Dark Justice

by Jack Higgins

  The young nurse behind the desk said, “Who’s first?”

  “That’ll be me,” Hannah told her. “I’ve got another appointment.”

  “Then follow me, please.”

  In his office, Merriman greeted her warmly while the nurse busied herself with items on a side table.

  “It only takes a moment, Superintendent, but you’ll have to remove your blouse. You can keep your bra on. I only need an armpit.”

  “Will it hurt?” Hannah asked as she took off her blouse.

  “Not with this. An excellent anesthetic.” The nurse handed him a plastic ampule. There was a slight prick on her arm and the skin went numb. “It’s instant,” he said, and the nurse handed him a sort of aluminum pistol. He placed the muzzle into her right armpit and pulled the trigger. She didn’t feel a thing.

  “Is that it?” she asked, as she pulled her blouse on.

  “Absolutely. Your implant is already code indexed into the Omega computer. Where you go, it goes.”

  “I’m not sure I’m happy about that.”

  “It’s a tool, Superintendent, that’s all. A reflection of the world we live in.”

  She pulled on her jacket and coat. “That’s one way of looking at it,” she said. “Tell me, St. Paul’s Church is near here, I believe?”

  “End of the street and turn left.”

  “Thank you and good morning.”

  She went out and was followed by the nurse, who called Billy in. Dillon stood up.

  “On your way already?”

  “I have an appointment.”

  “At St. Paul’s. She’s a remarkable lady and good at extracting confessions. I should know.”

  “I’ll see you later, then, back at the office.”

  She left, and Billy emerged. “No big deal.”

  “Good. I hate needles.”

  Billy said, “I’ll see you later. I’ve got a bit of business back at the Dark Man.”

  “You’re an idiot, Billy. Smuggled cigarettes from Amsterdam and you don’t even need the money. You’ll be back behind bars at Wandsworth.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Billy said and left.

  When Dillon emerged into Harley Street, it was still raining. He lit a cigarette, looked down the pavement in the direction Hannah had gone and walked the same way. St. Paul’s Church was on the other side of the street when he turned the corner, a notice board in front with the times of services and the name of the priest. He went up the steps, eased open the small Judas gate in the main door and stepped inside.

  It was Victorian, a half-dark sort of place, and there was the smell of damp, candles and incense. He noticed a statue of the Virgin and Child, more candles flickering there, all very old-fashioned Church of England, except for the newer fashion that allowed women priests.

  Susan Haden-Taylor was a calm, pleasant woman in a clerical collar and cassock. She was sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Hannah, two pews away, but facing her.

  “Yes,” she was saying. “Charles Ferguson has spoken to me of your dilemma. And his.”

  “And his?” Hannah was astonished and showed it.

  “Yes. There are always two sides to everything, however simplistic that may sound. Charles tells me you read psychology at Cambridge.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that your father is Arnold Bernstein. I know his work. One of the finest general surgeons in London.”

  “And my grandfather is Rabbi Julian Bernstein.”

  “Leaving you totally walled in by morality.”

  “Something like that.”

  At the back of the church, Dillon sat on a chair behind a pillar in the corner and listened.

  “During my time with the police,” said Hannah, “I’ve killed when I had no choice and I’ve been wounded myself. I even killed a woman once, a truly evil person who was trying to kill a friend. I could accept all this as somehow being part of the job.”

  “So what is the problem now? You know you can speak freely. As both a priest and a psychiatrist, I must keep your confidence.”

  Hannah told her. When she was done, Susan Haden-Taylor said, “I’m not taking sides, just examining the situation. In spite of what he’s been responsible for, you want Selim to have a legal representative, which means due process of law and an eventual trial, which will probably take six months to come to court, if not longer.”

  “I know all the difficulties.”

  “Whereas Ferguson wants the details of all those who’ve passed through this Wrath of Allah organization before they have time to set more bombs off. In pursuit of that aim, he obviously feels that giving Selim a hard time is worth it. Don’t you?”

