An old ruined windmill looked out of the night on his left and a flat stretch of cleared ground in front of it. He switched off all his lights suddenly, swung the wheel and drove into the cleared area blind, and braked. The other vehicle carried straight on, increasing its speed and Devlin jumped to the ground, went to the back of the Bedford and removed the bulb from the rear light. Then he got back behind the wheel, turned the truck in a circle on to the road and only switched on his lights when he was driving back towards Norman Cross.
A quarter of a mile this side of Fogarty's he turned right into a side road, the B660, driving through Holme, stopping fifteen minutes later outside Doddington to replace the bulb. When he returned to the eab, he got out the delivery licence form and filled it in in the light of a torch. There was the official stamp of a Service Corps unit near Birmingham at the bottom and the signature of the commanding officer, a Major Thrush. Garvald had thought of everything. Well, not quite everything Devlin grinned and filled in his destination as the RAF radar station at Shenngham ten miles further along the coast road from Hobs End.
He got back behind the wheel and drove away again Swatfham first, then Fakenham He'd worked it all out very carefully on the map and he sat back and took it steadily because the blackout visors on his headlamps didn't give him a great deal of light to work by. Not that it mattered. He'd all the time in the world.
He lit a cigarette and wondered how Garvald was getting on.
.
It was just after midnight when he turned into the yard outside the cottage at Hobs End. The journey had proved to be completely uneventful and in spite of the fact that he had boldly used the main roads for most of the way, he had passed no more than a handful of vehicles during the entire trip. He coasted round to the old barn on the very edge of the marsh jumped out into the heavy rain and unlocked the padlock. He got the doors open and drove inside.
There were only a couple of round loft windows and it had been easy enough to black those out. He pruned two Tilley lamps, pumped them until he had plenty of light, went outside to check that nothing showed, then he went back in and got his coat off.
Within half an hour, he had the truck unloaded, running the BSA out on an old plank and sliding the compressor to the ground the same way. The jerrycans, he stacked in a corner, covering them with an old tarpaulin. Then he washed down the truck. When he was satisfied that it was as clean as he was going to get it he brought newspapers and tape which he had laid by earlier and proceeded to mask the windows. He did this very methodically, concentrating all the time and when he was finished went across to the cottage and had some of Molly's shepherds pie and a glass of milk.
It was still raining very hard when he ran back to the barn, hissing angrily into the waters of the marsh, filling the night with sound. Conditions - were really quite perfect. He filled the compressor, primed the pump and turned its motor over, then he put the spraying equipment together and mixed some paint. He started on the tailboard first, taking his time, but it really worked very well indeed and within five minutes he had covered it with a glistening new coat of khaki green.
'God save us,' he said to himself softly 'It's a good thing I haven't a criminal turn of mind for I could be making a living at this sort of thing and that's a fact.'
He moved round to the left and started on the side panels.
.
After lunch on Friday, he was touching up the numbers on the truck with white paint when he heard a car drive up. He wiped his hands and let himself out of the barn quickly, but when he went round the corner of the cottage it was only Joanna Grey. She was trying the front door, a trim and surprisingly youthful figure in the green WVS uniform.
'You always look your best in that outfit, he said 'I bet it has old Sir Henry crawling up the wall.'
She smiled 'You're on form, anyway Things must have gone well?'
'See for yourself?'
He opened the barn door and led her in. The Bedford, in its fresh coat of khaki green paint really looked very well indeed. 'As my information has it, Special Forces vehicles don't usually carry divisional flashes or insignia. Is that so?'
'That's true.' she said. 'The stuff I've seen operating out of Meltham House in the past have never advertised who they are.' She was obviously very impressed. 'This is really good, Liam. Did you have any trouble?'
'He had someone try to follow me, but I soon shook him off. The big confrontation should be tonight.'
'Can you handle it?'
'This can.' He picked up a cloth bundle lying on the packing case beside his brushes and tins of paint, unwrapped it and took out a Mauser with a rather strange bulbous barrel. 'Ever seen one of these before?'
'I can't say I have.' She weighed it in her left hand with professional interest and took aim.
'Some of the SS security people use them,' he said, 'but there just aren't enough to go round. Only really efficient silenced handgun I've ever come across.'
She said dubiously. 'You'll be on your own.'
'I've been on my own before.' He wrapped the Mauser in the cloth again and went to the door with her. 'If everything goes according to plan I should be back with the jeep around midnight. I'll check with you first thing in the morning.'
'I don't think I can wait that long.'
Her face was tense and anxious. She put out her hand impulsively and he held it tight for a moment. 'Don't worry. It'll work. I have the sight, or so my old grannie used to say. I know about these things.'
'You rogue,' she said and leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek in genuine affection. 'I sometimes wonder how you've survived so long.'
'That's easy,' he said. 'Because I've never particularly cared whether I do or not.'
'You say that as if you mean it.'
'Tomorrow.' He smiled gently. 'I'll be round first thing. You'll see.'
