The Judas Gate Page 15

  ‘You’re right, Martin. He’s a turncoat who’s been serving the Brits for years now, taking orders from Charles Ferguson, one of our biggest enemies in the old days – but we’ve got to go carefully here. I don’t want to do anything that would bring in the police. I’ve got the Talbots to consider. They’ve only just seen off Colonel Henry, for God’s sake.’

  ‘So what do I do if the bastard tries to come in the Green Man?’

  ‘We’ll handle it, Martin, and I’ll be there to stand with you. Do as I say. Take it as a direct order from your old commander.’

  ‘And the other business he told Paddy about? Having Mickeen flown out to London?’

  ‘Black news that, but there’s nothing to be done about it.’

  Jean Talbot and Justin enjoyed breakfast together, but her pleas for him to sit for her again fell on deaf ears. He intended to go riding and that was that. She retreated to her studio and got to work. The weather outside was dark and oppressive, and there was a hint of rain. It had become incredibly stuffy in the studio overnight and she opened the exit door before starting work on the portrait again.

  An hour went by and then she heard a car arrive. She went to a window and saw Jack Kelly getting out of his old Morris. She was about to go out on the platform and speak to him when she saw Justin galloping fast across the meadow, only reining in his mount at the last moment so that it reared up and kicked out before settling. He walked it in to the yard through the archway, and dismounted.

  ‘You’re a stupid boy still, but then I’ve been telling you that for years. You’ll kill yourself doing that one of these days, Justin.’

  ‘Is that so? What’s got into you this morning? Come into the stable. The boy’s gone to the village, so I’ve got to unsaddle myself. Is there a problem?’

  ‘You could say that. Sean Dillon’s coming. Curry told me. He’ll be at Collyban at eleven o’clock to discuss Flynn’s garage with him.’

  Talbot was stunned. ‘So I’ll actually get the chance to meet him.’

  ‘I’m damned if you will. Now get that horse inside. We need to talk.’

  Upstairs, Jean was moving fast, hurrying across the studio, opening another door, because a few wooden steps gave access to a landing overlooking the stalls where Justin was unsaddling.

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ he was saying to Kelly.

  It had started to rain when Kelly was finished, and Justin went to the door, peering out and thinking about it. ‘What a mess, Jack, so what’s to be done? Do we shoot the bastard?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, will you listen to me, boy? You do nothing, because it’s got nothing to do with you. So Dillon works for Ferguson, as does Daniel Holley these days, apparently. They’ve no idea you’re Shamrock. As far as I know, they haven’t even heard of the Preacher. Dillon is here to sort out Flynn’s garage with O’Rourke. What would Justin Talbot, Chairman of Talbot International, have to do with that?’

  ‘You mean I shouldn’t even meet him?’

  ‘Absolutely not, and I want your word on it.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Justin said wearily. ‘Frankly, it’s all getting a bit on top of me. How long can we hope for Mickeen to act the sleeping beauty in London?’

  ‘From what Jordan says, a long, long time. Even if he does wake up, he could well not remember a thing about it.’

  ‘It’s not good enough, Jack.’ Justin’s eyes glittered again, his body crackling with energy. ‘I’ve got to find a solution to all this.’ He grinned and slapped Kelly on the back. ‘When I do, you’ll be the first to know what it is, but I’ll leave Dillon and his friend to you.’

  Kelly got in his Morris and drove off. The stable boy appeared and took charge of the horse. Justin went up to the studio, but his mother wasn’t there. He stood looking at the portrait. She was good, he reflected; too bloody good really, as he had recently told her. She didn’t just go for appearance, she got what was inside, too. She got the disturbed wildness in him, which made him feel uncomfortable, and he went back down the iron stairs to the yard.

  At that moment, the maroon Shogun emerged from the garage, his mother at the wheel. She waved briefly, but didn’t stop. He wondered where she was going – not that it mattered. He had enough on his mind with the whole damn situation. The Preacher, Ferguson, Shamrock. He went through the house to the study to get a drink and think about it.

