Midnight Runner - Sean Dillon 10

by Jack Higgins

  "Leave it with me."

  Villiers said, "Let's get out of here. You sit beside Billy, Dillon, I'll go in front with Achmed. My lads will have to sort themselves out." He turned to his men and said in Arabic, "Let's move out. We push for Hazar hard."

  I n the Scorpion, Kate Rashid called Captain Black on his mobile and found him at the airport. "What can I do for you, Countess?"

  "We'll be landing in about an hour. I want an immediately departure slot for England. Take care of it."

  "Of course, Countess. There was a message for you from your houseboy. He said that if you were in touch, to tell you he's heard General Ferguson and a Mr. Salter have moved into the Excelsior."

  "Thank you."

  She switched off and passed the information to Dauncey. "It's a good thing we have our personal luggage on board. We can get straight off."

  "Are we running, Kate?"

  "Don't be silly. From what? The Bacu Bridge is still in one piece, and so is the train. Everybody down there is dead. They can't prove a thing."

  "Interesting, though, that they were all here. I wonder how they knew?"

  "It's something to do with Dillon, it always is. God knows what, not that it matters now. At least I've settled the score with one of them."

  "But not Dillon."

  "My day will come, darling, just wait and see."

  A n hour and a half after leaving the bridge, Villiers received a call from Daz. "Ah, Tony, the General explained your predicament. Describe the young man's symptoms." Villiers told him quickly what had happened and what he'd done.

  "And how is he now?"

  "Unconscious, but still with us. It's a rough ride."

  "I know. I decided to come myself. It could make big difference. It won't be long now, Colonel."

  Villiers told Dillon, who said, "Thank God. There's no color in him at all."

  "Just keep the faith," Villiers said. "That's all we can do."

  The wind sprang up again, spraying sand everywhere, and Dillon leaned over Billy, trying to protect him, despair in his head now. My younger brother, that was how he liked to describe himself, Dillon thought.

  "God damn you, Kate," Dillon said softly. "If he dies, there'll be no place you can hide from me."

  A moment later, a large ambulance emerged from the murk in front of them. Daz, a tall, cadaverous Indian wearing a hooded burnoose, emerged with two paramedics carrying a stretcher. They had Billy on it in a moment and turned back to the ambulance.

  "We'll get straight back," Daz said. "I don't want to waste time."

  Villiers said, "Go with him, Dillon. I'll see you soon."

  Dillon ran after Daz and climbed in the rear of the ambulance. Suddenly, it was a calmer, more ordered world, the sound of the wind and the sandstorm remote, and he sat there watching Daz and his paramedics working on his friend.

  I n the lounge at the hospital three hours later, Dillon and Harry Salter sat drinking whiskey from a half-bottle obtained from the Excelsior bar.

  "What a bastard," Harry said.

  Dillon nodded. "You've no idea how sorry I am."

  "Oh, yes I have. It's not your fault, Dillon." He shook his head. "I couldn't love that boy more if he was my own son." Suddenly, he held out his paper cup. "Give me another." His hand shook a little. "He could die on us, Dillon, and that bitch shot him in the back."

  "You know what they say, Harry. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It gives some people the idea they can do anything and get away with it. Kate Rashid's like that, but what happens when you find out you can't get what you want, can't have your own way? It's enough to drive you mad, if you're not mad already."

  "Well, she bleeding is. If I ever get my hands on her..." He didn't finish, because Tony Villiers and Ferguson entered.

  "Any news?" Ferguson asked.

  Dillon shook his head. "Not yet."

  "Well, I have. I've just checked with Lacey at the airport. Apparently, Kate Rashid and her cousin left for London more than two hours ago."

  "Flying the coop," Dillon said.

  "You could say that," Ferguson replied. "But look at it another way. What do we really have on her? The Bacu Bridge didn't happen. She's still the leader of the Rashid Bedu, the most powerful figure in Southern Arabia."

  "What about the tape--the recording?"

  "It doesn't mean a thing, because none of it happened. What would you ask the Director of Public Prosecutions to do? What would they be trying to get the richest woman in the world for, a flight of fantasy? No, the DPP's office wouldn't touch it with a barge pole, and if they did, a posse of London's most gifted QCs would make mincemeat of them."

