars," he said to Kim and focused them, closing in on a twenty-five-foot motor launch with a deckhouse. "I didn't know that was there," he said, passing the binoculars to Ferguson.

  "The boat, you mean?" Asta said. "It goes with the castle. It's called the Katrina."

  "Have you been out in it yet?" Dillon asked.

  "No reason. Carl isn't interested in fishing."

  "Better than ours." Ferguson swung the binoculars to the rickety pier below Ardmurchan Lodge on the other side of the loch and the boat tied up there, an old whaler with an outboard motor, and a rowboat beside it. He handed the binoculars to Kim. "All right, let's move on."

  "Frankly I'm getting bored with this track," Asta said. "Can't we just go straight down, Dillon?"

  He turned to Ferguson, who shrugged. "Rather you than me, but if that's what you want. Come on, Kim," and he continued along the track.

  Dillon took Asta by the hand. "Here we go and watch yourself, we don't want you turning that ankle again," and they started down the slope.

  It was reasonably strenuous going for most of the way, the whole side of the mountain flowing down to the loch below. He led the way, picking his way carefully for something like a thousand feet and then, as things became easier, he took her hand and they scrambled on down together until suddenly she lost her balance, laughing out loud and fell, dragging Dillon with her. They rolled over a couple of times and came to rest in a soft cushion of heather in a hollow. She lay on her back, breathless, and Dillon pushed himself up on one elbow to look at her.

  Her laughter faded, she reached up and touched his face, and for a moment he forgot everything except the color of her hair, the scent of her perfume. When they kissed, her body was soft and yielding, everything a man could hope for in this world.

  He rolled onto his back and she sat up. "I wondered when you would, Dillon. Very satisfactory."

  He got a couple of cigarettes from his case, lit them, and passed one to her. "Put it down to the altitude. I'm sorry."

  "I'm not."

  "You should be. I've got twenty years on you."

  "That must be some Irish thing," she said. "All that rain. Is it supposed to have a dampening effect on love?"

  "What's love got to do with it?"

  She blew out cigarette smoke and lay back, a hand behind her head. "Now there's romantic for you."

  He sat up. "Stop indulging in flights of fantasy, Asta, you aren't in love with me."

  She turned to look at him. "You said it yourself. What's love got to do with it?"

  "Morgan wouldn't think very much of the idea."

  She sat up and shrugged. "He doesn't control my life."

  "Really? I'd have thought that's exactly what he does do."

  "Damn you, Dillon!" She was angry and stubbed her cigarette out on a rock. "You've just ruined a lovely day. Can we go now?"

  She got up and started down the hill, and after a while, he stood himself and followed her.

  They reached the edge of the loch about thirty minutes later and started to follow the shoreline. They hadn't spoken since the incident in the hollow and now Dillon said, "Are we speaking again or what?"

  She laughed and took his arm. "You're a pig, Dillon, but I like you."

  "All part of my irresistible charm," he said and paused suddenly.

  They were close to the west end of the loch, the old hunting bothy where Morgan and Marco had dealt with Fergus on their left. He was still lying down on the shoreline, face in the shallows.

  Asta said, "My God, isn't that a body?"

  "That's what it looks like."

  They hurried down the slope and reached the sandbar. She stood there while Dillon waded in and turned Fergus over. Asta gave a sudden exclamation. "Fergus."

  "Yes." Dillon waded back. "I'd say he was given a thorough beating. Wait here." He went up to the hunting bothy. She watched him go in. A moment later, he returned. "From the state of things, that's where the fight was. After they'd gone he must have come down to the shore to revive himself and fell in. Something like that."

  "An accident," she said and there was a strange calmness on her face. "That was it."

  "You could describe it that way," Dillon said. "I'm sure Carl Morgan would."

  "Leave it, Dillon." She reached out and grabbed his lapel. "Do this for me, just leave it, I'll handle it."

  There was a fierceness to her that was something new. He said, "I'm beginning to wonder if I really know you at all, Asta. All right, I'll leave Morgan to stew in it."

  She nodded. "Thank you, I'll get back now." She walked away, paused, and turned. "I'll see you tonight."

  He nodded. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

  She hurried away. He looked out again at the body by the sandbar, then climbed up the slope and reached the road. He had walked along it for perhaps five minutes when a horn sounded and he turned and found the Range Rover bearing down on him.

  Ferguson opened the door. "Where's the girl?"

  "She's cut across to the castle on her o
wn."

  Dillon climbed in and Kim drove on. "I must say you look thoughtful, dear boy."

  "So would you," Dillon said, lit a cigarette, and brought him up to date.

