Edge of Danger

‘You are well informed,’ Dillon said. He flicked his Zippo and gave her a light as the champagne arrived. He lit his own cigarette. ‘You know, there’s coincidence, which could be this meeting, and then there’s Carl Jung.’

‘You mean synchronicity? A deeper motivation is intended?’ He toasted her. ‘So what are we into here?’

At that moment, George came down the steps into the bar and joined them, Frank Kelly following. Kate said, ‘Ah, here come two freebooters, from One Para. Dillon, this one is my brother George.’

But it was Kelly that Dillon bothered with. ‘I wouldn’t wear a shoulder holster if I were you, son. It’s too difficult to dump your gun in a bad situation. It’s better in your pocket, and don’t say stuff you or I’ll say stuff you.’

Kelly actually smiled, and Kate said, ‘Sit at the next table, Frank, so you can hear.’

He smiled again at Dillon. ‘Yes, ma’am, like a good dog I obey.’

Dillon laughed out loud. ‘Well, this dog I like. Can he have a drink?’

‘Not on duty,’ Kelly said. ‘And by the way, I’m from County Down, too, you Fenian bastard.’

‘So we know where we are.’ Dillon smiled. ‘Go on, have one Bushmills, and sit down and hear what the lady wants.’

Her story was quite convincing. ‘The thing is, Dillon, we, that is, Rashid Investments, are moving into Ulster in a big way because of the peace process, but we’re experiencing roadblocks, if you know what I mean. Our developments would bring high employment, but we’re being leaned on.’

‘So?’ Dillon asked.

‘Well, we need what I suppose you would call protection. People who might help.’

‘And who might that be?’

She waved to a waiter and paused until he’d poured more champagne. ‘Have you heard of a man called Aidan Bell?’

Dillon almost fell over the table laughing. ‘Jesus, girl, he’s tried to shoot me more than once. Our Aidan was big with what you might call fringe organizations on the hard right of the IRA.’

‘I heard he was possibly responsible for killing Lord Mountbatten.’

‘Well, I was accused of that myself.’

‘They also say you attacked Number Ten Downing Street in February ninety-one with mortar bombs.’

‘Never proved.’ He smiled. ‘Mind you, if we’d had a bit more time…’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘So you’re a bad boy, but I need to get to Aidan Bell to see if we can do a deal. Protection, call it what you want. He lives in a place called Drumcree in County Down.’

‘I know it well, I’m from Down myself, but then you know that.’

‘I’m supposed to meet him on Thursday. I’ll take George.’ She turned to Kelly. ‘Can I count on you, too?’

‘Of course, ma’am.’

Dillon said to him, ‘Good man yourself,’ and turned to her. ‘And you’re asking for me? I work for Ferguson.’

‘So you’ll tell him. This isn’t an intelligence matter. I want back-up, that’s all, and in that damn place you’re the best. What’s the matter, doesn’t Ferguson ever let you work freelance?’

‘I’ll see what the good Brigadier thinks, and I’ll let you know.’

At Ferguson’s flat later that night, he gave the Brigadier a rundown of what had taken place. Hannah Bernstein heard it all, too. When Dillon was finished, Ferguson thought about it, then turned to her.

‘What do you think?’

‘On the surface, it makes sense. The Rashid outfit is definitely into Ulster these days, but so are a lot of people. On the other hand, it’s a good story. Too good.’

Ferguson turned to Dillon, who smiled and said, ‘I always believed in women coppers. She’s right.’

Ferguson nodded. ‘There’s a hidden agenda. See if you can find out what, Sean.’

‘There you go, calling me Sean again.’ Dillon smiled. ‘Still and all, things are quiet. I’ll take a look.’

‘And keep in touch,’ Ferguson told him.

The Rashid Gulfstream flew from RAF Northolt, a popular venue with executive jets that found problems with the congestion of Heathrow. Besides the two pilots, the other people on board were Kate, Dillon, George Rashid and Kelly. Dillon had arrived last, and once they were in flight, he opened the bar box and found a half bottle of Bushmills.

‘We still don’t know what’s happening,’ Kate said.

‘Well, it’s reasonably simple. Aidan Bell at Drumcree is expecting you sometime tomorrow to discover whatever you want to discuss with him. We land this afternoon at Aldergrove. My arrangements are that we go to a little fishing port called Magee, sail overnight to Drumcree and you can see Bell in the morning.’

There was silence. She said, ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘It’s a nice forty-foot boat called Aran. I could handle it myself, but these two can act as deckhands. It leaves Aidan Bell slightly left-footed, you arriving that way – he won’t expect it – so a bright girl should do rather well.’

