Dillon and Billy went over the rail to the dinghy. Billy pushed the starter button on the engine, and it rumbled into life, a gentle, pulsating sound, not much noise to it at all. They coasted in on the west side of the jetty, beached and moved away fast, sinister figures in the darkness.
There was a light at the bar windows of the Royal George. Dillon put a finger to his lips and he and Billy approached cautiously and peered in. Connor, Derry, Gibson and Ryan were sitting round a table by the log fire, playing cards.
The curtain was half-drawn, the window two or three inches open, and Dillon eased it back and heard Ryan say, “I’ll make some bacon sandwiches and tea. Derry and Gibson, take a walk round for a quick check.”
“Ah, Jesus, Mr. Ryan, do we have to?”
“That’s Liam Bell’s orders and that’s what you’ll do. Now, be off with you.”
Dillon and Billy hurried away, following the winding path they remembered so well all the way up to Drumore Place. There was the luxuriant garden, summerhouses, the huge terrace, French windows, light glowing dimly here and there.
“Somebody’s up early,” Billy murmured.
“Well, let’s take a look,” and Dillon raised his night glasses. At that moment, a French window opened and Walsh and Kelly stepped out, Liam Bell behind.
“Just check the garden,” he said, and turned back.
“Come on,” Dillon said to Billy, and moved forward.
At Holland Park, Roper was still at his computers. To a man so badly damaged, sleep does not come easily and he frequently worked all night, a diet of whiskey and sandwiches keeping him going. There was a sudden stirring on his screens as a tracer element analyzed not photos, but staff day records at Russian embassies around the world, and there was Major Yuri Ashimov, overnighting at the Dublin Embassy. It was just as interesting to find out that Captain Igor Levin was back on staff at the London Embassy and resident there. He called Ferguson at once on his Codex Four, and Ferguson, in the wheelhouse with Harry, was horrified.
“Things are in motion, they’re on the job now and too late to abort. If I ring Dillon on his Codex, it could be exactly at the wrong moment.”
“It’s your call, General. No Ashimov, no Levin there, just the good old IRA.”
“God, I don’t have much choice, do I?” and Ferguson called Dillon, who unfortunately was otherwise engaged.
As Dillon and Billy had started up to the terrace, Bell turned the terrace lights on from inside the library, revealing Dillon and Billy moving forward.
Walsh called out, “Intruders, Mr. Bell,” and fired his AK47. Billy ducked behind the balustrade and knocked Walsh down. Kelly turned, stumbled and had Dillon all over him. Dillon pulled up his hood.
Kelly said, “Christ, it’s you, Dillon.”
“So it is, and I’ll kill you stone dead if you don’t answer my question. Ashimov and Levin, where are they?”
“Ashimov’s in Dublin, due back later today. Levin flew in to Ballykelly from Ibiza and out again to London.” He was terrified. “I swear to God, Sean.”
“And where would Liam Bell be?”
“Getting the hell out of here, if he’s got any sense.”
As he said that, there was the sound of a car starting up and driving away. “There the bastard goes,” Billy said.
Dillon called up Ferguson. “The whole thing’s gone sour, Charles. We’re on our way back. Come and get us.” He said to Kelly, “I keep my word. Run for it.”
Which Kelly did, pausing to watch them go, then calling through to Patrick Ryan at the Royal George.
“You’ve got bad trouble coming your way,” he said, but Ryan already knew, for earlier Derry and Gibson, patrolling the harbor, had discovered the dinghy and the outboard still warm, on the west side of the jetty.
“Well, I don’t know whose this is, but it’s soon taken care of.” Derry pulled out a pistol, putting three holes in it.
Offshore, Ferguson heard and said to Harry, “We’re going in.”
“I’m with you,” Harry said, and went out on deck, his AK ready.
They went in quickly to the harbor, and Dillon and Billy coming down the hill path came under fire from Ryan and Connor. Dillon hit Connor with two shots, Ryan ducked down and caught Billy in the middle of his flak jacket with a lucky shot that knocked him over. Dillon hauled him up and they continued, running headlong down the path toward the jetty and the beach. Derry and Gibson started to fire up at them caught on the exposed path, and the
Derry was down, and Ferguson, at the wheel, dropped the flap and pulled out the Browning with the twenty- round clip and sprayed the beach as they swerved away, knocking down Gibson as well before they were swallowed up by darkness.
Later, on automatic pilot, they sat in the saloon and drank whiskey. “Well, that was brisk,” Harry said.
“And a bleeding waste of time.” Billy shook his head. “We couldn’t even get Liam Bell.”
“At the time, there was no way of knowing Ashimov was overnighting in Dublin, Levin in London. It was just bad luck, and Major Novikova wouldn’t cooperate.”
“The thing that really interests me is Levin being sent to London,” Dillon said. “I’d like to know why.” He got up. “We’ll have to give him some special attention when we get back. Anyway, I’ll take the wheel. The rest of you can get some sleep.”
The sky was streaked with light, and way over on his left the Isle of Man was apparent in spite of the rain. It could have been worse, Dillon told himself. At least he and Billy had walked away from it, thanks to Harry and Ferguson. It was the enemy who’d suffered. The thing was, what happened now? He lit a cigarette, his Codex Four went. It was Roper.
“You and Billy are in one piece obviously.”
“Just about. Liam Bell did a runner at the house, his boys gave us a hard time. Ferguson and Harry were wonderful. Bell’s short three, maybe four men, so we did some good.”
“You certainly did.”
“The thing is, what happens now?”
“Oh, that’s easy. President Vladimir Putin visits the European Union’s Paris conference tomorrow, then he intends to divert to London, have a chat with the Prime Minister, stay at the Dorchester and fly back to Moscow in the morning.”
“What for?”
“Oh, a remarkable story of greed, corruption and politics, which has only unfolded within the past hour on my screens. I’ve tried Ferguson, but he isn’t replying.”
“Flat on his back below, they all are.”
“Not surprising. How far to Oban?”
“I’d have said two hours, but there’s quite a sea running. It’s going to get worse. You could do me a favor and alert Lacey and Parry.”
“Will do. I’ll leave the juiciest details of the Putin visit until I see you, except to say he’ll have an interesting guest with him at the Dorchester – Josef Belov.”
Dillon was stunned. “How can that be?” and then he saw it. “Max Zubin’s going to do Belov again in London?”
“Something like that. We’ll talk again.”
Dillon thought about it, then put the boat on automatic pilot and went below to tell Ferguson the extraordinary news.
