“That’s fine, Jimmy. I’ll see to things.”
They went out, and Fahy, his face grave, poured himself a whiskey and filled his pipe.
Chapter 11
IT WAS A LITTLE EARLIER THAT A COUNCIL OF WAR AT Holland Park had examined the situation. “The real threat in all this,” Ferguson said, “is Russian. By taking Flynn on board, Volkov has thrown down the gauntlet.”
“So he must have presidential backing,” Roper said. “I’m sure Putin has felt for some time that something should be done about us, General.” He glanced at Harry. “And anyone who’s on our side.”
“But the thing at the moment is Nolan and Kelly and that contract and what to do about it,” Roper pointed out.
“If we were police, you couldn’t touch them,” Ferguson said, “because they haven’t done anything, but I have implicit faith you’ll find a way of dealing with it. I have a meeting in one hour with the Prime Minister. I’ll call in later at Holland Park and I’ll greet our friends from Dublin then.”
“I admit I’ve got things to do at the development,” Harry said. “I mean, we can’t let stupid threats interfere with business.”
“I admire your spirit, Harry,” Ferguson said. “But I think we can leave the activities at the Green Tinker to these three.” He and Harry went out. Dillon said, “Where’s Greta?”
“She was going to call in at Gulf Road, see how the Rashids are coping. Hal Stone has hit the highway for Cambridge this morning to the halls of academia,” said Roper. “My God, the students would flock to his lectures if they knew only half of the things that fella gets up to. Do you think Hussein will come?”
“Only time will tell, but now to the matter at hand. Jimmy Nolan and Patrick Kelly, his cousin. They own the Green Tinker pub in Kilburn.
Both active in the movement and not only in Ulster. Nolan was down as a suspect for that mortar attack on John Major’s cabinet during the Gulf War, but we discovered it was someone else.”
Billy looked at Dillon. “And we know who.”
“Still, he was seven years into a fifteen-year prison term when it was all over, so he was released from prison according to the terms of the peace agreement. Kelly got pretty much the same deal. British citizens, born in London, they inherited the Green Tinker from Nolan’s father. Served their time, clean as a whistle, both of them.”
“Like hell they are,” Billy said. “I think Dillon and I will go and check the beer out.”
“Stay calm, Billy.”
“With a couple of guys who’ve accepted a contract on my uncle?”
“Well, leave your Walther at home.”
“Roper, old son, I’d remind you that as an agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Services, I actually have a license for it. We’ll go in my car, Dillon.”
“I thought so.” Billy had just taken delivery of a scarlet Alfa Romeo Spider and was obviously proud of it.
“Very nice,” Dillon told him. “I’m impressed. Now, as to business, I don’t recall these two from my IRA time, so they’re both a blank page to me, except for what Roper had to say.”
“So what? There’s only one way to handle this.”
“You noticed the prison photos on Roper’s screen were about twenty years old. You wouldn’t even recognize them now.”
“Let’s just see.”
THEY PARKED OUTSIDE the Green Tinker and went in the saloon bar. Three old men sat at a table by the window and played dominoes. An unshaven young man in a black T-shirt with short sleeves and lots of muscle stood behind the bar reading a newspaper. The snug door was open and old Fahy was filling a pipe. He took one look at them and an expression of horror appeared on his face. The barman glanced up. He wore a black patch over his right eye. From the expression on his face, he wasn’t impressed by what he saw.
“Yes?”
“I’ll have half a bottle of still water,” Billy told him.
“And a glass of your strongest for me.” Dillon smiled. “Bushmills, if you have it.”
“And we’d also like to see Nolan and Kelly,” Billy said.
The man put Dillon’s whiskey into a shot glass. He gave it to Dillon, pushed another glass at Billy and picked up a jug of water from behind the bar. “Will this do, sir?”
Billy reached for the glass. “Why not?” The man started to pour, then moved all the way up the sleeve of Billy’s trench coat.
Old Fahy called, “I wouldn’t do that, Michael,” but Billy was already reaching, pulling the man across the bar, punching him heavily in the face several times.
The old man stopped talking. Billy pulled Michael up, jerked the left arm out straight, the edge of his own right hand descending like a chopping axe. He eased him down into a chair.
“I think you’ll find I’ve broken it. Now, Nolan and Kelly? Who’s going to speak up?”
Old Fahy said, “You’d better come in the office. I expect you’ll force your way in anyway.”
They stood and looked at the display on the wall, read what was said about them, examined the photos.
“I think yours is quite good,” Dillon said. “I’m not sure about mine.”
“It’s called the older man look,” Billy said. “You know, been places, done things.”
“Is that it?” Dillon passed his glass to Fahy. “I’ll have the same again.”
“The Bushmills as usual, I know that well.”
He poured a large one. Dillon said, “And how would you know?”
“Because he heard you order one from the prick next door,” Billy said.
The old man shook his head. “I’m from Derry. I saw you three times with Martin McGuiness there. I had my moments with the IRA, but ten years inside finished me off and I came to Kilburn. Remember a pub called the Irish Guard? I was pot man there. Gerry Brady was the publican. Did me a favor and found me a job. I remember the first time you came in and asked for Gerry, only you weren’t calling yourself Sean Dillon.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be.”
“But I knew you. February ’ninety-one it was, the time somebody mounted a mortar attack on the Prime Minister and the War Cabinet at Downing Street.”
Dillon smiled.“We won’t get into that one. Have a Bushmills and tell us what you know about this lot on the wall.”
“And what bleeding Nolan and Kelly are up to,” Billy said.
Fahy poured himself the Bushmills. “Now do I look like an informer?”
“You’d look a damn sight worse if I put you on sticks,” Billy told him.
“For you, then, Mr. Dillon. Jimmy got all this stuff on his computer, photos, pages and so on, from a man called Flynn in Dublin.”
“You listened in?”
“The walls are terribly thin here. They were being offered a contract, that’s the upshot of it. A hundred thousand pounds. That’s why they put everything up on the board.”
“The bastards,” Billy said. “So they intend to do all of us.”
“The Ferguson fella and Harry Salter are the prime targets, that was the phrase used.”
“And how was this to be achieved?” Dillon asked.
“Nolan and his cousin Patrick run this place.”
“We know that,” Billy said. “Do they intend to do it themselves or put a crew together?”
“They’ve got Danny Delaney and a worm called Sol Flanagan: drugs, booze, they’re off their heads most of the time.”
“What’s their game?”
