by Jack Higgins
‘How is he?’ she raised her voice so that he could hear.
He came forward. ‘A little calmer, I think.’
Colonel Henry turned his head and examined her. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demanded, and glanced at Justin. ‘And who’s this?’
‘It’s your grandson, Father,’ she said.
The man resembled nothing so much as a ghoul with his hollow cheeks and rheumy eyes, as he glared at Justin, his right hand clutching a blackthorn walking stick. Then something sparked in the eyes.
‘The bastard,’ he cackled. ‘The Protestant bastard.’
‘Please, Father,’ she started to say, and he tried to strike out at her with the blackthorn. She managed to jump out of the way, and Murphy blocked the blow with his right arm.
‘That’s it,’ Justin said. ‘I’m out of here. I’m going to have a shower and change into something comfortable. I sincerely hope that I’m not expected to eat with him, because I won’t, I’ll have it in the kitchen.’ He turned and walked out.
Nine-thirty on a weekday night wasn’t the busiest time in most London pubs, and the Dark Man on Cable Wharf by the Thames at Wapping was no exception. Harry Salter still had a weakness for the place, for it was where he had started out all those years ago, when he’d realized that more money could be made in business than crime, and you didn’t have to constantly run the chance of going down the steps at the Old Bailey for twenty years.
He’d invited everybody round for drinks and supper, Dora’s hotpot if they were lucky, and that included Roper. Dillon would be bringing him in the back of the people carrier from Holland Park. Holley got a cab from the Dorchester and arrived just after they did, paid the driver off, then walked to the edge of the wharf and looked across the Thames as a riverboat passed by, ablaze with lights.
He was standing in a place of dark shadows beyond the lights from the pub, and was turning to go, when he saw three young men in track suits jog down from the direction of Wapping High Street. They moved apart, one of them turning into the car park, two of them running along the jetty to where Salter’s boat, the Linda Jones, was tied up. A few moments later, the one from the car park emerged and went to join the others as they ran back to join him.
Holley regarded them for a moment and then dismissed them, and went into the Dark Man. The Salters sat in their usual corner booth, with Dillon and Harry’s two minders, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall, lounging at the bar. Roper sat facing them in his state-of-the-art wheelchair in his favourite reefer coat, his long hair framing the bomb-scarred face.
‘Here he is,’ Harry said. ‘The guy who planned to have us burned down.’
‘Well, it didn’t work, did it?’ Holley said.
‘I won’t mention it again, old son. Bygones are bygones as far as I’m concerned. What will it be?’
‘My Yorkshire half says beer and my Irish half says a Bushmills Whiskey.’
‘Good man. I’ll join you in that,’ Dillon said.
Outside, Kalid Hasim was discussing the situation with his friends, Omar and Sajid. He said, ‘The boat’s locked up tight. No way of going below. That’s where they have things called seacocks. If you open them, water rushes in and the boat will sink.’
‘So what do we do?’ Omar asked.
‘We’ll cut the ropes holding it close to the jetty. I’ve got a good knife. We’ll shove it so that the current takes it out into the river. Then a quick run-through the car park, smashing every headlight and car window you can and just keep on running.’ He took out a baseball bat that Holley had missed in the dark. The others did likewise.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Sajid said.
It was then that Hasim made a bad mistake. He said, ‘First let’s go inside. I want to see how many customers there are, so we know what we’re up against.’
‘What about the bats?’ Omar asked.
‘We’ll just leave them over there in the corner where that flower trellis is. Nobody will see.’
Holley noticed them as they entered the pub, surveyed the room for a few minutes, then left again. He said, ‘Something strange about those three.’
‘What would that be?’ Roper said.
‘I noticed them when I arrived, jogging down from the main road.’
Harry frowned. ‘What were they doing?’
‘One ran through the car park, the other two went along the jetty to the boat. I couldn’t see what they were up to there. The other one joined them for a chat, and I came in.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Harry Salter said. ‘Billy?’ Billy was on his feet in an instant and called to Baxter and Hall, ‘Let’s get moving.’ He ran out of the door. Hasim had already sliced through the stern line of the Linda Jones, and the stern itself was starting to swing out in the current. Omar had switched on the desk light under the awning, which automatically put on two lights on the prow, something Hasim had not expected.
