Rough Justice

by Higgins, Jack

  No one spoke until Ferguson said, “This is a safe house under my command. I can hold you here for as long as I like and I don’t need to tell anyone that you are here. Our version of a cell is extremely comfortable but a hundred percent secure. The food is excellent, I eat it myself. Books, a television, it’s all yours, but there you stay until you tell me what I want to know, and if that means till Christmas, you’ll be here for the next ten months. Sergeants Doyle and Henderson will be responsible for you. Take over, gentlemen.”

  Chekhov suddenly had had enough, and that meant enough of everyone—the President and the Russian Federation, General Ivan Volkov, the Broker, Quinn, the whole business.

  “General Ferguson,” he said wearily. “I’m tired, and the pain in my right knee, thanks to the Salters’ generosity, is almost killing, so I’ll make a bargain with you. Give me a very large vodka, followed by another, and then I’ll answer any question you care to put to me if I can.”

  “Done.” Ferguson smiled. “In fact, you can have a whole ruddy bottle if you like.”

  He sang like a bird and, by the end of it, was thoroughly drunk. “Is that it?”

  “Absolutely,” Ferguson said. “You’ve been very informative. You’ll have to stay with us for a week, though just until we’ve got things sorted.”

  “Anything you say. Can I go to bed now?”

  “Of course. Have a good night.” Doyle and Henderson took him away.

  “SO THE BROKER is thoroughly shafted,” Roper said.

  “Interesting, Putin playing hardball in spite of Al Qaeda,” Dillon said.

  “And now we have Quinn’s setup at Drumore Place, along with the number of guards,” Ferguson said.

  “You’d like to snatch him?” Miller asked.

  “Or something.” Ferguson nodded. “The day after tomorrow, Volkov arrives.”

  “You wouldn’t be thinking of snatching him also?”

  “No—but he could always happen to be in the line of fire.”

  “If there was a line of fire.”

  They all waited. Ferguson said, “I’ve had enough of these people and the incredible harm they do. Quinn and any of his old comrades who are foolish enough to back him up, deserve anything they get. If Volkov happens to be there, so much the better.”

  Excitement stirred. “What are you thinking about?” Billy demanded.

  “The other year, we attacked in an old motor launch called the Highlander and sailed from Oban, remember?”

  Dillon smiled. “How could we forget? But getting close to that tiny port, especially during the day, would be impossible, the way things are now. Quinn would be certainly well-prepared.”

  “Not if you were in the right kind of boat,” said Ferguson. “The kind of thing only multimillionaires can afford.”

  They looked at him.

  “You mean some sort of gin palace?” Billy said.

  “A vulgar term, but yes. An appallingly wealthy friend of mine owns quite a nice, large yacht. As you may be aware, I’m something of a sailor, did the Atlantic crossing single-handed in my time. A boat like that demands attention, especially with a handsome woman on the stern deck drinking a cocktail. Nobody could imagine it being there for anything else but pleasure, a cruise off the Irish coast.”

  They were stunned. Harry Salter said, “Genius! That handsome woman, though—a bird like that would be putting herself in harm’s way.”

  “You’ve got someone in mind?” Dillon asked.

  “Helen Black.”

  “The sergeant major? I remember her well,” Billy said. “What a woman.”

  “But first, I need to secure the loan of the boat, so have a drink or something while I speak to my friend. I’ll use the office.” He went away.

  Miller said, “The sergeant major?”

  “Military police,” Harry Salter said. “Used to run this place for Ferguson.”

  “Got the Military Cross for shooting a member of the IRA in Derry who was leaving a van with Semtex on board outside a nurses’ hostel,” Dillon said. “Took a bullet in the left thigh, got the guy who did it, then sat up and shot his friend in the back as he ran away. Went to Oxford, but refused a commission every time one was offered. Her husband was an officer in the Household Cavalry. Killed in Iraq the other year.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, but I must say she sounds impressive,” Miller said.

  “A handsome lady. Never had any children. About the same age as Monica.”

