On dangerous ground sd-3

by Jack Higgins

  "But they would be alerted the moment you tried to land."

  "I'm thinking of something different. A story Ferguson told me once. He had a fella called Egan working for him and he needed to get down fast in a similar sort of situation. That was in Sicily too, about ten years ago."

  "Of course, I remember the case, he parachuted in."

  "That's right."

  "But he was an expert at that kind of thing. He jumped at eight hundred feet, my friend."

  "Well he would, wouldn't he, but I can do that. I've jumped before. I know my stuff, believe me. Can you lay on a plane, parachute, weapons, and so on?"

  "That shouldn't be a problem."

  "We'll see you at the airport then," Dillon said and put the phone down.

  "What was all that about?" Hannah demanded, but at that moment the seat belt signs went on and they started to descend toward Gatwick.

  "I'll tell you later," Dillon told her. "Now be a good girl and fasten your belt."

  The stopover at Gatwick took only an hour. Hannah took Kim across to the small office the Special Flying Unit used and arranged a taxi.

  "I would rather come with you, Memsahib."

  "No, Kim, you go back to Cavendish Square and make things nice for the Brigadier."

  "He will come back, Memsahib, you swear it?"

  She took a deep breath and, against every conviction, lied to him. "He'll be back, Kim, I promise you."

  He smiled. "Blessings on you, Memsahib," and he crossed to his taxi.

  She found Dillon in the waiting room feeding coins into a sandwich machine. "Plastic food, but what can you do? Would you like something? Personally, I'm starving."

  "I suppose so. Anything there is."

  "Well, you won't want the ham so we'll make it tomato and boiled egg. There's tea and coffee on board. Come on."

  As they walked out to the Lear, the fuel truck was just moving away. Lacey stood waiting, the co-pilot already on board.

  "Ready when you are," the Flight Lieutenant said.

  "We'll get moving then," Dillon told him and went up the steps behind Hannah.

  They settled in their seats and a few minutes later the Lear started to taxi. • • • Dillon waited until they leveled off at thirty thousand feet, then made tea in the plastic cups. He sat there eating the sandwiches without saying anything.

  Finally Hannah said, "You were going to tell me what you were going to do?"

  "There was a fella called Egan worked for Ferguson a few years back, ex-SAS. He had a similar problem about getting somewhere fast and that was in Sicily too."

  "How did he solve it?"

  "Parachuted in from eight hundred feet from a small aircraft. At that height, you hit the ground in thirty seconds."

  There was genuine horror on her face. "You must be mad."

  "Not at all. As far as they're concerned it will be just a plane passing overhead, a bit low perhaps, but they won't be expecting what I have in mind, and it will be dark by then."

  "And Major Gagini has agreed to this?"

  "Oh, yes, he's arranging a suitable plane, equipment, weapons, everything. All I have to do is jump out of the plane. You can follow on and land in the Lear, say thirty minutes later."

  He drank some of his tea and she sat there staring at him and then a curious expression appeared on her face. "When you were talking to Gagini I heard you say you'd jumped before. I wondered what you were talking about. It makes sense now."

  "Well it would, wouldn't it."

  "Except that for some strange reason I think you were lying to him. I don't think you've ever made a parachute jump in your life, Dillon."

  He gave her his best smile and lit a cigarette. "True, but there's always a first time for everything, and you be a good girl now and don't speak a word about this to Gagini. I wouldn't want him changing his mind."

  "It's madness, Dillon. Anything might happen. You could break your bloody neck, for one thing."

  "Would you listen to the language, and you the decent girl?" He shook his head. "Can you think of an alternative? You have all the facts."

  She sat there quiet for a moment, then sighed. "When you come right down to it, no."

  "It's simple, my love, forget the Chungking Covenant and just think of Ferguson. Never tell him this, but I actually like the old sod, and I won't stand by and see him go to hell if I can prevent it." He leaned across and put a hand on hers and smiled, that special smile, nothing but warmth there and immense charm. "Now then, could you do with another cup of tea?"

