Edge of Danger sd-9

by Jack Higgins

'English, is it?' he said to Kate, then leaned down and brushed her face. 'Still, I suppose anything's better than nothing where a woman's concerned. Come on, English bitch, let's see what you've got.'

  There was a large bottle of brown sauce on the table. George tried to get up, but Dillon pushed him down, picked up the bottle and smashed it across the side of the man's head, sending him to his knees. The man knelt, blood and sauce on his cheek, and Dillon stamped on his face, sending him sprawling.

  Patrick Murphy appeared at that moment and was totally shocked as the two young men jumped up and Dillon produced his Walther.

  'I don't think so.'

  'For Christ's sake,' the barman said. 'What are you doing? They're Provisional IRA.'

  'Once in, never out, I was told,' Dillon said. 'And I've been a member since I was nineteen. I'll tell you what, Martin McGuinness wouldn't approve of this lot. I mean, he's a family man.' He turned to the two young men and nodded to the floor. 'Get this piece of dung out of here.'

  Their rage was plain, but they got the bearded man to his feet. Behind them, the door swung open and a man almost as small as Dillon strode in, dark hair tousled, needing a shave, wearing a Barbour jacket against the rain, with a large red-haired man behind.

  'Jesus,' he said. 'Is that you, Quinn, and in a damn bad way?' He laughed out loud. 'And whose toes did you stand on?'

  'Mine,' Dillon said.

  Bell turned in astonishment and his expression was close to awe. 'Dear God, is it you?'

  'As ever was. A long time ago it was: Derry, and those Brit paratroopers chasing us through the sewers.'

  'You saved my life once.' Bell held out his hand.

  'You tried to kill me twice.'

  'Ah, well, so we had a falling out.' Bell turned to the two men supporting Quinn. 'Get him out of my sight.'

  They took the bearded man out of the door and Bell said, 'What in the hell goes on, Dillon?'

  'This is Lady Kate Rashid. I believe you have a meeting arranged.'

  Bell didn't even look surprised. 'I should have known. Take me unawares, is that it? And where does this bastard fit in?' he asked her.

  'Mr Dillon is acting in a private capacity. I wanted his expertise on County Down, and he's been provided with ten thousand pounds to supply it.'

  'Flew into Aldergrove yesterday. Boated out overnight, back to Magee in an hour or two. Money for old rope,' Dillon said.

  'Come off it, you still work for Ferguson, you turncoat.' He took a Browning from his pocket. 'Hands high. See to him, Liam.'

  The red-haired man ran his hands over Dillon and found the Walther. He turned to Kate. 'Now you, darling.'

  It was Bell who said, 'Mind your manners, Casey, a lady this.' He gestured to the briefcase. 'See what's in there.'

  'No, Mr Bell,' Kate told him. 'What's in there is between you and me.'

  'I see.' He turned to George as Liam Casey checked him. 'This would be the younger brother? One Para.'

  'You're well informed,' said Kate.

  'I always am, and if your head of security is on that boat, he's also One Para and a damned Prod.'

  'Which you are yourself,' Dillon reminded him and shrugged to Kate. 'One of the few in the IRA.'

  'So what am I doing here?' Bell asked.

  'Business, Mr Bell. As you're so well informed, you'll know I am Executive Chairman of Rashid Investments, and you'll know we have big plans for development in Ulster.'

  'I had heard.'

  'Can we talk?'

  Bell nodded to the barman. 'We'll use the snug.' He led the way to a door, opened it to usher her through, and turned to Dillon. 'Sean?'

  'You still don't understand,' Kate told him. 'Dillon is here only as a minder. My business is with you, and you alone, on behalf of Rashid Investments.' She turned and nodded to her brother. 'George, join us.'

  The door closed. Dillon turned and said to the barman, 'I know it's early in the day, but it's cold out there and pouring with rain, and I'm County Down myself, so let's celebrate and get the Bushmills out.'

  There was a fire in the open hearth of the snug, chairs on each side and a small coffee table in between. Kate Rashid sat down, her brother standing behind; Bell sat opposite and lit a cigarette, Liam Casey stood behind.

  'So, the word is that Rashid Investments are having problems with their plans in Northern Ireland, and need a little protection.'

  'Not really, Mr Bell. That's a story even Dillon believes. No, I don't need you to guard the door, as it were; you're far too talented for that.'

