then walked towards the Land-Rover where Parker still stood beside the tea urn.
He frowned warily as Hoffa approached and held out the mug. 'Would you mind telling me what this is supposed to be, Mr. Parker, sir?' he said mildly.
Behind him, the voices died away and Hagen called sharply, 'What's all this then, Hoffa?'
Hoffa replied without turning round, 'A simple enough question, Mr. Hagen.' He held the mug out towards Parker. 'Have you tasted it, Mr. Parker?'
'Have I hell,' Parker said and the knuckles of his right hand showed white as he tightened his grip on his staff.
'Then I really think you should,' Hoffa said gently and tossed the contents of the mug into Parker's face.
There was a moment of stunned silence and then everything seemed to happen at once. Parker moved in with a cry of rage, his staff flailing down and Hoffa ducked under it, doubled him over with a fist to the stomach and raised a knee into the decending face.
Behind him there was a roar of excitement from the other prisoners and a moment later, he was on the ground, borne down by a rush of officers. There was a brief struggle and he was jerked to his feet, wrists handcuffed in front of him.
The Alsatian snarled on the end of its steel chain, driving the excited prisoners back. Hagen shouting for order. He got it in the end, turned and came toward Hoffa, a slight, puzzled frown on his face, all the instinct, all the experience of thirty hard years telling him that there was something wrong here.
'You bloody fool,' he said softly. 'Six months' remission gone and for what?'
Hoffa gazed past him stolidly, face impassive, and Hagen shrugged and turned to Parker who leaned against the Land-Rover, blood on his face. 'Are you all right?'
'My nose is broken.'
'Think you could drive?'
Parker nodded, a handkerchief to his face. 'I don't see why not.'
Hagen turned to one of the other officers. 'I'm leaving you in charge, Mr. Smith. Get them working and no nonsense. I expect to see some sweat when I get back.'
The prisoners were marched away and Hagen slipped the Alsatian's lead. The dog moved across to Hoffa, sniffing at his boots, and Hagen said, 'Let's have you then. Into the back of the green Land-Rover. Any funny stuff and I'll put the dog on you-that's a promise.'
Hoffa moved across the Land-Rover without a word, the Alsatian at his heels. He climbed inside, sat on one of the benches and waited. A moment later Hagen joined him, closing and locking the rear door.
A small glass window gave a view of the interior of the cab. Parker's face appeared momentarily, the brief glance he gave Hoffa full of venom. He nodded to Hagen and a moment later, the engine roared into life and they drove away.
As the Land-Rover turned on to the dirt road that led across the moor, Hagen leaned across, a frown on his face. 'All right, Ben, what's it all about?'
But Hoffa ignored him, gazing past his shoulder through the side window across the moors, his face calm and impassive. In some strange way it was as if he was waiting for something.
Somewhere to the east of them gunfire rumbled again and the brief ominous chatter of a machine gun was answered by sporadic shooting. Hagen glanced out of the side window and saw the red berets of the paratrooopers moving across a hillside two or three miles away. Another scout helicopter drifted across the horizon and the Alsatian growled uneasily. He ran a hand along its broad flank and patted it gently.
'Only a game, boy, only a game.'
As the dog subsided, there was a sudden roar of an engine in the west and another helicopter lifted over the hillside and swept in towards the road. For a moment it kept pace with them, so close that he could read the code name painted on its side in white letters. The hatch was open and a soldier crouched there looking out, his green beret a splash of vivid colour.
'Look like commandos,' Hagen said.
To his surprise, Hoffa answered him. 'Sibe-Martin troop carrier. They can manage a dozen men and equipment. They've been using them in Borneo lately.'
The commando waved and the helicopter swung ahead of them, lifted over a rise and disappeared.
Hagen turned to face Hoffa. 'You seem to know your stuff.'
'There was an article in
Hagen shook his head and sighed. 'You're a funny bloke, Ben. I never could figure you out and that's a fact.'
Unexpectedly Hoffa smiled, immediately looking about ten years younger. 'That's what my old man used to say. Too late now though. Too late for all of us.'
'I suppose you're right.'
Hagen reached for his cigarettes and as he got them out, the Land-Rover went over the rise and started down a heavily wooded valley. He gave a sudden exclamation and leaned forward. The helicopter had landed in a clearing at the edge of the trees and half a dozen commandos were strung out across the road.
The cab window was pushed back and Parker called, 'What in the hell's all this then?'
'God knows,' Hagen said. 'Maybe they think we're on the other side.'
Parker started to slow as a young officer walked forward, waving him down. Like his men, he wore a combat jacket and his face was darkened with camouflage cream. As the Land-Rover rolled to a halt, the rest of the party moved in on the run, tough, determined looking men, each carrying a machine pistol.
Parker opened the door of the cab and leaned out. 'Look, what is this?'
Hagen couldn't see what happened, but Parker cried out in alarm, there was the sound of a scuffle, a blow and then silence.
Boots crunched the dirt surface of the road as someone walked round the side of the vehicle. A moment later, the glass window at the top of the rear door was shattered and the young officer peered inside.
'All out,' he said pleasantly. 'This is the end of the line.'
Hagen glanced across at Hoffa, taking in the smile on his face, realising that the whole affair had been rigged from the start and the Alsatian leapt for the broken window, a growl rising in its throat. For a moment it stayed there, rearing up on its hind legs trying to force its way through, and then the top of its skull disintegrated in a spray of blood and bone as someone shot it through the head.
The dog flopped back on the floor and the young officer smiled through the window at them, gently tapping his right cheek with the barrel of a.38 automatic.
'Now don't let's have any more fuss, old man,' he said to Hagen pleasantly. 'We're pushed for time as it is.'
Hagen looked across at Hoffa, despair on his face.
'You'll never get away with this, Ben. All you'll collect is another ten years.'
'I wouldn't count on that,' Hoffa said. 'Now make it easy on yourself, Jack. These blokes mean business.'
Hagen hesitated for only a moment longer and then he sighed. 'All right-it's your funeral.'
He took the keys from his pocket, moved to the door and unlocked it. He was immediately pulled outside and Hoffa followed him. Parker was lying on his face unconscious, wrists handcuffed behind his back.
From then on the whole affair rushed to its climax with the same military precision that had been a characteristic of the entire operation. Someone unlocked Hoffa's handcuffs and transferred them to Hagen while someone else gagged him with a strip of surgical tape. Parker's unconscious body had already been lifted into the rear of the Land-Rover and Hagen was pushed in after him. The door closed, the key turned in the lock with a grim finality.
There was blood on his face from the dead Alsatian and as he rolled away from it in disgust, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, the Land-Rover started to move, lurching over the rough ground away from the road. Through the side window above his head he was aware of the trees as they moved into the wood, crashing through heavy undergrowth and then the vehicle braked suddenly so that he was thrown forward, striking his head against the wall.
He lay there fighting the darkness that threatened to drown him, a strange roaring in his ears. It was a