  They came in over the sea, Palermo on the port side, evening falling fast and already lights twinkled in the city. There were a few cumulus clouds in a sky that was otherwise clear and a half moon. They landed at Punta Raisi a few minutes later and Lacey, obeying orders from the tower, taxied to a remote area at the far end of the airport, where a number of private planes were parked.

  The truck which had shown them the way drove off and Lacey killed the engines. There was a small man in a cloth cap and old flying jacket standing in front of the hangar and as Dillon and Hannah went down the steps, he came forward.

  "Chief Inspector Bernstein? Paolo Gagini." He held out his hand. "Mr. Dillon, it's a real pleasure. Come this way. We believe Morgan landed at Valdini two hours ago, by the way. His Citation put down here a little while ago. It's over there being refueled, but it isn't going anywhere tonight. I saw the pilots leave the airport."

  Dillon turned as Lacey and the co-pilot came down the ladder. "You'd better come too."

  They went into the hangar and Gagini led them to a large, glass-walled office. "Here you are, my friend. Everything I could think of." There was a parachute, a Celeste silenced machine pistol, a Beretta pistol in a shoulder holster, a Walther and a bulletproof vest in dark blue, and a pair of infrared night glasses.

  "Everything but the kitchen sink," Lacey said. "Are you going to war, Mr. Dillon?"

  "You could say that."

  "There's a camouflaged suit for you over here," Gagini told him, "and some Army jump boots. I hope to God they're the right size."

  "Fine, I'll go and get changed," Dillon said. "If you'll point me to the men's room." He turned to Hannah. "You fill in the Flight Lieutenant and his friend while I'm gone," and he followed Gagini out.

  And at that same moment at Valdini Luca's Mercedes sedan turned in through the gates in the wall and went up the gravel drive to park at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. As the driver helped Luca out, the front door opened and Morgan appeared and hurried down the steps.

  "Don Giovanni."

  They embraced. The old man said, "So you got it, Carlo, against all the odds? I'm proud of you. I can't wait to see it."

  "Come, let's go in, Uncle," Morgan said and turned to the driver. "You stay here. I'll have them bring you something from the kitchen."

  He helped Luca up the steps and into the house. Asta came out of the living room and put her arms around Luca at once and he kissed both her cheeks.

  "Carl did it, Don Giovanni, isn't he clever?"

  "Don't listen to her," Morgan said. "She played more than her part this time, believe me."

  "Good, you must tell me about it."

  He led the way into the living room where Ferguson sat by the log fire, Marco standing behind him, Uzi in hand.

  "So, this is the redoubtable Brigadier Ferguson," Luca said, leaning on his stick. "A great pleasure."

  "For you perhaps, but not for me," Ferguson told him.

  "Yes, that's understandable." Luca eased himself down into a large chair opposite Ferguson and held out his hand. "Where is it, Carlo?"

  Morgan took the document from his inside pocket, unfolded it, and passed it over. "The Chungking Covenant, Uncle."

  Luca read it slowly, then looked up and laughed. "Incredible, isn't it?" He looked at Ferguson. "Think of the mischief I'll be able to make with this, Brigadier."

  "Actually, I'd rather not," Ferguson told him.

  "Come, Brigadier." Luc
a folded the Covenant and put it in his inside pocket. "Don't be a spoilsport. You've lost and we've won. I know you face an uncertain future, but surely we can be civilized about it." He smiled up at Morgan. "A nice dinner and a bottle of wine, Carlo. I'm sure we can make the Brigadier a happier man."

  Dillon returned in the camouflage uniform and jump boots, picked up the bulletproof vest, and pulled it on. He checked the Walther and slipped it under the waistband at the back under the tunic, then tried the Celeste. Gagini had some large blow-up photos on the table which he was showing to the two RAF pilots and Hannah.

  "What's this?" Dillon asked.

  "Pictures of the farmhouse at Valdini taken from the air. I got them from drug squad files."

  "Would you anticipate any problems landing there?" Dillon asked Lacey.

  "Not really. That strip across the meadow is one hell of a length and that half-moon will help."

  "Good." Dillon turned to Gagini. "What about a plane?"

  "Navajo Chieftain waiting outside ready to go."

