The Midnight Bell Page 22

  “That’s what intelligence outfits do.”

  “Ah, well, I must take my chances. May I stay in touch?”

  “Of course, you have my number.”

  —

  ON THE QUAI DES BRUMES, the Master drank coffee under the canopy over the stern of the barge, thinking of Weber. A good man who could have extracted a lot more than he had done out of Timbuktu, but when it came right down to it, he couldn’t bring himself to do what was necessary.

  A different kind of man, someone of a piratical disposition, a Finbar Magee, for example, would have grabbed at the opportunity to ravage Timbuktu or anywhere else when it came right down to it. The way things had gone at Drumore House fascinated the Master, so two Magees to choose from, and he made it Eli, who was sitting in that huge kitchen enjoying a glass of red wine and reading the local newspaper when his mobile buzzed.

  “Eli Magee.”

  “How nice to hear your voice. It’s been some time,” the Master said.

  “Who is this?” Eli demanded.

  “Why, the Master, of course. Don’t say you’ve forgotten me. You are the master now of Drumore House; Finbar must have been distressed by that.”

  “That’s my affair, not yours. Finbar gets bed and board, and does little in return. An idle and drunken bastard, my cousin, who will mend his ways or get off my property. And you can get off my phone,” and Eli switched off.

  —

  FINBAR HAD COME into the house from the garden and was approaching the kitchen along the corridor and heard Eli answer the phone. He passed outside, listening to what his cousin was saying, and then he turned away and went upstairs to his room.

  He hated Eli, dreamed of killing him, but he quite simply was not a match for the big man. Finbar kept a bottle of whiskey in the bedside locker and he poured a generous glass, sat on the bed, and started drinking; and his phone rang.

  The Master said, “Finbar, old friend, how are you? I was just talking to your cousin, and he was very unpleasant about you. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

  “Not much longer,” Finbar said. “When I strike, it must be hard. I intend to finish him off for good, and that means dead in the water.”

  “My dear chap, are you sure about this?”

  “Of course I am. I met a man recently in a bar in town on market day who deals in illegal weapons. The police are very hot about that over here, but if you have the right contact, you can get anything.”

  “And what have you got, my friend?” the Master asked.

  “A two-shot derringer with hollow points that will blow my cousin away once and for all, and my sons can go to hell.”

  “And when do you intend to do this?”

  “Soon, very soon, but I want to get it right. I don’t want things to drag on now. I can do it. Eli Magee is a dead man.”

  The Master said, “Has it occurred to you that Eli’s going to an early grave may take the secret of the Maria Blanco with him?”

  “So what? There’s Hugh Tulley, IRA chief of staff for County Down, and, sure, didn’t he mastermind the whole operation in the first place? I’ve always said he knows a hell of a lot more than he’s telling.”

  “You may be right,” the Master told him. “But promise me you’ll take very great care and I’ll stay in touch.”

  —

  ELI HAD NO HESITATION in phoning Tad Magee with the information that the Master had been in touch.

  “Kind of creepy and slimy, he was, as if we were friends. Told me I was now the master of Drumore House, and he said Finbar must be distressed. I told him he was an idle drunk who’d better mend his ways or get off my property.”

  “I see,” Tad said. “Does Finbar threaten you?”

  “Mainly behind my back, but I’m respected in the community, and people say that they worry about the threats he makes.”

  “Well, I’m damned if I’m going to have that, Eli. Leave it with me, and I’ll get back to you very soon.”

  —

  DILLON WAS IN the computer room with Roper and Hannah when he took Tad’s phone call.

  “I need your help badly, Sean.”

  “Well, I’m sitting here with Hannah and a certain Lieutenant Colonel Giles Roper who is in charge here now with Ferguson’s departure for New York.”

  So Tad told them. When he was finished, Roper said, “I think we all get the picture, but what are you asking us to do?”

  “Fundamentally, this is an IRA matter.”

  “And how do you think they’d have handled it?”

