Dillon raised his hands. 'I give in to this monstrous regiment of women. I'll leave you to it, ladies,' and he went below.
Hannah, too, went, and Helen Black took the wheel, enjoying it as she always had, increasing speed as heavy weather threatened from the east. She thought about her husband, Tony, serving in the hell of Bosnia with the Household Cavalry. It was a source of hurt that just because the Households were the Queen's personal bodyguard and rode round London in breastplates and helmets on horseback there were those who thought they were chocolate soldiers. In fact, they'd served in the Falklands, in the Gulf War, in Ireland, and in most of the rotten little wars in between.
Her trouble was that she was a woman and she was a soldier and she loved the army. Of course, Dillon had been a soldier too, to be fair. She rather liked him, although he'd been the worst of the enemy.
Against the early darkness she could see the outline of one of the Irish ferries, red and green navigation lights visible. She altered course a couple of points, then increased speed, racing the heavy weather that threatened from the east, and the waves grew rougher.
By now it really was dark, only a slight phosphorescent shining from the sea, and then the door opened and Dillon appeared.
'How are things?'
'A bit rough.'
He tapped the radio, got the weather channel, listened, and added, 'That's okay. The wind's going to drop soon. Why don't you go and get some coffee? I'll hang on, then I'll put her on automatic pilot and we can discuss what's going to happen. An hour, an hour and a half, we'll hit the Louth coast.'
'Fine.' She nodded and went out.
Half an hour later, Brendan Murphy, Dermot Kelly, Conolly and Tomelty arrived at Kilbeg and pulled up outside the Patriot public house. Murphy led the way in, running through torrential rain.
It was a typical Irish pub for either side of the border, with a bar, beer pumps, and a log fire in the hearth. There were only three old men at the fire and the landlord behind the bar, one Fergus Sullivan.
'Jesus, Brendan, and it's grand to see you.'
They shook hands. Brendan said, 'You're dying the death tonight.'
'Well, it's Monday night. What can I do for you?'
'Beds for me and Dermot. We've business elsewhere at the moment. We'll have a drink now and see you later.'
Sullivan poured four Irish whiskeys and a fifth for himself.
'Up the IRA.'
And confusion to the English,' Murphy said.
A short while later, inside the grounds of the ruins of Kilbeg Abbey, they entered an ancient hall and approached a dark old oaken door at one end banded with iron that looked as if it had been there for centuries. In fact it was a modern replica backed by steel plate of the finest quality. Murphy took a transceiver from his pocket and pressed the button. There was the murmur of a voice.
'Murphy,' he said. 'Open sesame.'
A moment later, one half of the door opened electronically. He and Kelly passed through into a short tunnel and went down a flight of concrete steps. There was electric light, another door opened, and in moments they were into a concrete corridor, painted white, very functional, and then into the main part of the bunker.
Two men stood waiting: Liam Brosnan, tall, heavily built, with hair to his shoulders, and Martin O'Neill, the direct opposite, small and red-haired. The only thing they had in common were the AK47assault rifles they carried.
'Well, at least you're on your toes,' Murphy said. 'Any problems?'
'Only one, Brendan,' Brosnan told him. 'Down at the entrance where the tunnel slopes to the steps, there's about a foot of water.'
'Show me.'
They led the way, and Murphy and Kelly followed. It was dark down there and, unlike the rest of the bunker, cold.
'Why is there no heat on, no light?' Murphy demanded.
'Well, that's the point, Brendan. The rest of the bunker's okay, but this part under the old farmhouse is on a separate system and the flooding must have screwed it up.'
'It's the rain,' O'Neill said. 'It's been terrible during the past two weeks.'
'I can tell it's the bloody rain, you eejit,' Murphy said. 'But if the electricity isn't working, that cocks up the entrance. There aren't any bars. They weren't necessary when it was electronic.'
'I've chained the handles and padlocked them,' Brosnan told him. 'I was waiting for you, Brendan. I know you would want someone reliable.'
'Exactly. Don't worry, there's that fella Patterson in Dundalk that builds the fancy houses. He knows which side his bread's buttered on.'
'I know who you mean.'
'You call him and tell him I'll see him at the Patriot for breakfast at eight-thirty tomorrow. Explain the flooding and tell him I expect miracles. He'll attend to it or he'll get a bullet in his left knee, and that's only for starters.'
They walked back through the storage areas. Mortars stacked neatly, the kind of missiles and heavy machine guns that could shoot down a helicopter, AK47and Armalites still greased and brand new from the factory. Cases of Semtex.
Murphy lit a cigarette and said to Kelly, 'Look at it, Dermot. Just waiting to be used, and those old women in London talk peace.'
'You're right, Brendan.'
'Our day will come. I'll just check the office.'
It was at the end of the tunnel, small, functional, with filing cabinets, a computer system and a desk. He said to Brosnan and O'Neill, 'Wait outside.'
Kelly closed the door. Murphy knelt behind the desk and lifted a section of carpet. Underneath, set into the concrete floor, was an old-fashioned safe with a simple keyhole. He felt under the desk, found a key on a magnetic block, and opened the flap.
Inside were packets of currency, sterling and dollars, all wrapped in transparent plastic bags. He handled a few.
'You think this is cash, Dermot? It's not, it's power. With money you can do anything, and there's almost three million here.'
'What about Fox, Brendan? You know what I mean? What you owe him?'
'Hey, stuff Fox. Look what happened at Al Shariz. It was a total fuck-up, and all because of Fox. It must have been. I mean, how were the Israelis on to us? I know it wasn't me.'
'So you aren't going to pay him what you owe him?'
Am I, hell.' Murphy locked the safe and put the carpet back.
'What if he makes trouble, Brendan?'
Murphy laughed. 'Make trouble for me, the Mafia? Dermot, this is Ireland, the one place in the world where they're powerless. We're the ones with power, Dermot, you and me, so let's get on with it and go and crack a bottle and have a decent supper at the Patriot.'
They all sat round the saloon in the
'Kilbeg village,' Dillon said. 'The abbey is quarter of a mile to the east. The bunker is underneath.' He tapped the map. 'There, where the site of a ruined farmhouse is indicated, is, according to Sean here, the exit to the bunker.' He looked at Regan, who sat on one of the bench seats, wrists manacled. 'Isn't that so, Sean?'
'To hell with you,' Regan said.
'So how do you intend to play this?' Helen Black asked.
'Well, according to Regan, there are only two caretakers in the bunker. I intend to act very quickly, very economically. Blow the exit door, go in, dispose of them, and leave a hundred-pound block of Semtex to take the
