by Jack Higgins
Murphy had closed the door and stood watching. ‘You were dying when you got here and Doc Ryan’s done a marvellous job, just about pulled you back from the brink. You could still die – I’d be failing as a nurse not to tell you that – but one thing is certain. Drink that stuff and you might as well order your coffin.’
‘Is that so?’ Justin Talbot said, and swallowed deep.
Murphy showed no emotion. ‘Like they say, it’s your funeral, Major. I’ll go down to the kitchen now and see what they’ve got for you to eat.’
In London, Shah was methodically going through the newspapers when the text light blinked on his mobile on the desk. He picked it up at once and his world turned. The message said: The winds of heaven are blowing and you must fly with them as does the Eagle. May Allah go with you.
It was advice he had hoped never to receive, and from the highest level of Al Qaeda, the word that meant the game was up and his cover blown. If there was no escape for him, the only alternative was death. He thought quickly. He had three passports under different names. Many Muslims used the airports in Yorkshire or Lancashire, he’d blend in better there. At least he could try.
He quickly packed a holdall with basic requirements: the passports, a toilet bag, a Koran and a couple of law books. He had always kept two thousand pounds in the zipped base of the holdall, had never touched it, so that was all right.
He looked around him. So this was how it all ended. The house in which he had been born, in the West Hampstead street where he had played as a boy, in the great city with one of the finest universities in the world where he’d been privileged to work. He suddenly felt incredibly sad, as if all this couldn’t be happening.
He shook himself out of it, let himself out of the front door and went to the Toyota saloon parked in its usual place. He opened the driver’s door and got in, but when he started it up, the car wouldn’t move. He got out and saw the case: all four tyres were flat. As he stood there looking at the car, Billy Salter got out of a red Alfa, one of a line of cars parked on the other side of the street. Shah recognized him instantly.
Billy called, ‘Have a nice day,’ then produced his mobile, called Roper, and Shah went back in the house.
Roper said to Billy, ‘Did you hear anything to make you think he was going to try to leave the country?’
‘No, I checked him out, chatting up people in the local newsagent and café. He never uses his car since he had a bump a year ago. He’s a taxi man. I just thought it would be a good idea to make the car useless to him, just in case.’
‘And he saw you?’
‘Too damned right he did.’
Ferguson’s voice boomed. ‘You’ve forced my hand, of course. We’ll have to lift him now. Stay there, make sure he doesn’t try to sneak out of the back.’
Shah sat at his desk as despair overwhelmed him. For the first time, he realized the price he was going to have to pay, his eminence as a lawyer, his professional standing. He had come to this: someone to be despised. And for what? It was all Talbot’s fault, the fiasco of the Khufra affair. Damn him! A complete loose cannon. He thought back to what the girl, Fatima, had said. If she was right and Talbot’s life hung in the balance, it would be nice if somebody gave him a nudge. Shah thought he had the very man.
Jack Kelly was in the estate office at Talbot Place, angrily clearing his desk, for what had passed between him and Justin had been hard to take. ‘Jack Kelly,’ he barked.
‘Why, you sound angry, Mr Kelly. You should be, after Justin’s role in the Algeria debacle. He’s not well, I understand. I gather Sean Dillon put a bullet in him.’
‘Who the hell is this?’ Kelly was aghast.
‘Talbot knows me as the Preacher.’
Shah’s front doorbell rang. He got a pillbox out of a small drawer in his desk, took what looked like a lozenge out of it and slipped it into his pocket. He walked to the bow window, taking the desk phone, looking through the glass at Ferguson, who was standing there with Billy and Harry Miller.
Kelly was shouting, ‘Answer me, damn you, what’s going on?’
‘Well, I’ve just looked out to see Major General Charles Ferguson at my door with two henchmen. I fear my end is near.’
‘Does he know that Justin is Shamrock?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, but I haven’t time for a prolonged discussion. I just wanted you to know, as an old PIRA hand, that Major Justin Talbot lied to you and your friends at Kilmartin, lied to his own mother. Many years ago, he moved from the Grenadier Guards to the Twenty-second SAS at Hereford. He took part in more than twenty covert operations over a number of years.’