  Paddy O’Rourke was not happy. If the garage was closed down, it would be a serious inconvenience for the villagers who would have to drive as far as Kilmartin to find another, so Martin Curry’s orders were plain. If Dillon made him a job offer, which he probably would, O’Rourke was to take it, then send him on his way, which meant anywhere he liked to go as long as it wasn’t the Green Man.

  Paddy sat on a stool just inside the garage, the main door open, smoked a cigarette between his finger and thumb, and waited, watched by two hard young men named Dempsey and Farrel from behind a half-drawn window curtain.

  ‘Where the fug are they?’ Farrel said, and the silver BMW came down the hill and halted on the forecourt. Paddy stood up and Dillon got out, followed by Holley who had been driving.

  ‘Which one is Dillon, I wonder?’ Farrel said.

  ‘Neither of them looks like much to me,’ Dempsey nodded. ‘Let’s see what happens.’

  ‘It’s me, Paddy, Sean.’ Dillon smiled and grasped a reluctant hand. ‘I was twelve years old when I last saw you, so how could you remember me?’

  O’Rourke tried to smile. ‘It’s grand to see you and looking so well.’

  ‘This is my good friend, Daniel Holley. He might sound English, but his mother was from Crossmaglen and that’s not too far from here.’

  ‘And that’s a fact,’ O’Rourke said, but before he could say anything else, the Shogun came down the hill, swung in and parked beside the BMW.

  ‘Christ Jesus,’ Dempsey said. ‘It’s the lady from Talbot Place. What’s she doing here?’

  ‘I’d better get Curry on my mobile,’ Farrel said, and did so straightaway.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Curry demanded.

  ‘She hasn’t got out of her car yet.’

  ‘Just keep watching and I’ll call you back.’ Curry rang off, then called Jack Kelly, who answered at once. ‘I’ve got a problem,’ Curry said, and told him.

  ‘What the hell is she playing at?’ Kelly demanded. ‘Never mind. I’ll be straight over.’

  Curry called Farrel. ‘Stay with it, but let me know the moment they start moving anywhere.’ He switched off his mobile and turned to the seven or eight people in the bar. ‘Drink up and move on. I want you out of here in five minutes.’

  The three men turned to look at Jean and she opened the glove compartment and took out a short-barrelled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, one of a number of weapons Colonel Henry had kept around the house. She slipped it in her trenchcoat pocket and got out of the Shogun.

  ‘Sorry if I’m intruding,’ she said. ‘Remember me, Paddy, from Kilmartin? Jean Talbot, Colonel Henry’s daughter?’ He looked slightly dazed and she took his hand. ‘I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Mickeen.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’ He seemed to come to life. ‘This is Sean Dillon, Mickeen’s nephew, over from London on hearing the bad news.’

  She turned and didn’t offer her hand, simply stood there with hands in her pockets, looking him over. ‘Sean Dillon.’ She frowned slightly, ‘A familiar name. I’m sure I’ve heard it before.’

  ‘And my friend, Daniel Holley.’

  She smiled at Holley. ‘So how is Mickeen?’

  ‘What can I say?’ Dillon shrugged slightly. ‘He’s had a massive operation which has left him with a titanium plate in the head, and he’s comatose. He’s been flown to London by air ambulance.’

  ‘So what happens here?’

  ‘The garage, you mean? That’s quite simple. I’m offering Paddy a full partnership to keep things going while we see how Mickeen makes out.’

  Suddenly, O’Rourke was smil
ing. ‘By God, that’s a fine offer, Sean, and I’ll take it.’ He spat on the palm of his hand, held it out and Dillon shook it.

  Jean said, ‘May I suggest we adjourn to the Green Man and seal the bargain with a drink?’

  Paddy’s face fell. ‘Well, now, there could be complications about that.’

  ‘What complications? Don’t be silly, Paddy.’ She took Dillon’s arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘It’s entirely our pleasure, Mrs Talbot.’ They walked away, Holley and Paddy following.

  Farrel called Curry at once. ‘They’re on their way to the pub, Mr Curry.’

  ‘Then move your arses and get down here fast. Use the back lane.’

  Curry was coldly angry. He reached under the bar and produced a sawn-off shotgun, which he loaded and then replaced under the bar. There was no solution there. The woman was a wild card in this game. She was untouchable.

