The Midnight Bell

by Jack Higgins

  “Oh, I can do Cole Porter, too, but I’m not sure who for. These days, the kids have never heard of Bogart, never mind Fred Astaire.”

  She dropped into a sofa, and Kate sat opposite on a stool, and said, “What on earth did Sean mean about Mr. Teague and for you not to get into the kind of scrape that might require his assistance?”

  “Well, Mr. Teague is the boss of what we term the Disposal Team. We call them in when there’s a body, or maybe two, that needs handling.”

  “You mean he’s an undertaker?”

  “Not exactly. What you might call a private undertaker. Cremate a corpse, you’ll have about six pounds of gray ash in an hour.”

  “But is that legal?”

  “No, it’s not. Ferguson decided years ago that too many bad guys, terrorists and people of that ilk, were getting away with it, courts failing, so he brought in summary justice. We knock them off, and Mr. Teague cremates them.”

  “But that’s terrible,” Kate said.

  “Well, the ones I was responsible for were absolute bastards, I promise you. You’re entitled to your opinion, but I’m only nineteen and I’ve been involved with death and destruction for most of my life, and am aware of what so many bad people are capable of that I see things differently. I hope it won’t spoil our friendship.”

  Kate jumped up. “No, dammit, I won’t let it.” She looked at her watch. “Let’s have some fun, it’s only half past eight, and fifteen minutes’ walk down Park Lane is one of the best hotels in the world.”

  “You mean the Dorchester? Well, I’m with you there.”

  “Well, let’s adjourn to the Dorchester bar, see off a bottle of champagne, and indulge in one of their amazing light suppers.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Hannah said. “No need to change, so let’s get going.”

  10

  AT THE DORCHESTER, they found a quiet night and thus managed to get a booth not too far from the bar. The pianist nodded to Hannah and smiled warmly.

  “Would he let you play, do you think?” Kate asked.

  “Musicians, particularly pianists, treasure their fiefdoms. I wouldn’t be welcome.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem right.”

  “I’m too good, and that isn’t ego. It’s the rules of the game,” Hannah said. “And that doesn’t apply to just music but also the other arts. Journalism, too, I’d think.”

  “You’re not wrong there.”

  “Now, allow me to introduce you to Dillon’s favorite champagne, Krug. We’ll split a bottle, and I’ll let you choose what we have to eat.”

  Which turned out to be lobster with a French salad, Jersey Royal potatoes, and chopped onions, followed by a milk-chocolate soufflé.

  “Isn’t it strange when something is so disgustingly wonderful?” Kate said.

  “You certainly can turn a phrase—an essential gift for a good journalist! The meal was excellent, the company amazing, so God bless the good work, and we’ll take our time walking back.”

  “I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Kate said. “So this meal’s on me,” and she gave the waiter her credit card.

  “Fair enough,” Hannah told her, as her Codex sounded. She held it to her ear and the smile faded. A few moments later, she nodded. “Thanks for letting me know, Giles.”

  She turned the phone off, her face grave. “Hunter has just died. Heart and lung damage just too much. Bellamy will be devastated.”

  Kate nodded, and they walked out, their evening turned more somber.

  It was warm and sultry as they walked along Park Lane. A man came up behind them wearing a French beret and a belted anorak, but he stepped off the pavement and passed them without a word, walking fast, and turned to the right.

  They watched him, but he seemed to be no threat, and they carried on to Green Street, pausing beside the parked Mini while Kate unlocked the front door. They entered the house, and Kate led the way into the drawing room, switching on the garden lights, then opening the French windows, and stepping outside, Hannah following.

  “My goodness, it’s warm,” Kate said. “I think I’ll make some tea.”

  As she turned to go inside, the man with the French beret stepped out of the rhododendrons and grabbed Hannah at pistol point from behind, an arm about her neck.

  “The Master wants you two dead, but he didn’t say how, so I’m going to enjoy myself.” He nuzzled Hannah’s neck, and said to Kate, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll get around to you later.”