‘You’re lying,’ Kelly shouted.
‘Come now, Mr Kelly, why would I lie? June the third, Nineteen eighty-nine, an ambush at Kilrea. Eight members of the PIRA were killed. It was known as the Kilrae Massacre. I believe Justin killed four of them himself.’
‘Damn you,’ Jack Kelly said.
‘Already taken care of.’
Shah dropped the desk phone on a coffee table, took the lozenge from his pocket and kept it in his cheek. The doorbell rang again and he opened the door as Ferguson led the way in, followed by Billy with a Walther in his hand, and Harry Miller.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Ferguson said. ‘I presume you know who I am?’
‘I do indeed, General.’ Shah turned to walk to the sofa.
Billy said, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘To sit down,’ Shah told him. ‘I might as well die comfortably.’ He bit hard.
‘No,’ Ferguson cried and reached out, and Shah fell back, face contorted, gave a terrible moan, jerked to one side, his legs shaking, and rolled on to the floor. There was a strange and pungent smell and Miller dropped to one knee.
‘See the froth on his lips? The only good thing about it is it was quick.’
‘What a stink,’ Billy said. ‘What was it?’
‘Cyanide capsule,’ Ferguson told him. ‘A favourite of highranking Nazis when they lost the war.’
Miller had gone to check the desk and found Shah’s open mobile which he’d left there. He read aloud the text: ‘The winds of heaven are blowing and you must fly with them as does the Eagle. May Allah go with you.’ He handed it to Ferguson. ‘Maybe some kind of warning?’
‘We’ll never know, but I’ll give it to Roper to ponder over.’
‘What do we do now, send for the disposal unit?’ Billy asked.
‘I think not,’ Ferguson said. ‘Leave him to be found as what people believed him to be. An eminent Professor of a great university.’
‘Christ, you are being kind,’ Billy said.
‘No, Billy, just charitable. He can’t harm us now, so let’s go, shall we?’ And he led the way out.
Jack Kelly, totally distraught, sat with his head in his hands at his desk, trying to come to terms with what he had been told. That the Preacher, faced with the prospect of being lifted by Charles Ferguson, was choosing death, made perfect sense to Kelly. On the other hand, in such circumstances, why would the Preacher lie about anything? So Justin had served with the SAS, hunted down and killed members of the PIRA. The real problem was it didn’t really surprise Kelly. It fitted with everything else about Justin. He’d had a kind of madness since boyhood, and Kelly saw that now.
He took a Browning he’d used in his wild days out of a bottom drawer, always kept loaded from force of habit, put it in his right-hand pocket and went out. He went up the stairs in the Great Hall slowly, aware of the weight of the Browning in his pocket, feeling like an executioner again, for he had been here before in similar situations, a bullet being the only way to deal with traitors and informants.
When he went in, Justin was sitting up, his head slightly to one side, eyes closed. Murphy was reading a book. Kelly said, ‘Go and have your tea break. I want a word with him.’
‘Not for long, he gets tired,’ Murphy said and went out.
Kelly stood at the end of the bed. Justin opened his eyes. ‘There you
are again. I was out of order before. I apologize.’
‘I’ve got news for you from the Preacher.’
Justin frowned. ‘You’ve got what?’
‘He called me on my office number. He said he only had a few minutes because Charles Ferguson and two of his men were at the front door demanding entrance.’
‘What was he going to do, make a fight of it?’
‘No, kill himself, but he told me that he thought I ought to know a few things. Like that you lied to all your friends in Kilmartin about your army service during the Troubles. That you served on more than a score of covert operations with the Twenty-second SAS, including the Kilrea Massacre in June eighty-nine.’
Justin tried to brazen it out. ‘Are you telling me you’d take the word of a man like the Preacher against mine?’
‘The word of a dying man,’ Kelly said. ‘He seemed very well informed to me. That girl in Algeria said you were dying and it would be the best thing for you. When this gets out, you’re finished in Kilmartin. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone wasn’t able to resist the temptation to shoot you.’ He produced his Browning. ‘You’ve no idea how much I’d like to use this.’
