Drink With the Devil (25 page)

“Chief Inspector, is it? So what’s your game, lady?”

T
HE SIGN AT
the entrance to the drive said
Roselea Nursing Home
. The station wagon turned in through the gates and Dillon in the Toyota stopped on the other side of the road.

“What in the hell is going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Devlin said, “but my impression is something nobody counted on.”

I
N THE RECEPTION
area, they sat waiting, Mori, Sollazo, Barry, and Kathleen. She was in a bad way and Barry had an arm round her.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. The guy who runs this place, Dr. Ali Hassan, is a brilliant doctor.” He tried to make a joke. “An Egyptian Irishman. He’s patched up more bullet holes in more members of the IRA in the last twenty years than most doctors have had hot dinners.”

“It’s my fault,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t be crazy, girl, your uncle has a history of heart trouble, you know that as well as I do.”

Hassan, a small brown-skinned Arab in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, appeared.

“How is he?” Barry demanded.

“Not good, not good at all.” Hassan turned to Kathleen. “Your uncle has a history of angina? That’s what he told me.”

“Yes.”

“But this attack is most extreme. I don’t understand. What is his medication?”

“Dazane.”

“Good God, there’s no chance he has overdosed?” She stared at him, her face bone white. He said urgently, “Could he have overdosed?”

She nodded slowly. “He took three of the pills at four o’clock.”

“Oh, my God.” Hassan turned and ran along the corridor. Kathleen went after him and Barry and Sollazo followed, leaving Mori in reception.

R
YAN LAY TWITCHING
on the bed in intensive care while Hassan and a male nurse worked on him. Kathleen, Barry, and Sollazo peered in through the window and Barry held the girl tight. Suddenly Ryan gave a terrible gurgle and reared up on the bed and then he relaxed, all life draining out of him.

Hassan came out. “I’m afraid he has gone.”

Kathleen struck out at him. “He can’t have. It’s not possible.”

Barry restrained her. “Hold on, girl, it’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” she said. “I’m a trained nurse, I’m supposed to know these things. I checked at my old hospital at Green Rapids. The doctor told me three Dazane would give him an angina attack, but not more than a couple of bad days. It was our way out, don’t you see? You’d have to take him to hospital and we’d have a chance to get free.”

She broke down entirely. Barry handed her over to Sollazo. “Take her to the station wagon. I’ll handle things here.”

Sollazo took her out and Barry turned to Hassan. “You’ve been a good friend to the IRA, Ali, and we appreciate it, so this is another special one.”

“I understand, Jack.”

“You get him up to the crematorium tonight and put him through the ovens. No name, no certificate.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Good man yourself,” Barry said, turned, and went out.

D
ILLON AND
D
EVLIN
, sitting in the Toyota, watched the station wagon drive away. Dillon said, “Only the three of them and the girl and no Ryan. What goes on?”

“I know this place,” Devlin told him. “An IRA safe house. It’s run by a damn good surgeon, an Egyptian named Ali Hassan. Maybe we should pay him a visit?”

A
LI
H
ASSAN
,
SITTING
in his office, only a desk light on, was aware of the door opening and glanced up to see Devlin, Dillon behind him.

Devlin said, “Hello, Ali. Remember me? Liam Devlin. You took a bullet out of me eighteen years ago.”

“Oh, my God, Mr. Devlin,” Hassan said.

“And this is a friend of mine, Sean Dillon, who’s done as much for the cause as I have.”

“Mr. Dillon,” Hassan said uncertainly.

“A few people we know were in earlier propping up a Mr. Ryan between them,” Dillon said. “They left without him. Why would that be?”

“I think you must be mistaken,” Hassan said desperately.

Dillon produced his Walther. “Well, this doesn’t agree with you, so think again.”

Which Ali Hassan did and told them all.

A
T
V
ICTORIA
F
ARM
, Kathleen was in the bedroom, still weeping. Barry, Sollazo, and Mori were in the sitting room drinking whiskey when the phone rang.

Stringer said, “Thank God you’re there, Jack. Something’s come up.”

He started to talk. When he was finished, Barry said, “Hold her tight, Kevin, we’re on our way. We’ll leave now.”

“I will, Jack.”