  “Dammit.” Hannah was extremely frustrated. “It makes me sound so bloody unreasonable. I’ve been raised on the law, I believe in the law. It’s all we’ve got.”

  “So do I, but the times are changing very rapidly and we must face that. Global terrorism provides a whole new perspective. It’s not that you’re wrong, Hannah, but it’s not that Ferguson is wrong either. And one final point. As in all things, each of us has personal choice.”

  “Which means?”

  “If you really feel strongly about this matter, it would be better if you resigned. Better for yourself. In fact, better for everyone.”

  “How strange,” Hannah said. “That makes me feel as if I’d be running away.”

  “It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

  “No, thanks, I’d better get on.”

  Dillon got up at once and slipped out through the Judas gate, where he lit a cigarette and stood waiting. She came out a few minutes later.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I thought I’d hang around outside and see how you got on.”

  “You were right. She is a remarkable woman.”

  They started along Harley Street. “Are you still with us, then?”

  “I suppose so. I’ll give it another week or two and see. As I was leaving, she said the strangest thing.”

  “And what was that?”

  “That when Christ told us to turn the other cheek, he didn’t tell us to do it twice. What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  Dillon grinned. “It makes perfect sense to me,” and he hailed a cab.

  At Dunkley in Kent, the visibility was poor in the pouring rain as Smith eased the Navajo down on the old decaying bomber runway and rolled to a halt by the decrepit hangars. A white Ford Transit was parked nearby, a man in a cloth cap and bomber jacket holding an umbrella.

  Tod got the door open and they all piled out with their bags. Smith peered out, and Kelly said, “Keep your mobile with you at all times. When I call, you come running.”

  “You can rely on me, Dermot, but I’m best out of it now.”

  He closed the door, went into the cockpit and took off fast a moment later. Dermot led the way to the Transit, holding out his hand.

  “So you came yourself, Danny.” He turned to Fahy and Regan. “Danny Malone. Runs the best pub in Kilburn, the Green Man, and a good friend from the great days.”

  “Sure, and I thought I’d come myself, Dermot.” They got in and he climbed behind the wheel. “And I’ve spoken to your aunt Molly about China Wharf, only she isn’t there, Dermot. She’s spending time at Brighton with an old friend.”

  “Well, that’s a damn shame,” Tod put in.

  “No trouble. She told me where a key was hidden and I checked and it was there. I’ve been to the supermarket, stocked you up with provisions. You’ll be as right as rain. The job? Is it big?”

  “When the time’s right,” Kelly said. “Dillon’s involved. That’s all you need to know. Maybe we’ll get him this time.”

  At the Ministry of Defence, Hannah knocked on the door of Ferguson’s office and went in, followed by Dillon. Ferguson, at his desk, looked up and sat back.

  “So you’re both part of Omega now. We should form a club.”

  “A very exclusive one,
sir,” Hannah said.

  “Did you see Susan Haden-Taylor?” She nodded. “And what did she think?”

  “What did you expect her to think?” Dillon said. “That difficult decisions are the privilege of rank whereas we, the poor bloody foot soldiers, just pull the trigger?”

  “Oh, shut up for once, Dillon,” Ferguson told him. “Have you made any decision yet, Superintendent?”

  “If I could think it over for a week or so, sir, I’ll soldier on.”

  The phone rang, he picked it up. “Ferguson.” Suddenly he smiled. “Excellent. I’ll be with you shortly.” He put the phone down. “It looks like you’ll have to, Superintendent. That was Dalton. Selim wants to see me. You’d both better come along.”

  China Wharf was a relic of the old tea clipper days, but times had changed and most of the warehouses were developed or boarded up and awaiting their turn. Danny Malone unlocked the door and led the way in, followed by the others. There was a large sitting room, all the furniture old-fashioned, a kitchen on the same scale. He put the key on the table.