  "So she gets away with it?" Harry said.

  At that moment, Daz entered the lounge, still in his operating clothes. Harry was on his feet in seconds. "How is he?"

  "I've done all I can here. He was lucky that the bullet in the neck missed a major artery, otherwise he'd have bled to death. Eighteen stitches in the face will leave him with an interesting scar, but the trouble is the other two bullets. They've fractured the pelvic girdle. He's going to need a top orthopedic surgeon when he returns to London, but, in my opinion, it's nothing that can't be put right."

  "Where is he now?" Harry asked. "Can I see him?"

  "I'd rather not. He's in intensive care. Tomorrow morning would be better."

  "When will he be fit for a trip to London?" Ferguson asked.

  "I'd say four days from now, assuming no complications."

  "Excellent." Ferguson turned to Harry. "You'll want to stay with him?"

  "Too bloody right."

  "Good. I've got to get back to London, but we'll stay in touch. I'll have the Gulfstream come for you four days from now and I'll discuss the case with Henry Bellamy. If anyone knows who the best orthopedic surgeon in London is, he will."

  "Great," Harry said.

  "We've got an early start in the morning, Dillon," Ferguson said. "Unless you want to stay with Harry."

  "No," Dillon told him. "I might as well go with you. I have things to do in London."

  "Right. We might as well have dinner at the Excelsior. Will you join us, Colonel?"

  Tony Villiers said, "Thanks, but no, General. I also have things to do."

  T he following morning before they left, Ferguson and Dillon stopped by to see Billy. Harry was already sitting in the lounge, having stayed overnight in a guestroom.

  A staff nurse went to check if it was all right for them to go in. At the same moment, Tony Villiers entered. He was in a head cloth and tropical uniform, a Browning belted to his waist. He looked tired, his face finely drawn and covered with dust, as was his uniform.

  "Good God, Tony," Ferguson said. "What have you been up to?"

  "General mayhem. Have you seen Billy yet?"

  "We're hoping to any minute."

  Salter led the way in. Billy was propped up high, a cage over his legs, tubes everywhere. He was obviously very weak but managed a smile. Salter leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

  "Bleeding hell," Billy said. "What's got into you?" He looked up at Dillon. "We really screwed them, didn't we? Even when she tried, the bitch still couldn't kill me."

  "Thanks to the Wilkinson Sword Company and their titanium waistcoats."

  "Yeah, let's invest, Harry, buy a few shares."

  Dillon cut in. "She's gone, Billy, she and Dauncey, back to London."

  "Good riddance." Billy winced in pain. "Let it go, Dillon, she's not worth it."

  The staff nurse, standing at the back, said, "I think you'd better leave now, gentlemen."

  Villiers said, "One more moment." He moved closer to Billy. "I have a present for you."

  "And what would that be?"

  "I missed dinner last night because I went up country with my Scouts, camped at El Hajiz. I took a couple of bags of Semtex with me, left my men, and crossed into the Empty Quarter. Just me and my sergeant, Achmed. The conditions were terrible, with the storm, but we hit Kate Rashid's terrorist camp at Fuad at
one in the morning, scattered a few blocks of Semtex around with ten-minute pencil timers, and then blew most of the camp to hell--vehicles, ammunition and explosives store, the lot."

  "You bastard," Billy said. "You wonderful bastard. I'd laugh, but I'd burst my stitches. Oh, that'll give Her Highness something to think about."

  L ater, as the Gulfstream climbed to fifty thousand feet, Dillon called to Sergeant Pound for a cup of tea. They sat in silence for a while.

  Finally, Ferguson said, "You were right, absolutely right on this one."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When you said there was no time to send in the Marines or the SAS. This one required the Dillon touch."

  "Yes, it worked, but we were lucky. It might not work the next time."

  "Oh, have it your own way, Sean. Just do me a favor."

  "God help me when you call me Sean. What would the favor be?"

  "Let it alone now. I saw what you looked like, back there with Billy. I don't want any vigilante nonsense. There's no profit in it."