He watched her drive away, then kicked the door of the barn shut behind him and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. 'You can come out now,' he called.
There was a moment's delay and then Molly emerged from the rushes on the far side of the yard. Too far to have heard anything which was why he had let it go. He padlocked the door, then walked towards her. He stopped a yard away, hands pushed into his pockets. 'Molly, my own sweet girl,' he said gently. 'I love you dearly, but any more games like this and I'll give you the thrashing of your young life.'
She flung her arms around his neck. 'Is that a promise?'
'You're entirely shameless.'
She looked up at him, hanging on. 'Can I come over tonight?'
'You can't,' he said 'because I won't be here,' and he added a half-truth. 'I'm going to Peterborough on private business and I won't be back until the small hours.' He tapped the end of her nose with a finger. 'And that's between us. No advertising.'
'More silk stockings?' she said, 'or is it Scotch whisky this time.'
'Five quid a bottle the Yanks will pay, so they tell me.'
'I wish you wouldn't.' Her face was troubled. 'Why can't you be nice and normal like everyone else?'
'Would you have me in my grave so early?' He turned her round. 'Go and put the kettle on the stove and if you're a good girl, I'll let you make dinner - or something.'
She smiled briefly over her shoulder, looking suddenly quite enchanting, then ran across to the cottage. Devlin put the cigarette back into his mouth, but didn't bother to light it. Thunder rumbled far out on the horizon, heralding more rain. Another wet ride. He sighed and went after her across the yard.
.
In the workshop at Fogarty's garage it was even colder than it had been on the previous night, in spite of Sammy Jackson's attempts to warm things up by punching holes in an old oil drum and lighting a coke fire. The fumes it gave off were quite something.
Ben Garvald, standing beside it, a half-bottle of brandy in one hand, a plastic cup in the other, retreated hastily. 'What in the hell are you trying to do, poison me?'
Jackson, who was sitting on a packing case on the oppos
ite side of the fire nursing a sawn-off, double-barrelled shotgun across his knees, put it down and stood up. 'Sorry, Mr Garvald. It's the coke - that's the trouble. Too bloody wet.'
Reuben, at the judas, called suddenly, 'Here, I think he's coming.'
"Get that thing out of the way,' Garvald said quickly, 'and remember you don't make your move till I tell you.' He poured some more brandy into the plastic cup and grinned. 'I want to enjoy this, Sammy boy. See that I do.'
Sammy put the shotgun under a piece of sacking beside him on the packing case and hurriedly lit a cigarette. They waited as the sound of the approaching engine grew louder, then moved past and died away into the night.
'For Christ's sake,' Garvald said in disgust. 'It wasn't him. What time is it?'
Reuben checked his watch. 'Just on nine. He should be here any moment.'
If they had but known it Devlin was, in fact, already there, standing in the rain at the broken rear window which had been roughly boarded up with planks. His vision, through a crack, was limited, but at least covered Garvald and Jackson beside the fire. And he'd certainly heard every word spoken during the past five minutes.
Garvald said, 'Here, you might as well do something useful while we're waiting, Sammy. Top up the jeep's tank with a couple of those jerrycans so you're ready for the run back to Brum.'
Devlin withdrew, worked his way through the yard, negotiating with caution the wrecks of several cars, regained the main road and ran back along the verge to the lay-by, a quarter of a mile away where he had left the BSA.
He unbuttoned the front flap of his trenchcoat, took out the Mauser and checked it in the light of the headlamp. Satisfied, he pushed it back inside, but left the flap unbuttoned, then he got back in the saddle. He wasn't afraid, not in the slightest. A little excited, true, but only enough to put an edge to him. He kicked the starter and turned into the road.
.
Inside the workshop, Jackson had just finished filling the jeep's tank when Reuben turned from the judas again excitedly. 'It's him. Definitely this time. He's just turned on to the forecourt.'
'Okay, get the doors open and let's have him in,' Garvald said.
The wind was so strong it caused a massive draught when Devlin entered that had the coke crackling like dried wood. Devlin switched off and shoved the bike up on its stand. His face was in an even worse state than it had been in the night before, plastered with mud. But when he pushed up his goggles he was smiling cheerfully.
'Hello there, Mr Garvald.'
'Here we are again.' Garvald passed him the half of brandy. 'You look as if you could do with a nip.'
'Did you remember my Bushmills?'
'Course I did. Get those two bottles of Irish out of the van for Mr Murphy, Reuben.'
Devlin took a quick pull at the brandy bottle while Reuben went to the van and returned with the two bottles of Bushmills. His brother took them from him. There you are, boy, just like I promised.' He went across to the jeep and put the bottles down on the passenger seat. 'Everything went off all right last night, then?'
'No problems at all,' Devlin said.
He approached the jeep. Like the Bedford, its coachwork was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint, but otherwise it was fine. It had a strip canvas roof with open sides and a mounting point for a machine gun. The registration, in contrast to the rest of the vehicle, had been freshly painted and when Devlin looked closely he could see traces of another underneath.
