“So here we go again,” Billy said. “Are we supposed to be some kind of heroes or something?”
“No, Billy,” Dillon said. “We’re handing out rough justice, the kind of thing other people can’t face up to. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Maybe you have a point.”
“Oh, I do, Billy.” Dillon took half a bottle of Bushmills from a pocket, unscrewed the cap and drank. “To you and me, Billy, the only truly sane men in a world gone mad.”
15
At Rosedene, Ferguson woke up to find Roper seated at his bedside in his wheelchair reading the
“Now then, General.” She raised him, plumped up the pillows and eased him back. “A little water.”
She passed the container, he sucked on the straw. “How was it?”
“Some of the best work I’ve seen Sir Henry do. Twenty-two stitches and the bone was chipped.” She had known him many years and used the privilege. “If I may say so, you’re a bloody old fool to put yourself in such situations at your age.”
“I consider myself reprimanded. What about Superintendent Bernstein?”
“Sir Henry’s gone over to the Cromwell. Professor Dawson’s in charge now. She couldn’t be in better hands.”
“Excellent. Will you be serving supper later? It’s always so good here.”
“Well, we’ll see. The best I can manage for the moment is a nice cup of tea.” She turned to Roper. “And you, Major?”
“It’s better than penicillin, and I’m proof of that.”
She went out, and Ferguson said, “Fill me in. He’s gone, I suppose?”
“He certainly has, General, and taken young Billy Salter with him.”
“Tell me.” Roper did, and afterward Ferguson said, “It’s a kind of madness that gets into Dillon. He and Billy against at least four IRA old hands, plus Ashimov and the woman – and she can pull a trigger with the best of them – and Belov himself. He’s capable of anything.”
“I know, sir.”
A young nurse brought tea on a tray and poured it. Ferguson went on, “There could be more. It’s an old- fashioned IRA area, Major, that sort of place.”
Roper sipped his tea. “Don’t forget, though, sir – Sean Dillon is a legend to many of those people.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Still, I’d feel easier if I could talk to him. Is that possible?”
Roper lifted a kind of handbag. “I have a Codex Four in here. As you know, you can use it even on an aircraft in flight.”
“Then get Dillon for me.”
Roper said, “It’s me. Where are you?”
“Halfway across the Irish Sea. How’s Ferguson?” Roper told him. “I’m putting him on.”
Dillon said, “I’m glad you’re in one piece, Charles.”
“Oh, never mind me. It was worse on the Hook in Korea when I was eighteen.”
“Which would mean you’re past your sell-by date, Charles. Time to consider.”
“Cheeky bugger. You’re hardly a spring chicken yourself, and you’re going into harm’s way again.”
“Can’t help it, it’s my nature.”
“Then think of the boy. Young Salter’s been through the mill if anyone has.”
“It’s his nature, too, Charles. He’s a warrior.”
“Only the two of you,” Ferguson said. “It’s not on, Sean.”
“Well, it will be in about fifteen minutes. What about Hannah?”
“In good hands. But about her future in our line of work – I don’t know.”
“Well, there you go. Give me Roper.”
Ferguson did. “Sean?”
“Fifteen minutes. Almost a full moon, as it happens, but sea fog below. Lacey will make one pass at six hundred.”
Roper felt a shiver go through him. “Take care, Sean.”
Dillon laughed. “Nobody lives forever. I’ll be in touch. Sounding off.”
In the Great Hall, Belov, Greta and Ashimov sat at the huge dining table and worked their way through a roast duck, old Hamilton standing by as the wine waiter.
“Excellent,” Belov said. “Mrs. Ryan has just served me a better duck than the Ritz Hotel. Will you tell her that, Hamilton?”
“She’s gone, sir, home to the village, leaving strawberries and cream for your afters.”
“So you’re the only person left in the castle?”
“Well, all the daily staff have gone, sir. They’d rather be out of it. It’s a feeling people get. Dermot, Tod and two of their boys are here, finishing off Mrs. Ryan’s leftovers in the kitchen.”
“Would you like to go home?”
“I think I would, sir. It’s like the old days. They’re sitting eating and drinking with rifles all over the place.”
“Well, off you go, then. Check in at breakfast time and tell Murphy to come and see me.” Hamilton scurried out, and Belov said, “Now, why would things be so disturbed? Have you got a theory, Major?”
Greta said, “Not really, sir.”
Belov poured a glass of port and lit a Russian cigarette. “It’s as if Kelly and company are expecting somebody. Do you think they know something?”
Tod Murphy came in, an AK over one shoulder.
“Good, I’m glad to see you’re prepared,” Belov said.
“For what, sir?”
“Don’t fool with me, Mr. Murphy. It could only be for one man.”
At that very moment, they heard the sound of a plane passing very low. They all looked up instinctively. Belov said, “Why, there he is.”
Tod turned and ran out, and Ashimov said, “No, it can’t be.”
It was Greta who said, “You only had to read the files. I kept saying that, but nobody would listen.”
On the Lear, Parry had left the cockpit and helped Dillon and Billy to put their parachutes on and rearm themselves. “Seven minutes,” he said. “We’ll still stick to six hundred. There’s heavy ground fog but clear beach below, and the tide is well out.”
He turned as Lacey throttled back to almost stalling speed, opened the door and dropped the steps. There was a huge rush of wind.
Dillon moved forward and turned to Billy. “We should do this more often.”
Billy said, “Get the hell out of it,” pushed and dived after him.
They descended, the moon above, into the fog at six hundred, then swung clear at two hundred and there was the sea, the beach, the harbor in swirling fog, a handful of boats and Kelly’s
Dillon made a perfect landing, punched his quick release, didn’t even have to roll, glanced over and saw the other parachute billowing, just clear of the tidal surge. Dillon stamped on it, and Billy unclipped and stood up.
“It’s coming in,” he said. “We’d better get moving.”
Dillon said, “Toward the jetty.”
“Why?” Billy demanded.
“I want to check that boat of Kelly’s,” and he led the way, half running, the jump bag in his left hand.
