by Jack Higgins
'And to a lot of other people,' Holley said.
'Is what he said about Justin Talbot beyond doubt?'
Daniel Holley said, 'Yesterday he murdered a man in my custody in Algiers.'
'I fired back and shot him in the left side,' Dillon said. 'We've returned by private jet and, I believe, so has he. He has a house in County Down. I expect to find him there.'
Just then, two things happened at the same moment. Maggie Duncan emerged with the tea tray and, down the corridor, the alarm bell sounded, an ugly and frightening sound. Maggie dumped the tray, went off on the run, Bellamy following her. Dillon and Holley went after them.
The crash team had swung into action, working desperately on Mickeen, and through the window, Dillon could see the flat line on the heart monitor. The team worked in a frenzy, but it was fruitless. Finally, Bellamy gave the order to switch off.
'Time of death, two o'clock, Matron, agreed?'
She nodded, wiping her eyes, and went back down the corridor. Dillon stood there, looking through the window. Holley put an arm about him for a moment.
'Come on, Sean, let them get on with what they've got to do.'
They went back to the lounge and Bellamy found them ten minutes later. 'There's absolutely nothing I can say except that the reaction of coming back to life, as it were, obviously put an enormous strain on his entire system, which was weakened already by the brain surgery.'
'I've absolutely no complaint, Professor. This is a remarkable hospital, as I know more than once from my own experience. If you couldn't save him, no one could.'
'I believe you are the only relative?' Dillon nodded. 'So I presume you'll want everything done right, a Catholic burial and so on? Everything above board – not like some of the cases that have come my way from you and Ferguson in the past?'
'Of course.'
'Then that means a post mortem, and a coroner's inquest. Obviously, this would take some time. And it would require that proceedings be brought against Justin Talbot in a court of law.'
'That's how I see it, too.'
'Perhaps you should discuss it with Ferguson?'
'He will want to do what's right for him. I want to do what's right for Mickeen.'
'I understand how you feel, but I really think you should talk to Ferguson. When I start handling this in the way you wish, I don't want to find any roadblocks waiting for me, if you know what I mean.'
'I do, but I intend to have things the way I want them this time, and Ferguson's going to have to accept that.' He got up and shook hands. 'Many thanks, Professor, but we'll be on our way.' Holley drove again on the way back and Dillon just sat there, gazing out at the traffic. Roper called and said, 'A terrible business, Sean. Bellamy's been in touch and filled us in.'
'What do you think of the Shamrock affair now?'
'It's so unlikely that it must be true. There's an imbalance in the man, a kind of madness – there must be, for someone who has everything to risk losing the lot.'
'Maybe it's because he's decided that in having everything, he's got nothing. Then there's the whole relationship with Al Qaeda to explain,' Dillon said. 'Is Ferguson there?' he added.
'He's been called to a Cabinet Office meeting with Harry Miller, and then he's on the list to see the Prime Minister. Told me to tell you he'll see you both early evening.'
'And Talbot?'
'When I raised the matter, he said that since there was absolutely nowhere in the world that Talbot could hide, there was no rush. He's probably right. The way I see it, with all that Talbot money, they'll have a phalanx of the finest barristers in the business working for him. He's a decorated war hero, wounded in Afghanistan – imagine what the psychiatrists will make of that.'
'To hell with the barristers and the psychiatrists – Talbot's mine.' 'If he's still alive, I want to lift him,' Dillon said. He was sitting in the computer room with Roper and Holley at Holland Park. 'Everything according to the law. I want his arrest, a post mortem, a coroner's inquest and, most of all, I want to see him standing in the dock of the Old Bailey. I owe it to Mickeen.'
'I've crossed him off my guest list,' Roper said. 'He deserves everything they can throw at him, but the way things look, you aren't going to get it. I remember during the Cold War, if you arrested a Communist spy, he never ended up in the dock because they wanted to turn him.'
'Are you saying that's what Ferguson wants to do with Talbot?'
'No, Sean,' Roper said. 'What I think is that this might go way beyond Ferguson. We're talking politics here, and on an international level.'
'And you agree with that?'
