by Jack Higgins
The Daimler stopped in Regency Square, and Dillon got out, set up Roper's wheelchair and helped him into it. They all got out and Dillon took Roper's key and opened his door.
Ferguson said, 'We'll speak tomorrow. Excellent job, Captain.'
'We aim to please, Brigadier.'
Dillon pushed Roper up the ramp into the hall. 'You're a hell of a fella, Roper.'
'Well, considering your background, I take that as a compliment.'
Dillon closed the door and went back to the others. 'Now what?'
'Fredo's — it's round the corner from Cavendish Square. A nice Italian restaurant,' Ferguson said. 'We can have a look at what's next.'
The Daimler drove away, and Borsalino and Salvatore, parked at the end of the square, watched them go. Salvatore said, 'Now what?'
'You watch the car,' Borsalino said. 'I'll be back.'
He walked to the other side of the square and found a corner shop, the kind that stayed open until midnight. The man behind the counter was Indian. Borsalino asked for two packs of Marlboros.
'You know, I saw this guy earlier getting out of a taxi in the square in a wheelchair. I thought I knew him, but I'm not sure.'
'That would be Mr Roper,' the Indian said. 'He was a captain in the Royal Engineers. Blown up in Ireland.'
'Oh, well, I've got it wrong. Thanks, anyway.'
Borsalino returned to the Ford, called Fox on the mobile, and relayed the information, also telling him where they were.
Fox said, 'Stay there. I'll be back.'
At that point, he was still in Mori's office at the casino. He picked up the telephone and called Maud Jackson in New York. It was late afternoon there and she was enjoying a pot of tea and cookies.
Fox said, 'Maud, I'm having serious problems here in London with Ferguson and company. There's a wild card, a British Royal Engineers captain in a wheelchair, blown up in Ireland, name of Roper. I'd like to know who he is right away.'
'Where are you?'
'I'm going back to the Dorchester. We had problems at the Colosseum.'
'Sounds like a bad night. Give me an hour.'
At the Dorchester, in the Oliver Messel Suite, Fox drank Krug champagne and looked across the wonderful London view by night from the terrace. Russo was down in the suite he and Falcone were sharing, but Falcone was standing by, as usual.
'More trouble, Signore?'
'We'll see, Aldo.'
The phone rang and he answered it. Maud Jackson said, 'Boy, do I have a good one for you. This Roper was blown up by the IRA, all right, and now he's a legend — in computers. Jack, if he's into your affairs, you've got serious trouble.'
'Thanks, Maud, you're an angel.'
'Yeah, well, don't forget to send a cheque.'
Fox put down the phone and said to Falcone, 'Take him out.'
'Me personally, Signore?'
'Of course not. Get over to Regency Square. See Borsalino and Salvatore. Give them their instructions. Have them get rid of him. I smell big trouble where he's concerned.'
'At your orders, Signore,' Falcone said. 'I'll leave Russo here.'
He used Fox's Mercedes limousine, driven by Fox's Italian driver, Fabio, closed the screen, and called Don Marco on his mobile and brought him up to date.
'This isn't good,' Don Marco said. 'I'm beginning to smell trouble here myself. Keep me informed, Aldo.'
Falcone found Borsalino and Salvatore in the Ford parked in the square very close to Roper's place. They were, of course, all attention.
'Stay here for the moment. This guy in the wheelchair? You take him out, but make it look like an accident. You wait if it takes all night. You wait if it takes until tomorrow, but he's finished. Capisce?'
'Anything you say,' Borsalino told him.
Falcone left then, went back to the Daimler. Fabio said, 'Back to the Dorchester?'
'No, I'm hungry. Find somewhere close by where we can get something simple. You know, a bacon and egg sandwich.'
'I know just the place, Signore.'
'Good. Then we'll come back and see what the situation is.'
At the computer bank, Roper trawled all the way through from Jack Fox to Brendan Murphy, the pride of the Provisional IRA. There were some fascinating facts there. Then he tried the Jago brothers and found a litany of crime on a Dickensian level. He sat back. Excellent.
He checked his watch. Eleven o'clock, and he felt hungry, which was okay, because Ryan's Irish Restaurant on the far side of the square stayed open until one and knew him well.
