The Midnight Bell

by Jack Higgins

  “Go on then, tell us the worst,” Harry said. “Burn down the Dark Man?”

  “No, all those fire engines would make too much fuss. They’ve got a big inflatable like we have, the same model as the River Police. The word is that Harold is useless with it, but Moon is a dab hand.”

  “That pompous idiot,” Billy said. “I find that hard to believe. What’s his intention?”

  “To sink the Linda Jones.”

  Harry’s face seemed to change completely, dark with astonished anger. “He’s what?”

  “Like I said, his target is the boat according to that stupid ponce Harold. He said you’d been king of the river long enough and it was time someone put you in your place.” Hasim shrugged. “I’m sorry, but according to Caspar, that’s what Harold was saying.”

  “Put me in my place?” Harold said. “I’ll crush him like a maggot, him and his miserable cousin. I’ll destroy them.”

  Hannah jumped straight in. “No, you won’t Harry. We’re all going to consider this carefully at a council of war. But in the meantime, Hasim isn’t the only one who’s hungry.”

  Harry gave a great barking laugh, and said to Dora, “What a girl, putting me in my place when I needed it. I knew she was trouble the first time I met her on that horse farm of hers.”

  —

  THE MEAL WAS AS GOOD AS USUAL, Dora made to blush with the compliments, and then they got down to business over tea and coffee.

  “We need a plan of campaign,” Hannah said, as Dora was pouring. “First of all, do we still have the party?”

  “If we don’t,” Dillon said, “it means these sods have won and I’m not having that.” He turned to Holley. “What do you think?”

  “All this aggro in the car park doesn’t worry me. Moon won’t hand out pistols to his young thugs—too dangerous—so I don’t see them as a problem, not with all of us ready for them.”

  “Fine,” Hannah said. “This leaves us the Linda Jones.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Billy said. “Moon’s old motor launch is chained to the jetty. I’ll take some bolt cutters from our workshop and slice through the chains easy as butter. Sinking that launch would be a cinch. Hasim will help with the inflatable.”

  “Now that I like,” Harry said. “What a clever sod you are, Billy.”

  “So I guess the party is on,” Sara said. “Is it private, or do we keep the place open? It’s your restaurant, Harry.”

  Dillon said, “I don’t think we should risk the safety of any bystanders just in case the Master has something else up his sleeve.”

  “Pure evil,” Hannah said. “A few days ago at Holland Park, a suitcase was delivered for President Cazalet and it turned out to be a bomb. Major Roper sat in his wheelchair in the rain with Staff Sergeant Doyle holding an umbrella over him, and he defused it. And a girlfriend and I were stalked to her home by a killer hired by the Master to rape and murder us. While he was trying to throttle me, my friend managed to shoot him dead. The Master boasted on his mobile of having been responsible.”

  There was a silence for a while, then Sara said, “Harry, I think we’ll make it a private party. Is that okay with you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And the aggravation the Moons are going to cause?”

  “Bring it on!”

  —

  WHEN THE BIRTHDAY EVENING rolled around, Hannah wore the fabulous black silk Givenchy evening suit that Sara had bought her when they plundered Harrods one day. A black-ribbed shoulder bag complemented it, perfect to carry her Colt .25 and spare ammo.

  When she appeared, Sara was in black, too. “My goodness, we look like sisters.”

  “Well, I think of myself as your younger sister.”

  “Which I never had, but now I do. So, as your big sister, let me check you over. Are you carrying?”

  “Of course.”

  “And your bulletproof vest?”

  “Every girl should have one,” Hannah said.

  “Then let’s get moving.”

  —

  THEY RENDEZVOUSED AT HOLLAND PARK and were surprised to find Roper resplendent in a black-velvet jacket, Victorian-style, his long hair tied with a bow, a silk scarf at his neck. Tony Doyle, in dress uniform, was pouring a glass of Cristal.

  “My goodness, Giles, you look like Oscar Wilde come back to haunt us.”

