Drink With The Devil

Unfortunately, the Army Council turned it down flat, thought the whole thing too risky.”

“Bunch of old women,” Bell said.

“So what’s it all about?” Keogh demanded. “What’s on the meat transporter?”

It was Kathleen who answered. “Gold, Martin. Gold bullion. Fifty million pounds.”

“God save us.” Keogh managed to look astonished. “And why would it be transported in such a way?”

“Let me explain,” Ryan said. “Bullion used to be landed at London Docks on the Thames, but over the past twenty-five years the waterfront has been in decline. Shippers prefer Amsterdam. However, bullion deliveries were rerouted to Glasgow.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Five years. Ever since they built a new smelter at Barrow-in-Furness. See it there on the map right at the bottom of the Lake District? Mainly shipbuilding there. The latest atomic submarine came out of their yards.”

“So what’s the smelter got to do with things?”

“They melt the gold down and reprocess it into smaller ingots. The banks prefer it that way. Gold is heavy stuff.”

“I see,” Keogh said.

Ryan continued. “The transporter travels from Glasgow to Carlisle, then cuts across to Maryport on the coast and follows the coast road down to Barrow.”

“And we hit it somewhere on that road?”

“Exactly. This coming Friday.”

“But how do we stop it and, what’s more to the point, how do we get in?”

It was Bell who answered. “It’s no ordinary truck. There’s a driver and two armed security guards in the cabin behind him. The truck looks standard, but it’s reinforced in every possible way, and there’s a battery of electronic security devices, a first-class radio system.”

“And how do you handle that?” Keogh asked.

Bell opened a drawer in the table and took out a black hand-held computer with several rows of buttons and a read-out screen.

“I know this looks as if you use it to turn your television on and off, but it’s a bit of pure genius called a Howler. You see, privileged information again, we know the code for the security system of the truck. The Howler has already selected it. You press the red button three times and the entire security system in the truck, electronic door locks, radio, the lot, is neutralized. That means the doors are open.”

“And where in the hell did you get that?” Keogh asked.

“Oh, a young electronic whiz kid at Queen’s University in Belfast who is sympathetic to our cause.”

Keogh nodded slowly. “And the driver and the guards? What happens there?”

“A stun grenade should take care of them.” Ryan looked bleak for a moment. “Mind you, I’ll kill them if I have to. This is serious business.”

Keogh nodded. “All right, what happens after the heist?”

“We drive it to Marsh End where the Irish Rose will be waiting.” He smiled. “We’ll be well out to sea and on our way and the police running round in circles.”

There was a long silence while Keogh brooded. Finally he nodded. “You know, you’re right. It could work.”

Ryan laughed delightedly. “Good man yourself, Martin. Let’s have a drink on it.”

Bell got up, opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of Bushmills and three glasses, and at that moment there was a crash in the yard outside as a trashcan went over.

WHEN RYAN SUGGESTED the drink, Tully decided it was time to go. He opened the back door, closed it softly behind him, and started across the yard. It was then that he blundered into the trashcan, dislodging the metal lid which clanged as it fell to the stone flagging. He carried on, got the gate open, and ran along the alley. As he reached the far end, Keogh emerged into the alley, but by then it was too late as Tully crossed the busy main road and was lost in the evening crowd.

When Keogh returned, Bell had turned on the yard light and was standing at the back door with Ryan and the girl.

“Was there someone?” Ryan demanded.

“Oh, yes,” Keogh said. “And you’re not going to like it one little bit. I just caught a glimpse of him as he turned into the road. It looked remarkably like Tully to me.”

“The bastard was checking up on us,” Ryan said and led the way back into the parlour.

“So what do we do now?” Bell demanded. “This blows everything.”

“No, I don’t agree,” Keogh said. “He wants to see the affair go through because he wants the rest of his money.”

“That makes sense.” Ryan nodded.

“I’d say he was simply sniffing around to find out more.”

“Which means he’s a shifty swine,” Kathleen put in.

“Who knows more than he did if he overheard our discussion.” Keogh pulled on his reefer coat.

“Where are you going?” Ryan demanded.

“Back to the Irish Rose.” Keogh took out his Walther and checked it. “I’m going to do some sniffing around myself.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ryan told him.

“No need, I can handle it.” Keogh smiled. “After all, that’s what you’re paying me for.”

As he turned for the door, Kathleen Ryan said, “Take care, Martin.”

“Ah, but I always do, girl dear.” He smiled and went out; there was the sound of the yard gate opening and closing, and he was gone.

IT WAS RAINING again as Keogh paid off the taxi and turned along Cable Wharfe. It was a place of shadows, a touch of fog in the air. He kept to those shadows by the old disused warehouses and paused when he was close to the gangway. There was no sign of life. He thought about it for a while, then decided to take a chance and darted across to the stern of the ferry which at that point was lower than the wharf.

He dropped down to the deck, paused for a moment, then moved through the darkness to where the central section and the wheelhouse reared into the night. There was a light up there. Keogh went up an iron ladder to the landing below the wheelhouse, then approached, crouching. He could hear voices, smell cigarette smoke. They were all in there, Tully and his crew. Keogh stood, protected by a life raft, and listened.

He heard the man Dolan say, “Gold? Are you kidding us, Frank?”

“No. I’m bloody not. The truck that we pick up at Marsh End will be loaded with the stuff. They’re going to knock it off on its way to the smelters in Barrow-in-Furness.”

“But who are they?” Dolan demanded.

“Well, they’re Irish, that’s for certain. I’d have said IRA, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Two things. Our destination, Kilalla. That’s Ulster, not the Republic. Another thing. The William and Mary in Kilburn. That’s a Prod pub, not Catholic. I think they’re probably the other side.”

“Loyalists?” Dolan asked.

“Same difference as far as I’m concerned,” Tully told him. “I couldn’t care less which side they’re on. All I’m interested in is that gold.”

There was a stirring amongst the crew. Dolan said, “You mean we’re going to knock it off?”

“Who knows?” Tully laughed. “After all, lads, anything can happen at sea, but let’s get moving. Prepare to cast off. We’ve only got two days to get up there.”

Keogh crouched behind the life raft as the crew emerged and descended to the deck. He stayed there thinking about it, then stood up and moved to the wheelhouse door.

TULLY, LEANING OVER the table, was aware of a small wind that lifted the chart for the Cumbrian coast a little. He looked up and found Keogh leaning against the door lighting a cigarette.

“As they used to say in those old Agatha Christie plays, all is revealed. I was outside, old son, and I heard your little speech to that motley crew of yours.” Tully tried to open a door and Keogh’s hand came out of his pocket