‘Bastard,’ she told him. ‘Why is it I think of you like that?’

‘Because that’s what I am.’

‘Well, as long as you’re my bastard on this thing, all right?’

Not that she believed him, not for a moment, but she had her agenda and she was playing it through.

The flight was normal, the drive down to the coast just as uneventful. Magee was a small place, the kind that in the old days had been mainly occupied with fishing. The Aran was tied up at the pier, a shabby boat, as Dillon had said, forty feet, but having used Ferguson’s best efforts, he knew it had twin screws and the kind of engine you needed for action by night. He waited until almost midnight before leaving.

They had a simple meal of fried eggs and canned spaghetti bolognese, and even split a bottle of white wine so cheap that it had a screw cap instead of a cork.

‘We’ll take our leave,’ Dillon said. ‘The weather isn’t too bad. Wind’s six or seven. Half engines mostly.’ He nodded to George and Kelly. ‘You two cast off, then I suggest you get some sleep. There’s no way of knowing how things will go in the morning.’

‘And what about you?’ Kate asked.

‘I’ll manage.’

‘Dillon, I’ve been sailing boats for years.’

‘Then if it gets rough, you can give me a hand.’

As the Aran moved out to sea, the tide was still running in. Visibility was poor, rain drifting. Kate stood beside Dillon in the wheelhouse, with only the light over the chart table.

‘Rain squalls and maybe fog in the morning,’ he said. ‘Are you okay? There are sea-sickness pills in that drawer.’

‘I told you, Dillon, I’ve sailed before. I’ll make some tea and perhaps a sandwich.’

Not long afterwards, he smelled bacon, and she came into the wheelhouse with a thermos flask of tea and three sandwiches.

‘Two for you, one for me.’

‘And you half Bedu, eating bacon.’

‘Islam is a wonderful moral faith, Dillon.’

‘And how does that sit with those twelfth-century Dauncey Christians?’

‘Oh, they were hard people and their beliefs were very similar in some ways. You know something, Dillon? I’m half Bedu, but my God, I’m proud of my Dauncey roots. There are a lot of great ancestors there.’

Dillon finished his second bacon sandwich. ‘It’s an unusual situation, I can see that. I’m not sure about the aristocracy, Kate, but I like you. What about George and Kelly?’

‘Last seen getting their heads down.’

‘Good. I’ll do the same, and since you keep boasting of your sailing prowess, I’ll hand it over.’

When he returned four hours later, it was to a rolling motion. He had been lying on one of the bench seats in the saloon, come awake slowly and gone up the companionway. He opened the door of the wheelhouse to the sight of dawn, a grey light, heavy mist and rain, and the Down coast a couple of miles away. Kate stood there, hands steady on the wheel.

‘Good man yourself,’ Dillon said. ‘I’ll take over.’ He eased her aside. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine. I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in years. I’ll make some tea. Would you like some more sandwiches?’

‘See what the deckhands want. I’d say we’ll arrive at Drumcree in about an hour. I know the place from the old days. There’s a pub called the Royal George. Don’t be misled by the name. It’s a hotbed of Republicanism. We’ll call in and ask for Bell.’

‘Surprise him, is that your tactic?’

‘Oh, you could say that. Let me be sure I’ve got this straight, Kate Rashid. You don’t want me there when you meet him, am I right?’

‘It’s business, Dillon, private company business. George can come with me.’

‘Fine,’ Sean Dillon told her and turned the wheel. ‘Now what about that tea?’

George and Kelly joined them eventually in the wheelhouse, drank mugs of tea, and listened to Dillon.

‘The pub, the Royal George, is a good Fenian institution and right on the jetty. You’ve both done Ulster time, so you know the kind of place.’

‘Should we be carrying?’ Kelly asked.

‘Feel under the chart table. There’s a catch.’

A flap fell down, Kelly pulled out a drawer and there was an assortment of handguns inside. ‘I’ll take the Walther in my pocket, so when I’m searched they’ll discover it,’ Dillon said. ‘You’ll find three ankle holsters with short-barrelled two-twos. One for each of us.’

‘You think we’ll need them?’ George asked him.

‘This is Indian territory and I’m one of the Indians.’ Dillon smiled. ‘Keep the faith, people. Slow and easy.’

Drumcree was a small place, with a tiny harbour, a jetty, a scattering of houses in grey stone and a few fishing boats. They coasted in, Dillon eased to the jetty, and George jumped over the rail and tied up. It was very quiet, no one about.

