On dangerous ground sd-3 Page 19

  "Don't start all that again, Dillon, I don't want to know." She ate some of her smoked salmon. "How do you think we'll fare with the good Air Marshal?"

  "I would imagine rather well. Anyone who could win all those medals and rise to the rank he did has got to be hot stuff. My bet is he's never forgotten a thing."

  "Well, we'll find out in the morning." The waitress brought coffee and Hannah took out her notebook. "You'd better give me a list of the diving equipment you're going to need and I'll get them started on it at the office first thing."

  "All right, here goes. The suppliers will know what everything is. A mask, nylon diving suit, medium, with a hood because it'll be cold. Gloves, fins, four weight belts with twelve pounds in the pockets, a regulator, buoyancy control device, and half a dozen empty air tanks."

  "Empty?" she said.

  "Yes, we're flying rather high. You'll also get a portable Jackson Compressor, the electric type. I'll fill the tanks using that and an Orca dive computer."

  "Anything else?"

  "Three hundred feet of nylon rope, snap links, a couple of underwater lamps, and a big knife. That should take care of it. Oh, and a couple of Sterling submachine guns, the silenced variety." He smiled. "To repel boarders."

  She put the notebook in her handbag. "Good, can I go now? We've got a big day tomorrow."

  "Of course." They moved to the door and he paused to pay the bill. As they went out into the foyer, he said, "You wouldn't consider stopping at Stable Mews on the way?"

  "No, Dillon, what I'd really like to do is surprise my mother."

  Ferguson's driver eased the Daimler into the curb, the Head Porter opening the door for her. "I think that's marvelous," Dillon said. "It shows such an affectionate nature."

  "Stuff you, Dillon," she said and the Daimler drew away.

  "Taxi, sir?" the porter asked.

  "No, thanks, I'll walk," Dillon said and he lit a cigarette and strode away. • • • The house was in a quiet backwater not far from Hampstead Heath. It was just nine-thirty the following morning when Dillon and Hannah arrived in Ferguson's Daimler. The chauffeur parked it in the street and they went in through a small gate in a high wall and walked through a small garden to the front door of a Victorian cottage. It was raining slightly.

  "This is nice," Hannah said as she rang the bell.

  After a while it was opened by a middle-aged black woman. "Yes, what can I do for you?" she asked in a West Indian accent.

  "We're from the Ministry of Defence," Hannah told her. "I know it's early, but we'd very much like to see Sir Keith if that's possible."

  "Not too early for him." She smiled. "He's been in the garden an hour already."

  "In this rain?" Dillon asked.

  "Nothing keeps him out of that garden. Here, I'll show you." She took them along a flagged path and round the corner to the back garden. "Sir Keith, you've got visitors."

  She left them there and Hannah and Dillon walked to a small terrace with open French windows to the house. On the other side of the lawn they saw a small man in a rainproof anorak and an old Panama hat. He was pruning roses. He turned to look at them, his eyes sharp and blue in a tanned face that was still handsome.

  He came forward. "Good morning, what can I do for you?"

  Hannah got her ID out and showed it to him. "I'm Detective Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein, assistant to Brigadier Charles Ferguson of the Ministry of Defence."

  "And my name is Dillon, Sean Dillon." The Irishman held out his hand. "I work for the same department."

  "I see." The Air Marshal nodded. "I'm familiar with Brigadier Ferguson's work. I served on the three services joint security committee for five years after I retired. Am I to assume this is a security matter?"

  "It is indeed, Sir Keith," she said.

  "But it goes back a long way," Dillon told him. "To when you crashed a Lysander into Loch Dhu in the Scottish Highlands back in nineteen forty-six."

  The old man said in astonishment, "That is going back a bit. You'd better come inside and I'll get Mary to make some tea and we can talk about it," and he led the way in through the French windows.

  "That was so long ago," Sir Keith said. His housekeeper brought tea in on a tray. "That's all right, Mary," he told her. "We'll manage."

  "I'll pour, if I may," Hannah said.

  "Of course, my dear. Now what is it you want exactly?"

  "You met a Major Ian Campbell at the East Grinstead burns unit," Dillon said.