  "And a good pilot who knows what he's doing?"

  "The best." Gagini spread his arms wide. "Me, Dillon, didn't I tell you I was in the Air Force before I transferred to Intelligence work?"

  "Well that's convenient. How long to get there?"

  "With the Navajo's speed no more than fifteen minutes."

  Dillon nodded. "Right. I need half an hour on the ground."

  "Understood," Gagini nodded. "I'll come straight back here and join the others in the Lear. By the time we're landing at Valdini it should be just about right. I'll go and get the engines fired up."

  Dillon said to Lacey, "I'll leave you that Beretta in the shoulder holster, just in case." He picked up the parachute. "Now show me how to put this on."

  Lacey looked shocked. "You mean you don't know?"

  "Don't let's argue about it, Flight Lieutenant, just show me."

  Lacey helped him buckle the straps, pulling them tight. "Are you really sure about this?"

  "Just show me what to pull," Dillon said.

  "The ring there and don't mess about, not at eight hundred feet. The Navajo has an Airstair door. Just go down it, fall off, and pull on that ring straight away."

  "If you say so." Dillon picked up the Celeste machine pistol and slung it across his chest and hung the night glasses around his neck. He turned to Hannah. "Well, are you going to kiss me goodbye?"

  "Get out of here, Dillon," she said.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  He gave her a mock salute, turned, and went out and across the tarmac to the Navajo where Gagini sat in the cockpit, propellers turning. Dillon went up the steps and turned. Hannah had a last glimpse of him pulling up the Airstair door and then the Navajo moved away.

  FIFTEEN

  Thenight sky was clear to the horizon and alive with stars and in the light of the half moon the countryside below was perfectly visible. They were flying at two thousand feet along a deep valley, mountains rising on either side, and when Dillon looked out of one of the windows he could see the white line of a road winding along the valley bottom.

  It was all very quick. Gagini climbed to two and a half thousand to negotiate a kind of hump at the end of the valley and beyond was a great sloping plateau and he started down.

  Five minutes later he leveled off at eight hundred, turned and called over his shoulder, "Drop the Airstair door. It's any minute now and I don't want to have to go round again, it could alert them. Go when I tell you, and good luck, my friend."

  Dillon moved back to the door, awkwardly because of the parachute. He rotated the handle, the door fell out into space, the steps unfolded. There was a roar of air and he held onto the fuselage buffeted by the wind and looked down, and way over on his left was the farmhouse looking just like the photo.

  "Now!" Gagini cried.

  Dillon took two steps down holding the handrail and then allowed himself to fall, headfirst, turning over once in the plane's slipstream, pulling the ring of the rip cord at the same moment. He looked up, saw the plane climbing steeply over on his left, the noise of the engine already fading.

  In the dining room of the farmhouse they had just finished the first course of the dinner and Marco, acting as butler again, was clearing them away when they heard the plane.

  "What in the hell is that?" Morgan demanded and he got up and moved out on the terrace, Marco behind him.

  The noise of the plane was fading over to the right. Asta came out at that moment. "Are you worried about something?"

  "The plane. It seemed so low that for a wild moment I thought it might intend to land."

  "Dillon?" She shook her head. "Even he wouldn't be crazy enough to try that."

  "No, of course not." He smiled and they went back inside. "Just a passing plane," he said to Luca and he turned to the Brigadier and shrugged. "No cavalry riding to the rescue this time."

  "What a pity," Ferguson said.

  "Yes, isn't it? We'll continue with the meal, shall we? I'll be back in a moment." He nodded to Marco and went out into the hall with him.

  "What is it?" Marco demanded.

  "I don't know. That plane made no attempt to land, but it was certainly low when it made its pass."

  "Someone sniffing out the lay of the land perhaps," Marco suggested.

  "Exactly, then if someone was approaching by road, they could let them know how the situation looked by radio."

  Marco shook his head. "No one could get within twenty miles of here by road without us being informed, believe me."

  "Yes, perhaps I'm being overcautious, but who have we got?"

  "There's the caretaker, Guido. I put him on the gate, and the two shepherds, the Tognolis, Franco and Vito. They've both killed for the Society, they're good men."