'There's a thing now, Mr Garvald,' he said. 'Would some Yank airbase be missing one of these?'
'Now, look here, you,' Reuben put in angrily.
Devlin cut him off 'Come to think of it, Mr Garvald. there was a moment last night when I thought someone was trying to follow me. Nerves, I suppose Nothing came of it'
He turned back to the jeep and had another quick pull at the bottle. Garvald's anger, contained with considerable difficulty, overflowed now 'You know what you need?'
'And what would that be?' Devlin enquired softly He turned, still holding the half of brandy, clutching one lapel of his trench-coat with his right hand.
'A lesson in manners, sweetheart,' Garvald said. 'You need putting in place and I'm just the man to do it.' He shook his head 'You should have stayed back home in the bogs.'
He started to unbutton his overcoat and Devlin said, 'Is that a fact now? Well, before you start I'd just like to ask Sammy boy, here, if that shotgun he's got under the sacking is cocked or not, because if it isn't, he's in big trouble.'
In that single, frozen moment in time. Ben Garvald suddenly knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he'd just made the worst mistake of his life. 'Take him, Sammy!' he cried.
Jackson was way ahead of him, had already grabbed for the shotgun under the sacking - already too late. As he frantically thumbed back the hammers Devlin's hand was inside his trench-coat and out again. The silenced Mauser coughed once, the bullet smashed into Jackson's left arm, turning him in a circle. The second shot shattered his spine, driving him headfirst into the wrecked car in the corner. In death his finger tightened convulsively on the triggers of the shotgun, discharging both barrels into the ground.
The Garvald brothers backed away slowly, inching towards the door Reuben was shaking with fear, Garvald watchful, waiting for any kind of chance to seize on.
Devlin said, 'That's far enough.'
In spite of his size, the old flying helmet and goggles, the soaking-wet coat he seemed a figure of infinite menace as he faced them from the other side of the fire the Mauser with the bulbous silencer in his hand.
Garvald said, 'All right, I made a mistake.'
'Worse than that, you broke your word,' Devlin said 'And where I come from, we have an excellent specific for people who let us down.'
'For God's sake. Murphy'
He didn't get any further because there was a dull thud as Devlin fired again. The bullet splintered Garvald's right kneecap He went back against the door with a stifled cry and fell to the ground. He rolled over, clutching at his knee with both hands, blood pumping between his fingers.
Reuben crouched, hands raised in futile protection, head down He spent two or three of the worst moments of his life in that position and when he finally had the courage to look up, discovered Devlin positioning an old plank at the side of the jeep. As Reuben watched, the Irishman ran the BSA up and into the rear.
He came forward and opened one half of the garage doors Then he snapped his fingers at Reuben. 'The delivery licence.'
Reuben produced it from his wallet with shaking fingers and handed it over. Devlin checked it briefly, then took out an envelope which he dropped at Garvald's feet 'Seven hundred and fifty quid, just to keep the books straight I told you, I'm a man of my word. You should try it some time.' He got into the jeep, pressed the starter and drove out into the night.
'The door,' Garvald said to his brother through clenched teeth 'Get the bloody door closed or you'll have every copper for miles turning up to see what the light is.'
Reuben did as he was told, then turned to survey the scene. The air was full of hazy blue smoke and the stench of cordite.
Reuben shuddered 'Who was that bastard, Ben?'
'I don't know and I don't really care.' Garvald pulled free the white silk scarf he wore around his neck 'Use this to bandage this bloody knee.'
Reuben looked at the wound in fascinated horror. The 7 63mm cartridge had gone in one side and out of the other, and the kneecap had fragmented, spinters of white bone protruding through flesh and blood.
'Christ, it's bad, Ben. You need a hospital.'
'Like hell I do. You carry me into any casualty department in this country with a gunshot wound and they'll shout for the coppers so fast you'll think you're standing still.' There was sweat on his face. 'Go on, bandage it for Christ's sake.'
Reuben started to wind the scarf round the shattered knee, He was almost in tears. 'What about Sammy, Ben?'
'Leave him where he is. Just cover him with one of the tarpaulins fo
r the moment. You can get some of the boys over here tomorrow to get rid of him.' He cursed as Reuben tightened the scarf. 'Hurry up, and let's get out of here.'
'Where to, Ben?'
'We'll go straight to Birmingham. You can take me to that nursing home in Aston. The one that Indian doctor runs. What's his name?'
'You mean Das?' Reuben shook his head. 'He's in the abortion racket, Ben. No good to you."
'He's a doctor, isn't he?' Ben said. 'Now give me a hand up and let's get out of here.'
.
Devlin drove into the yard at Hobs End half an hour after midnight. It was a dreadful night with gale-force winds, torrential rain and when he had unlocked the doors of the barn and driven inside, he had all on to get them closed again.
Jack Higgins - Eagle Has Landed Page 25
