'We take him out,' Borsalino said. 'Come on.'
He was out of the Ford in a second, Salvatore on his heels, and ran after the wheelchair.
'Hey, Signore, you need a hand?'
Roper knew trouble when he saw it, but said, 'No, thanks, I'm fine.'
Salvatore was on one side of the chair, Borsalino the other.
Borsalino said, 'No, really, I think you need some help — like, into traffic. What do you think about that?'
'That really would be unfortunate,' Roper said.
Falcone, watching from the Mercedes, said to Fabio, 'You've
been around the family for a long time. What do you think?' 'That it stinks, Signore. Where do they find these kids?' 'I agree. Just coast along and let's see what happens.' The end of the square before the main road was dark, and
at that moment deserted.
Borsalino said, 'Shit! There's no traffic here. What are we going to do?'
Salvatore said, 'Roll him down the block. We'll find it. You having a good time, my friend?'
'Depends on your point of view.' Roper's hand came out of the right-hand side pocket of his wheelchair, holding a Walther PPK with a Carswell silencer on the end. He jammed it into the back of Salvatore's left knee and pulled the trigger. There was a muted cough, and the Italian cried out and stumbled into the gutter.
Roper turned slightly in the chair, the gun raised, and Borsalino jumped back. 'You really wouldn't have got by in Belfast, old son,' Roper said. 'Not for a minute,' and as Borsalino turned to run, shot him in the back of the right thigh.
They lay together on the pavement. Roper paused and looked down. He took out a mobile phone and dialled nine, nine, nine. When the operator answered, he said, 'There are two men down on the pavement in Regency Square. Looks like a shooting.'
'Your name, sir?'
'Don't be stupid.'
He switched off his coded mobile and moved on.
In the Mercedes, Fabio said, 'My God, Signore, what do we do?'
Already, in the distance, they could hear the sound of a police siren.
'Nothing,' Falcone told him. 'We do nothing.' He watched the two men trying to get up. 'Just get out of here.'
As they left the square, a police car turned in, and as they moved up the main road, an ambulance appeared.
In Ryan's Restaurant, Roper ordered Irish stew and a pint of Guinness, phoned Ferguson on his mobile, and gave him the bad news.
'Where are you?' Ferguson asked, and Roper told him. 'All right, stay where you are. We'll come for you.'
Ferguson put down the phone at his Cavendish Square flat and turned to Hannah, Dillon and Blake. 'That was Roper. He went out for a late meal and two men of Italian persuasion had a go. Told him they'd push him into the late-night traffic.'
'What happened, sir?' Hannah asked.
'He shot them in the legs,' Ferguson said. 'Would you believe that? Left them on the pavement.'
'Frankly, I don't have the slightest difficulty in believing it,' Dillon told him. 'Jack Fox moved fast.'
'So now what?' Blake asked.
Ferguson turned to Hannah. 'Superintendent?'
'I doubt they'll talk, sir, not if they value their lives. And I doubt that this will be the last attempt that Jack Fox makes.'
'You're right,' said Ferguson. 'We'll move Roper to the Holland Park safe house. Anything he wants, you know, all his gadgets and so on, make sure he gets. I think we'll need him. Will you take care of that, Superintendent?'
'As you say, sir.' Hannah went out.
Blake turned to Dillon. 'All right, we've taken care of the casino. What do we hit next?'
Blake turned to Dillon. 'The Jago brothers? The army dump? Beirut?'
'Let's get Roper into the safe house. Once he's got his equipment in order, we'll see.'
At the Dorchester, Fox listened to Falcone's account of what had happened in Regency Square. He actually laughed.
'You mean this fuck in the wheelchair shot them both in the legs?'
'Something like that, Signore.'
Fox shook his head. 'Mind you, with what I've learned about him, I'm not surprised. You can check if he's at his house, but if he's not there, leave it. We've got other things to do.'
'Like what, Signore? I spoke to Mori. The Colosseum will remain closed, as well as the betting shops, until the police and the Director of Public Prosecutions decide what to do, which could take months.'
'We concentrate on other matters. There's the Lebanon connection that Murphy arranged.'
'Beirut, Signore?'
'No, Al Shariz to the south, I believe. Murphy is due in Beirut next week. We'll meet and agree on the goods we're supplying. Forget the casino. There's a fortune to be made there, Aldo, and he pays in gold. I'll see you in the morning.'
Falcone left, went to his room, and phoned Don Marco. The Don said, 'He's digging himself in deeper, isn't he?' 'Do you want me to do anything?'
'No. Just stay in touch.'
'Of course, Don Marco.'
The Holland Park safe house was an Edwardian town house in an acre of gardens surrounded by huge walls. The notice by the gate said Pine Grove Nursing Home, which it definitely wasn't.
Roper was picked up by a contingency squad Hannah had arranged, mostly ordinary-looking young men and women who were actually Special Branch, and always available to Ferguson's demands. Two female sergeants packed Roper's clothes and three men moved equipment, according to his instructions. By one o'clock in the morning, he was in residence at Pine Grove, his various gadgets and computers plugged into sockets in what had been the sitting room.
The police departed, and a small, very pleasant woman said, 'Is everything satisfactory, Major?'
Roper was puzzled. 'Captain.'
'Oh, no, sir. Brigadier Ferguson said Major.'
'And who might you be?'
'Helen Black, sir. Royal Military Police. Sergeant Major.' 'Good God,' Roper said. 'That's an Armani suit.' 'Well, my father left me rather well off.'
'I smell Oxford here.'
'No, Cambridge. New Hall. I worked for the Fourteenth Intel undercover in Derry. You were a bit of a legend.'
'Look where it's got me. A bloody wheelchair, my bits and pieces damaged.'
'Courage never goes out of fashion, sir, in a wheelchair or not. As far as I'm concerned, you're one of the bravest men I've ever met. Now, you're probably peckish. I'll arrange for some sandwiches.'
'Tell me, Sergeant Major, are you my bodyguard? Because there are some pretty bad people out there looking for me.'
'I'm aware of that, sir.' She opened her jacket and revealed a holstered Colt automatic. 'Twenty-five millimetre, with hollowpoint bullets.'
'Well, that should do it.'
She smiled and went out.
Roper phoned Ferguson, in spite of the hour, and when the Brigadier answered, said, 'What's this Major