  “Hugh Tulley would have sent a top enforcer to Drumore to sort things out, a pistol in his pocket and a readiness to use it if necessary,” Hannah said. “I naturally assume this means Sean Dillon swings into action, and let me be the first to volunteer.”

  “There is a small matter of the college to consider,” Roper said.

  “You keep forgetting, it’s half term. I mean, don’t you think that a decent Irish girl like me could be very useful in this situation?”

  “Actually, I do, because you’ve been to Drumore before and know the people involved,” Roper told her. “So what’s the next step?”

  “We’ll meet at Barking, the same place as last time, the Chieftain. Any comments, Sean?”

  “Billy Spillane who runs the aero club at Dunkelly is a Provo, isn’t he?”

  “To the hilt,” Tad said. “What are you thinking?”

  “If Finbar does harbor murderous intent, he’ll need a weapon. Perhaps Billy could check with his friends to see if anyone has anything helpful to say.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Tad said. “See you at Barking.”

  “Our first job with you in charge, Lieutenant Colonel,” Hannah said.

  “The next thing you’ll be suggesting is that we should have a drink on it, but it won’t work, because I finished the champagne last night. So, off you go, and try to keep Dillon on the rails if you can.”

  14

  THEY DROVE OUT of Holland Park in the Mini, Hannah at the wheel. “Turn right instead of left,” Dillon told her as they exited.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Billy Salter,” he told her. “I know it’s too soon, but I’d like to know how he is.”

  “You could have phoned,” she said. “He’s got a Codex, hasn’t he?”

  “What happened to those two last night was typical of the crazy game we play. Of all people to get shot, it’s Billy, fifteen years of service, four times wounded, now five. And the executioner in this case who killed the villain is nineteen.”

  “So what are you saying, that life is pure chance? It certainly was for me, crippled by a car bomb that murdered my parents but not me, and then there was Sara and those Brigade Reconnaissance Force heroes.”

  She swung into the Rosedene car park, then they found Harry and Hasim in the lounge having coffee and a chat with Maggie.

  “No Dora?” Dillon asked.

  “She’s in a right old state,” Harry said. “I told her not to worry because Billy wouldn’t be able to play football for England, but she couldn’t see the joke. Said he’d never played football in his life, so I gave up.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Dillon said, and Bellamy appeared wearing scrubs and looking tired as usual.

  “You seem to be past every damn thing there ever was,” Dillon told him.

  “A bad night, Sean, and other people persist in sending special cases. Billy is responding well to the removal of the bullet. However, those Uzi rounds are particularly lethal, so I’d rather he wasn’t troubled by visitors.”

  He went back to his office, and Maggie Duncan said, “Which puts you all in the same boat.”

  “Not Hannah and I,” Dillon told her. “We’re off to Northern Ireland on business, but we’ll stay in touch.”

  “Business?” Harry said. “I can
imagine. For God’s sake, Sean, is there no end to it?”

  “Not in the world we live in,” Dillon said, and turned and put a hand on Hasim’s shoulder. “You did well last night. I’m proud of you.”

  Hannah reached up and kissed Hasim on the cheek. “Welcome to the club.”

  “Take care,” Hasim told her.

  “Always do,” and she limped away after Dillon.

  —

  AT BARKING, they found the usual couple of dozen single-engine planes parked and the Chieftain waiting. Tad was sitting at an outside table of the small café with Pat Ryan and Jack Kelly from Kilburn’s Green Tinker.

  Tad said, “You’d better sit down. We’ve got news for you. Billy Spillane has checked around and discovered a dealer from the old days who has done business with Finbar very recently.”

  “What kind of business?” Dillon asked.

  “A rather unusual handgun. A two-shot derringer with hollow points. There’s a shortage of these on the market.”

  “You’re telling me,” Dillon said. “At close quarters it is absolutely lethal, guaranteed to blow you apart.”

  “Do you think Finbar knows that?” Ryan asked.