  "Get them out in the garden and you see to things. I just want to be sure." He laughed and put a hand on Marco's shoulder. "It's my Sicilian half talking."

  He returned to the dining room and Marco went to the kitchen where he found Rosa, the caretaker's wife, busy at the stove and the Tognoli brothers seated at one end of the table eating stew.

  "You can finish that later," he said. "Right now you get out into the garden just in case. Signore Morgan was unhappy about the plane that passed over."

  "At your orders," Franco Togloni said, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, and he unslung, from the back of his chair, his Lupara, the sawed-off shotgun that was the traditional weapon of the Mafia since time immemorial. "Come on," he told his brother. "We've got work to do," and they went out.

  Marco picked up a glass of red wine that stood on the table. "You'll have to serve the food yourself, Rosa," he said, emptied the glass at a single swallow, then took a Beretta from his shoulder holster and checked it as he went out.

  The silence was extraordinary. Dillon felt no particular exhilaration. It was a strange black-and-white world in the moonlight, rather like one of those dreams in which you dreamed you were flying and time seemed to stand still, and then suddenly the ground was rushing up at him and he hit with a thump and rolled over in long meadow grass.

  He lay there for a moment to get his breath, then punched the quick release clip and stepped out of the parachute harness. The farmhouse was two hundred yards to the left beyond an olive grove on a slight rise. He started to run quite fast until he reached the grove, got down in the shelter of trees on the other side and found himself approximately seventy-five yards from the crumbling white wall of the farmhouse.

  He focused the night glasses on the gate which stood open and saw Guido the caretaker at the gate straight away in cloth cap and shooting jacket, a shotgun over his shoulder, and yet he wasn't the problem. What was, was the large, old-fashioned bell hanging above the gate, rope dangling. One pull on that and the whole place would be roused.

  There was a break on the ground to his right, a gully stretching toward the wall perhaps two feet deep. He crawled along it cautiously and finally reached the wall. The grass was long and overgrown at that point and
he unslung the silenced Celeste machine pistol and moved cautiously along the wall, keeping to the grass, but it petered out when he was still twenty yards away.

  Guido was smoking a cigarette, his back to Dillon, looking up at the stars, and Dillon stood up and moved quickly, out in the open now. When he was ten yards away, Guido turned, saw him at once, his mouth opening in dismay. He reached up for the bellrope and Dillon fired a short burst that lifted him off his feet, killing him instantly.

  It was amazing how little noise the Celeste had made, but there was no time to lose. Dillon dragged Guido's body into the shelter of the wall and dashed through the gate. He immediately left the drive and moved into the shelter of the lush, overgrown semitropical garden. Here too the grass badly needed cutting. He moved cautiously through it between the olive trees toward the house. Quite suddenly, it started to rain, one of those sudden showers common to the region at that time of year and he crouched there, aware of the terrace, the open windows, and the sound of voices.

  Marco, on his way down the drive, cursed as the rain started to fall, pulled up his collar, and continued to the gate. It was apparent at once that Guido wasn't there. Marco pulled out his Beretta, moved outside, and saw the body lying at the foot of the wall. He reached for the rope, rang the bell furiously for a few moments, then ran inside the gate.

  "Someone's here," he called. "Watch yourselves," then he moved into the bushes, crouching. • • • In the dining room there was immediate upheaval. "What's happening?" Luca demanded.

  "The alarm bell," Morgan said. "Something's up."

  "Well, now, who would have thought it?" Ferguson said.

  "You shut your mouth." Morgan went to a bureau, opened a drawer to reveal several handguns. He selected a Browning and handed Asta a Walther. "Just in case," he said and at that moment a shotgun blasted outside.

  It was Vito Togloni who, panicking, made the mistake of calling to his brother, "Franco, where are you? What's happening?"

  Dillon fired a long burst in the direction of the voice. Vito gave a strangled cry and pitched out of the bushes on his face.

  Dillon crouched in the rain, waiting, and after a while heard a rustle in the bushes and Franco's voice low, "Hey, Vito, I'm here."