  “Really?” Miller said. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  Ferguson came back. “The boat is mine. Wait till you see it. Avenger Class Ten. If you thought you knew what a motorboat was, think again. It’s in the Isle of Wight at the moment, and my friend will have it rushed up to Oban, delivered by two of his men. It will be waiting for us by the afternoon.”

  “Good God, can it get there in time?” Billy said.

  “Believe me, this boat is sensational. Wait till you see the wheelhouse, and there’s a flybridge up top.”

  “Who’s going?” Miller asked.

  “Me, to give things authority. You, Harry. Dillon, Billy, and Helen Black. Sorry,” he told Harry Salter, “not this time.”

  “Never mind, my bleeding arthritis wouldn’t stand up to it. I was sorry to hear Mrs. Black’s husband bought it in Iraq, I didn’t know.”

  “About two years ago. She’s over it now. Writes children’s books these days. All I’ve told her is the job is fairly similar to what she helped us on three years or so ago. She’s quite a sailor in her own right. She accepted without question. I’ve invited her to dinner tonight at Quantinos. Harry,” he said to Miller, “I’d like you to meet her. You can come too, Sean,” he added to Dillon.

  “Actually, as you heard, my sister has just arrived from Stokely. Perhaps she could join us?” Miller said.

  “Make up the party?” Ferguson thought about it. “Yes. Why not? Now there are things to do. We’ll all meet later, gentlemen.”

  MILLER FOLLOWED FERGUSON out to where their cars were waiting. Ferguson said, “Tell me, Harry, how much does Lady Starling know about everything?”

  “Keep calling her that, Charles, and she’ll brain you. Monica she is, and that’s what she expects. The answer is, she’s recently had to face up to my murky past, because I’ve told her. When you were discussing things with us after the funeral, she was outside on the patio with Dillon. She heard a lot of what was said.”

  “Bloody fool should have tried to move her on.”

  “He did, but she’s a determined woman. I discussed things with her before returning to London. I told her I’d make them pay.”

  “Does she know about recent events?”

  “No, but she will do when I get back to Dover Street.”

  “Good. Then I can make the whole situation clear to Helen Black when we meet tonight.”

  MILLER CALLED IN at the Cabinet Office to thank Henry Frankel for all his help with the funeral. “The least I could do, old man,” Frankel said. “You didn’t want the Prime Minister, did you?”

  “As it happens, no. Why do you ask?”

  “He’s hosting at Chequers for three days, the French and Dutch foreign secretaries. The usual thing, trying to make sense of the EU.”

  “Well, that should provide an entertaining weekend.”

  “What about you, Harry?”

  “Nothing too exciting. I might go back to Stokely and take it easy for a while. If anything comes up, you can always get me on my phone.” He left, and Arthur drove him back to Dorset Street.

  It was late afternoon now and he found Monica in the sitting room reading Country Life. She tossed it to one side. “What’s happening?”

  “For one thing, I intend to have an early-evening drink, and you might care to join me. After that, you’ll want to have a shower and find a decent frock, because we’re going out to dinner.”

  “That sounds nice. Anywhere special?”

  “Quantinos at seven. It’s early, but we have a big d
ay tomorrow. And it has to do with what I’m about to tell you. I’ve been honest with you about my past, and after you overheard Ferguson at the funeral, you asked me if I knew who was responsible for the assassination attempt. I said there were several possibilities, but I intended to get the lot of them.”

  “And have you?”

  Miller went to the sideboard and poured a brandy and ginger ale. “Horse’s Neck?”

  He handed it to her and poured another. “I think I’m going to need it.”

  “Sean Fahy, once a bomb maker, was given the contract and carried it through,” he told her. “He’s now dead and disposed of.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No, he was murdered by other people connected with the plot who wanted him silenced. I heard his confession as he was dying, and so did Dillon.”

  She drank some of her brandy and steeled herself. “Go on.”

  “If that’s what you want. Just listen. The full story.”