'Don't insult me, you daft bastard. Just listen, for once in your life. What do you think it's like sitting here year after year in this wheelchair, knowing what's right and not being able to do anything about it because of the system?'
Dillon said, 'I'm sorry, Giles, this business has really got to me.'
Roper reached for his bottle of Scotch, poured a large one and tossed it back. 'Here's the bad news. Ferguson's already been told by the Cabinet Office to invoke the Official Secrets Act when Mickeen's death is put before a special crown coroner. The coroner will give a closed court order. No jury necessary. They'll issue a burial order, and that's it.'
'To whom?' Dillon said. 'Mr Teague and the disposal team?' Roper ignored him. 'It all takes place quickly. I'd say about a week.'
There was a silence between the three of them, and it was Roper who said, 'You know, I did some checking. Talbot International has a Citation X. In the past couple of days, it's flown from Belfast to Algeria and back again. Landed today, just after noon, in Belfast.'
Holley said, 'A great plane that some say is the fastest commercial jet in the world.'
'And the pity of it all,' said Roper, 'is that I haven't been able to tell Ferguson about it.'
'Why not?' Dillon asked.
'I can't go breaking in on him when he's at a Cabinet Office, can I? Or when he's with the Prime Minister?'
'So what are you saying?' Holley asked.
Roper looked up at the clock. 'Twenty to three. It's half an hour to Farley, and you could make Belfast in one hour. If there happened to be, say, a Mercedes waiting, you could be at Kilmartin at five o'clock.'
'How the hell did you manage to arrange all this?'
'It's better you don't know.' Roper reached into his desk. 'Here's a copy of the warrant authorizing you to take into custody Major Justin Talbot wherever he may be found. You've got your MI5 warrant card, Sean, but here's one for you, Daniel. I took it for granted you wouldn't mind using the plane.'
'I wouldn't miss it for anything.' Holley turned to Dillon. 'Let's get going, then.' They rushed out. Roper put the weather chart for the Irish Sea up on the screen. A nice summer afternoon, nightfall about eight o'clock, possibility of showers later. Ah, well, that was Ireland for you. He wondered how Ferguson was going to take it and discovered that he didn't really care, and he was laughing as he poured another Scotch. At Talbot Place, Justin had spent much of the day dozing. His forehead was damp when Larry Ryan dropped in for the second time that day to see him. It was four-thirty, the sky clouding over, a rumble of thunder in the far distance.
Jean greeted the doctor and accompanied him to her son's bedroom. She stood with Murphy while Ryan examined him, and Justin said, 'Here we are again, Larry, well done thou good and faithful servant.'
'Shut up, Justin,' Jean said.
'Only joking, Mum.'
Ryan said, 'You always did, Justin. I might call in again later.'
He went out, and Jean and Murphy followed him. 'How is he?' she asked.
'Not good, his temperature is a hundred and three and the pulse is racing. The heart's under great strain in my opinion. I really do think he needs not only hospital, but intensive care.'
'But you and Murphy have done so much for him.'
'I'm not certain it's enough, Jean. If that fever really erupts, it will be the death of him'.
'He's determined to tough i
t out,' she said. 'What can I do?'
'There's not much left but prayer, I suppose. Has Father Cassidy been to see him?'
'Justin refused to speak to him.'
'That's a shame. I saw the old boy myself earlier. He told me he'll be asking people to pray for Justin.'
Jean said, 'I doubt he'll appreciate it.'
Ryan said to Murphy, 'He can't bathe or shower, because I don't think it wise to disturb the dressings. Just give him a body wash and fresh garments of some sort.' He kissed Jean on the cheek. 'Take care, and I want you to know you can rely on me, Jean. I'll call back this evening again around seven.'
She went back in the room and found Justin arguing with Murphy. 'He wants to give me a body wash, as if I were a bloody schoolboy.'
'Shut your mouth and do as you're told.' She reached behind him, untied the ribbons on his bed smock. 'You'll feel better when Murphy's washed you down and dressed you, so don't be stupid.'
'All right, but you'll have to go out. I'm not a little boy any more.'
She went downstairs, found Hannah and Emily the cook and young Jane, dressed in their best and putting their coats on.