  The door opened and she led the way in, just in front of Dillon, Holley and O’Rourke behind.

  ‘Mr Curry, how nice to see you, it’s been a while. You may know Mr Dillon here.’

  ‘He certainly does, we’re of an age,’ Dillon said. ‘We were at the village school together. How goes it, Martin?’ His smile was mocking.

  Curry was struggling to keep control, but before he could make any kind of reply, the back door crashed open and Dempsey and Farrel entered.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Farrel demanded.

  ‘We’re all having a drink to celebrate Paddy being made partner at the garage,’ Jean said. ‘Why don’t you join us?’

  ‘I’m damned if I’ll drink with these shites or you, you Protestant whore,’ he said, producing a pistol.

  Dillon kicked him under the right kneecap and, as he doubled over, raised his knee into the descending face and sent him back to trip over a chair and bounce off the wall, blood oozing from a broken nose as he slid to the floor, dropping his pistol. Curry reached under the bar, producing the sawn-off shotgun. Holley picked up the glass jug of water on the bar, threw it in his face and yanked the shotgun from him by the barrel. He tossed it into the corner, kicking Dempsey in the face as he leaned down to pick up Farrel’s pistol.

  Jean Talbot took the Smith & Wesson from her pocket and fired a shot into the ceiling. ‘Now can everybody calm down?’

  The door opened and Jack Kelly stepped in. He surveyed the scene, Dempsey and Farrel crouched on the floor by the wall, Curry drying his face with a bar towel. O’Rourke looked terrified.

  Kelly said to Dillon, ‘Have you given Paddy the job?’

  ‘I don’t know who you are, but, yes, he’s now a partner.’

  ‘Excellent. I’m Jack Kelly, estate manager at Talbot Place.’

  ‘Ah, I mind that name from days when you were doing something else,’ Dillon said. ‘Do you know my friend Daniel Holley?’

  ‘We have mutual friends in Crossmaglen. If you’re finished here, Jean, I’ll see you home.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’ She turned to Dillon and Holley, ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Dillon turned to Curry. ‘It’s been a sincere sensation, Martin.’ He ducked as Curry threw a glass at him.

  Outside, Jean was getting into Kelly’s Morris. ‘He’s just running me up to my car. Nice meeting you, gentlemen. It’s good to be able to put a face to the name.’

  They walked back up the street. ‘I feel bad about leaving Paddy in there,’ Dillon said.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ Holley grinned. ‘They’ve got to get their petrol from somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, he’ll survive, but what a bloody place. Thank God my father got me out of it at twelve. Let’s get going.’

  As Holley drove, Dillon called Roper. ‘What’s the situation with Ferguson?’

  ‘He’s not stirring yet, so I’m leaving well enough alone. Have you been having fun?’

  Dillon told him what had happened, because Roper had a talent approaching genius for making sense out of everything.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Jean Talbot? Quite a lady. I liked the bit with the gun. She probably went along to the garage because she wanted to meet you – but I suspect she was also stirring things up. The Catholic and Protestant thing is what she was raised on all her life. She knew you’d have trouble at the Green Man.’

  ‘That’s true. Maybe she just likes to live dangerously. Anyway, what’s the deal on Mickeen at Rosedene?’

  ‘He’s arrived and Charles Bellamy has everything in hand. He and Jordan fell into each other’s arms and are enjoying lunch together at Rosedene as we speak.’

  ‘So everybody’s happy?’

  ‘Until Ferguson surfaces. God help us all then. I’ve booked your flight plan for three hours from now at Belfast City. Over and out.’

  Dillon leaned back. ‘Three hours to lift off. Say farewell to beautiful Ulster.’

  ‘If you’re worried about Ferguson, I really meant it when I said I’d pay for the air ambulance,’ Holley told him.

  ‘After an initial roaring when he hears of it, Ferguson will calm down. The department will pay. It’s a matter of honour.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t see why they should. Mickeen isn’t in the employ of the Secret Intelligence Service. He just had an accident. It’s you who’ve used your position to cause things to happen, helped by my promise to pay. Strictly speaking, I doubt whether Mickeen has any right to be in Rosedene.’

  ‘Damn you and your logic, but I suppose you’re right. Okay, I’ll just have to pay for it myself.’