  Afterward, she said, “I think I need another of these.” She gave him her glass. He got her the drink and she carried on. “This Ali Hassim, a dreadful man, a terrorist, I can see that, responsible for so much, but didn’t it bother you killing him?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  She nodded and swallowed her drink straight down. “So Charles Ferguson is aware that you’re telling me all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what’s the next move?”

  “Michael Quinn is sitting in Drumore Place, well protected, and General Volkov is flying in for who knows what purpose, but he intends to surprise Quinn.”

  “And you want to do something about that?”

  “That’s it. You’ll hear more at Quantinos, where Charles Ferguson and Sean Dillon will bring Helen Black up to speed.”

  “Come to think about it, I shall enjoy meeting your sergeant major.” She got up. “I’d better go and sort some glad rags out. You know what we women are like when we’re in competition.”

  She left him and went upstairs.

  AT QUANTINOS, Ferguson and Dillon had a drink in the bar, and it was there that Helen Black found them. She had streaked blond hair and an unlined face and was elegant in a deceptively simple little black dress and a short black diamante evening coat.

  She kissed Dillon on the cheek. “Sean, you old devil.” She turned to Ferguson. “Indestructible as ever, Charles?” She put an arm around him.

  “Sorry, my dear, about Terry.” He was referring to her husband.

  “Old history now, Charles. Gone are the days when House Cavalry-men were chocolate soldiers riding around London in breastplates. Ireland, Bosnia, Kosovo, Iraq, Afghanistan—nothing but casualties these days, and their gallantry awards speak for themselves. Never mind that. Give me a scotch and soda and tell me about Harry Miller. Just another politician, I thought, and then you told me of another side to him. Can it be true?”

  “Well, he shot somebody dead last night,” Dillon told her.

  “To be accurate, it was in the early hours of the morning, but the person concerned richly deserved it,” Ferguson said. “Here he comes now.”

  “The good-looking woman on his arm is his sister, Lady Starling. She’s a Cambridge don and a widow,” Dillon murmured.

  “And it’s an open secret that Dillon fancies her.” Ferguson smiled. “The Salters have great hopes for him.”

  Miller and Monica forced their way through. He took Helen’s hand. “Harry Miller.”

  “And you’re Monica,” Helen said. “Dillon’s told me wonderful things.”

  “You’re mischief making, woman,” Dillon said. “Will you stop it?”

  Helen laughed. “He’s blushing. I can’t believe it. You’re at Cambridge, I hear. Which college?”

  “New Hall.”

  “I was at Oxford myself, St. Hughes.”

  “Well, that’s not your fault.”

  “No Oxbridge wrangling, if you please. Let’s get to the table,” Ferguson ordered, and took Helen’s arm.

  THEY STARTED WITH champagne, Dillon insisting on the usual Krug. “So what’s the plan?” Helen Black asked.

  “Well, it isn’t to play patty-fingers. I remember last time out on the old Highlander you wore paratroop boots.”

  “I still do when I’m gardening. They’re so comfortable.”

  “You had a Colt .25 hollow-point stuffed into the right-hand one. When the opposition took over the boat, you shot a man named Kelly at the wheel and ended up in the water in the darkness, with Billy Salter and me facing death on deck.”

  “And how in the hell did you get out of that?” Miller asked.

  “Billy jackknifed under the keel, scrambled up the other side to the wheelhouse, and got the Walther concealed in a flap.”

  “I remember it was bloody cold,” Helen said.

  “Well, I should imagine it would be.” Monica was trying to take it all in. “I must say this is the most remarkable dinner party I can remember. Could we order now?”

  THE MEAL, as always, was excellent and afterward they had brandy and coffee, except for Dillon, who insisted on tea. Helen said, “So tell me about the motorboat.”

  “Avenger Class Ten. You need to be seriously rich to own one. It’s the ultimate, every kind of luxury. It’s in the Isle of Wight, but a scratch crew of two men will rush it up to Scotland. It will be at Oban in the harbor waiting for us tomorrow afternoon.”

  “May I ask why Oban?” Monica inquired.