  “Two bedrooms and a bathroom down the hall, five bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs from when it was a lodging house.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Kelly said, and turned to Tod. “I’ll phone Ashimov and let him know we made it. Then we’ll get together with him and Novikova, see what she’s got.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now bacon and eggs, a good old fry-up, sounds good to me. But who’s going to cook it, that’s the thing.”

  “Well, not me,” Danny Malone said. “I’ll be off now. You let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” and he went out.

  At Holland Park, they stood with Miller and looked through the false mirror. Selim sat at the table drinking tea, while Dalton sat on the other side and they chatted.

  “You are a very reasonable man, Mr. Dalton,” Selim was saying.

  Miller said, “Fred’s done a really good job on him, General. I actually think he’s about ready to see reason.”

  “Then in we go,” and Ferguson led the way.

  Selim and Dalton stopped talking and Dalton stood up, but Selim remained seated. “You wanted to see me,” Ferguson said. “Do I assume you’re going to be sensible?”

  “General, I know you are not the Gestapo. You won’t wire up my extremities, or inject me with succinylcholine or put me in a bath of water until I nearly drown. It isn’t the British way. But I do know that you will sentence me to death if, as you have threatened, you return me to Iraq or anywhere else in the Middle East.”

  “So what is your decision?”

  “I’m a contemptible coward who believed in my mission but is quite simply afraid to die. As you rightly point out, it would be slow and painful. So, yes, I will co-operate.”

  “Fine.” Ferguson stayed calm. “But you must tell me everything, and I do mean everything. Not only the names of the wretched young men drawn into your world of violence, but the identities of your sponsors, the moneymen, the Belovs.”

  Selim was just as calm. “You can never touch Belov. He’s much too powerful.”

  “That may be true, but we can damn well try.”

  “Good luck to you. However, I do have terms.”

  “Terms?” Ferguson frowned.

  “Certainly. I will deal only with you. I will talk only with you. Mr. Dillon may have saved my life in Iraq, but he killed friends of mine while doing it. I respect Superintendent Bernstein, but she is Jewish and it would not be seemly. The sergeants have treated me decently, so I have no objection to them. However, I don’t like this place.” He shook his head. “I really don’t like it at all. We are in the middle of London. There are too many of my brothers around here, too many people who would surely try to kill me if they knew I was here, no matter how good the security is. Is there somewhere else we could go?”

  “Jesus, son, you don’t want much,” Dillon said.

  Hannah turned to Ferguson. “Huntley Hall, sir. It’s away from here, and the security’s just as good.”

  “That’s true. Roper could come down and handle the technical stuff.”

  “No,” Selim said. “I said only you, and I meant it.”

  “I shouldn’t think that would be a problem, sir,” Hannah said. “Roper could handle it by remote. He’s done it before.”

  Selim said, “Huntley Hall?”

  “It’s a lovely old house in St. Leonard’s Forest near Horsham, about an hour and a half from London. It used to be Lord Faversham’s place. When he died, he left it to the nation. There’s lots of woodland. Excellent pheasant shooting.”

  “And now you’ve turned it into the kind of place where the only things that get shot are intruders?”

  Dillon laughed. “You’ll love it.”

  Ferguson stood up and said to Dalton and Miller, “Get him ready. I’ll go home and pack. When I return, we’ll drive down to Huntley. Be prepared to stay for as long as it takes. Dr. Selim, I’ll see you later.”

  They took him out and Ferguson turned to Dillon and Hannah. “It’s something of a surprise, but I’ll take it as far as I can. You’re in charge here, Superintendent.”

  “Very well, sir. You can rely on me.”

  “And you,” Ferguson said. “Try to behave yourself.”

  “Don’t I always?” Dillon said.

  “That’ll be the day,” Ferguson said and led the way out.

  It was approximately an hour and a half later that he returned, this time in a cab, bag in hand. Fifteen minutes later, the Land Rover emerged, Miller and Dalton in the front, Ferguson and Selim in the rear.