  “Well, if he didn’t, he will have been told by the guy he bought it from.”

  “So what’s the next step?” Hannah asked. “To relieve him of it?”

  “Of course,” Tad said.

  “And what if he says you can’t have it?”

  “Well, then, it will have to be taken from him.”

  “You make it sound really easy,” she said. “Do you think it will be?”

  “That will have to be handled as it comes.”

  “It is all very well saying that, but hollow points are probably the most lethal pistol rounds in use. That’s why they’re popular in many South American republics as a tool of assassination.”

  “Where the hell does she get her information?” Ryan demanded.

  “The horse’s mouth,” Hannah told him. “Raised in a Provisional IRA household since childhood. Survived a car bomb, which my parents didn’t. Various male members of the Flynn family have ended up dead in service to the Cause, and I’m cousin to Sean Dillon, for what that’s worth.”

  “Thanks for including me in your summing up of the the essence of Irish Republicanism during the last thirty-five years of the Troubles,” Dillon said to her.

  “Think nothing of it. It’s just that, because I’ve managed to learn about Finbar, I think the only real solution to the bastard is to shoot him, and sooner rather than later.”

  Ryan said to Dillon, “For God’s sake, Sean, where did you find her?”

  “The truth of it is, Pat, she found me, and I thank the good Lord every day of my life that she did. So with thanks for your support, I think we’ll be climbing into our plane and making for Dunkelly and County Down.”

  —

  TAD STAYED IN THE CABIN dealing with papers from his briefcase, Dillon loosened his tie and took control, and Hannah joined him in the cockpit. The Chieftain roared along the runway and started to climb.

  “You really love your flying, don’t you?” Hannah said.

  “Oh, yes, as the SAS got to grips with the really tough places, like Armagh, in the early nineties, I moved on from Ireland, worked for the Israelis. That’s where I learned to fly.”

  “And Sara implied that Ferguson pulled a dirty trick on you.”

  “You could say that. I fell in with an international relief group to fly medical supplies into Serbia during the war, drugs for children. I was shot down by a MIG fighter, and Stinger missiles were found under the drugs, the kind of thing that usually got you executed. A setup of course.”

  “By whom?”

  “Brigadier Charles Ferguson, as he was then, who was looking for someone like me to do his dirty work.”

  “The old bastard.”

  “A bad word coming from a nice girl like you; but after all, the drugs probably reached children who needed them, the missiles replenished the war supply, and Major Branco, in command of the prison where they shot you in the morning, was able to go to England and join his mother in Hampstead, courtesy of gallant Brigadier Charles Ferguson. So everybody got something, including the children.”

  “But it could have been so different. They might have shot you.”

  “Perfidious Albion, love, that’s how the English ruled the world for several hundred years. Now I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea if you think you could manage.”

  “And what else would I have to do except serve your lordship?” she said, thickening her accent.

  “Try the Abbey Theatre,” Dillon told her. “You might have a future. After all, your aunt did.”

  She went out, Tad moved in, and a moment later, Dillon’s Codex alerted him, and the Master said, “This should be an interesting trip. The wretched Finbar is making waves again, I hear.”

  “Which gives me no pleasure,” Tad cut in. “But even less to have to listen to you sticking your nose in again. Yes, a wretched man, but my father and my problem.”

  “You heard that,” Dillon said. “It is obviously going to be a lively day, so I think you should drop out and leave us to it unless you have any information about the fate of the Maria Blanco.”

  The Master laughed harshly. “You won’t believe me, Dillon, but I always wondered whether you knew more than you were letting on. The story of the IRA having sent you off to Algeria to train volunteers seemed too convenient.”

  Dillon glanced over his shoulder and realized Hannah was leaning into the cockpit listening, so he spoke with passion.

  “I have my cousin, Hannah, with me now, who has suffered more than most in our country’s Troubles. I swear to her that I have no knowledge of what happened to the Maria Blanco, but I promise that I will find out while I am there. The mystery has dragged on long enough, so clear off and leave me to land this plane.”

