by Jack Higgins
It was half an hour later that the Jagos emerged, with Ford and Frazer. They went up the street to a Ford station wagon, got inside, and drove away. To Billy's surprise, they were aiming for home territory, Wapping. There was plenty of late evening traffic and Baxter stayed well back. The station wagon finally turned into a narrow road between old warehouses, mostly refurbished.
'St Richard's Dock,' Baxter said. 'They turned all the old warehouses into offices and such last ear.'
'Any housing, apartments?' Billy asked.
'No.'
'Then what the hell are they up to? Pull in at the end of the street and give me those glasses.'
Baxter parked in the shadow of a wall and they got out. Billy focused the glasses, as the Jagos and the other two got out and went down stone steps to the shingle beach beside the river. They started to walk, and Billy watched, for they were clearly seen in the strange green glow of the glasses.
'The tide's out,' Hall said. 'Otherwise, they'd be swimming.'
'They've disappeared,' Billy said. 'We'll wait.'
It was ten minutes later that the Jagos and the others reappeared and walked back along the beach. They climbed the steps, got in the station wagon, and drove away.
'Okay,' Billy said. 'Get the torch from the Range Rover, Joe, and we'll take a look.'
He found what he was looking for with no trouble, an arched entrance to a tunnel, dark and wet, lichen growing over the ancient stoneware. There was a damp river smell to everything. He led the way, probing the darkness with the torchlight, and came to a huge rusting iron grille gate. There was a lock, everything corroded tight.
'So what are they up to?' Baxter asked.
'God knows, but we'll find out. Back to Harry,' and he turned and led the way out.
In his personal booth at the end of the bar at the Dark Man, Harry Salter sipped beer and listened. 'St Richard's Dock. I've got a piece of that, Billy.' He called to Dora and she came round the bar. He put an arm round her waist. 'Have a look in the file in my office, love, St Richard's Dock.'
'Anything for you, Harry.'
'Yes, I know that, only just get me the bleeding file.'
She was back in a couple of minutes. He opened the file, took out a plan and checked it. 'Two merchant banks, estate agent, property developers, two restaurants, the White Diamond Company.' He sat back. 'Jesus Christ, no, they couldn't. I mean, a place like that these days. It's state-of-the-art security. The bleeding works. I can't believe this.'
Strangely, it was Billy who said, 'Just take it slowly, Harry. Let's consider what they were doing on the beach in that tunnel.'
'You're right, Billy, you're learning.' He turned to Hall. 'Have a look in the saloon bar. See if that old geezer Handy Green's in. He usually is. Used to be a barge captain. There's nothing he doesn't know about the river — more than me, and that's saying something.'
Hall went off, and returned a moment later with an ancient and wizened man, all shrivelled up inside a reefer coat and jeans.
Salter said, 'Handy, my old son. Come and join us for a drink. I think you might be able to help me.'
'Anything, Harry, anything I can do, you know that.' 'The thing is, Handy, I've got a problem. You know St Richard's Dock?'
"Course I do, Harry.'
'They've redeveloped all the warehouses, office, all that.'
'Finished it last year. I used to work the boats, the old sailing barges from there when I was a kid.'
'There's an interesting thing,' Harry said. 'Billy happened to be on the beach there and noticed the entrance to a tunnel.'
'Well, he would, if the tide was out. If the tide's in, the entrance is covered. It's called St Richard's Force.'
'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' He took the large brandy Dora brought and gave it to the old man.
'Oh, it's a medieval thing. Force meaning pressure, and when the tide goes up, the water goes in that tunnel like you wouldn't believe.' Handy swallowed his brandy greedily. 'The thing is, Harry, it's an interest of mine, London under the ground. There's tunnels from Roman times, Norman times, Tudor sewers, then the Victorians covered everything up. I mean, all these modern multi-storey buildings and office blocks haven't the slightest idea of how many tunnels and sewers go through their foundations.'
'And you do?'
'Always been an interest of mine.'
'And St Richard's Dock?'
'Riddled, Harry, it's like a honeycomb down there.' 'Are you sure?'
'Harry, I've got old books with maps, Victorian.'
'Really?' Salter turned to Billy. 'Do me a favour, Billy, take Handy round to his place and get these books. I'll phone Ferguson, tell him what we've got.' Which he did, and Ferguson, alerted on his mobile, returned to Pine Grove.