  “I don’t think so, you piece of shit,” she said, as she pulled out her Colt .25 from her pocket, leveled it, and shot him between the eyes. Hannah stepped back, allowing the corpse to fall to the ground.

  Kate stood there, the Colt hanging from her hand. “So easy,” she said. “I can’t believe I could do that.”

  “Well, you did,” Hannah said. “And it was a damn sight better than what he intended for us.”

  “What a criminal he was,” Kate said. “As for the Master . . .”

  “It would be a pleasure to see him face-to-face,” Hannah said, and phoned Roper. “Giles, we need the Disposal Team at Kate’s house.”

  “What happened?”

  “A very obnoxious hit man turned up, sent by the Master. He managed to grab me and made it clear he had rape on his mind as well as murder, so Kate shot him dead.”

  Roper said, “Thank God we gave her that training session on the firing range. Sit tight, and Teague will be with you soon.”

  —

  TIPPED OFF BY ROPER, Dillon was in his Mini and on the way to Green Street within minutes, arriving before Teague and his people did. It was Hannah who answered the door, and Dillon hugged her fiercely.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, cousin, but he isn’t.”

  She led the way into the drawing room and indicated the corpse covered by an old raincoat on the terrace.

  “And Kate, how is she?”

  “Making tea in the kitchen,” Kate said, looking in. “I’m getting more Irish by the minute.”

  “And he definitely said he was acting under the Master’s instructions?”

  “Kate will confirm that.”

  “Which she does, Sean,” Kate said, and a tall man with silver hair and wearing black overalls came around the corner with three other men also in black overalls.

  “Ah, it’s you, Sean, come to help the ladies out?”

  “A bad one this, Mr. Teague,” Dillon said. “A paid assassin who also had rape on his mind. I know his boss, and there will be a reckoning. You’ve met my cousin, Hannah. He had her under his gun, but her friend Kate Munro managed to shoot him.”

  “Well, God bless you for that, Miss Munro,” Teague said, as his men carried the body back around the corner to the hearse.

  “So there you are,” Dillon said. “Two hours and all that will be left is six pounds of gray ash. Don’t allow the fact that you had to kill that foul man give you a problem, Kate.”

  “It won’t. Here’s what does: The Master told me to expect this kind of retribution to follow when I refused to go along with his mad plans for Hunter. He said he’d make me pay and also see that something happened to my aunt Molly.”

  There was a nasty silence until Hannah said, “Do you think he meant it?”

  “No doubt,” Dillon said. “He’s just tried to organize a double murder and the one who shot his hit man was you, Kate. Now he’ll want revenge, and that’s a short step to Aunt Molly.”

  “We must phone and warn her,” Hannah said.

  “She wouldn’t know what I was talking about. She’s a sweet eighty-two-year-old who attends parish church on Sundays and is nice to people because she always has been. She lives in West Sussex. What am I wasting time for? If I put my foot down in that Mini of mine, and knowing the back roads like I do, I can be there in two
hours.”

  “Well, I’m coming with you,” Hannah said.

  “And I’m going to follow you,” Dillon put in. “Don’t worry, I always keep an overnight bag in the car.”

  He called in to tell Roper what was happening, who said, “Keep a pistol in your pocket. I’ve got a bad feeling about the Master. I think he’s getting desperate.”

  “I’ve been killing men since I was nineteen,” Dillon said. “He’s welcome to bring it on.”

  Hannah and Kate emerged from the house and clambered into the Mini. Kate switched on with a roar and started to move, and Dillon went after them.

  —

  THERE WAS NO QUESTION of traffic difficulties getting out of London, as those didn’t exist as far as Kate was concerned. She plunged into a maze of back roads that would bring her to Brighton to follow the Channel coast, aiming for Bognor Regis and Aldwick beyond.