He eased himself into a raincoat and then transferred to his electric wheelchair and made for the front door.
Rain bounced down. He raised a small telescopic umbrella as he went down the ramp and started along the pavement. Falcone, sitting in the Mercedes, saw him go.
Fabio said, 'Signore?'
'Let's leave it to the boys.'
Roper coasted along, his umbrella raised, a slightly incongruous figure. In the Ford, Borsalino and Salvatore saw him.
'Now what?' Salvatore demanded.
'We take him out,' Borsalino said. 'Come on.'
He was out of the Ford in a second, Salvatore on his heels, and ran after the wheelchair.
'Hey, Signore, you need a hand?'
Roper knew trouble when he saw it, but said, 'No, thanks, I'm fine.'
Salvatore was on one side of the chair, Borsalino the other.
Borsalino said, 'No, really, I think you need some help — like, into traffic. What do you think about that?'
'That really would be unfortunate,' Roper said.
Falcone, watching from the Mercedes, said to Fabio, 'You've
been around the family for a long time. What do you think?' 'That it stinks, Signore. Where do they find these kids?' 'I agree. Just coast along and let's see what happens.' The end of the square before the main road was dark, and
at that moment deserted.
Borsalino said, 'Shit! There's no traffic here. What are we going to do?'
Salvatore said, 'Roll him down the block. We'll find it. You having a good time, my friend?'
'Depends on your point of view.' Roper's hand came out of the right-hand side pocket of his wheelchair, holding a Walther PPK with a Carswell silencer on the end. He jammed it into the back of Salvatore's left knee and pulled the trigger. There was a muted cough, and the Italian cried out and stumbled into the gutter.
Roper turned slightly in the chair, the gun raised, and Borsalino jumped back. 'You really wouldn't have got by in Belfast, old son,' Roper said. 'Not for a minute,' and as Borsalino turned to run, shot him in the back of the right thigh.
They lay together on the pavement. Roper paused and looked down. He took out a mobile phone and dialled nine, nine, nine. When the operator answered, he said, 'There are two men down on the pavement in Regency Square. Looks like a shooting.'
'Your name, sir?'
'Don't be stupid.'
He switched off his coded mobile and moved on.
In the Mercedes, Fabio said, 'My God, Signore, what do we do?'
Already, in the distance, they could hear the sound of a police siren.
'Nothing,' Falcone told him. 'We do nothing.' He watched the two men trying to get up. 'Just get out of here.'
As they left the square, a police car turned in, and as they moved up the main road, an ambulance appeared.
In Ryan's Restaurant, Roper ordered Irish stew and a pint of Guinness, phoned Ferguson on his mobile, and gave him the bad news.
'Where are you?' Ferguson asked, and Roper told him. 'All right, stay where you are. We'll come for you.'
Ferguson put down the phone at his Cavendish Square flat and turned to Hannah, Dillon and Blake. 'That was Roper. He went out for a late meal and two men of Italian persuasion had a go. Told him they'd push him into the late-night traffic.'
'What happened, sir?' Hannah asked.
'He shot them in the legs,' Ferguson said. 'Would you believe that? Left them on the pavement.'
'Frankl
y, I don't have the slightest difficulty in believing it,' Dillon told him. 'Jack Fox moved fast.'
'So now what?' Blake asked.
Ferguson turned to Hannah. 'Superintendent?'
'I doubt they'll talk, sir, not if they value their lives. And I doubt that this will be the last attempt that Jack Fox makes.'
'You're right,' said Ferguson. 'We'll move Roper to the Holland Park safe house. Anything he wants, you know, all his gadgets and so on, make sure he gets. I think we'll need him. Will you take care of that, Superintendent?'
'As you say, sir.' Hannah went out.
Blake turned to Dillon. 'All right, we've taken care of the casino. What do we hit next?'
Blake turned to Dillon. 'The Jago brothers? The army dump? Beirut?'
'Let's get Roper into the safe house. Once he's got his equipment in order, we'll see.'
At the Dorchester, Fox listened to Falcone's account of what had happened in Regency Square. He actually laughed.
'You mean this fuck in the wheelchair shot them both in the legs?'
'Something like that, Signore.'