  He raised his glass. “And you two look absolutely smashing. Happy birthday, Sara.”

  They went to give him a kiss, and Dillon and Holley entered, both wearing black tie. “What about us?” Dillon demanded.

  “Wonderful,” Sara told them. “You look like gangsters in an old Cagney movie. Now have a drink and then, since everybody’s here now, we’ll be off.”

  Dillon noted, “They say it’ll be raining later on. That should be uncomfortable for all those thugs Moon has taken on.”

  “Well, bad cess to him, as we say in Ireland,” Hannah announced. “And let the battle begin.”

  —

  GEORGE MOON ALREADY had the light on in the cabin of the Moonglow at the jetty below the old pub. He had changed into a Harris Tweed suit against the penetrating dampness of the Thames evening, and the sound of rain tapping against the roof gave little hope of any improvement.

  In his wardrobe, he pushed a couple of suits and some hanging shirts to one side and opened a cupboard, which revealed a small safe stuffed with packets of banknotes. He took one out, a thousand pounds in twenties, and slipped it into his breast pocket. As he moved to find a raincoat, his mobile buzzed.

  The Master said, “Just checking in. It’s a foul old evening out there. I hope it doesn’t keep the customers away.”

  “There won’t be any,” Moon said. “The sign outside says it’s a private party, so it’ll be just them. Twelve or fourteen people at the most.”

  For once, the Master exploded. “That wasn’t what I intended. I wanted much more damage than that!”

  Moon was beginning to get weary. “Look, the bad weather isn’t my fault, or the small dinner party. Besides, Barry McGuire has been in touch. Only eight or ten men have turned up. He’s parked an old bus beside the river just beyond the restaurant and is awaiting orders, but they won’t hang around long. This isn’t what they signed up for.”

  “And not what I’ve paid for,” the Master told him.

  This surprised Moon because, in a way, it showed a weakness in the man that was almost childish, so he said patiently, “There’s nothing to be done about the weather, but we can still do some damage to the partygoers. More important, no one expects Harold and me in police waterproofs belting along the river and doing the dirty on the Linda Jones.”

  The Master was more in control now. “Deeds, not words, Mr. Moon, that’s what I expect. I’ve invested a great deal of money in you, and it’ll be not just me but also al-Qaeda you will have disappointed if you don’t get the job done.”

  “The Linda Jones goes down; you have my word on that,” Moon said.

  “If it doesn’t, you’re dead.”

  The mobile clicked off; Moon shivered, stomach hollow, and sat down to think about it, then called McGuire on his mobile. “How many have you got in the bus now?”

  “Only seven; the rest have jumped ship. What do you want me to do?”

  “I’m not letting this opportunity pass. Give it half an hour, then drive the bus into the courtyard of the restaurant and draw them out. There’s only a handful in there. Rough them up good.”

  “This is becoming a bad joke,” McGuire said.

  “Nobody’s laughing, McGuire. You’re getting paid, so get to work.”

  The door opened and Harold entered wearing yellow oilskins.

  “We set?”

  “Oh, sure,” Moon said. “Let’s see. I’ve just had the Master on, full of threats. The whole thing is a cock-up because Salt
er made the birthday party private and closed the place to outsiders. It’s pissing down rain. Oh, and if the Linda Jones doesn’t sink, we’re dead. How’s that?”

  “Oh, stop whining. Put your waterproofs on, you git. Run me up to the Dark Man, and I’ll sink the Linda Jones for you,” and Harold turned and went out.

  —

  AT THE DARK MAN, they were getting ready to leave for Harry’s Place. Dora looked very dapper, her blond hair fresh from the beauty salon, pearls at her neck, wearing a knee-length black dress and pumps.

  “You look the business, girl,” Salter said, and kissed her cheek.

  “Why, Harry, I didn’t know you cared,” she told him. “And I’ve never seen you look smarter.”

  “Well, I would in a monkey suit, girl,” he said to her, and as Joe Baxter and Sam Hall also wore black tie, added, “We look like Al Capone and some of his boys on a bad night out.”