  She drove like Stirling Moss in his prime, Dillon had to acknowledge, but he hung in there on her tail even when, about twenty miles out of Brighton, it started to rain hard, only stopping when they reached the outskirts of Bognor Regis and turned along the front. There were beaches and seafront on their left, and at the far end, the road took them out to typical English countryside and then a small parade of shops, and beyond that, the spectacular pillared entrance to the Aldwick Bay estate.

  Hedge End was larger than expected for a cottage, high hedges surrounding the front garden, which explained the name, and a large closed gate that opened automatically to Kate, and Dillon followed her through into an ample courtyard where an old Volkswagen was parked.

  A young man was standing at the bottom of a tall hedge ladder while another stood on the small platform at the top, trimming with an electric cutter. On closer inspection, they were twins, wild black hair disheveled, denim shirts damp from the rain.

  As the girls got out of the Mini, the door of the house opened and Aunt Molly appeared at the front door, obviously surprised, and hugged them in turn.

  Dillon got out of his car, produced a packet of cigarettes, and lit one. “Do you use these things?” he asked the workmen. He got an eager response and tossed the packet to the youth at the bottom of the ladder, followed by a matchbox. The one on top slid down the ladder expertly to join his brother.

  He said to Dillon, “I’m Eric Haran, this is my brother Faldo. We’re helping Miss Molly out. Her gardener fell from the ladder and broke his ankle.”

  “Well, that’s kind of you.”

  “But she has been wonderfully good to us. We’re students at Chichester University, which isn’t very far from here.”

  “I know,” Dillon said. “It’s getting quite a reputation these days.”

  “Our general interest is archeology, and we just started a field trip—a long weekend on the beach to further our studies in paleontology.”

  Hannah joined them. “I bet you don’t know what that is, Sean.”

  “It’s the study of fossil animals and plants, and such remains are often found on beaches on English Channel coasts. Some of the fossils are thousands of years old.”

  “I’m impressed, Mr. Dillon,” Eric told him.

  “You mustn’t be. There was an excellent article in the Times a week or so ago that explained it all very well.”

  “I wish I’d seen that. Well, as I said, Miss Molly helped us out. We arrived early this morning with pup tent and sleeping bags, hoping to camp out for a few days, and then that torrential rain turned up.”

  “And Molly came to the rescue?”

  “Couldn’t have been kinder. She has allowed us to bunk in the old boathouse at the rear of the cottage.”

  “Well, there you are,” Dillon said. “There’s still a lot of kindness to be found in this wicked old world,” then he added, in excellent Arabic, “What are you, Palestinian, Libyan, maybe Egyptian?”

  Eric smiled and answered in English. “Egyptian, but Coptic.”

  “Just like Omar Sharif,” Dillon said. “Who changed his name and religion when he married a Muslim.”

  “Exactly, but Egypt is no place for Coptic Christians these days.”

  “True. I’m surprised to find you here at all. How have you managed?” Dillon asked.

  “We were very lucky,” Eric said. “We have an English grandmother.”

  “Ah, so under filial law, you could get U.K. passports. That must have made you think Christmas had arrived early. Now, you’ll have to excuse me; I really have to go and say hello to Molly.”

  Hannah, who had stood listening to the whole exchange, said, “What’s going on, cousin? I know you. Do you think they’re phonies?”

  “Their stories are plausible, even the bit about the field trip. Students constantly get involved in them even if it’s only an excuse to climb into your sleeping bag with a girlfriend. But knowing my name was a fatal error.”

  Hannah gasped. “Really?”

  “As sailors used to say in the days of sail, me darlin’, big ships sink themselves on small rocks. Let’s go inside.”

  “Just remember that Molly doesn’t know what’s been going on,” Hannah said. She led them into the kitchen, where they found Kate and her aunt enjoying coffee. Dillon made a huge fuss of Molly, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “You’ve been having an exciting time of it, Molly, all that rain, then your gardener falling and breaking his ankle.”

  “Yes, Eric was holding the ladder at the bottom, and then it slipped, and Oscar slid all the way down, and an ambulance came and rushed him off to hospital in Chichester. He’s going to be fine.”