Fox shook his head. 'Mind you, with what I've learned about him, I'm not surprised. You can check if he's at his house, but if he's not there, leave it. We've got other things to do.'
'Like what, Signore? I spoke to Mori. The Colosseum will remain closed, as well as the betting shops, until the police and the Director of Public Prosecutions decide what to do, which could take months.'
'We concentrate on other matters. There's the Lebanon connection that Murphy arranged.'
'Beirut, Signore?'
'No, Al Shariz to the south, I believe. Murphy is due in Beirut next week. We'll meet and agree on the goods we're supplying. Forget the casino. There's a fortune to be made there, Aldo, and he pays in gold. I'll see you in the morning.'
Falcone left, went to his room, and phoned Don Marco. The Don said, 'He's digging himself in deeper, isn't he?' 'Do you want me to do anything?'
'No. Just stay in touch.'
'Of course, Don Marco.'
The Holland Park safe house was an Edwardian town house in an acre of gardens surrounded by huge walls. The notice by the gate said Pine Grove Nursing Home, which it definitely wasn't.
Roper was picked up by a contingency squad Hannah had arranged, mostly ordinary-looking young men and women who were actually Special Branch, and always available to Ferguson's demands. Two female sergeants packed Roper's clothes and three men moved equipment, according to his instructions. By one o'clock in the morning, he was in residence at Pine Grove, his various gadgets and computers plugged into sockets in what had been the sitting room.
The police departed, and a small, very pleasant woman said, 'Is everything satisfactory, Major?'
Roper was puzzled. 'Captain.'
'Oh, no, sir. Brigadier Ferguson said Major.'
'And who might you be?'
'Helen Black, sir. Royal Military Police. Sergeant Major.' 'Good God,' Roper said. 'That's an Armani suit.' 'Well, my father left me rather well off.'
'I smell Oxford here.'
'No, Cambridge. New Hall. I worked for the Fourteenth Intel undercover in Derry. You were a bit of a legend.'
'Look where it's got me. A bloody wheelchair, my bits and pieces damaged.'
'Courage never goes out of fashion, sir, in a wheelchair or not. As far as I'm concerned, you're one of the bravest men I've ever met. Now, you're probably peckish. I'll arrange for some sandwiches.'
'Tell me, Sergeant Major, are you my bodyguard? Because there are some pretty bad people out there looking for me.'
'I'm aware of that, sir.' She opened her jacket and revealed a holstered Colt automatic. 'Twenty-five millimetre, with hollowpoint bullets.'
'Well, that should do it.'
She smiled and went out.
Roper phoned Ferguson, in spite of the hour, and when the Brigadier answered, said, 'What's this Major thing?'
'Well, you're still on the Army list. I thought it would give you a bit more authority to promote you. You're established at Holland Park?'
'Yes, with the redoubtable Sergeant Major Black.'
'Redoubtable is right. Inherited money, you know, so she's fairly independent-minded. Her husband's a major in the Blues and Royals. Refused a commission herself. One of the few women to hold the Military Cross. Shot two Provos in Derry. You're in good hands.'
Roper whistled. 'I'd say so. So, what's my next move?' 'I'll put Dillon on.'
There was a pause, and Dillon said, 'Billy the Kid, is that who you are now?'
'Hey, these guys didn't want to play nice, so I figured, stuff them.'
'I'm with you there.'
'So what do you want me to do? Who's next?'
'Well, we've got two choices: the Jagos and Brendan Murphy. What do you know about the Jagos?'
'Not much. They like to knock off security vans. Really old-time stuff. Sawn-off shotguns, like some British gangster movie. The thing is, finding out about the future plans of such people is difficult,' Roper went on. 'Unless Fox committed his plans to the computer, how would I know?'
'It's all a question of inside information,' Dillon said.
And where do you get that?'
'The Jagos are gangsters, right?'
'And what does that prove?'
'Set a gangster to catch a gangster.'
'What in the hell are you talking about?'
'Harry Salter. He's a legendary name in London criminal circles. Did seven years for bank robbery in the seventies, never been inside since. He has warehouse developments, property, pleasure boats on the Thames. Still owns his first buy, a pub called the Dark Man at Wapping, by the river.'
'You sound as if you like him.'