  —

  AND AS THE DUNKELLY FLYING CLUB loomed below, Dillon dropped the Chieftain in neatly and rolled along to the buildings at one end where Eli waited with Billy Spillane, who was wearing his old flight jacket.

  Eli and Tad hugged each other, and then the big man turned to the others, embraced Hannah, and shook hands with Dillon. They sat outside in the café.

  “How is he?” Tad asked.

  “In his room under lock and key,” Eli told him. “I have his wrists shackled during the day, plus his ankles at night.”

  “Would that be considered a bit harsh?” Hannah inquired.

  “Not to Jimmy Leary and Jack O’Dwyer, who I got to help me restrain Finbar when he turned up at the little bar here three nights ago and started taking the place apart. It took six of the boys to hold him down. Jimmy’s got a broken wrist, Jack two fractured toes in his right foot from being stamped on.”

  “Where is he now, a police cell?” Tad asked.

  “God, no, we wouldn’t do that to the Magee family, but it must be solved. Mad, bad, and dangerous to know sums him up,” said Billy.

  “I love the quote,” Dillon said. “It shows you’ve read a book.”

  “We tried to shake the derringer pistol out of him, but he isn’t playing. Eli had us round last night; we had Finbar at one side of the big table in the kitchen, tried to get him to tell us where he had the gun, but with no joy.”

  Hannah said, “You were never active in the IRA, Eli?”

  “I never operated in the field. It was felt that my size would be a giveaway. I kept the house and saw to the boys on the run.”

  “Was Finbar active?”

  Tad said, “Tell her the truth, Eli.”

  “A certain kind of man was common in those days. Big of mouth and claiming to be IRA, when in fact they were often driving a delivery truck for a supermarket. Finbar had a problem with the RUC for illegal possession of a firearm. He got a year in pr
ison and missed out on the twenty-five-million-pound gold robbery involving Drumore House and me.”

  “You were found manacled in the boathouse, and the motor cruiser loaded with ingots vanished into history.” Hannah smiled. “An intriguing story we are all familiar with.”

  Billy Spillane said, “Hugh Tulley is eighty-four but very fit with it. He’d be happy to meet if you’d like that.”

  Tad said, “I’d be fascinated.” He turned to Dillon and Hannah. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, considering what we went through together, I think it would be churlish not to see him.” Dillon smiled at Hannah. “Who knows, he may have some answers for you.”

  “Right, then, Billy, bring him along for six and bring one of your cook’s light suppers in a basket.”

  “And what do we do with Finbar?”

  “Oh dear,” Hannah said. “I thought we were talking all friends together.”

  “Well, we are,” Tad said. “But if the opportunity arises, we’ll see. I’m staying with Billy for a while. Eli will take you two onward to the house. See you later.”

  —

  THERE WAS A VIDEO SYSTEM in Finbar’s bedroom that enabled Eli to keep an eye on him. It was as if Finbar knew that he was being watched, and he put out his tongue and shouted. “Go fuck yourself, whoever you are,” and he looked old and twisted and evil.

  Standing by the fireplace, Hannah said, “Let’s wash some of that away. The sun is shining, the Irish Sea magnificent. Let’s go along the cliff top.”

  “Where there is a place not far from the house that is the most dangerous of all. A cliff path a hundred feet up from jagged rocks below. Locals call it the Devil’s Jump,” Dillon said.

  “Well, lead on,” she told him. “I’m presuming it never was the Devil making the jump, but some incredibly brave young man doing something extraordinary.”

  “How clever you are,” Dillon told her. “And perfectly right. After the French Revolution, there was upheaval in other countries, and Ireland was one of them. There was a revolution in Ulster, the United Irishmen, led by a man named Wolfe Tone. He was a Protestant, which didn’t sit well with a lot of Irish Catholics. The British put him in a prison cell anyway, where he committed suicide, and if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.”