‘There you go, Kate,’ Dillon pointed. ‘The Royal George.’

It was obviously eighteenth-century, but the roof looked sound and the sign was in green, with black lettering and what looked like fresh gilding.

‘So what do we do?’ Kate demanded.

‘Well, like any decent pub in these parts, they’ll do an Irish breakfast. I’d say let’s partake and I’ll tell mine host to inform Aidan Bell we’re here.’

‘And that will do it?’

‘Absolutely. We’re already on their screen, as they say.’ He turned to the other two. ‘You stay with the boat, Kelly, and be prepared for anything.’

A bell tinkled as they went in the bar. Dillon and George were in jerseys and reefer coats, Kate wore a black jumpsuit and carried a briefcase. There were three men sitting in the window seat eating breakfast; one was middle-aged with a beard, the other two were younger. They turned to stare, men of a rough persuasion with hard faces. A man appeared behind the bar, thickset, white-haired.

‘Can I help you?’

‘We’d like breakfast,’ Kate said.

The well-bred English voice sliced through the quiet like a knife, and the men at the window continued to stare.

‘Breakfast?’ the man said.

Dillon cut in, making his Belfast accent even more pronounced. ‘That’s it, me ould son, three Ulster fry-ups. We’ve just sailed in from Magee. Then phone Aidan Bell and tell him Lady Kate Rashid is here.’

‘Phone Aidan Bell?’ the man said.

‘What’s your name?’ Dillon asked.

‘Patrick Murphy,’ the man replied, as a reflex.

‘Good man yourself, Patrick, now breakfast and Bell, in whatever order you want.’

Murphy hesitated and then said, ‘Take a seat.’

Which they did, on the opposite side from the three men. Dillon lit a cigarette, there was a murmur of conversation, then the bearded man got up and crossed to the table. He stood there looking at them.

‘English, is it?’ he said to Kate, then leaned down and brushed her face. ‘Still, I suppose anything’s better than nothing where a woman’s concerned. Come on, English bitch, let’s see what you’ve got.’

There was a large bottle of brown sauce on the table. George tried to get up, but Dillon pushed him down, picked up the bottle and smashed it across the side of the man’s head, sending him to his knees. The man knelt, blood and sauce on his cheek, and Dillon stamped on his face, sending him sprawling.

Patrick Murphy appeared at that moment and was totally shocked as the two young men jumped up and Dillon produced his Walther.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ the barman said. ‘What are you doing? They’re Provisional IRA.’

‘Once in, never out, I was told,’ Dillon said. ‘And I’ve been a member since I was nineteen. I’ll tell you what, Martin McGuinness wouldn’t approve of this lot. I mean, he’s a family man.’ He turned to the two young men and nodded to the floor. ‘Get this piece of dung out of here.’

Their rage was plain, but they got the bearded man to his feet. Behind them, the door swung open and a man almost as small as Dillon strode in, dark hair tousled, needing a shave, wearing a Barbour jacket against the rain, with a large red-haired man behind.

‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Is that you, Quinn, and in a damn bad way?’ He laughed out loud. ‘And whose toes did you stand on?’

‘Mine,’ Dillon said.

Bell turned in astonishment and his expression was close to awe. ‘Dear God, is it you?’

‘As ever was. A long time ago it was: Derry, and those Brit paratroopers chasing us through the sewers.’

‘You saved my life once.’ Bell held out his hand.

‘You tried to kill me twice.’

‘Ah, well, so we had a falling out.’ Bell turned to the two men supporting Quinn. ‘Get him out of my sight.’

They took the bearded man out of the door and Bell said, ‘What in the hell goes on, Dillon?’

‘This is Lady Kate Rashid. I believe you have a meeting arranged.’

Bell didn’t even look surprised. ‘I should have known. Take me unawares, is that it? And where does this bastard fit in?’ he asked her.

‘Mr Dillon is acting in a private capacity. I wanted his expertise on County Down, and he’s been provided with ten thousand pounds to supply it.’

‘Flew into Aldergrove yesterday. Boated out overnight, back to Magee in an hour or two. Money for old rope,’ Dillon said.

‘Come off it, you still work for Ferguson, you turncoat.’ He took a Browning from his pocket. ‘Hands high. See to him, Liam.’

The red-haired man ran his hands over Dillon and found the Walther. He turned to Kate. ‘Now you, darling.’

It was Bell who said, ‘Mind your manners, Casey, a lady this.’ He gestured to the briefcase. ‘See what’s in there.’

‘No, Mr Bell,’ Kate told him. ‘What’s in there is between you and me.’