An hour later at Pine Grove, Handy Green sat with Roper and showed him some very interesting plans in some very old books. Roper checked the information, then got to work. Ferguson and Salter watched with Billy. Baxter and Hall were in the canteen. The screen came alive with ground plans.
'Extraordinary,' Roper said.
'What is it?' Ferguson asked.
'A network of Victorian tunnels and sewers adjacent to the St Richard's Dock infrastructure. There are places where you'd only need a sledgehammer to smash through Victorian brick into the St Richard's basement.'
'So what's that bleeding mean?' Salter demanded.
Roper said, 'Let me check the St Richard's specifications.' His fingers moved on. Finally, he nodded. 'Interesting. State-of-the-art security, but it's all external. If you come up like a mole, you're home free.'
'That's it, it must be,' Salter said.
'I'd say.' Roper turned to Ferguson. 'Brigadier?'
'Looks like it, but when are they going to do it, that's the thing.' He turned to Salter and his nephew. 'Will you stay on the case? We know the place, but we need to know the time.'
'Well, I don't think it's on Tuesday, if you follow me. Not from what Manchester Charlie Ford indicated. It'll be a week to two weeks.'
'Well, do what you can.'
A pleasure, Brigadier. It makes a change being on the right side for once. Come on, Billy, we'll leave and take Handy with us. Tell you what, we'll keep an eye on the beach.'
They left, and Ferguson said to Roper, 'Do you have anything for me on County Louth?'
'I've extracted everything I can from Regan. From what I've surmised, I've done a breakdown on the Kilbeg place. Do you want a quick look?'
'If you like.'
When Roper was finished, Ferguson sat there thinking about it. 'A tricky one.'
'Very.'
'But I think it should be done sooner rather than later, in view of what's happened.'
'I'd be inclined to agree.'
'Let's have something in the canteen and wait for Dillon and Blake.'
'Just one thing, Brigadier.'
'Feel free.'
'I'm an old Irish hand, and I tell you now, there's no way you can drive into that coastal area of County Louth and pretend to be tourists.'
'Yes, I can see that. You're suggesting a sea approach?' 'It's the only way.'
'Show me County Down, Louth, the Scottish coast.' Roper tapped it up obediently. 'There you go.'
Ferguson said, 'What would you say about Oban on the west coast there? Would that be a suitable point of departure?'
'Perfect, Brigadier.'
'Excellent.' Ferguson took out his mobile and called Hannah Bernstein at the office. 'Dillon not in yet?'
'Just landed at Farley Field, sir.'
'Good. I want him down here, Blake, too. Things are moving, Superintendent. We're going to make an Irish expedition. Speak to transportation. A motor cruiser, that kind of thing.'
'Certainly, sir. Home port?'
'Oban. Any equipment Dillon needs, we'll call him when he arrives. Make the meeting here and come yourself. I'm sorry, but I may have to put you in harm's way again.'
'It's what I'm paid for, sir.'
Dillon and Blake
wolfed bacon and eggs and listened to Ferguson and Roper.
Hannah said, 'I think it might be useful if Dillon and Sergeant Major Black had another chat with Regan, sir, just to make sure he's being honest.'
'A sensible idea,' Ferguson said. 'Let's do it.'
They went up to Roper's suite first and he showed them the situation at Kilbeg on the screen. 'It's very remote, a village on the coast, population a hundred or so. Scattered farms, hard-line Catholic Republicans. You couldn't move an inch without the whole countryside knowing.'
'So it's got to be by sea,' Ferguson continued.
Dillon nodded. 'That's right. We'll go under cover of darkness. Do a frogman job, if necessary.'
'Transport's already arranged a suitable boat from Oban,' Hannah said, 'called the Highlander. They'll need to know what equipment you want as soon as you can.
'No problem. I'll draw up a list. Are you coming, Blake?' 'I sure as hell am.'
'Also the Superintendent,' Ferguson said. 'I want an official police presence.'
Dillon sighed. 'At it again, Hannah, trying to get your head blown off. What is it, guilt?'
'Get stuffed, Dillon.'
'Hey, for a nice Jewish girl with a Cambridge degree, that really is elegant.'
She laughed in spite of herself. 'Now what?'