‘What the hell do you bleeders think you’re doing?’ Billy Salter called, and Baxter and Hall started to run. Billy produced his Walther and fired in the air.
The three young men turned in alarm, and Sajid cried, ‘Let’s get out of here!’
But there was nowhere to run. The jetty extended for perhaps fifty feet beyond the Linda Jones, then stopped abruptly.
‘I’m nearly done here,’ Hasim told his friends. ‘Get on board, Sajid, and we’ll shove off.’
But this line was a hawser and much thicker, and Billy fired again, the dull thud of the silenced Walther sounding. ‘I’ll put you on sticks.’
He took careful aim and Hasim paused, picked up his baseball bat and backed away. ‘Come on then, let’s be having you.’
It was a brave but futile gesture. Omar jumped into the water and started to swim into the darkness, and Sajid ran at Baxter and Hall, flailing out at them with the baseball bat, catching Baxter on the shoulder. Hall blocked the blow aimed at him and wrenched the baseball bat from Sajid’s hand.
Behind them, Harry Salter was approaching, and Dillon and Holley stood in the doorway of the pub. Dillon said, ‘I think this could get nasty.’
He half ran across to the jetty and approached the men. Baxter and Hall had Sajid between them and Baxter was holding the baseball bat in the other hand.
‘Give it here,’ Harry said. ‘I could do with one of those. You okay, Joe?’
‘It could be worse. The young bastard didn’t break anything.’
‘Well, we’ll soon fix that. Hold out his left arm.’ Sajid tried to struggle, but it was no good. Baxter held him from behind, Hall extended the arm and the baseball bat descended.
Sajid cried out in agony and Harry said, ‘Now I think you’ll find that’s broken. Wapping High Street’s where you want to be, St Luke’s Hospital. They’ve got an excellent casualty department. Now get out of my sight.’
Dillon came up behind and Sajid stumbled past him, sobbing. Billy stood confronting Hasim, Walther extended. It made for a dramatic tableau, the deck lights from the Linda Jones, the darkness all around, some vessel passing in the distance, the river sounds.
Dillon said, ‘Do you think the other one will make it to the other side?’
‘I doubt it. I was the original river rat as a kid,’ Harry said. ‘I know the Thames backwards. Big tide tonight, four-knot current at least. Of course, he could also get run down by a boat out there.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not concerned about him. Young punks getting up to a bit of aggravation is one thing, but my nose tells me there’s more to this than meets the eye.’
He moved up beside Billy and confronted Hasim, who crouched defiantly, the baseball bat ready to swing, ‘What’s your game?’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ Hasim snarled.
‘Don’t waste my time. I’m Harry Salter; everybody knows that. I own half of Wapping and you, you maggot, come along here and have a go at a boat I’ve spent thousands restoring. That isn’t your usual petty vandalism; it was a personal attack on me. So who put you up to it?’
‘I’ve told you
what you can do.’
‘We’re wasting time here,’ Billy said. ‘Let me put a shot in his right kneecap. That should jog his memory.’
Hasim suddenly looked uncertain, but lengthened his double-handed grip on the baseball bat. Dillon pulled out his own Walther and shot the bat out of Hasim’s hand, who jumped back in alarm as it bounced on the cobbles of the jetty, rolling towards Harry, who picked it up, examined the splintered end and stood there, holding it.
‘Take him,’ he said.
Hasim made a sudden move as if to attempt to run past, Baxter tripped him, and he and Hall pulled him up between them. Billy and Dillon put their Walthers away and stood watching.
Harry said, ‘Somebody put you up to this, and I want to know who.’ Hasim spat at him, Harry took his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face. ‘Very nice that, isn’t it? I’ve had enough. Just hold out his right arm.’
Hasim went crazy, struggling in the grip of the two men. They punched him several times to bring him under control and stretched out his arm.
‘Not that,’ he screamed, as the bat was raised. ‘I’m a boxer.’