‘I see.’ He turned to George as Liam Casey checked him. ‘This would be the younger brother? One Para.’

‘You’re well informed,’ said Kate.

‘I always am, and if your head of security is on that boat, he’s also One Para and a damned Prod.’

‘Which you are yourself,’ Dillon reminded him and shrugged to Kate. ‘One of the few in the IRA.’

‘So what am I doing here?’ Bell asked.

‘Business, Mr Bell. As you’re so well informed, you’ll know I am Executive Chairman of Rashid Investments, and you’ll know we have big plans for development in Ulster.’

‘I had heard.’

‘Can we talk?’

Bell nodded to the barman. ‘We’ll use the snug.’ He led the way to a door, opened it to usher her through, and turned to Dillon. ‘Sean?’

‘You still don’t understand,’ Kate told him. ‘Dillon is here only as a minder. My business is with you, and you alone, on behalf of Rashid Investments.’ She turned and nodded to her brother. ‘George, join us.’

The door closed. Dillon turned and said to the barman, ‘I know it’s early in the day, but it’s cold out there and pouring with rain, and I’m County Down myself, so let’s celebrate and get the Bushmills out.’

There was a fire in the open hearth of the snug, chairs on each side and a small coffee table in between. Kate Rashid sat down, her brother standing behind; Bell sat opposite and lit a cigarette, Liam Casey stood behind.

‘So, the word is that Rashid Investments are having problems with their plans in Northern Ireland, and need a little protection.’

‘Not really, Mr Bell. That’s a story even Dillon believes. No, I don’t need you to guard the door, as it were; you’re far too talented for that.’

‘Really? Then what do you need me for?’

‘Last year you killed General Petrovsky in Chechnya, and also blew up most of his staff. The world in general thought the Chechen freedom fighters had scored a great coup, but I know that you were paid one million pounds by Chechen sources in exile in Paris.’

‘Do you now?’

‘Oh, yes.’

His face was calm. ‘You or your famous brother, the Earl, isn’t it? A man to reckon with, and all the money in the world, I hear.’

‘Not quite, but close. You’ve never met, of course.’

‘Almost. He was a lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards. Crossmaglen in South Armagh. I was with one of my best snipers. Your brother and a small patrol were moving in. My man had him in his sights, then a helicopter dropped in with another twenty Guardsmen and we had to run for it.’

‘If you’d shot him, you’d have missed a big payday.’ She pushed the briefcase across. ‘Have a look.’

He flicked the catches and lifted the lid. Inside were rows of fifty-pound notes. ‘How much?’ he asked.

‘A hundred thousand pounds as evidence of good faith. You keep it, whatever happens. My brother’s gift to you.’

‘And what do I have to do?’

‘You may or may not know about this, but the Americans and Russians intend to prospect for oil in Hazar. The Sultan brokered a deal for them. It involved assassinating my brother.’

‘The Sultan’s dead. It was in the papers.’

‘Exactly. One of his assassins almost killed me. My brother shot him dead. He’s that kind of man.’

‘He would be. Irish time, Lady Kate. Me, Dillon, Casey here, your brother – we’re all cut from the same piece of cloth. But there’s more here. I know I’m a bastard, but I’m a clever bastard.’

‘All right. I’ll tell you. It involves my mother and a man called Igor Gatov.’

Afterwards, Aidan Bell said, ‘Excuse the language, but they’re all fucks. The Americans, Russians, Brits. They use people, then throw them away like a paper cup.’

‘So for once, we teach them a lesson. And I do mean a big lesson. We go straight to the top. I hear Jake Cazalet is a good man, but so what? Someone pays for people like Gatov, and ultimately it must be the one in supreme power. For President Jake Cazalet, you get two million. Now are you in or out?’

Liam Casey said, ‘Jesus.’

Bell sat looking at her. ‘You’re mad, woman.’

‘No, perfectly serious. As I said, you keep the hundred thousand, no matter what.’ She took a phonecard from her purse, and a pen. She wrote quickly. ‘My coded mobile number. You’ve got seven days. My brother and I will be at Trump Tower in New York next Thursday at our apartment. If you’re interested, present yourself, plus a coherent plan. If not, you’re one hundred thousand pounds richer and no hard feelings.’

Bell smiled. ‘I’ll be there, Lady Kate, Trump Tower, Thursday.’

She nodded, a certain satisfaction on her face. ‘It was never the money, was it? It’s the game to you, just like Dillon.’

‘Well, I still expect to be paid, and for a job like this, I’ll expect not two but three million sterling.’