  "I certainly did." Sir Keith held up his hands. The skin was light and shiny and the middle finger was missing on the left one. "That was from a run-in with an ME262, that was the jet fighter the Germans did so well with at the end of things. February, nineteen forty-five. Blew me out of the sky over Northern France. I was in a Lysander you see, no contest."

  "Yes, we checked your records at the Ministry of Defence," Dillon said. "Found out about your work for SOE. We had to pull strings for that. You're still classified."

  "Am I, by God." He took the cup of tea Hannah offered and laughed.

  "We got onto you through Ian Campbell's sister," Hannah said. "Lady Katherine Rose."

  "Good Lord, is she still alive? Was an ATA pilot in the war. Wonderful woman."

  "Yes, she still lives up there on the Loch Dhu estate," Dillon said. "It was she who told us about you coming down in the loch in a Lysander."

  "That's right, March of forty-six, I was on my way to a new command at Stornaway, tried to land in damn bad weather at Ardmurchan and lost my engine on the approach. I was lucky to get out. The plane sank almost at once." He spooned sugar into his tea. "But why are you interested in that?"

  "Do you remember calling in at East Grinstead and finding Ian Campbell on the point of death?" Hannah asked.

  "That's right, though I heard he recovered later."

  "You told his batman you were flying to Stornaway and offered to take his Laird's belongings and drop in at Ardmurchan."

  "That's right, two suitcases, that was the reason I was going to land there anyway." He looked slightly bewildered. "But what's that got to do with it?"

  "There was something of vital importance in one of those suitcases," she said. "Something of national importance."

  "Good heavens, what on earth could it be?"

  She hesitated. "Well actually, Sir Keith, the matter is classified. We're acting on the Prime Minister's instructions."

  "Well you would be if Ferguson's involved."

  Dillon turned to her. "Jesus, girl, he was decorated from here to Christmas, knighted by the Queen, and ended up an Air Marshal. If he can't keep a secret, who can?"

  "Yes, you're right," she said. "Of course you are." She turned back to Sir Keith. "Strictly in confidence."

  "My word on it."

  So she told him about the Chungking Covenant, everything.

  Sir Keith searched in the bottom drawer of a bureau, found an old cardboard file and a folded map which he brought across to the dining table.

  "The file is a copy of the original accident report. There had to be a hearing, always is, but I was completely exonerated." He held up his hands. "The state of these never stopped me flying."

  "And the map?" Dillon asked.

  "See for yourself, Ordnance Survey map of the area. Large scale as you can see." He unfolded it. There was Loch Dhu, the castle, and Ardmurchan Lodge. "I was meticulous in noting my exact position when the Lysander went down. See the red line from the little jetty at Ardmurchan Lodge? That's where I landed."

  Dillon ran a finger along the line. "That seems clear enough."

  "One hundred and twenty yards south from the jetty. X marks the spot and I know I'm right because the boys from the base dragged for her with a grappling hook on a line and brought up a piece of fuselage."

  "How deep?" Dillon asked.

  "About ninety feet. The Air Ministry decided it wasn't worth trying to recover her. It would have meant sending up special equipment, and the war, after all, was over. They were scrapping
aircraft, so why bother? Different thing if there had been something of value down there."

  "Which there was, only nobody knew about it," Hannah said.

  "Yes, there's irony for you." He turned to Dillon. "You intend some sort of recovery, I presume?"

  "Yes, I'm an experienced diver. I'll go down and see what I can find."

  "I shouldn't expect too much, not after all these years. Would you like the map?"

  "I certainly would. I'll see you get it back."

  Hannah said, "We've taken up enough of your time. You've really been more than helpful."

  "I certainly hope I have. I'll see you out." He took them to the front door and opened it. "Forgive an old buffer like me, my dear, but I must say the police have improved since my day."

  On impulse, she kissed him on the cheek. "It's been an honor to meet you."

  "Good luck, the both of you, with this Morgan fellow. Make sure he goes down, Dillon, and give Ferguson my regards."

  "I will," Dillon said and they went down the path.

  "Oh, and Dillon?" Sir Keith called as they reached the gate.

  They turned and Dillon said, "What is it?"

