At Doone, the Navajo had landed. Smith taxied up to the hangar and switched off. He got the Airstair door open and Kelly and Tod followed him out. Kelly clapped him on the shoulder.
“You did a good job, I’m proud of you. Tod will take care of you.”
“I don’t want anything. Just leave me alone. Never again.” Smith closed the Airstair door.
Kelly said, “You never say that to me. I call, you jump.”
“Go on, then, put a bullet in my head now.” Smith shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, the IRA can go to hell. You’re stuck in the past anyway.”
Kelly grabbed at him, but Tod pulled him back. “Just let it go. We’ll go down to the Royal George and have a drink with the boys.”
At Ballykelly as the Falcon touched down, it was quiet in the cabin. Ashimov had drunk steadily, and barely exchanged a word with Greta. They rolled to a halt. Kelso switched off and Brown left the cockpit and opened the door. As they stepped down, a Land Rover approached. “Well, here we go,” Ashimov said. “To an uncertain future.” He hesitated. “You’re with me in this, Greta?”
“Of course I am,” and yet, in her heart, she didn’t know what that meant.
“Then let’s get on with it. Beard the ogre in his den.”
They went down the steps, and to Ashimov’s astonishment, Josef Belov got out from behind the wheel of the Land Rover.
“So there you are. I’ve been waiting.”
Professor Henry Bellamy came in, stripping off his gloves, and paused in front of Ferguson.
“For God’s sake, Charles, at your age you can’t afford this kind of thing.”
Dalton held out a file. “Captain Wilson sent this, sir.”
“Never mind me,” Ferguson said. “What about Hannah?”
“She has a broken collarbone and right arm, and a depressed fracture of the skull.” He turned to Bernstein. “I’m sorry, Rabbi, but I’m transferring her to the neurological unit at the Cromwell. I’ve called in George Dawson, he’s the best in the business.”
“How bad is it?” Bernstein asked. “What are her chances?”
“Oh, excellent. Dawson is world-class. But I should point out one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
Bellamy glanced at Ferguson. “The other year when that Party of God hit man tried to kill her, she suffered damage to the stomach, a bullet to the left lung and a chipped spine. It was a miracle she survived.”
“Thanks to a great surgeon,” Dillon said.
“Which means nothing, Sean. She’ll survive this, too, don’t worry, but her future will be more problematic. This may well be the end of her career.”
“But it means everything to her,” Dillon said.
“I know. Maybe she could have a desk job. I don’t know – but there are limits to the endurance of the human body.”
“Of course, “Bernstein said.
“An ambulance is picking her up at any moment, which will take her to Dawson at the Cromwell. You, of course, may go with her, Rabbi.”
“Thank you.”
Bellamy opened Wilson’s file, had a quick look and shook his head. “Straight in, Charles, this is far worse than I’d expected.” He turned to Dalton and Miller. “Take him through.”
They got Ferguson up between them. He glanced at Dillon. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sean.”
“Now, would I do anything like that?” Yet the eyes burned in his face and there was that look of the Devil about him again.
Ferguson said, “You’re going to go after him.”
“You can depend on it.”
“And nothing I say to dissuade you would work?”
“Not this time.”
Ferguson said, “Then all our departmental resources are available to you. Just be careful, Sean.” He smiled wearily, and Dalton and Miller took him out between them, Bellamy following.
The Rabbi said, “I’ve seen that look on your face before. Maybe she wouldn’t want it.”
“Ashimov did it deliberately. I witnessed it myself. He pays in full.”
“God help you, Sean.”
An ambulance driver looked in. “Rabbi Bernstein?”
“That’s me.” The old man glanced at Dillon, sighed and went out.
It was quiet in reception, and Dillon took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, then he phoned Roper.
“How is she?”
Dillon explained and added, “Ferguson’s in a poor way himself. Bellamy’s just taken him into the operating room. Before that, though, the old boy gave me the use of all our departmental resources.”
“Does this mean what I think it does?”
“Absolutely. Will you stay on the line, make sure there aren’t any changes in departure plans at Ballykelly?”
“Sean, you’re crazy. You’ll never get away with it. It’s as if you’ve got a death wish.”
“I’ll ring Lacey and arrange a drop. The beach at Drumore will do nicely, but you check the weather and confirm it with him. Speak to the Quartermaster for me and arrange some weaponry.”
“I’ll get on it. But you can’t do this on your own, not even the great Sean Dillon.”
“Oh, I won’t.” Dillon went out, got in the Mini and phoned Farley Field. “It’s Dillon. I need Squadron Leader Lacey.”
He droned on through traffic one-handed and Lacey came on. “Sean?”
“Nothing has ever been more important, so don’t argue. Ferguson’s been shot, he’s in a hospital operating room at the moment, and he’s charged me with full authority. I’ll be with you in perhaps an hour. You’re going to fly in over Drumore in County Louth and do a beach drop.”
“I’m not sure about the weather, Sean.”
“We’ve done it before in worse. This one is important. We take it right to the edge.”
“As you say, Sean.”
He switched off, and Dillon carried on. One more place to call.
When he entered the Dark Man, Harry Salter, Billy, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall were in the end booth having a drink, except for Billy and his usual orange juice.
Harry said, “So here you are. You’re hardly keeping us up-to-date.”
“Just shut up and listen,” Dillon said.
When he was finished, Harry said, “These Russians, what bastards.”
“Never mind that,” Billy interrupted. “What’s the real word on Hannah?”
“Bellamy says he’s sure she’ll make it, but she’ll never be the same again.”
“And Ferguson?” Harry demanded.
“I told you. He took a slug from an AK. He won’t die from it, but at his age…” Dillon shrugged.
“And Selim out of it.” Billy shook his head. “That’s a waste. He could have said a lot.”
“He came round in the end. Coughed up plenty.”
There was a silence. Harry turned to Dora. “A little Bushmills, here, love. I think we’re going to need it.” He turned back to Dillon. “So Belov’s at this Drumore Place, and Ashimov and the girl have joined them, plus the two IRA gangsters?”
“That’s it.”
“And you can’t touch them because they’re in the Irish Republic.”
“Yes, Harry.”
“And they’ve got a plane to Moscow booked out in the morning? I’d say you’re fucked, Dillon.”