  Morgan was in the study when she went in, sitting at his desk and talking to Marco. He turned and smiled. "Had a nice day?"

  "It was until things went sour."

  He stopped smiling and said to Marco, "You can go."

  "No, let him stay. You found Fergus, didn't you, you beat him up?"

  Morgan reached for a cigar and clipped it. "He had it coming, Asta. Anyway, how do you know?"

  "Dillon and I just found his body. He was lying in the shallows down there in the loch just below that old hunting lodge. He must have fallen in and drowned."

  Morgan glanced at Marco, then put the cigar down. "What did Dillon do?"

  "Nothing. I begged him to leave it to me."

  "And he agreed?"

  She nodded. "He said he'd leave you to stew in it."

  "Yes, that's exactly how he would play it." Morgan nodded. "And so would Ferguson. It wouldn't suit the dear old Brigadier to have a police investigation, not at the moment." He glanced at Marco. "And it wouldn't get anywhere without a body, would it?"

  "No, Signore."

  Morgan stood up. "All right, let's take care of it. You stay here, Asta," and he went out followed by Marco.

  In the trees that fringed the loch below Ardmurchan Lodge just above the small jetty, Ferguson and Dillon waited, the Irishman holding the Zeiss binoculars. The light was fading, but visibility was still good enough for him to see the motor launch Katrina moving along the shoreline on the other side.

  "There they go," he said and focused the binoculars.

  Morgan was in the wheelhouse and he reversed the launch toward the shore, Marco in the stern. Marco jumped over into the water and Morgan went to help him. A moment later Fergus came over the rail. Morgan went back into the wheelhouse and turned out toward the middle of the loch. Dillon passed the binoculars to Ferguson.

  The Brigadier said, "It looks to me as if Marco is wrapping a length of chain around the body." He shook his head. "How very naughty."

  He passed the binoculars back to Dillon, who focused them again in time to see Marco slide the body over the side. It went straight under and a moment later the Katrina got under way and turned back toward the castle.

  "So that's it," Dillon said and turned to Ferguson. "You're happy to leave it that way?"

  "I think so. A crime has undoubtedly been committed, but that's a police matter, and frankly I don't want the local constabulary swarming all over Loch Dhu Castle. We've bigger fish to fry here, Dillon."

  "I doubt whether the good Chief Inspector Bernstein would agree," Dillon said. "A great one for the letter of the law, that lady."

  "Which is why we don't say a word about this to her."

  Dillon lit another cigarette. "One thing we can count on, he won't be missed, ould Fergus, not for a few days. The Munros will think he's just keeping out of the way."

  "Which will be what Morgan is counting on. I would imagine he's hoping to be out of here quite quickly." Ferguson stood up. "Let's get moving, we've got dinner to look forward to. It should prove an interesting evening."

  TEN

  They arrived at the castle only a few minutes after seven, Dillon at the wheel of the old estate car that went with Ardmurchan Lodge. He and Ferguson were in dinner jackets and Hannah Bernstein wore a cream trouser suit in silk crepe. The door was opened by Marco wearing his alpaca jacket and striped trousers and he ushered them in, his face expressionless, to where Morgan stood by the fire in the hall, Asta in a green silk dress on the sofa beside Lady Katherine Rose.

  "Ah, there you are," Morgan said genially. "Come in. I think you've met Brigadier Ferguson, Lady Katherine?"

  "Indeed, yes. He called and took tea with me, he and this charming young gel."

  Hannah looked amused and Ferguson took her hand. "Lovely to see you again. I don't think you've met my nephew, Sean Dillon."

  "Mr. Dillon."

  Dillon took the cool, dry hand, liking her immediately. "A great pleasure."

  "Irish?" she said. "I like the Irish, charming rogues, the lot of them, but nice. Do you smoke, young man?"

  "My one vice."

  "What a liar you are. Give me one, will you."

  "Lady Katherine, I'm so sorry." Morgan picked up a silver cigarette box and came forward. "I'd no idea."

  She took one and accepted a light from Dillon. "I've been smoking all my life, Mr. Morgan, no point in stopping now."

  Marco appeared with a bottle of Crystal in a bucket and six glasses on a tray. He placed it on a side table and said in heavily accented English, "Shall I open the champagne, sir?"

  "Not for me," Lady Katherine said. "It doesn't go down well these days. A vodka martini very dry would be just the ticket. That's what got me through the war, that and cigarettes."

  "I'll get it," Asta said and went to the drinks cabinet as Marco uncorked the champagne bottle.

  "You served in the war then, Lady Katherine?" Ferguson asked her.