'Oh, let's look at the map again.'
Roper went over it. 'There's this old abbey which is the entrance and cover, but the interesting thing is this rural farmhouse to the east. That's an emergency exit. Regan says they only keep a couple of guys in the bunker as caretakers. Murphy turns up occasionally. He's the local hero.'
'Fine,' Blake said. 'We go in and blow it to hell.'
Ferguson nodded. 'Let's have Regan in for interrogation. You, Sergeant Major Black, Dillon. The same variety hall act, just in case there's something he forgot.'
When Sergeant Miller brought in Regan, Dillon was sitting by the fire. 'Ah, there you are, Sean. They tell me you've been very helpful.'
'I've done all I've been asked.'
Behind the mirror, Ferguson, Blake, Hannah and Roper watched. Suddenly, Roper said, 'He's lying, the bastard's lying.'
'How do you know?'
'Body language, instinct. I don't know, but there's something he hasn't told us.'
'Right, Sergeant Major,' Ferguson told her. 'Put the boot in.'
She burst through the door a moment later, boiling over with rage. 'I'm sick of lies, Dillon. This little sod's lying through his teeth. There are still things he hasn't told us.'
She took out her silenced Colt, and Miller, playing his part, caught her wrist. 'No, ma'am, that's not the way.'
The Colt discharged into the ceiling and Regan cried out in terror.
'All right, anything — anything you want.'
Dillon shoved him down into a chair.
'Okay, we've got Kilbeg, the bunker, the village, even the old granite quarry pier below the cliff. But what did you leave out?'
Regan hesitated, and Helen Black said, 'Oh, this is a waste of time. Let's send him back to Wandsworth.'
'No, for God's sake.'
'There's something. What is iff Dillon demanded.
'It's the money. Brendan has one of those safes in the floor of the bunker office. He's supposed to have a million pounds in there, proceeds of bank raids, exploitation, that kind of thing.'
'So?' Helen Black demanded.
'He owes that to Fox for arms supplies.'
'Really,' Dillon said.
'Only he's lying. He keeps fobbing Fox off. He's got nearly three million in there.'
Dillon almost fell about laughing. 'Jesus, you mean you're telling me that if we blow the place up, we'll not only be stiffing Murphy, but also Fox? That's beautiful.' He turned to the mirror. 'Isn't that a joy, Brigadier? Come on in.'
Ferguson came in, with Hannah and Blake. 'Very naughty, Regan. Still playing stupid games.'
'Yes, he's an untrustworthy sod,' Dillon said. 'In the circumstances, I think I'd like to take him along.'
'Really?'
'Just in case of problems. What if there's more he hasn't told us?'
Ferguson nodded. 'Yes, I take your point. Would you agree, Superintendent?'
'Well, she'll need to, as she'll have to take care of the bastard.'
'What are you getting aff Hannah asked.
'There's no sense in wasting time. If you get the quartermaster to fill my order and have the boat ready, Blake and I will fly up later this afternoon. There is an RAF base near Oban. We'll get things shipshape. They'll fly back and pick you up in the morning and do the return journey. We'll do the trip tomorrow afternoon and hit Kilbeg tomorrow night.'
'You're not wasting time, are you?' Ferguson said.
'Can't see much point, Brigadier.'
'Fine by me.'
'There's just one thing,' Dillon said. 'Blake took a bullet at Al Shariz.'
'Hell, it's a crease only. Anya fixed it.' Blake was indignant.
'Blake, if we do have to go in underwater, it isn't on.'
'So what you're saying is you want another diver?' Ferguson said. 'It's a bit short notice, but if I phone Marine Headquarters they could possibly find someone from the Special Boat Squadron.'
'No good. They cut their those boys, they'd never pass for locals. Now, SAS at Hereford have plenty of lads who haven't seen a barber in months. That's so they can go undercover in Belfast at a moment's notice and look like they're off a building site.' Dillon smiled.
'That makes sense,' Blake said. 'When you put me in there
undercover the other year, I recall it was dicey as hell.' 'So,' Dillon said. 'I've got another diver in mind.' 'Who?' Ferguson demanded.
Dillon told him.
The Brigadier laughed helplessly. 'Oh, I like it. I really do. Do you mind if I come with you and hear him turn you down?'