Salter was astonished for a moment, then smiled. ‘Well, that’s good news, because if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll break both your arms.’
Half sobbing, Hasim couldn’t get it out quick enough; he told them everything about his dealings with Lancy.
When he was finished, Harry Salter said, ‘And you expect me to believe that’s the way this geezer operates: a voice on the phone and payment by mail?’
‘I swear it’s true,’ Hasim said. ‘I can’t tell you anything else about him. On my mother’s life.’
‘What does he sound like?’ Dillon put in.
‘Cockney, no doubt about that, but I think he’s Muslim. When he gave me this job, he spoke in Arabic for the first time. It was when he was saying goodbye.’
‘And what did he say?’ Dillon asked.
‘He said Allah is great and Osama is his prophet.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Dillon added. ‘It should be Mohammed is his prophet.’
‘He said Osama.’
Dillon and Billy exchanged glances. Harry tossed the baseball bat into the river. Hasim said, ‘What happens now?’
Harry took out his wallet and extracted a fifty-pound note and gave it to him. ‘Take that and run after your mate. He won’t have got far. Give him a hand to the hospital. It’s a good thing for you I’m in a friendly mood. If I see you round here again, I’ll kill you.’
Hasim took to his heels, and ran into the darkness, and the others returned to the Dark Man and joined Roper and Holley in the corner booth. Selim Lancy, who had observed everything from his Mercedes parked nearby, got out, put his hearing enhancer in his right ear, and followed. He saw the others settling themselves back in the corner booth. Selim got a pint, went and sat in the next booth, which was unoccupied, and opened an Evening Standard he’d been carrying.
‘So what happened out there?’ Roper demanded.
It was Billy who answered, and it didn’t take long. The end of the story was what mattered most. ‘Allah is great and Osama is his prophet, that’s what he said.’
‘Could that mean Al Qaeda’s behind it?’ Harry asked.
‘I’d say definitely. I think we all have to be on our guard from now on.’
‘I’m frightened to death, and I’m also starving,’ Harry Salter said, and called to Dora, ‘What about our supper, love? Bring on the hotpots!’
Lancy left shortly afterwards and called Hasim from the car. When he answered, he said, ‘I was there, sitting in a car outside the Dark Man. I saw everything. Where are you now?’
‘I just delivered Sajid to St Luke’s Hospital. His arm’s so badly broken they’ve admitted him.’
‘And your other pal decided to go for a swim?’ Lancy shook his head. ‘Why didn’t Salter break your arm?’
‘How the hell would I know?’
‘I think you blabbed, my old son. In fact, I was listening to what they were saying in the pub, and I know you did. They know it was Al Qaeda.’
‘That isn’t true!’ Hasim was suddenly desperate. ‘I didn’t say a word to Salter!’
‘You’re a dead man, sunshine,’ Lancy told him. ‘I know you, but you don’t know me. Think about it.’
He switched off his mobile and drove away.
At Talbot Place, dinner had been late because Jean had insisted on Jack and Hannah Kelly joining them. ‘We’ll make an occasion of it,’ she told Justin.
She did just that herself, wearing her hair up and finding an attractive dress in green silk by Versace that she hadn’t worn for some time. With high-heeled shoes, she looked quietly attractive as she descended the stairs. Justin, who had just gone down himself, greeted her with a glass of Krug, holding one for himself.
‘You know what they say.’ He smiled. ‘If you’re tired of champagne, you’re tired of life.’ He raised his glass. ‘To you, Mum, you look absolutely smashing.’
‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’
He wore a black single-breasted suit, white shirt and Guards tie, his dark hair cropped. He still had slight stubble on his chin.
She touched it. ‘What’s this? Did you run out of razor blades?’
‘It’s the fashion at the moment. I think it’s meant to make you look as if you’ve done things and been places.’
‘But you’ve done both, you idiot.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, men are the end sometimes. Has Jack arrived?’
‘He’s in the kitchen, where Hannah is running around like a dervish. Young Jane has produced her waitress outfit, black dress and white apron. She looks quite charming.’
‘And your grandfather, have you seen him?’