Justin leaned down, picked up his rucksack, put it on the bed and produced a Walther. ‘You could always try.’
‘You bastard,’ Kelly said. ‘According to the Preacher, you even lied to your own mother.’
‘What did you expect me to do? Worry her to death every time the SAS handed me another death warrant? Anyway, it would have made life for her and the old man impossible.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve always thought the world of my mother. I do have my good side.’
‘I doubt that,’ Kelly said.
‘Ask her, if you like. She’s been trying to make some sense of my clothes in the dressing room. You launched your attack too soon, didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you she was there.’
The half-open door next to the bathroom opened, and Jean entered. She wore jeans and a white shirt, her hair tied back, and her face was incredibly calm.
‘Sorry about the guns, Mum, I’ll put mine away if he’ll pocket his. He’s caught me out again: more of those secrets you keep bumping into where I’m concerned. You’ll have heard what Jack’s had to say, and I’m afraid it’s all true. I deceived you for years, and it was so easy to do. Covert operations with the SAS are as secret as anything could be. I was thinking of what was best for you.’
She was instantly aware of what he was trying to do, trying to clear her name of any blame in the matter against what would happen when the news spread; for this was Ireland, and spread it would. So she lied in a sense and said to Kelly, ‘I can see his point, but obviously you and the villagers will have a different attitude.’
‘Not where you’re concerned, but as for this one, here goes…’ Kelly shook his head. ‘I lost one son at nineteen, Justin, and you were the closest I came to replacing him, but if Sean was alive today, he’d spit on your grave.’
‘Well, I’m not in one yet, so be a good chap and clear off.’ Justin cocked the Walther and pointed.
Kelly walked out of the room and Justin said to his mother, ‘So the Preacher’s gone to a better place. That’s something to be grateful for, anyway.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ she said. ‘In fact, I don’t know about anything much any more.’ And she too went out.
14
On the way back, Ferguson called on Roper and filled him in on what had happened. ‘Do you think I’ve done right?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes, although it could well give his cleaning lady a heart attack when she finds the body. If we’d used disposal, it would have left an ongoing mystery about what had happened to him. If we’d gone through the motions properly and arrested him, the show trial would have damaged everybody, including the Cabinet Office for having employed him.’
Harry Miller cut in. ‘I agree. The Secret Intelligence Service wouldn’t have come out of it very well for not spotting him.’
‘Well, the Prime Minister’s private army has done it again,’ Roper said. ‘I think he’ll be pleased. Another notch on your gun, General.’
‘All very well, but Shamrock, the mystery man, is still floating around out there.’
Dillon and Holley had just turned up at the computer room, and Roper gave them the news. ‘It’s fantastic when you think of it,’ Holley said. ‘A man like that, one of the most eminent in his field, academic degrees up to his armpits, and yet he chooses the path of violence.’
‘Ever since Robespierre in the French Revolution, the big movers and shakers have always been intellectuals,’ Roper said. ‘I seem to remember you got first-class honours in your degree,’ he told Holley.
‘Which is absolutely no help at all when some bastard’s trying to shoot me.’
Ferguson and Miller walked in. The General was in an excellent mood. ‘Billy rather pushed things with Shah and I must admit I was annoyed, but in the circumstances, I’m glad he did. He’s following us in his own car.’
‘A hell of a coup,’ Dillon said. ‘You could get a promotion with this one.’
‘Don’t be silly, Dillon.’
Billy joined them and Dillon said, ‘You did well. Sometimes you need to take a chance on doing the wrong thing in the hope it will get the right result. You were on the button with this one.’
‘I can’t really take much credit,’ Billy said. ‘The truth is, I had it in for Shah for getting me shot.’
‘Well, there you go,’ Dillon told him. ‘Anyway, we’ve got a lot to celebrate tonight. Are you going to line something up for us, General?’ he asked Ferguson.
At that moment, Roper took a call on speaker, and Maggie Duncan’s voice boomed out. ‘Hello, Major Roper, have you got Sean there?’