  At that moment, Billy and Hasim emerged from the storeroom behind the bar wearing black wet suits and cowls.

  Dora said, “I don’t like this at all. He’s only a young lad.”

  “I’m as good as Billy driving that police inflatable,” Hasim said.

  “And so he is,” Billy told her. “He’s not going in guns blazing, but he’s there to pick me up quickly if I end up in the river. I trust him completely.”

  “The really great thing about this is that they haven’t got the slightest idea that we know about their intention to sink the Linda Jones. They’re coming upriver to find the pub in darkness and easy prey.” Harry smiled. “But it’s Moon and Harold who’ll be the prey.”

  “And afterward, you get straight on up to Harry’s Place,” Dora said, putting an arm around Hasim and kissing him.

  “For God’s sake, leave the lad alone, Dora,” Harry told her.

  He gave his nephew a brief hug. “Take care, Billy, come back safe and try not to kill anybody this time.”

  They drove away, and Billy and Hasim stood there holding flood lamps dipped to the ground, rain bouncing off their wet suits.

  Hasim asked, “What now?”

  “Follow me and I’ll show you,” Billy said, and led the way along the jetty to where the Linda Jones was tied up.

  He stepped over the stern rail under the canopy, followed by Hasim; opened the saloon door; and reached for the switch. Light came on under the stern canopy, and it was strangely comforting with the rain drifting down.

  “We’ll wait for them here,” Billy said. “Not with the lights on, of course.”

  He switched off and gazed down the river, lights winking in the distance, and Hasim said, “Are you sure they will come?”

  “Absolutely,” Billy told him. “Nothing has ever been more certain.”

  13

  HARRY SALTER’S RISE from gangster to multimillionaire had been the product of his discovery that there was more money to be made from business than criminal enterprises. All along the Thames, decaying warehouses had been resurrected as offices or blocks of flats, and occasionally something personal like Harry’s Place.

  On a good night, there would be a queue at the restaurant, people hanging in there hoping they might get in, but not tonight. Only Fernando, the Portuguese head waiter in his white tuxedo, stood in the arched entrance at the head of the steps, flanked by two waiters in white monkey jackets, each clutching an umbrella.

  They hurried to meet the Dark Man party as Harry led the way in. “Are we the first?”

  “Yes, but there’s a bus parked up in the car park,” Fernando said. “I checked it out, pretending to be an attendant, and was told to go away in quite colorful language.”

  “Did you recognize anyone?”

  “Barry McGuire seemed to be in charge. There were only seven of them, typical yobs.”

  “Not McGuire—he’s an evil bastard, that one. Good, we know what to expect. We’ll see you inside.”

  The restaurant was designed in an art deco style, white the predominant color, a bar and a piano beside a dance floor, small and intimate tables dotted around it, and booths against the wall.

  Fernando led the way to the bar, seated Harry and Dora, Baxter and Hall taking up their stations. The head waiter heard other voices and hurried off to meet Roper, who was followed by Sara, Hannah, Dillon, Holley, and Tad Magee.

  “I can’t believe this weather,” Sara said. “Tad is leaving his Aston Martin in the hands of an attendant to park in the courtyard. I hope it’ll be all right.”

  “I don’t think it’ll come to any harm there, the way things are shaping up,” said Harry.

  “And why would that be?”

  “The Master must be cursing the day he put his trust in that fool Moon and his cousin Harold.” Harry filled in the blanks for them, and when he was finished, said, “So instead of Moon and an unruly mob putting the fear of God into my customers, we’re left with one bad bastard, McGuire, and six or seven third-raters sitting in an old bus in the car park putting away too much whiskey because they don’t know what else to do.”

  “And Billy and Hasim?” Dillon asked.

  “Guarding the Linda Jones in case that clown Harold tries to do his thing. He and Moon are right up the creek without a paddle. So let me say happy birthday to Captain Sara Gideon.” He hugged her. “Shot and shell, fifteen years in the army. A truly remarkable lady.”