  "If they're still there, you won't find two suitcases down there, there should be three and one of them's mine. Can't expect much after forty-seven years, but it would be fun to have it back."

  "I'll see that you do," Dillon said and they went out.

  They got in the back of the Daimler and Hannah said, "What an absolutely smashing man."

  "Yes, they don't make them like that anymore," Dillon said. "Now what?"

  "A place called Underseas Supplies located in Lambeth. They've got the order for those things you wanted. The manager said he'd have them ready by noon. He'd like you to check them out before he rushes them to Gatwick."

  "And the two Sterlings I asked for?"

  "In the boot. I got them from the armourer at the Ministry before I picked you up this morning."

  "What a girl," Dillon said. "Let's get moving then."

  The warehouse in Lambeth was crammed with diving equipment of every kind. The manager, a man called Speke, handled things himself and he and Dillon went through the list, checking each item off as they did so.

  "There seems an awful lot," Hannah said. "Do you really need all this? I mean what's this thing?"

  She held up a yellow colored Orca and Dillon said, "That's my lifeline, girl dear, a diving computer that tells me how deep it is, how long I've been down there, how long I've got to go. It even warns me if I'm coming up too fast."

  "I see."

  "I need it just like I need this." He picked up the heavy nylon diving suit in orange and green. "It's going to be very cold down there and very dark. It isn't the Caribbean."

  "About the visibility, Mr. Dillon," Speke said. "The two lamps you asked for. I've given you the new Royal Navy halogen type. Twice the power."

  "Excellent," Dillon said. "That's it then. Get this lot up to Gatwick as soon as you can."

  "It'll take at least two hours, sir, maybe three."

  "Just do your best," Hannah said.

  As they got into the Daimler, Dillon said, "What kind of time do you think we'll get off?"

  "Three o'clock," she said.

  "Good." He took her hand. "You and I can take a little time off. What about Mulligan's for oysters and Guinness? After all, tomorrow I'll be diving down to God knows what."

  "Dammit, Dillon, why not?" She laughed. "We've earned it. Oysters and Guinness at Mulligan's it is."

  THIRTEEN

  Theflight from London Gatwick WAS reasonably smooth until the final stages when the weather deteriorated into low cloud and heavy rain. As they made their approach over the loch, Flight Lieutenant Lacey said over the loud speaker, "Headquarters have notified the Brigadier of our arrival time. He's on his way."

  They dropped in for the touchdown and as they rolled along the runway they saw the Citation standing inside one of the hangars.

  "Now what's that doing here?" Hannah said.

  "I'd say it was on standby for a quick move out," Dillon said. "It makes sense. That's what I'd do."

  As he opened the door for them Flight Lieutenant Lacey said, "You've got company, Chief Inspector."

  "That's the personal plane of Mr. Carl Morgan presently of Loch Dhu Castle," Dillon told him.

  "The polo player?"

  "Jesus, son," Dillon laughed. "And isn't that the grand way to describe him?"

  The Range Rover was crossing the decaying tarmac toward them, Kim at the wheel, Ferguson beside him. It stopped and the Brigadier got out. "Everything go well?"

  "Couldn't be better," Dillon told him. "I've got a map of the loch with the exact location. By the way, guess who the pilot of that Lysander turned out to be?"

  "Surprise me?"

  "Air Marshal Sir Keith Smith," Hannah told him.

  Ferguson looked genuinely astonished. "Of course! I didn't make the connection when Lady Katherine told us his name. I mean, nineteen forty-six, a wing commander."

  Lacey said, "We'll get all this stuff in the back of the Range Rover, Brigadier, if your man could lend a hand."

  "Of course." Ferguson nodded to Kim, then took a large golfing umbrella from inside the Range Rover and put it up against the rain.

  "Morgan's plane seems to have taken up permanent residence," Hannah said.

  "Yes, the bastard's there himself keeping an eye on us. I saw their Shogun parked in the hangar beside the Citation. Probably got their field glasses turned our way right now."

  "Let's give them something to see then," Dillon said. "Pass me those two Sterling submachine guns, Flight Lieutenant."

  Lacey handed them over and Ferguson smiled. "What a happy thought. Hold the umbrella for me, Chief Inspector." He checked one of the Sterlings expertly and then said, "Right, let's move out into the open so they can see what we've got."