  'Really? Then what do you need me for?'

  'Last year you killed General Petrovsky in Chechnya, and also blew up most of his staff.

  The world in general thought the Chechen freedom fighters had scored a great coup, but I know that you were paid one million pounds by Chechen sources in exile in Paris.'

  'Do you now?'

  'Oh, yes.'

  His face was calm. 'You or your famous brother, the Earl, isn't it? A man to reckon with, and all the money in the world, I hear.'

  'Not quite, but close. You've never met, of course.'

  'Almost. He was a Lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards. Crossmaglen in South Armagh. I was with one of my best snipers. Your brother and a small patrol were moving in. My man had him in his sights, then a helicopter dropped in with another twenty Guardsmen and we had to run for it.'

  'If you'd shot him, you'd have missed a big payday.' She pushed the briefcase across. 'Have a look.'

  He flicked the catches and lifted the lid. Inside were rows of fifty-pound notes. 'How much?' he asked.

  'A hundred thousand pounds as evidence of good faith. You keep it, whatever happens. My brother's gift to you.'

  'And what do I have to do?'

  'You may or may not know about this, but the Americans and Russians intend to prospect for oil in Hazar. The Sultan brokered a deal for them. It involved assassinating my brother.'

  'The Sultan's dead. It was in the papers.'

  'Exactly. One of his assassins almost killed me. My brother shot him dead. He's that kind of man.'

  'He would be. Irish time, Lady Kate. Me, Dillon, Casey here, your brother – we're all cut from the same piece of cloth. But there's more here. I know I'm a bastard, but I'm a clever bastard.'

  'All right. I'll tell you. It involves my mother and a man called Igor Gatov.'

  Afterwards, Aidan Bell said, 'Excuse the language, but they're all fucks. The Americans, Russians, Brits. They use people, then throw them away like a paper cup.'

  'So for once, we teach them a lesson. And I do mean a big lesson. We go straight to the top. I hear Jake Cazalet is a good man, but so what? Someone pays for people like Gatov, and ultimately it must be the one in supreme power. For President Jake Cazalet, you get two million. Now are you in or out?'

  Liam Casey said, 'Jesus.'

  Bell sat looking at her. 'You're mad, woman.'

  'No, perfectly serious. As I said, you keep the hundred thousand, no matter what.' She took a phonecard from her purse, and a pen. She wrote quickly. 'My coded mobile number. You've got seven days. My brother and I will be at Trump Tower in New York next Thursday at our apartment. If you're interested, present yourself, plus a coherent plan. If not, you're one hundred thousand pounds richer and no hard feelings.'

  Bell smiled. 'I'll be there, Lady Kate, Trump Tower, Thursday.'

  She nodded, a certain satisfaction on her face. 'It was never the money, was it? It's the game to you, just like Dillon.'

  'Well, I still expect to be paid, and for a job like this, I'll expect not two but three million sterling.'

  He held out his hand and she took it. 'Somehow, I thought you'd say something like that.'

  'We'll meet again next week then, in Manhattan.'

  'I'll be there.'

  Casey opened the door for her and they went out to Dillon, who was at the bar drinking Bushmills.

  'A little early, even for you,' she told him.

  'We have to walk back through the rain
, girl. I like to keep the cold out. We're all done here, I presume?'

  'Yes, back to Magee,' she said.

  Dillon turned to Bell. 'A sincere sensation, Aidan. I'm sure you'll do whatever the lady wants with your usual ruthless efficiency.'

  'Oh, you can count on it, Sean.'

  Kate, Dillon and George went out, and Bell and Casey stood in the door and watched them go.

  Casey said, 'It's madness, Aidan. Even you couldn't get away with it.'

  Bell smiled, looking incredibly dangerous. 'Now that's where you're wrong, Liam. I can get away with anything. There's something burning in my brain already, something I read recently. I'll go and check it out. That's a hell of a woman.' He watched her go, Dillon and George on either side. 'But Dillon. That's a strange one, having him here.'

  'A "minder", she said.'

  'Could be, but he still works for Ferguson, which means he can't be in on this business. It wouldn't make sense.'