'You remembered we were going to six o'clock Mass,' Hannah told her. 'Murphy promised to go with us.'
'He's just giving Justin a wash and change, but he won't be long. Is Jack going?'
'Not if he can help it, if I know him. To be honest with you, he's putting his time into sorting the office out just in case he leaves.'
'He's not thinking of going after all these years?'
'He doesn't need it, Jean, he's got the pub. And I've got to be honest with you, because I love you. He feels betrayed. I doubt it will ever be the same again between him and Justin.'
Jean gave her a kiss, for she was obviously very upset. 'I'm sorry about Justin, Hannah, and the way it's turned out. I don't know what to say. I'll go and send Murphy on his way.'
'We'll hang on.'
Jean went up in the lift and when she entered Justin's bedroom found him wearing a navy blue track suit. He was sitting in the bedside armchair while Murphy fitted a pair of white sneakers on his feet.
'That's great,' Justin said. 'I feel a hundred per cent better. Prop up the pillows on the bed and I'll lie back.' Which Murphy did, assisting him back up on to it.
Jean said, 'Off you go, Murphy, the ladies are waiting to take you to Mass.'
'I'll see you later,' he said, and hurried out.
There was, for her at least, a slight, awkward silence. 'Can I get you anything?'
'I don't think so.'
'Then I think I'll just go to my studio for a while.'
'Still working on my portrait?'
'No, I decided I'd gone about as far as I could get.'
'And are you happy with it?'
'I think it says what you are and it tells the truth. When I was a student at the Slade, my professor said the most important thing was that your subject was so perfectly realized that it was as if the individual was saying not "this is me", but "this is what I am".'
'And does mine do that?'
'Oh, yes, I think so.'
'Then you must put it over the fireplace in the study.'
'No, I couldn't do that.'
'Why not?'
'I'd always be afraid that somebody would put it on a bonfire.'
She went out. He lay there thinking about what she'd said, then reached down for the rucksack and put it on the bed beside him. It hurt like hell, so he rummaged amongst the things inside and took out the half-bottle of brandy and swallowed some. It burned all the way down and he remembered what Murphy had said, but he was past caring, so he swallowed some more. It was almost six when Holley drove through Kilmartin, people going into church and organ music clearly heard. Dillon kept his head down as they passed the pub and moved along the approach road to Talbot Place, which loomed ahead through beech trees, and then they were at the entrance to the drive.
'How do we play this?' Holley asked.
'I'm remembering that Jack Kelly is the estate manager,' Dillon said. 'They must have an office for him. All these great estates do. Just follow your nose.'
Which Holley did, and then they saw the main entrance porch to the house and at the same time noticed a sign board saying 'Estate Manager', an arrow pointing. There was a Shogun and a Mercedes and they parked their own car with them and walked round to the courtyard and found the office, opened the door without knocking, and walked in.
Jack Kelly was arranging files on a shelf and received a severe shock. He moved to his desk fast, got the drawer open and took out his Browning.
'Put it away, Jack,' Dillon told him. 'We haven't come for you, we've come for Justin.' He took out the national security warrant and put it on the desk. 'Read it.'
Kelly did, his face troubled. 'On whose authority?'
'MI Five's.' Dillon showed him his warrant card. 'Daniel's got one, too.'
'Bloody traitors, the both of ye.'
'You're entitled to your opinion,' Holley said. 'But don't tell us he's not here. His plane is at Belfast City Airport, and since his pilot happened to be in the staff canteen, we took the opportunity of interviewing him. He was most revealing.'
'So we know he's here and in a poorly way,' Dillon said.
Kelly still tried to bluster. 'And what is it he's supposed to have done?'
'If you'll take us to him, you'll discover that. Now where do we go?' Dillon demanded.
Suddenly, it was all too much for Kelly, and he said despairingly, 'Christ, there's no way round this, is there? The silly, stupid, mad young idiot. He's going down and taken the entire house of Talbot with him. Even Colonel Henry couldn't do that. Come on, follow me.'