'Well, he's saved me in the past and I've saved him. He's a dinosaur, but a very wealthy dinosaur. Even the cops have given up on him. Works with his nephew, Billy, and a couple of minders, Baxter and Hall. All the rest are accountants.'
'So, you'll go and see him?'
'That's my plan.'
'Fine. Keep me posted. Meantime, I'll check out Mr Murphy.' Roper smiled. 'I like to keep occupied.'
'See you sometime tomorrow.'
Roper sat there thinking, then the door opened and Helen Black came in with two toasted bacon sandwiches. 'Will these do?'
'Can't wait. Are you tired?'
'Not particularly.'
'Good, then would you like me to show you just how effective a computer can be if you know what you're doing?' 'What's the object of the exercise?'
'To hunt down a particularly obnoxious piece of Provisional IRA crap called Brendan Murphy.'
'Just a minute. I remember him. Derry, ninety-four.' 'And years before that.' Roper tried a sandwich. 'Excellent. Now, follow my instructions and I'll show you what to do.
7
They all came together at Ferguson's office the following morning. When they were all settled, Ferguson said, 'Bring me up to date, Superintendent.'
'The attackers were a couple of small-time hoods employed at the kitchens at the Colosseum, named Borsalino and Salvatore. They're at Westminster Hospital under supervision. Salvatore has lost his left kneecap and Borsalino has a bullet wound in one thigh.'
'My goodness, Major Roper doesn't play patty fingers, does he?'
'Well, he wouldn't, would he, sir?' she said.
'What's their story?'
'They told the officers in charge of the case that they were attacked by two very large black muggers as they walked through the square. There was a struggle. The rest you know.'
'Nobody's safe from crime today, it seems.' Ferguson turned to Dillon. 'Now what?'
'Blake and I are going to see Harry Salter. I'll put him on to the Jagos, see if he can come up with anything. If there's a big tickle being organized, Salter will get wind of it. He owes me a favour. In fact, he owes Blake a favour. We saved his bacon on a pleasure boat called the Lynda Jones downriver from Wapping, when the Hooker mob were going to waste him.'
&
nbsp; 'Yes, I recall some such thing,' Ferguson said. 'Good. But meantime, what about Brendan Murphy? That's much more worrying.'
'Roper's been working on it,' Hannah said. 'But he says it'd be a lot easier if he had some more information to go on. Is there any way to find out more?'
'Well, I do have a suggestion,' Dillon said. 'While Blake and I go and see Salter, why don't you phone Liam Devlin in Kilrea?'
'Good God,' Ferguson said. 'Is he still with us?'
'He certainly is. Devlin is ageless. He liked you, Hannah, when you met. Tell him the whole story, the works. Ask him to find out what he can about Brendan Murphy. He's still the living legend of the IRA and the best source of information about anything regarding them.'
Hannah turned to Ferguson. 'Brigadier?'
'It makes sense. I have just one suggestion. Don't phone him, do it face to face. Get yourself to Dublin today.'
'If you say so, sir.'
'Yes, I do. So, people, let's get on with it.'
Hannah went back to her office, with Blake and Dillon. She picked up the phone, spoke to Farley Field, and booked the plane.
Dillon said, 'You watch yourself over there, woman. Peace process or no peace process, it's still the war zone.' 'Don't be patronizing, Dillon.'
'There are people there who'd shoot your eyes out if they could.'
She took a deep breath. 'You're right. I'm sorry.' 'Yes. Well, make sure you're carrying.'
'I will.'
'We'll leave you to it.'
He and Blake left. She took her personal notebook from her purse, found Devlin's phone number in the village of Kilrea outside Dublin. It was answered instantly.
'And who would that be disturbing my morning?' 'Hannah Bernstein.'
'Jesus, girl, and what's all this? I hear you've made Superintendent.'
'Mr Devlin, we have a big problem, and we need your assistance.'
'Where's Dillon?'
'Employed elsewhere, together with Blake Johnson.'
'Is that the FBI man Dillon and I went down to Tullamore with, to save Dermot Riley's hide? A good man. All right, give. When can I expect you?'
'I'm leaving now. I could be with you by twelve noon.'
‘I'll look forward to it.'
He put the phone down, standing there in his kitchen, and smiled.