  They walked out into the rain and moved towards the harbour at the same moment that Kate Rashid and the two men reached the Aran and stepped over the rail – and found Frank Kelly face-down on the deck. Quinn, the bearded man from the Royal George, came out of the wheelhouse with a savage grin, backed by his two cronies. They were all armed.

  Without hesitation, Dillon flung himself over the rail into the harbour, dived deep and swam, surfacing at the stern.

  Quinn was shouting, 'Get the bastard, get him!'

  Dillon reached to the ankle holster and drew the.22 pistol. The men above looked over the rail and he shot each one between the eyes. Quinn, shocked, turned to see what was going on and George Rashid pulled the.22 from his own ankle holster and shot him in the right arm. Quinn dropped his gun, scrambled over the rail, and stumbled away.

  George took careful aim just as Dillon came back up over the rail. 'Let him go and let's get out of here. See to Kelly,' he added to Kate, then moved to the wheelhouse and started the engines.

  On the way down from the Royal George, Bell and Casey saw what was going on below on the boat.

  Bell said, 'That shite Quinn. He's going to ruin everything. Come on,' and he ran down the hill to the harbour.

  They saw the action, Dillon taking to the water and shooting Quinn's two sidekicks, Quinn being shot by George Rashid and running for cover. Bell and Casey paused, watched George cast off and the Aran move out of the harbour, saw Quinn stumble between the boats on the beach.

  'I've had it, Liam,' Bell said. 'The Provisional IRA can go to hell. This is my patch and this bastard has come close to screwing up the biggest job of my life. This time he goes down.'

  He ran, followed by Casey. In working his way round the beach, Quinn had to wade through water, and when he turned around the stern of a fishing boat, he found Bell and Casey facing him.

  'Aidan?' he said.

  Bell smiled. 'You've been a stone in my shoe too long, you bastard. Let's end it now.' He drew a Browning from his pocket and double-tapped Quinn in the heart. Quinn fell back in the water, his body floating, half submerged.

  Casey said, 'You want me to do anything?'

  'No need, the tide's on the turn. It will take him out, and in Drumcree, who'll ask questions?'

  The Aran moved out to sea. Kate went to the stern and sat in the rain using her coded mobile. Paul Rashid answered.

  'It's me, darling.'

  'How did it go?'

  'I'll tell you when we meet. Bell will go for it.'

  'Good. How was Dillon?'

  'Well, he and Bell turned out to have shot at each other in the old days.'

  'So, Dillon bought your story?'

  'God knows. He's a devious bastard. What he did do was save my life.'

  There was a pause and Paul Rashid said, 'Explain.'

  Afterwards, he said, 'He doesn't take prisoners.'

  'No. Mind you, George didn't let you down, either.'

  'I'm proud of him. Tell him so for me. I'll see you soon.'

  The Aran was plunging out to sea through strong waves. Dillon and George were in the wheelhouse, and Kate arrived with tea.

  'How's Kelly?' Dillon asked.

  'He'll be all right. A bash to the head, that's all. He'll have a headache for a while, but he's a tough nut.'

  'Good,' Dillon said.

  Dillon said, 'Now, Kate, there's half a bottle of Bushmills under the chart table.'

  She found it, got it out, and poured into two mugs of tea. Dillon said, 'George, boy, as my Jewish friends would say, you're a mensch. My thanks.'

  'Dillon, I've been through Sandhurst and One Para. Sometimes I forget the estate management.'

  'Go on.' Dillon laughed. 'Get him out of here, Kate.'

  When she was gone, he used her coded mobile phone to reach Ferguson. When the Brigadier answered, he gave him a rundown of events.

  'Christ, Dillon, you've been killing again.'

  'The ranks of the ungodly, Charles.'

  'All right. Did you believe that story of hers, hiring Bell for protection for Rashid Investments?'

  'Not for a moment.'

  'So why involve you?'

  'I've told you. I know Down and I knew Bell in the old days. I knocked off guys who wanted to knock her off. She hired me as a minder and mind her I did. Without me, she'd be dead.'

  'And you still think there's something going on?'

  'Absolutely. Something big, but I've no idea what.' 'Come home, Sean, and we'll think on it.'

  At Aidan Bell's house, Casey was in the kitchen making tea. Suddenly the door opened and Bell appeared, a magazine in his hand.

  'I was right, I found the story in Time magazine. It tells me exactly how to shoot Jake Cazalet.'