  Which he and Dillon did, standing in the rain for a few moments and then turning back to the Range Rover.

  "That should do it," Dillon said and put the Sterlings on the backseat.

  "You looked like a couple of little boys then playing gangsters in the school yard," Hannah said.

  "Ah, if it were only so, Chief Inspector, but the time approaches when this whole thing becomes serious business. I've just, in a manner of speaking, given Morgan fair warning, but let's make certain. We'll take a walk."

  He moved directly toward the hangar and the Citation and they moved with him, all three sheltered by the huge golfing umbrella. As they got close, they saw the Shogun, Marco and Morgan leaning against it. Two men in flying overalls were hanging around on the other side of the plane. Hannah slipped her right hand inside her handbag, which hung from a shoulder strap low on her thigh.

  "No need for that, Chief Inspector," Ferguson murmured. "He isn't about to declare war just yet." He raised his voice. "Ah, there you are, Morgan. Good day to you."

  "And a good day to you, Brigadier." Morgan came forward followed by Marco with his battered face, who stood there glaring at Dillon.

  "Successful trip, Chief Inspector?" Morgan asked.

  "Couldn't have been better," she told him.

  "Who would have thought it?" He turned and looked out across the loch, quiet in the rain. "Down there on the bottom for all these years. Place of Dark Waters, isn't that what the locals call it in Gaelic? Aptly named, Dillon. I should think you'll have problems down there."

  "Who knows?" Dillon told him.

  "I see you've got your plane on standby," Ferguson said.

  "Yes, leaving at the crack of dawn. We've got an eight o'clock start. Let's face it, Brigadier, you've won and I've certainly had enough of the delights of Loch Dhu Castle and this eternal bloody rain."

  "Really?" Ferguson said. "Carl Morgan giving up? I find that difficult to believe."

  "Oh, he's just being a good sport, aren't you, Morgan?" Dillon said.

  "But of course," Morgan said calmly.

  "Well, give our best to Asta as we
probably shan't be seeing her again," Ferguson told him.

  "I will."

  "Good, we'll be off now."

  As they walked back to the plane, Hannah said, "I don't believe a word of it. He isn't going anywhere."

  "Or if he is he intends to come back," Dillon said. "I'm not sure how, but that's what he'll do."

  "Of course he will," Ferguson said. "We're back with the kind of game playing that's characterized this affair from the beginning. We know that he intends to return and he knows that we know." He shook his head. "Inconceivable that he'd give up now. It's against his nature. Have you ever seen him boot an opponent out of the saddle in a polo match? Well that's Carl Morgan. He's always got to win whatever it costs."

  "I'd say this is a situation Asta could help with, sir," Hannah said.

  "Yes, well we'll see."

  They reached the Lear and Lacey said, "All in, Brigadier, is there anything else we can do?"

  "Not at the moment, Flight Lieutenant, except return to Gatwick. As usual, I require a twenty-four-hour standby."

  "I'll see to it, Brigadier."

  "Good, on your way then." He turned. "Come on, you lot. Let's move out."

  They got into the Range Rover, Kim behind the wheel, and as they drove away, the Lear was already starting up behind them.

  Morgan went into the study and poured himself a brandy, then moved to the fire. He sipped the brandy slowly, savouring it, and the door opened and Asta came in.

  "They arrived back then, I heard the plane."

  He nodded. "They unloaded a quantity of diving equipment and Ferguson and Dillon rather ostentatiously displayed a couple of Sterling submachine guns, all for my benefit. We had a nice chat."

  "And?"

  "I told Ferguson I was retiring from the fray, flying out at eight in the morning."

  "And they believed you?"

  He smiled. "Of course not. Ferguson knows damn well I'll return in some way. Of course, the important thing is that I know that he expects that, so it's all a question of timing."

  "How do you mean?"

  He smiled. "There's a bottle of champagne over there in the bucket, my love. Go and open it and I'll tell you."

  At Ardmurchan Lodge, the light was on in the garage, the diving equipment arranged neatly on the floor. There was a steady hum from the compressor as Dillon showed Kim how to fill the first air tank.