  "You're talking in riddles, and me just a simple Irish boy." Dillon turned and called to Pound. "A Bushmills down here, Sergeant, so I can drink to the Devil Herself."

  LONDON DAUNCEY PLACE

  16

  T HE Gulfstream LANDED AT FARLEY FIELD AT SEVEN IN the evening, London time, and found the Daimler waiting. Dillon and Ferguson said good-bye to Lacey and Parry and drove away.

  Ferguson said, "Drop you home?"

  "Yes, then I'd like to see Daniel Quinn."

  "I'll meet you there, after I touch base with Hannah."

  Dillon checked his watch. "Fine. Let's say nine o'clock?"

  "Suits me."

  He dropped Dillon and the Daimler drew away. The Irishman got the front door open. He'd noticed the Telecom van parked a little way up the street and found his Nightstalkers, went upstairs to his bedroom, and focused them on the windshield. Newton and Cook were clearly visible.

  "Jesus," he said softly. "Don't they ever learn? You never give up, do you, Kate?"

  A phone call had told her about the attack on Fuad and the plane's departure from Hazar and she'd given Dauncey his instructions. He listened to what she had to say.

  "Are you sure about this? Don't you think it's better to let things calm down for a little while?"

  "On the contrary. I killed Billy Salter and he saw me do it. He'll be after me sooner or later, and I'd prefer to be after him first. To handle it virtually as soon as he's back could catch him off guard."

  "Catch Dillon off guard?" Rupert laughed. "That'll be the day."

  She was angry, not that it surprised him. Since the events at the bridge, there had been a change in her. There wasn't the control he was used to, the icy calm, but a wildness, and a glitter in her eyes that made him uncomfortable.

  "Are you with me on this or not?" she demanded.

  "Of course I'm with you. You want him dead. I'll help you."

  "Yes, I want him dead, but only if I can do the job myself. He killed my brothers, he's ruined so much that was important to me. It's time he paid. We'll go down to Dauncey this evening, just you and me. You can drive. I'll phone ahead and give the servants the night off. Those two goons you employ, the so-called security men. They're ex-SAS, aren't they?"

  "Yes."

  "Then they should be able to handle a simple snatch-and-grab."

  "They didn't do too well in Hyde Park."

  Her anger was fierce. "Well, tell them they have to do better, or I'll ruin them. Do you understand? They'll never work again. I have that power, Rupert, you know I have."

  In a strange way, it was as if she was demanding that he agree, and he raised a hand defensively. "Of course you do. I'll arrange it."

  "Good. Now get me a drink."

  D illon showered and changed, put on black cords, a matching shirt, his old flying jacket, and a pair of jump boots. A three-inch throwing knife was concealed in a pocket on the inside of the right boot. He took it out and checked it. Both edges of the blade were razor sharp and he replaced it carefully.

  He went down to the hall and opened a secret drawer under the stairs that swung out to his touch. There was an assortment of handguns there: a Browning, two Walthers, a Colt .25 short-barreled job in an ankle holder. He took one of the Walthers, the one with a silencer on the end, slipped it in the special pocket under his left arm, and went into the garage by the interior door from the kitchen. He got in the Mini Cooper, opened the door with the remote control, drove straight out and away.

  A timer on the garage door closed it if it was left open, so he kept on going, aware of the Telecom van's lights coming on behind him. All his precautions had been intended to prevent an immediate confrontation. That would come later, at a time of his own choosing.

  F erguson and Hannah were already in the reception area at Rosedene, talking to Martha, when he went in.

  "How's he doing?" Dillon asked.

  "Not too well. There was an infection of some sort, which hasn't helped."

  "I saw him this morning," Hannah said. "He was talking about going home."

  "Does he know what happened at the Bacu?" Dillon asked.

  "Not yet. The General didn't tell me about it until he phoned to say what time you'd be arriving. I knew you'd be seeing the Senator, so I thought I'd leave it to you."

  "All right," Ferguson said. "Let's go in."

  Quinn was sitting up, still wearing the sling and reading a book. "You're back." He laid the book down. "What happened? Good news, I hope?"