'No problem, Brigadier, it'll be the best pub grub in London. Meanwhile, though, I want Blake's shoulder checked out by Daz at Rosedene.'
'Rosedene?' Blake asked.
A private clinic we use near Pine Grove. We have a very nice man, a professor of surgery at London University, who, shall we say, helps us out.'
Ferguson said to Regan, 'Fancy a sea trip to Ireland, do you?'
'I don't have much choice, do 1?' But already, his mind was racing.
Ferguson turned to Helen Black and Miller. 'Take him away. The Superintendent will pick him up tomorrow.'
'Fine, sir.' Miller took Regan by the arm and she followed them out.
Ferguson said, 'All right, Dillon, take Blake to Rosedene. The Superintendent will phone ahead and make sure Daz is there. We'll go back to the office. I'll meet you for lunch.' He laughed. 'I can't wait to get his reaction. Hope he's a patriot.'
'People like him usually are, Brigadier.'
Rosedene was an exclusive town house in its own grounds. The receptionist greeted Dillon like an old friend, spoke on the phone, and a pleasant, middle-aged woman in matron's blue came out of her office. She had the accent of Ulster, like Dillon, and kissed him on the cheek.
'Have you been in the wars again, Sean?'
'No, Martha, but he has,' and he introduced Blake. 'Well, let's get on with it. Mr Daz is waiting.'
'Mister?' Blake was puzzled.
'In England, ordinary physicians are "doctor", but surgeons are "mister".' Dillon smiled. 'And only the English could explain that to you. In his case, he's also "professor".'
She took them along a corridor and opened the door into a well-equipped operating theatre. Daz, in a white coat, was sitting at a desk reading some papers, a tall, cadaverous Indian with a ready smile.
He got up and took Dillon's hand. 'Sean, it's not you this time. What a change.'
'No, it's my friend, Blake Johnson.'
'Mr Johnson, a pleasure. And what is the problem?'
A superficial gunshot wound. I mean, it's nothing.'
'It never is, my friend.' Daz turned to the matron. 'Under the circumstances, Martha, I'd rather
not have one of the girls in. Would you be kind enough to assist?'
'Of course, Professor. I'll get ready.'
Daz said, 'Stay if you want, Sean.'
Blake, stripped to his waist, stood while Daz and Martha, suitably robed, got to work.
'My goodness, you have been to the wars.' Daz probed
under the left ribs. 'Bullet scars are always distinctive.' Another here,' Martha said. 'Under the left shoulder.' 'Vietnam,' Blake said. 'A long time ago.'
'But not this, I think,' Daz said, as Martha cut away the pad on the right shoulder. He made a face. 'Nasty.' 'Hell, it's nothing,' Blake told him.
Daz ignored him. 'Yes, well, nothing requires some very careful stitching. How many would you say, Martha? Fifteen? Perhaps twenty. In the circumstances, I don't think a local anaesthetic will do. We'll need a general. Get Doctor Hamed for me. I know he's here. He can assist.'
'Now, look here, I don't want to be on my back,' Blake said. 'I've got things to do.'
'Not if you have a crippled shoulder for the rest of your life.'
Martha said, 'Do as you're told, Mr Johnson. You're not a stupid man.' She turned to Dillon. 'Leave him to it. Check in this afternoon.'
'For God's sake, Sean,' Blake said.
'No problem. If you're not fit, you can come up to Oban tomorrow with Hannah and Regan.'
At that moment, Billy Salter drove up to St Richard's Dock in the Range Rover and parked. He got out and walked along the embankment to where an old Ford van was parked, opened the door, and got in beside Joe Baxter, who was looking down at the shingle beach through a pair of old binoculars. He lowered them.
'What is it?' Billy asked.
'Well, having nothing to do, we checked out that cafe where Manchester Charlie Ford has breakfast. The thing is, he wasn't only with the big beast.'
'Go on, surprise me.'
'Connie Briggs.'
'Well, that's good. He's about the best on any kind of electronic security system in London.'
'I know, he's a genius.'
'Who else?'
'Val French.'
'Jesus. The big expert with the thermal lance. Cut up those security boxes on that Gatwick gold bullion job like sardine cans. We all know that.'
'So do Scotland Yard, but they couldn't prove it.' 'So why are we here?'