  A few yards down the road a Telecom van was parked, a manhole cover was up and a man in helmet and yellow jacket was working. He had a clear look as the Land Rover went by and spoke into a small mike in Russian.

  “Land Rover just coming your way now. Two in the front. Ferguson and Selim in the rear. Stick to them like glue. I’ll notify Major Novikova.”

  The Land Rover paused at the end of the one-way street, then turned into the main road. A motorcycle, ridden by a man in black leather, emerged from a side street and took up station, staying well back.

  11

  At China Wharf, while Fahy and Regan did the cooking, Kelly contacted Ashimov. “So here we are. What next?”

  “We’ll come round and see you to discuss that. Greta did some research in her GRU files and discovered that Ferguson has a safe house in Holland Park.”

  “Well, that’s useful. Is Selim there?”

  “I’d be amazed if he wasn’t. Just to make sure, though, she’s got a couple of her people from the embassy on watch there, posing as workmen. I’ll let you know what they find out.”

  He drove to the embassy, and found Greta in her office, putting papers into her briefcase. She looked flushed and excited.

  “It marches, Yuri. It marches. Not only was Selim definitely in the safe house, he’s now left. He was seated with Ferguson behind two men in a Land Rover. It’s definite.”

  “So where were they going?”

  “I don’t know, but my number-two man, a young lieutenant called Ivanov, is on their trail on a motorcycle.”

  “Is he any good?”

  “Excellent. They won’t give him the slip, even if they try.”

  “Then while we’re waiting to hear what he comes up with, let’s go visit those Irish clods at China Wharf.”

  The Land Rover moved south out of London through heavy traffic to Leatherhead, then onward to Dorking, stopping on the other side for fuel. It was busy, with plenty of cars around, and Ivanov was able to be unobtrusive. He called Greta just as she was arriving at China Wharf with Ashimov. He told her where he was. “The main road leads to Horsham. Does that make any sense?”

  “Plenty. I think you may find a village near there named Huntley. Stay with it and call me back.”

  “Huntley?” Ashimov said.

  “Ferguson’s other safe house.” She held up her briefcase. “It’s all in here.”

  “Good. Then let’s go i
n.”

  The road to St. Leonard’s Forest passed through impressive woodland, but was not very busy, only the occasional car and the odd farm vehicle. Ivanov stayed way back, allowing anything that came to overtake him. The road was comparatively straight and he was able to keep the Land Rover in view far up front.

  In the end, he had luck, but you always needed that. A large agricultural container truck came up behind him, and he pulled over to let it pass. It provided perfect cover for another couple of miles and he stayed well back, looking beyond it until he saw the Land Rover turn off the road. He slowed, taking his time, allowing the truck to move on, and came to high walls topped by what, to his practiced eye, looked like an electronic fence. There was a gate, obviously also electronic, a small lodge and a sign that said HUNTLEY HALL INSTITUTION.

  He kept on going. The walls extended for about a quarter of a mile, the grounds heavily wooded. He had a glimpse of the roof of a large house in the distance, no more, and then he came to the village of Huntley itself – very English, very traditional, cottages scattered on the main street, a stone bridge over a brook, a village store, a fuel station and a pub called the Huntley Arms.

  He stopped for fuel, and a young woman served him. His English was perfect, which was how he had been trained. “I seemed to get lost in Horsham. I wanted to cut across to the Brighton Road.”

  “Keep going, you’ll come to the A Twenty-three and that’ll take you all the way down to Brighton.”

  “This is certainly an out-of-the-way place.”

  “That’s true. Nothing much happens here.”

  He followed her to the kiosk and got his money out. “What was that place I passed, Huntley Park Institution?”

  “Some sort of medical outfit. People in rehab, or that sort of thing. I wouldn’t know, really. They keep to themselves.”

  He noticed there were a dozen trailers scattered in the woodland at the back of the garage.

  “Who do you rent those to?”

  “Nobody’s staying now. Bird-watchers sometimes, people down for the shooting. We get quite busy in the summer.”