  Roper’s Codex buzzed at that moment. He listened, then held up his hand. “Can I have quiet, please? Ferguson would like a word. I’ll put it on speaker.”

  “It’s impossible for us to get away; it really grieves me,” Ferguson’s voice said. “Your service with the British Army has been truly remarkable, wounded and decorated, a veteran of every conflict your country has served in, and I couldn’t respect you more, Major Gideon.”

  Startled by his mistake, Sara hurriedly corrected him. “Captain, General.”

  “Not if you can be bothered to read the Army List today, Major Gideon.”

  The party exploded with delight, Hannah flinging her arms around Sara, then others reaching out to embrace or kiss her, and Roper pulled her over and did just that himself. “Bless you, Sara, for everything about you. Not to have read the Army List shows real style.”

  “Listen to that,” Ferguson said. “The voice of Lieutenant Colonel Giles Roper confirming that he doesn’t read the Army List either.”

  For once, Roper was speechless as the group erupted again around him.

  “Go on, have your fun, and I’ll see you soon,” Ferguson said, and switched off.

  “Cristal for everybody!” Harry said.

  —

  BARRY MCGUIRE was an angry man and not just because he had been drinking heavily. He could handle that, but what he couldn’t handle was the fact that everything had gone wrong. Nothing had happened like it should have, and he saw his money flying out the window. The other men drank and argued, but were careful not to offend him, for it was a known fact that he’d killed a man and done time for it.

  He sat at the back of the bus staring morosely out of the window at the rain falling in a dark curtain, dimming the lights on the other side of the Thames, when his mobile phone jolted him.

  “This is the Master, Mr. McGuire. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. You must be very disappointed. No big money here, I’m afraid. George Moon and Harold got it very wrong.”

  “They certainly did, the bloody morons.”

  “Well, let me tell you what to do to improve matters. First, cause a ruckus. Tell your friends to have a go at the cars in the courtyard. Draw out the people inside. They’ll be armed, I’m sure.”

  “And so am I,” McGuire said.

  “Don’t be stupid. Dillon and company would kill you dead without a thought. If that’s what you want, I suggest you make arrangements with your undertaker. I don’t care what happens to the other morons, but if you want to make a great deal of
money, listen closely.”

  Suddenly, McGuire was alert and alive again. “So what can I do?”

  “Get these few louts you have, cause problems with the cars, as I said. You say you have a weapon. What is it?”

  “A Belgian Leon automatic.”

  “Hardly a Walther PPK, but it will do. Fire a few shots in the air to get things moving but don’t get involved yourself. Here’s what I want you to do. Not much more than a mile down the river is Moon’s old pub. His motor launch, the Moonglow, is chained to the pier. The pub is his office and Harold sleeps there, but Moon always sleeps in the launch.”

  “So what?”

  “Harold, being the rat he is, has told me that Moon has a fetish for cash in large amounts and has a secret safe somewhere in the old launch.”

  “I don’t believe it. How would Harold know?”

  “Because they have a relationship that might shock you, and when Harold needs cash, Moon always gets it for him from the launch, for which he has the only key.”

  “So what are you expecting me to do?”

  “What you do best. After all, you did serve five years in prison for manslaughter. With a gun in your hand, I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty in making them see reason. If they’re not at home, I’d wait.”

  McGuire said, “If it’s so easy, why don’t you have a go yourself?”

  “I don’t waste my time that way. Now I’ve answered your problem. They are having a wonderful time in the restaurant while you and what’s left of the original scum decay gradually. I suggest you get on with it.”

  McGuire sat there, thinking about it for just a moment, and then said, “Listen to me, idiots, we’re just wasting our time sitting here while that lot are enjoying champagne and caviar in the restaurant. Let’s show them we’re here!”

  He got the bus door open, scrambled down, and made for the courtyard. When he glanced back, they were following.

  —