  "By God I did. All this nonsense about young gels being allowed to fly in the RAF these days." She snorted. "All old hat. I was a pilot from nineteen-forty with the old Air Transport Auxiliary. They used to call us the Attagirls."

  Asta brought the martini and sat beside her, fascinated. "But what did you do?"

  The old lady sampled the drink. "Excellent, my dear. We ferried warplanes between factories and RAF Stations to free pilots for combat. I flew everything, we all did. Spitfires and Hurricanes and once a Lancaster bomber. The ground crew at the RAF Station I delivered it to couldn't believe it when I took off my flying helmet and they saw my hair."

  "But all in all, it must have been extremely dangerous," Hannah said.

  "I crash-landed once in a Hurricane, wheels up. Not my fault, engine failure. Another time an old Gloucester Gladiator, they were biplanes, started to fall apart on me in midair so I had to bail out."

  "Good God!" Morgan said. "That's amazing."

  "Oh, it was hard going," she said. "Out of the women in my unit sixteen were killed, but then we had to win the war, didn't we, Brigadier?"

  "We certainly did, Lady Katherine."

  She held up her empty glass. "Another one, somebody, and then I'll love you and leave you."

  Asta went to get it and Morgan said, "Lady Katherine doesn't feel up to dinner, I'm afraid."

  "Only eat enough for a sparrow these days." She accepted the drink Asta brought and looked up at Morgan. "Well, have you found the Bible yet?"

  He was momentarily thrown. "The Bible?"

  "Oh, come on, Mr. Morgan, I know you've had the servants turning the place upside down. Why is it so important?"

  He was in command again now. "A legend, Lady Katherine, of great importance to your family. I just thought it would be nice to find it and give it to you."

  "Indeed." She turned to Hannah and there was something in her eyes. "Amazing the interest in the Bible all of a sudden and I can't help. Haven't seen it in years. I still think it was lost in the air crash that injured my brother so badly."

  Morgan glanced at Ferguson, who was smiling, and made a determined effort to change the subject. "Tell me, just how old is the castle, Lady Katherine?"

  Asta got up and moved to the French windows at the end of the hall and opened them and Dillon went to join her, moving out onto the terrace as she did, the murmur of voices behind them.

  The beech trees above the loch were cut out of black cardboard against a sky that was streaked with vivid orange above the mountains. She took his arm and they strolled across the lawn, Dillon lighting a cigarette.

  "Do you want one?"

  "No, I'll share yours," which she did, handing it back to him after a moment. "It's peaceful here and old, the roots go deep. Everyone needs roots, don't you agree, Dillon?"

  "Maybe it's people, not places," he said. "Take you, for instance. Perhaps your root
s are Morgan."

  "It's a thought, but you, Dillon, what about you? Where are your roots?"

  "Maybe nowhere, love, nowhere at all. Oh, there's the odd aunt or uncle and a few cousins here and there in Ulster, but no one who'd dare come near. The price of fame."

  "Infamy, more like."

  "I know, I'm the original bad guy. That's why Ferguson recruited me."

  "You know I like you, Dillon, I feel as if I've known you a long time, but what am I going to do with you?"

  "Take your time, girl dear, I'm sure something will occur to you."

  Morgan appeared on the terrace and called, "Asta, are you there?"

  "Here we are, Carl." They walked back and went up the steps to the terrace. "What is it?"

  "Lady Katherine's ready to leave."

  "What a pity. I wish she would stay, she's wonderful."

  "One of a kind," Morgan said. "But there it is. I'll run her down to the lodge."

  "No you won't," Asta told him. "I'll see to it. You've got guests, Carl. We mustn't forget our manners."

  "Shall I come with you?" Dillon asked.

  "It's only three hundred yards down the drive for heaven's sake," she said. "I'll be back in no time."

  They went inside and Lady Katherine said, "There you are. Thought we'd lost you."

  She pushed herself up on her stick and Asta put an arm around her. "No chance, I'm taking you home now."

  "What a lovely girl." Lady Katherine turned to them all. "Such a delight. Do come and see me any time. Good night all."

  Morgan had a hand on her elbow and he and Asta took her out of the front door. A moment later the castle's station wagon engine started up and Morgan returned.

  He snapped his fingers at Marco. "More champagne."

  Marco replenished the glasses and Ferguson looked around the great hall, the weapons on the wall, the trophies, the armour. "Quite an amazing collection, all this. Fascinating."

  "I agree," Hannah said. "If you're into death, that is."

  "Aren't you being a little harsh?" Morgan said.

  She sipped some of her champagne. "If it was a museum exhibition they'd probably call it 'In Praise of War.' I mean look at those great swords crossed under the shields. Their only purpose was to slice somebody's arm off."