  “It suits my purposes. There’s an RAF air sea rescue base, so we can land there in my Gulfstream. The run down to Louth goes past Islay and down through the North Channel to the Irish Sea. It’ll be nothing to a boat with the speed the Avenger is capable of. An interesting trip.”

  “So tell me fully now how you intend to handle it?”

  “It’s simple enough. We’ll dress in what my friend’s sending—sailing gear that make us look like the crew of such a boat. You can appear on either the stern deck or on the flybridge up top, with dark glasses and champagne.”

  “In other words, I’m a rich bitch?”

  “Exactly. Touring the coast on the way down south. No need to hide. Then we drop anchor off their excuse for a port.”

  “And get up to skulduggery under cover of darkness?”

  “Something like that. Our general appearance and your cavorting around will keep the envious natives curious but happy, and that should include Quinn’s people.”

  “Sounds good.” Helen nodded.

  Monica took a deep breath. “But it would be even better with two.”

  “Two what?” Ferguson asked.

  “Two rich bitches cavorting around the deck.”

  “My dear Monica, you can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? I think it would make perfect sense, don’t you, Harry?”

  Miller said, “It would be something of a departure, love. I mean, the academic life . . .”

  “Don’t give me all that stuff about gleaming spires, dinners at high table, Oxbridge dons living a life so separate from the lives of others that it’s devoid of humanity. I not only admired my sister-in-law as a fine and talented actress, I also loved her as a human being. If I can help bring down rotten people who were responsible for her murder by lounging around on deck on this boat of yours, then I’d like to do it.” She turned to Helen Black. “I’m afraid I’d have to leave the gun stuffed into the boot to you, Helen. I don’t think I’d be very good at that.”

  “You’re certain about this?” Ferguson said. “It’s a big step.”

  “One I’m prepared to take, so can we agree that it’s settled?” She turned to Dillon, who was smiling slightly. “Don’t you say a word except to ask me to dance. There’s some perfectly good music going to waste here.”

  She got up, and Dillon followed. “My pleasure, Lady Starling.”

  “Don’t you dare start that,” she said, and they moved into the crowd of dancers.

  The others watched. Helen Black said, “That’s one heck
of a lady. She’s welcome aboard, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Ferguson turned to Miller. “Harry?”

  “I’ve found that it never pays to argue with Monica.”

  “So, six of us it is, and Farley Field for that Gulfstream at noon tomorrow.”

  “Suits me.” Miller turned to Helen Black. “Would you care to take a turn around the floor?” She smiled, and they joined the others.

  Ferguson watched them, feeling quite paternal, took out his Codex and contacted Roper. “Slight change of plan. Six of us tomorrow for the Oban flight. Lady Starling’s decided two rich bitches on show on the flybridge would be better than one.”

  “Good God. And Miller’s agreed?”

  “He’d no choice, that lady’s her own woman. She’s dancing with Dillon at the moment. ‘Our love is here to stay.’ Isn’t that Cole Porter?”

  “There’s hope for him yet. I’ll let Billy know the change. I’ve spoken to the quartermaster, explained the type of operation, and he’ll have suitable weaponry on board for you.”

  “Nothing else to report.”

  “Not really. I’ve confirmed there’s a flight plan for a Belov International Falcon leaving Moscow the day after tomorrow, checked through to Dublin with advance permission to land at their base in County Louth. The two pilots are mentioned as Yeltsin and Sono, and guess what?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Chekhov was telling us the truth. Three passengers, including Grigorin and Makeev, pride of the GRU.”

  “And the third?”

  “Ivan Petrovsky, listed as a security expert.”

  “Petrovsky, eh? That’s Ivan Volkov, trying to pretend he isn’t there,” Ferguson said. “A certain danger in that. It titillates.”

  “It certainly does.” Roper laughed. “I’m on all night, so if you need me . . .”

  He cleared the line just as the dancers returned to the table. Ferguson glanced at his watch. “Almost ten. I think it’s settle-the-bill time. A big day tomorrow. I’ll drop you off, if that suits, Helen?”