  ‘Can you afford it?’

  ‘To be honest, I made a great deal of money back in Nineteen ninety-one, payment for a spectacular, and we won’t say what it was. The money’s sat in a numbered account in Switzerland ever since. Over eighteen years, I believe it’s trebled.’

  ‘You old bastard,’ Holley said. ‘Is there no end to you?’

  ‘So that’s Mickeen taken care of. I’m going to have a nap.’ Dillon inclined his seat back and closed his eyes.

  Jack Kelly, sitting opposite Justin in the study, told him about the scene at the Green Man.

  Justin was angry. ‘What was my mother up to, creating such mayhem in Collyban?’

  ‘She told me she simply wanted to express her sympathy to Paddy O’Rourke. She’s known Flynn for years, always buys petrol from his garage.’

  ‘So she was there just by chance when Dillon and Holley turned up. Really?’

  ‘It seems so. And it was she who insisted they go to the Green Man to celebrate the deal. Unfortunately, Curry’s man objected to Dillon, and matters got out of hand.’

  ‘Unfortunate,’ Justin shrugged. ‘Well, if all that’s true, I suppose there’s really nothing to worry about. After all, she hasn’t the slightest idea who Dillon and Holley are.’

  ‘I can’t see how she could,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Good. Then let’s have a drink on it.’

  9

  Other things had been happening the previous evening, too, while Dillon and Holley were racing to make their flight to Belfast.

  After the death threat from ‘number one man’, Kalid Hasim had felt extremely nervous. His friend, Sajid, was still in St Luke’s Hospital with the broken arm. Omar, who had swum into the darkness of the Thames, had vanished. Alone, he felt very vulnerable.

  But he was no coward, and he soon got restless. Tired of staying in the furnished room he rented, he ventured out at seven-thirty in the evening and went to his usual gym for a training session, a baseball bat in the long sports bag he carried, just in case.

  It wasn’t particularly busy and there was no one to spar with, so he just worked out for an hour, then showered, dressed and left, unsure of where he was going to go. There was a lamp shining down from a bracket about ten feet above the end of the narrow street, the beam causing a reflection of his image in the shop window, so that he was aware of the other image merging into his own, a gun in its right hand.

  ‘I told you you were a dead man,’ the voice said from behind him. �
��Now keep walking and turn into the alley on the right. The canal’s at the end. Very convenient, that, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  ‘Just give me a break.’ Hasim half sobbed for effect as he said it, then stumbled, dropped the bag, the baseball bat in his right hand, and swung wildly against the man’s left thigh.

  ‘Number one man’ cursed and stumbled, the silenced pistol discharging. Hasim dropped the baseball bat at the sound, and ran out into the road blindly, dodging through traffic. He stopped in the safety of the far side, pedestrians around, and stepped into a doorway from where he could observe the alley. When a figure emerged, he gave himself away by carrying Hasim’s sports bag in one hand.

  He must have assumed Hasim was running for his life. Hasim had not been able to get a good look at his assailant on the street, but now he stepped back into the darkness of the doorway and watched him. The lights on a silver Mercedes down the street came on – must be a remote control. Hasim found a pen in a pocket of his tracksuit and wrote the licence plate number across the palm of his hand.

  The man drove away, and Hasim stood, thinking. There was no point going home. That would be the equivalent of committing suicide. He had twenty-five or thirty pounds in his pocket. A limited future indeed, whichever way you looked at it. ‘Number one man’ was obviously serious about killing him, and it only gave him one choice. He waved down a cab, got in, and told the driver to take him to the Dark Man on Cable Wharf. It was time to talk to the Salters.

  Harry and Billy Salter were in the corner booth, Dora serving them with two plates of sandwiches. ‘Ham and pickles,’ she said, ‘and salad for the vegetarian teetotaller.’

  ‘So kind, Dora.’ Billy reached for one. Harry said, ‘Well, look what the cat’s brought in.’

  Hasim stood uncertainly just inside the door, and Joe Baxter went and grabbed his arm. ‘Shall I give him the heave-ho, boss?’

  ‘Just listen to me, Mr Salter,’ Hasim pleaded.