Barry put down the phone and turned to Sollazo. “Do you recall a woman in glasses having lunch in the Loyalist today?”

“Sure,” Sollazo said. “Good-looking lady in an Armani trouser suit.”

“She’s not only a Detective Chief Inspector, she also works for Brigadier Charles Ferguson, the Prime Minister’s special intelligence expert, and guess who his troubleshooter is, Sean Dillon.”

“Christ,” Sollazo said. “What do we do?”

“We get the hell out of here now. Don’t ask me what’s going on because I don’t know, but we leave now for Scotstown and we check
Irish Rose
out tomorrow morning.” Barry turned to Mori. “Get the girl.”

Mori glanced at his boss and Sollazo nodded. “Do as he says.”

D
EVLIN AND
D
ILLON
, sitting in the Toyota, watched the station wagon leave. “There you go,” Devlin said. “Hot for Scotstown. I should imagine Ryan’s unfortunate demise has brought things forward.”

“We’d better get going, then,” Dillon said.

“No rush, Sean, we’ll go to my cottage first. After all, you know where they’re going.”

A
T
K
ILREA
C
OTTAGE
, Devlin sat by the fire with a Bushmills in his hand. Dillon bustled in, his Walther in one hand, his spare in the ankle holster in the other. He pulled up his trouser, put his foot on a chair, and fastened the ankle holster. He slipped the other Walther in his waistband against the small of his back.

Devlin said, “I always favored a Walther myself, Sean, there’s one in the desk drawer. Get it out.” Dillon did as he was told. “Now put it in your pocket.”

“But why?” Dillon said.

“Sean, lad, I’m too old. I’d only be a hindrance if the bullets start flying, so you’re on your own now. Only one thing I can do, which is to offer sound advice. You’ve a gun in your pocket. In a search Barry would find that easy enough. Then he’d check your back because he knows you favor that position. He’ll find the other Walther. That should satisfy him, give you a chance of getting away with the ankle gun.” Devlin smiled. “I mean, this is all supposition. Maybe Barry won’t have the chance of turning you over, but who knows?”

“God bless you, Liam, you’re the best,” Dillon said.

“Give them hell, Sean,” Liam Devlin said. “Now get on with you. I’ll phone Ferguson and bring him up to date.”

I
T WAS FOUR
o’clock in the morning and Hannah Bernstein was sleeping fitfully on the sofa in the small parlour at the back of the Loyalist. There were security bars on the window and Stringer had locked her in. She came awake to the sound of a vehicle drawing up in the yard. She sat up and listened to the sound of voices. After a while, the door opened and Stringer led the way in.

They were all there, Barry, Sollazo, Mori, and Kathleen, who looked pale and subdued from much weeping.

Stringer took Hannah’s Walther from his pocket and gave it to Barry. “This was in her shoulder bag.”

Barry weighed it in his hand, then put it in his pocket. “So, Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein, and you work for that old dog Charlie Ferguson?”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, but I do. Careless of you making a telephone call like that with a nosey one like Kevin in the office to listen in.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“You mentioned Devlin and Sean Dillon? We can expect them nosing around, can we?”

“Look, Mr. Barry, it’s over, can’t you see that? American Intelligence is on to Mr. Sollazo here and at a White House level.”

“That’s a lie,” Sollazo said. “They can’t be.”

“They know everything. How do you think Brigadier Ferguson came into the picture?” She shook her head. “There’s no way either the White House or Downing Street will stand by and see that bullion fall into the wrong hands. You see, Mr. Barry, Sollazo is in this for greed, but not you. With those kind of resources, the Provisional IRA could keep going forever if it needed to.”

“Shoot the bitch,” Kathleen Ryan said dully.

“I can take care of it,” Mori said.

Barry shook his head. “She could still be useful as some kind of hostage.” He shook his head. “Fancy that old fox Liam Devlin making a fool of me, but why? Why Liam?”

“Peace, Mr. Barry, it’s very fashionable these days,” Hannah told him. “And most people want it.”

“To hell with polite conversation,” Sollazo said. “What happens now?”

“Maybe we should get the hell out of here while we can,” Mori said.

Barry shook his head. “My hunch is that Ferguson sent the Chief Inspector here and Dillon on a fishing expedition with Devlin supplying the local expertise. No Garda, no RUC, not at this stage. All they wanted was to know where the
Irish Rose
is lying. Once Ferguson knows that, then it would be a job for a Royal Navy salvage team.”