He brushed past them and led the way out. They went up the stairs together, and it was Kelly who knocked on the door and led the way in. Jean was sitting in an easy chair by the old fireplace, Justin still propped up on the bed.
'Yes, Jack, what is it?' Jean asked, and then Dillon and Holley moved in on either side of him.
'Justin Talbot,' Dillon said. 'We're from MI Five, here to take you into custody.'
'You can't do that.' Justin was surprisingly calm. 'You should have police with you.'
'We dispense with that on special occasions.'
'So what's the charge?'
'There will be many. Your exploits as Shamrock have been better than the midnight movie, you know. And by the way – it wasn't one of us you shot in the Khufra, it was Colonel Ali Hakim.'
Justin laughed out loud. 'You don't say. I think that's really very funny.'
Holley said, 'Hakim also told me the identity of the Preacher before he died. It's Professor Hassan Shah of the London School of Economics – if you're interested.'
'Oh, I am, but it's a pity I didn't know it earlier. I believe he met a bad end.'
'Cyanide poisoning,' Dillon told him.
Justin turned to his mother and said, 'Just like Heinrich Himmler.'
'For God's sake, Justin,' Jean said. 'This isn't funny. They're here to arrest you.'
'I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint them.'
'What do you mean?'
'I'm planning to go down to Drumgoole and fly away in my Beech Baron.'
She was incredibly distressed. 'Justin, this is madness.'
'But I am mad, just like Colonel Henry said. I've always known it.'
His hand went into the rucksack and Holley drew his Walther. Justin produced the half-bottle of brandy, waved it at him and drank deeply. Holley dropped his hand, holding the Walther against his leg. Justin replaced the brandy bottle in the rucksack, pulled out a Browning and shot Holley and Dillon in the chest.
Kelly cowered, raising his hands, and his mother screamed, 'No, Justin.'
He laughed wildly. 'Your lucky day, Jack, I'm out of here.' He pushed Kelly to one side, pulled open the door and lurched out, making for the stairs, reaching for the banister to support him on the way down.
Jean, almost demented, dropped on her knees beside Dillon
, but found him taking one deep breath after another, and then already sitting up.
'Body armour,' he gasped. 'It's like being kicked by a mule, but a lot better than being dead.' He was panting, his voice hoarse, but Holley was already stirring in the same way. As Kelly helped him up, Jean turned and ran out.
Justin was making slow progress getting down the stairs, and she caught up with him as he reached the door.
'It's no use, love, there's nowhere to go.'
He knocked her hand away. 'Yes, there bloody well is.' He went down the steps and made by mistake for the Mercedes that Dillon and Holley had parked there.
As he got the driver's door open, it started to rain, and there was thunder in the distance. He got in and she pulled open the passenger door and scrambled in beside him. By chance, Holley had left the key in the ignition.
'Justin, please darling, think again,' Jean said.
'Oh, no, none of that, Mum. I told you where I was going and I meant it.' He switched on the engine and drove away.
Dillon, Holley and Kelly came down the stairs together. 'Are you okay?' Dillon asked Holley.
'I'm more angry than anything else. Imagine falling for a cheap trick like that.'
'So thank God once again for the nylon-and-titanium vest,' Dillon said, and asked Kelly, 'What about Drumgoole?'
'It's a small flying club just off the coast road. When he flies over from Frensham, he uses a twin-engine Beech Baron. Drumgoole is only twenty minutes from the house, so it's convenient.'
'Well, you know the way, so you take us there,' Dillon told him. 'Only put your foot down. God knows where he thinks he can hide now, but I'd prefer to put a hand on him while we still can.' There was very little wind, but it was raining hard now, and gloomy, as night touched the far horizon. The Mercedes turned into the small car park at Drumgoole, but the flying club was closed, not a soul about.
'Nobody's here,' Justin said.
'That's usual when there's no activity, no bookings,' she said.
There were two Archers, a Cessna 310 and the Beech Baron. 'There she is, the darling,' Justin said. 'Let's hope Regan's done his stuff and left the cabin key in the usual place.' He got out of the Mercedes, walked to the red-painted sand box hanging beside the door of the office and felt inside. He held the key up in triumph. 'There you go.'