‘Must I?’ He immediately regretted it. ‘I’m so sorry. Callous of me when I think of how much you’ve put up with.’
Jack Kelly appeared from the dining room, looking slightly old-fashioned in a tweed country suit, soft-collared shirt and knitted tie. ‘You look grand, girl,’ he told Jean, and kissed her on the cheek.
‘An evening for compliments.’ She smiled. ‘Get him a drink and I’ll see how things are coming along in the kitchen.’
Talbot found Kelly a Bushmills Whiskey in the study bar. ‘Here’s to you, Jack. What you and Hannah have done to support my mother is beyond price.’
‘How is he?’
‘We’ll take a look.’
‘Quietly is my advice,’ Kelly told him. ‘One minute he’s sitting there like a living dead man and then, and often for some unknown reason, he explodes into one of his worst moments, screaming obscenities, slashing out with the blackthorn stick. God save us, but he could kill somebody with one of his blows.’
‘So I believe.’
In the conservatory, they walked softly along the path. Murphy saw them coming and nodded slightly. Colonel Henry seemed somnolent; his head had fallen to one side and it was shaking slightly.
‘Is that enough for you?’ Kelly asked.
‘What do you think, Jack?’ Talbot’s face was bleak. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
The meal was simple but sensational: an onion soup with cheese that wouldn’t have disgraced the best of Paris restaurants, lamb chops that were simply superb, cabbage and bacon, Irish-style, and roast potatoes. Young Jane in her waitress outfit acted the part to perfection, serving wine as to the manner born, left hand behind her back.
‘I can’t remember when I last ate like that,’ Justin said as Jane cleared the plates on to a serving trolley.
‘Well, it’s not over yet,’ Hannah told him. ‘We’ve got your special favourite since you were a boy.’
‘Emily’s apple pie,’ Justin said.
At the same moment, there was a disturbance in the Great Hall, shouting, and then the door burst open. Colonel Henry stood there in his robe, leaning on his stick, looking quite different. He seemed alert, his head up, and his voice was sharp and strong. There was an energy to him.
‘So there you are,’ he shouted. ‘What’s all this behind my back?’
Behind him, Murphy moved in. ‘Now then, Colonel.’ He put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. Henry turned and struck out at him with the blackthorn, slashing him across the right arm.
Murphy backed away and Jean moved forward. ‘Father, this won’t do.’ She reached for him, and when she was close enough, he slapped her across the face. ‘How dare you touch me, you bitch?’ He moved back as Justin took an angry stride towards him.
‘And who are you?’
‘Your grandson.’
He whirled round with surprising energy, collided with Murphy, knocking him to one side, and crossed the Great Hall, waving his stick and cackling. Justin had moved forward, and Jean and the Kellys followed. The old man got to the stairs, reached for the rail, hauled himself up three steps and paused, turning.
His face was something out of a nightmare, absolutely malevolent as he glared at Justin. ‘I know you. You’re the Protestant bastard.’
For Justin Talbot, it was enough, and the pain and resentment of a lifetime at the hands of this man erupted in an anguished cry. ‘No, Grandfather, I’m the Catholic bastard.’
The words seem to echo around the hall, and Hannah Kelly cried out, ‘Oh, God in Heaven.’
Colonel Henry stared at Justin, stood there swaying, his left hand on the banister. ‘What did you say?’
Justin spaced each word and said clearly, ‘I’m the Catholic bastard.’
Colonel Henry seemed to howl, head back, raised the blackthorn high and struck for Justin’s head, at the same time releasing his grip on the banister. Justin stepped to one side and his grandfather fell from the steps to the floor.
Young Emily screamed and everyone seemed to move at once. It was Murphy who reached him first; he dropped to his knees to put him in the recovery position, for there was bleeding from the nose. The eyes weren’t closed, but staring rigidly, and it was no surprise when Murphy, feeling for a heartbeat, looked up and shook his head.
‘He’s gone.’
Jean Talbot, the Kellys and young Jane stood there in a kind of tableau, Jane crying. Justin said, ‘That’s it, then. We’d better call Dr Ryan. There will be things to do.’