  'You're mad,' Casey told him.

  'Not at all, Liam. This could work. Trust me.'

  Manhattan

  London

  West Sussex

  White House Aidan Bell and Liatn Casey shared a suite at the Plaza Hotel beside New York's Central Park. They had flown over earlier on Concorde, the seats provided by Rashid Investments, and found a chauffeur-driven limousine waiting to take them to the hotel.

  'This is the life, Aidan,' Casey said.

  'Well, don't let it go to your head. Shave, shower and put your best suit on. It's like we're visiting royalty tonight. I don't want him to think we're straight out of the bogs.'

  He showered in the second bathroom, then dressed in a white shirt, blue tie and an easy-fitting dark suit. When he went out to the sitting room, Liam Casey was standing at the window, looking out.

  'Jesus, Aidan, what a town.'

  He turned, wearing a black suit and shirt and black tie. 'Will I do?'

  'You look like a bouncer at the Colosseum,' Bell said. 'Now let's go. We're only a couple of blocks away. Just behave yourself and do as I say, and this ought to go as smooth as butter.'

  At Trump Tower, they went up in a private lift to the Rashid penthouse, where Kate opened the door. She wore a black dress and a gold chain round her neck, very understated.

  'Mr Bell.'

  'Lady Kate. What do I give to the woman who has everything?' He opened his briefcase and took out a cheap plastic box. 'A present from County Down. A sign of good luck. A four-leafed shamrock.'

  'Well, we can do with lots of that, Mr Casey.' She nodded. 'In you come. My brothers are waiting.'

  Paul Rashid sat by the fire in the drawing room with Michael and George. Kate made the introductions.

  'Aidan Bell and his associate, Liam Casey.'

  'Mr Bell.' Paul Rashid didn't shake hands. 'My sister tells me you almost had me shot in Crossmaglen.'

  'True, but Allah was good to you,' Bell told him.

  'I like that – I like it very much. You want a drink?'

  'Perhaps later. For now, let's get to business, I think.'

  'Fine. You wouldn't be here if you didn't think you could do it, am I right?'

  Bell said, 'Yes, you are. Now, there are two common types of assassination. One is by nutcases who press through th
e crowd and shoot the President up close, with no chance of getting away. Often, they don't even want to get away. That's not for me. Two is the clever, complicated kind, the Day-of-the-Jackal thing, meticulously organized, every possibility accounted for – like I did in Chechnya when I got Petrovsky and his staff. That takes a long time to plan, however, and I sense you want results a little sooner.'

  'You're quite right,' Paul said. 'So what's the answer?'

  Bell smiled. 'There's a third way.'

  There was silence. It was Kate who said, 'What, for God's sake?'

  Bell was enjoying himself. 'Well, to shoot the President of the United States should be an impossibility- or could it be absurdly simple?' He opened his briefcase and took out a magazine. He held it up. 'America, like Britain, is a democracy. You can write anything you want about the great and the good. There's an article in here on Jake Cazalet, everyone's favourite President. It was in my head, so I looked it up, and it's all I need for a general plan. Now I only need to finish working out the details.'

  The silence was profound. He smiled, feeling his power. 'I think I'd like a large Bushmills Irish whiskey and then we'll talk.'

  A few minutes later, he stood on the terrace looking down at the traffic while Paul Rashid read the article, then passed it to the others.

  'All right,' Paul said. 'Now, tell us your plan, Mr Bell.'

  'As the article says, Jake Cazalet loves to spend his weekends at that old beach house on Nantucket. They helicopter him straight from the White House lawn to the house late Friday, and he spends Saturday and Sunday there before coming back Sunday night. He has no family, just that one daughter in Paris.

  'Cazalet doesn't like a big fuss: he's notorious for it. At the house, even the cook and the housekeeper come in on a daily basis; they live in town. There are staff quarters, but he refuses to have more than two Secret Servicemen there at the weekend. I did a little extra research and learned that one is called Harper, he's the communications officer. The other is his favourite, a big, black, former Marine named Clancy Smith, who served in the Gulf War. Smith is devoted to Cazalet. He'd step in the way of the bullet if he had to. And then there's Blake Johnson.'

  'Yes, the article mentions him. It says he is the Director of something called the General Affairs Department at the White House,' Rashid said.