Moon said, “and you’ll come to no harm.”
“Come to no good, you mean,” Roper said. He eyed the two of them. “I’ve been here before. Last time it was the Mafia. What’s your religion?”
“I wouldn’t dream of telling you, love.”
“Ah, well, then we can’t do business, I’m afraid,” Roper said. Then he took a silenced Walther from the right- hand pocket of his wheelchair and shot Harold through the side of his knee.
He went down with a curse, and Moon said, “Oh, my God.”
Roper grabbed him by the coat. “What’s your name? Come on, quick, or I’ll give it to you, too.”
Moon was in such a panic, he told him. “Moon – George Moon.”
“Who sent you?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t seen him before in my life.”
He pulled away, turned to run, and Roper shot him in the right thigh. He hit the pavement, writhing. Roper said, “Remember this – somebody tried to mug you and it went wrong. That would be a good line if you want to stay out of court when the police come.”
“Yes,” Moon babbled. “Yes.”
Roper went down the square, taking out his mobile and dialing 999. “Ambulance needed in Regency Square. Two men down. Looks like a shooting.” The operator asked for his name, but he switched off and called Dillon.
“Sean, I’ve had a spot of bother.” He explained what had happened. “I’ll wait for you in the Italian restaurant at the end of the square.”
“I’ll call Billy and we’ll be with you soon, and I’ll notify Ferguson. I don’t like the sound of this. First Hannah, now you. I think you’d be better off in the Holland Park safe house.”
Ruby was upstairs at the Harvest Moon when the bell sounded at the alley door. She went down, opened it and Levin smiled at her.
“We need to talk.” He moved in and followed her upstairs.
She led the way into Moon’s office and turned. “What is this?”
“Moon and Harold made a big mistake. You’ll be hearing from them quite soon. They are, as we speak, seeking treatment in the accident and emergency department of some third-rate National Health hospital.”
“I’ve just heard. Had a phone call from the hospital. It said they’d been mugged by a black street gang. Is it bad?”
“Gunshot wounds to the legs and so richly deserved, just like the IRA. I’ve never seen such incompetents. The story about being mugged does two things. It keeps them out of court and it doesn’t involve the people I work for. If it did, George and Harold would be dead in the near future, one way or the other.”
“So what do you want here?”
“Two thousand, Ruby?”
“You’ve got cheek.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. I’ll do you a favor. Give me a thousand and you can tell Moon I came back and took it all. A thousand for you.”
She thought about it, then went and unlocked a cabinet at the end of a bookcase, took out a packet of banknotes and tossed it to him.
“He’s my husband, you know.”
“Then I’m sorry for you.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. He swings the other way.” She smiled. “I’d get out of here if I were you. I’ll be getting callers.”
He turned to the door, turned again and tossed the thousand pounds on the desk. “Oh, what the hell. Tell him I took the lot,” and he went downstairs and moved back along the alley to his limousine.
Dillon and Billy arrived with a People Carrier, loaded Roper inside and a number of personal effects he needed, and took him to the Holland Park safe house. This had happened before in times of stress. Because of this, Ferguson had had all the right computers and technical equipment installed to suit Roper’s special needs.
So, Roper was settled in and the Military Police sergeant on duty, Doyle, said, “General Ferguson will be along soon, Mr. Dillon. There’s a message from Special Branch. It seems George Moon and Harold Parker insist they were mugged by two men at pistol point and they can’t identify them because it was dark, it was raining and they were black.”
“Black, my arse,” Billy said. “I’ve known Moon for years. He’s a slimy toad. There’s more to this, Dillon.”
“So let’s go and find out what it is. We’ll be back later,” he said to Roper, and went out.
At St. Michael’s, Dillon and Billy found Moon and Harold under sedation and awaiting surgery. Billy flashed his new warrant card from Ferguson and forced his way in. It was amazing the power it made him feel. Moon and Harold were waiting in a side ward.
“It’s me, George, Billy Salter.”
“What in the hell do you want?”
“Mr. Dillon here and I are working for the Intelligence Service.”
“Fuck off, Billy. They wouldn’t employ a thief like you.”
“Now you’re upsetting me, George. No big black’s shooting you and Harold.”
“Well, the police are happy. That takes care of it.”
“Unfortunately, the guy who stiffed you, George, the guy you were trying to do away with, is a very good friend of ours, so we know what you were up to. Who put you up to it?”
“I’ll say one thing for old times’ sake, Billy. They could snuff you out like a match, swallow you whole. Now, Harold and me was mugged by two big black men. They had Cockney accents, so they must have been born here.” He raised his voice. “Nurse, I feel terrible.”
Billy said, “You deserve to, you toad. I’ll pay you back.” He nodded to Dillon. “Let’s go.”
Of course, it was another failure he had to report, whichever way you looked at it. In the GRU files, there was quite a list of IRA people like Moon available for employment. It occurred to Levin that reliability was not their strongest feature. The whole affair had been farcical, but it would still look like a failure to Ashimov, never mind Volkov.
The truth was, you could never rely on anybody but yourself, so he drove to Hangman’s Wharf and parked close to the Dark Man, but not for any particular reason. Just thinking about it. There was the Bentley parked there, Harry Salter’s pride and joy, according to his file, and as Levin watched, Joe Baxter came out of the pub, unlocked the door, rummaged around, then went back into the Dark Man. The thing was, he didn’t bother to relock the door.
It was a wild card, crazy, but he might get away with it. Levin opened the glove compartment, found the mini- tool kit, opened it and selected a pair of wire cutters. He moved fast, darting along the pavement, and opened the door of the Bentley, reached inside and released the catch to the bonnet. When it sprang open, he went round, raised it and went to work, slicing at cables, brake fluid already spurting out. The bonnet went down with a thump, and he turned and went back to his Mercedes. There was no point in waiting, it could take forever, but then, as he reached for the key, Harry Salter appeared with Joe Baxter and got into the Bentley. Baxter was driving and switched on. The engine roared. He moved away, tried to turn the Bentley. It glided back and bumped against another car. There was the sound of the engine revving again as it moved away, and he obviously tried to brake. The Bentley proceeded at speed toward the edge of the wharf, ready to go straight into the Thames. At the last moment, it skidded, bounced off a bollard and ended up with the front wheels over the edge of the wharf.
Baxter and Salter managed to extricate themselves. There was much shouting, people poured out of the pub, and Levin drove away laughing. Salter and Baxter should have been choking to death, drowning at the bottom of the Thames. It was unbelievable what had happened. Life was just a farce after all, a comedy, a dark one, but still a comedy.
At the Harvest Moon, Ruby answered the bell at the side door and found Billy Salter, Dillon behind him.
“What do you want, you sod?”