  "Good news and bad," Dillon said, and told him.

  Afterwards, Quinn said, "I'm really sorry about Billy. But you guys sure got the job done: Kate Rashid must be livid."

  "I imagine so. We put a major spoke in her grand scheme. What about you? How are you feeling?" Dillon asked.

  "You mean my health or my head?"

  "Both," Ferguson put in.

  "Bellamy's a fine surgeon. I'll heal eventually, so I'm not worried about that. But I've been thinking a lot while I've been lying here and I've come to a decision. I'm not up to the hard stuff anymore."

  "What about 'vengeance is mine, saith the Lord'?" Dillon said.

  Quinn shook his head. "I spent a lot of time working it through. I decided that Helen was worth more than that. And so is her memory."

  It was Hannah who said gently, "And Kate Rashid and Rupert Dauncey?"

  "Oh, they'll get theirs. From the sound of it, they've already started to. It's a downward slope for them now--they'll destroy themselves. Just as I almost destroyed myself. It's a powerful drug, revenge--and just as deadly."

  "I'm glad to hear it, for your sake," Ferguson told him. "Try and get some rest now."

  "Just one more thing. I wouldn't like to think any of my friends thought they were doing me a favor by taking things further."

  He looked directly at Dillon, who said, "Now do I look like that kind of fella? On the other hand, Kate Rashid did shoot Billy in the back seven times. If his bulletproof waistcoat hadn't stopped four rounds, he'd be a corpse now."

  "So you're the one talking vengeance?"

  "No, I'm the one under suspended sentence of death, together with the General and Harry Salter. You could say I'm concerned to know whether I should wear my titanium waistcoat at all times. Goodnight, Senator."

  Ferguson and Hannah followed him out. She said, "Sean, you're not going to do anything silly?"

  "Did you ever know me to? Go on, be off with you, the two of you."

  "I'll see you at my office at nine in the morning. Meanwhile, no funny business, and that's an order," Ferguson said, and he and Hannah left.

  They went down the steps to the Daimler. Ferguson said, "Why does Dillon do it? It's as if he's looking for death."

  "No, sir, that's not it. In fact, he doesn't care whether he lives or dies anymore."

  "God help him, then."

  Dillon stood on the top step and watched them go. The Telecom van was across the street. He went down the steps to h
is Mini Cooper, got behind the wheel, and drove away quickly.

  Newton was in the passenger seat, as Cook drove. He took a sawed-off shotgun from under the seat, opened it to check the cartridges, and snapped it shut.

  "When do we hit him?" Cook asked.

  "He's got to go home sooner or later. We'll try him getting out of the car." He patted the shotgun. "He may be hot stuff, but not with one of these pointing between his eyes. That's what separates the men from the boys."

  Not far from Stable Mews and on the other side of the square was Dillon's local pub, the Black Horse. There were many vehicles parked there at that time of night. Dillon turned in, parked at the end of a line of cars, and went into the saloon bar. He didn't order a drink, simply stood at the window and looked out to see the Telecom van reversing into a parking space.

  He left the saloon bar, went into the lounge, which was crowded with people, and let himself out of a side door. He moved down the line of parked cars, bending low, and reached the rear of the van. Newton was smoking and had the window down. Cook said, "Maybe one of us should go in and see what he's up to?"

  "Don't be stupid. He'd recognize us, and what he's up to is having a drink."

  "Alas, no." Dillon took out his Walther and touched Newton on the side of the skull. "What he's up to is considering whether to blow your brains out, and this is a silenced weapon. You'd sit here, the both of you, for quite a long time before anyone realized you'd shuffled off this mortal coil. That's poetry, by the way, but then, I'm Irish."

  "What do you want?" Newton's voice was harsh.

  "That, for a starter." Dillon reached inside and took the shotgun, which he placed on the roof. "Now yours," he told Cook. "You must have something." Cook hesitated, then took a Smith & Wesson .38 from an inside pocket and offered it butt first. "Strange how people are always giving me guns," Dillon said.

  "Can we go now?" Newton asked.