  “I’m sure he is, and it was a good job Eric and Faldo were around to care for you. After all, you’d no idea that we were going to drop in on you for the weekend like this.”

  “I had suggested to the boys that a good old-fashioned hot pot might be nice, but that would have been for three, now we’d be six.”

  “Is that a problem, Auntie?” Kate asked.

  “Oh, no, dear, I’ve got plenty in the larder, but I’ll just go and check that everything’s right with the bedrooms.”

  The moment she had gone, Dillon took out his Codex and called Roper. “A couple of names for you to check out, Giles.”

  “Got it. I’ll call you back.”

  “What’s going on?” Kate demanded. “Is there something wrong with them?”

  “I’d like to hear what Roper’s got to say, but I’ve never been so certain. I now believe that the threat to harm Molly was just a ploy to bring you two into the circle of danger, where you’d be finished off for good.”

  “And you?” Hannah asked.

  “Oh, me, they’ll just have for afters, but let’s see what Roper has to say.”

  Before Kate could comment, Roper called back. “Tell us the worst, Giles,” Dillon said.

  “These brothers exist and do have British passports and an English grandmother who’s respectable. But Chichester’s never heard of them.”

  “Very stupid, that, and bound to come out,” Dillon said.

  “But understandable if whatever they are up to has been planned in a rush. I talked to Dr. Ali Sharif. Sharif runs the MI5 safe house at Tenby Street. He would like them presented for interrogation at your soonest. He suspects them of terrorism.”

  “The things I do for England,” Dillon said.

  “That’s what you’re paid for,” said Roper.

  “No, it isn’t. By most people’s standards, I’m a wealthy man, as you well know.”

  “Well, this is your chance to give something back to society.”

  “And Miss Molly’s good old-fashioned hot pot tonight?”

  “My heart bleeds for you. I’ve discussed this with Ferguson, and if Kate’s listening, he feels you should find an excuse to bring Molly back to London tonight.”

  Kate answered at once. “I hear you, Giles, and I’ll s
ee to it.”

  “Okay, it’s up to you now, Sean. But then it so often is.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel good, is it?” Dillon said, but Roper had gone.

  The two women were stunned. “But how on earth do we explain any of this to Aunt Molly?”

  “Leave it to me. As far as those two, I’ll take them in charge, as the police say, and spirit them away to London. It’s a long-standing habit of mine to keep handcuffs on board my car. I’ll stick them in the backseat shackled together, and even do their ankles. Very uncomfortable all that way.”

  “I’d say that’s an understatement,” Kate told him.

  “Well, cruel ’ard I am. Dickens would have loved me.” He took out his Colt, ejected the magazine, then rammed it home. “As it has started to pour with rain, I’d better get on with it. They’re not in here yet, so I’ll try the boathouse. I’ll pick up my handcuffs from the Mini and one of those umbrellas from the stand.”

  Kate and Hannah followed, watching him take the umbrella, put it up, and start walking to the boathouse. Hannah said, “Who does he think he is, Wyatt Earp? Is there a back entrance?”

  “Yes, there is,” Kate said.

  “Well, maybe I can do some good there.” Hannah took an old oilskin from the stand. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” and she went out into the rain.

  Kate was just about to go after her when Aunt Molly called down. “Are you there, Kate? Come and help me to make up some extra beds.”

  Kate hesitated for a moment, reluctantly watching Hannah setting out along the beach before turning behind the boathouse, then her aunt called down again, and she turned and mounted the stairs.

  —

  ERIC HARAN STOOD, the door open no more than a foot, and peered out clutching a Walther PPK. Faldo sat at an old table beside a pungent oil stove, the same weapon as his brother lying in front of him.

  “What are we going to do?” Eric asked.

  “The Master has made it clear he wants him dead. We’ll have to shoot him.”

  Hannah had been easing the old-fashioned bolt on the rear door open and stepped inside, her Colt ready. “Now, that’s not nice,” she said. “Not nice at all.”