‘What is it?’ Dillon asked.
‘We’ve had movement with Mickeen, lots of groans and moans and vigorous stirring. I’ve phoned Professor Bellamy. He’s at Guy’s Hospital. He’s going to come straight round when he’s finished, but he’s suggested you come now if you’re available. In this kind of case, a result can come right out of the blue.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Dillon told her.
‘One thing, Sean, I don’t want a crowd here, it wouldn’t be good for him. Just you, and one other person if you like. I’ll see you.’
‘Fantastic news,’ Ferguson said. ‘You must get moving straightaway.’
Dillon said to Holley, ‘Will you come with me, Daniel? After all, you and I are the only ones here who’ve visited the scene of his accident. My Mini Cooper’s outside. You can drive it. I’m too excited.’
‘How could I refuse?’ Holley said, and they hurried out.
At Rosedene, there was a certain excitement, Maggie Duncan at the window peering in, a couple of nurses looking over her shoulder. When Dillon and Holley appeared, she chased the other nurses away. An older nurse was sitting at Mickeen’s bedside.
‘Mary’s there to control him if anything happens in a hurry. A patient can get panicked when he awakens out of nowhere.’
As she said that, Mickeen opened his eyes, raised an arm and reached out at Mary. She took his hand. He looked thoroughly bewildered and then spoke very hoarsely.
‘Who are you? Where am I?’
‘You’re all right, Mr Flynn,’ she said. ‘You’ve been ill.’ He panicked then. ‘What’s going on? I don’t remember you!’
He shrank back, pulling out the line to his saline bag, and another line to the machines monitoring his vital signs. Maggie Duncan opened the door and rushed in to assist Mary.
Mickeen was shaking, crying desperately, and Dillon stepped in the room, leaned over the bed from the other side and took his hand. ‘Mickeen Oge Flynn,’ he said in Irish. ‘It’s me, your nephew Sean Dillon, come to help you in your hour of need. Be still now, for you have not been yourself.’
Maggie, Mary and Holley didn’t understand a word, but Mickeen did. ‘God save the good work, Sean, is it indeed you?’
‘And none oth
er.’ Dillon smiled and touched his face. ‘But shall we speak English now, for it is only good manners with the ladies not understanding.’
The old man nodded slowly and said to Mary in English, ‘And who are you, my dear?’
‘Staff Nurse Mary Hanson, Mickeen, and this is the Matron, Maggie Duncan. You’re in hospital in London.’
He looked puzzled. ‘London, you say? I haven’t been to London in years.’ There was alarm. ‘How did I get here – and who’s that?’
Dillon glanced up and saw Bellamy standing in the door, excited and fascinated. ‘This is your doctor, Professor Bellamy.’
‘Now then, Mickeen, you’ve been on a long journey. Can you remember it?’ Bellamy connected the electronics line and Mary the drip.
Mickeen frowned. ‘I don’t recall,’ and then he looked up at Dillon. ‘I remember you, Sean, phoning me from London about the funeral.’
‘And which funeral would that be?’ Bellamy asked, and murmured to Mary, ‘A cup of tea I think, and chocolate biscuits; all nice and normal.’
She withdrew and Mickeen said, ‘Which funeral? Old Colonel Henry Talbot’s. He was a bad man. A real bad man.’
He was wandering now, and Dillon said gently, ‘So you went to the funeral?’
Mickeen’s face seemed to light up. ‘I did that, but they were stopping people going in.’
‘Who?’
‘The Provos from Kilmartin. Justin didn’t want outsiders to go.’ His face became vacant as he looked at something he alone could see. ‘That’s right, I went back to Collyban and Paddy had left Father O’Grady’s car up on the jack. His exhaust was damaged, so I thought I’d take a look and I got underneath and they came.’
There was a stillness in the room now. And Bellamy said, ‘Who came?’
‘I could only see their feet so I put my head out to look up. It was Jack Kelly from Kilmartin and Mr Justin Talbot. He was angry and asked me why I’d tried to go to the funeral, and then he said he knew you’d been on the phone to me, Sean, and asked what was it about.’