“We’ve had it anyway,” Sollazo said bitterly. “They know where we are.”

“Yes, but they still don’t know where the
Irish Rose
is. I say we go out at dawn and make the dive anyway. Dammit man, if that gold is reachable we could raise a few bars and be on our way. A million — two million — for a morning’s work.”

And suddenly Sollazo smiled. “What the hell, why not? I’ve been taking chances all my life. Too late to stop now, but what about Dillon and this guy Devlin?”

“Liam Devlin was the best in the business once, but he’s eighty-five years of age. Dillon’s the hard man.”

“Not to me he isn’t,” Mori said.

“Well, it would make an interesting encounter, but no need. The Chief Inspector makes a very satisfactory hostage if Dillon and Devlin turn up.” He turned to Stringer. “Right, Kevin, an early breakfast and we’ll leave at dawn. You’ll hold the fort here?”

F
ERGUSON ON HIS
secure line finished talking to Blake Johnson. The American said, “What happens now that Ryan is dead? Would you say the location has died with him?”

“Definitely not, otherwise why would they have returned to Scotstown? My Chief Inspector, as I told you, is there undercover, Dillon in hot pursuit. A man of infinite resource and guile. He’ll sort it out, he always does. He’ll find out where that damn boat is.”

“And then?”

“Job for the Royal Navy’s salvage section. Something nice and discreet. Make it look like an exercise.” He laughed. “One thing is certain. There’s no way our friends can mount a proper salvage operation on that boat, not now.”

“The President will be pleased to hear that.”

“And so will the Prime Minister when I tell him in the morning. I’ll keep you up to date on future developments naturally.”

“I’d appreciate that, Brigadier.”

Ferguson, sitting by the fire at his flat, put the phone down and went to the drinks cabinet and poured a large whiskey.

“Come on, Dillon,” he said softly. “Sort the buggers out.”

D
ILLON AT THAT
moment was on the hill outside the village, the Toyota parked in the shelter of the wood. He scanned the front of the Loyalist with his binoculars, then had a look at the
Avenger
at anchor out there in the harbor.

“And where will you be, Hannah my love? Still in bed at this time in the morning I shouldn’t wonder,” he said softly.

Dawn was coming up fast now and the morning was gray and grim, the damp clinging mist shrouding everything, and rain fell relentlessly. He lit a cigarette and wondered how he was going to play it, and then the front door of the Loyalist opened and they all came out, Jack Barry, Kathleen, Sollazo, and Mori with Hannah Bernstein between them. Stringer stood in the doorway talking to Barry, then went inside.

“Sweet Mother of God!” Dillon said and followed them with his binoculars as they walked down the slipway and got into the green inflatable and cast off. The outboard hammered into life and they moved away. Dillon got into the Toyota and started the engine.

K
EVIN
S
TRINGER, MAKING
another pot of tea in the kitchen, was aware of a slight creaking as the back door opened. He turned and Dillon smiled at him.

“Dear God, it’s you, Sean,” and Stringer’s throat went dry.

“A long time, Kevin. So what’s been happening here?”

“What do you mean?”

Dillon took the Walther from his pocket. “This thing makes hardly a sound and you know me. I’ll put you on sticks, so tell me.”

“Please, Sean, I’m only a middleman on this. I listened in when the woman was on the phone. She identified herself as a Chief Inspector and spoke to a Brigadier Ferguson. Mentioned you and Liam Devlin.”

“So, as they say in bad movies, all is revealed.”

“Michael Ryan’s dead,” Stringer said. “A heart attack.”

“I know that,” Dillon said. “I know everything. So they’re going out to
Irish Rose
?”

“That’s right.”

“And the Chief Inspector?”

“Jack said she’d be a useful hostage if you turned up. The Ryan girl wanted to kill her. So did that bastard Mori.”

“Is that a fact? Well we can’t have that, so let’s get down to the jetty fast before they leave.”

O
N THE
A
VENGER
Barry was at the wheel, the two women sitting on the bench beside him. Sollazo was on the stern deck with Mori and starting to raise the anchor when Stringer’s voice boomed across the water.