He held out his hand and she took it. ‘Somehow, I thought you’d say something like that.’

‘We’ll meet again next week then, in Manhattan.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Casey opened the door for her and they went out to Dillon, who was at the bar drinking Bushmills.

‘A little early, even for you,’ she told him.

‘We have to walk back through the rain, girl. I like to keep the cold out. We’re all done here, I presume?’

‘Yes, back to Magee,’ she said.

Dillon turned to Bell. ‘A sincere sensation, Aidan. I’m sure you’ll do whatever the lady wants with your usual ruthless efficiency.’

‘Oh, you can count on it, Sean.’

Kate, Dillon and George went out, and Bell and Casey stood in the door and watched them go.

Casey said, ‘It’s madness, Aidan. Even you couldn’t get away with it.’

Bell smiled, looking incredibly dangerous. ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong, Liam. I can get away with anything. There’s something burning in my brain already, something I read recently. I’ll go and check it out. That’s a hell of a woman.’ He watched her go, Dillon and George on either side. ‘But Dillon. That’s a strange one, having him here.’

‘A “minder”, she said.’

‘Could be, but he still works for Ferguson, which means he can’t be in on this business. It wouldn’t make sense.’

They walked out into the rain and moved towards the harbour at the same moment that Kate Rashid and the two men reached the Aran and stepped over the rail – and found Frank Kelly face-down on the deck. Quinn, the bearded man from the Royal George, came out of the wheelhouse with a savage grin, backed by his two cronies. They were all armed.

Without hesitation, Dillon flung himself over the rail into the harbour, dived deep and swam, surfacing at the stern.

Quinn was shouting, ‘Get the bastard, get him!’

Dillon reached to the ankle holster and drew the .22 pistol. The men above looked over the rail and he shot each one between the eyes. Quinn, shocked, turned to see what was going on and George Rashid pulled the .22 from his own ankle holster and shot him in the right arm. Quinn dropped his gun, scrambled over the rail, and stumbled away.

George took careful aim just as Dillon came back up over the rail. ‘Let him go and let’s get out of here. See to Kelly,’ he added to Kate, then moved to the wheelhouse and started the engines.

On the way down from the Royal George, Bell and Casey saw what was going on below on the boat.

Bell said, ‘That shite Quinn. He’s going to ruin everything. Come on,’ and he ran down the hill to the harbour.

They saw the action, Dillon taking to the water and shooting Quinn’s two sidekicks, Quinn being shot by George Rashid and running for cover. Bell and Casey paused, watched George cast off and the Aran move out of the harbour, saw Quinn stumble between the boats on the beach.

‘I’ve had it, Liam,’ Bell said. ‘The Provisional IRA can go to hell. This is my patch and this bastard has come close to screwing up the biggest job of my life. This time he goes down.’

He ran, followed by Casey. In working his way round the beach, Quinn had to wade through water, and when he turned around the stern of a fishing boat, he found Bell and Casey facing him.

‘Aidan?’ he said.

Bell smiled. ‘You’ve been a stone in my shoe too long, you bastard. Let’s end it now.’ He drew a Browning from his pocket and double-tapped Quinn in the heart. Quinn fell back in the water, his body floating, half submerged.

Casey said, ‘You want me to do anything?’

‘No need, the tide’s on the turn. It will take him out, and in Drumcree, who’ll ask questions?’

The Aran moved out to sea. Kate went to the stern and sat in the rain using her coded mobile. Paul Rashid answered.

‘It’s me, darling.’

‘How did it go?’

‘I’ll tell you when we meet. Bell will go for it.’

‘Good. How was Dillon?’

‘Well, he and Bell turned out to have shot at each other in the old days.’

‘So, Dillon bought your story?’

‘God knows. He’s a devious bastard. What he did do was save my life.’

There was a pause and Paul Rashid said, ‘Explain.’

Afterwards, he said, ‘He doesn’t take prisoners.’

‘No. Mind you, George didn’t let you down, either.’

‘I’m proud of him. Tell him so for me. I’ll see you soon.’

The Aran was plunging out to sea through strong waves. Dillon and George were in the wheelhouse, and Kate arrived with tea.

‘How’s Kelly?’ Dillon asked.

‘He’ll be all right. A bash to the head, that’s all. He’ll have a headache for a while, but he’s a tough nut.’

‘Good,’ Dillon said.

Dillon said, ‘Now, Kate, there’s half a bottle of Bushmills under the chart table.’

She found it, got it out, and poured into two mugs of tea. Dillon said, ‘George, boy, as my Jewish friends would say, you’re a mensch. My thanks.’