Bad Company (21 page)

“But, Father…”

The Baron said nothing more. He got in the Rolls, the chauffeur slipped behind the wheel, and they drove away. Gibson said, “What in the hell was that all about?”

“Dillon,” Rossi said. “Damn him. He’s been a stone in my shoe too long. I’ll have him.” At that moment, his mobile sounded, and when he answered, Newton said, “We’re around the corner from the Reform Club in Pall Mall. Ferguson ’s gone in.”

“Probably for lunch,” Rossi said. “Okay, don’t stay. Go to Cavendish Place and set up there. I’ll send Gibson to join you. We’re going to do it today.”

“Now look, I’m not sure about this…” Newton said.

“I am. Look, Newton, I can finish you. Or I can give you a nice fat fee. Which is it? In or out?”

Greed, and fear, of course, won the day. “In.”

Dillon turned up at the Ministry of Defence and found Hannah in the main office at her computer. She stopped and leaned back to look at him.

“What’s up?”

“Why should anything be up?”

“I know my Sean.”

“Oh, I suppose I was a bit stupid last night.”

“Tell me.”

Which he did, lighting a cigarette and looking out the window. When he finished, she said, “You fool.”

“I know. It’s Rossi and what he did. I can’t get Sara Hesser out of my mind.”

“Sean, I’ve a psychology degree, so here’s a free reading. Oh, Rossi did the murder, but you feel as guilty as hell because you gave that woman a promise. What was it? ‘No harm will come to you on this earth, I swear it’?”

Dillon, never so emotional in his life, said, “And remember what happened? She touched my face and said, ‘I believe you. You’re a good man in spite of yourself.’” She had never seen him so haggard and drawn.

“Me, the great Sean Dillon and you know what happened and who was responsible, and I’ll see Rossi in hell for it.”

He turned and found the door to Ferguson ’s office open, and the general standing in the doorway. “Then you’ll go straight down the same road to hell yourself, Dillon. What on earth did you think you were doing? Confrontation, direct threats? It’s not the way to handle things at the moment. You were totally out of order.”

“I usually am.”

“Right, you’re suspended. Leave the office now. I’ll speak to you again at what I consider to be an appropriate time. You will surrender all your weapons.”

Dillon managed a gentle smile. “Ah, well, Charles, I always thought the day would come, but you’ve been a decent ould stick, and in spite of Serbia in the old days, when you sold me out, you’ve treated me well.” He turned to Hannah.

“Oh, Sean,” she said.

“I know. I always take the hard approach and I know that doesn’t hold with your fine Jewish morality, but revenge is a concept not unknown in the Old Testament. I’ll be on my way, and God bless all here.”

He disappeared and Ferguson said, “Damn him. Why did he do it? It unscrambles things in the wrong way.”

“It’s simple, sir. He can be more emotional than you think. He’s put himself on the line for me in the past, for you. All he could think of was an old lady who trusted him and ended up in the river. In spite of everything Dillon’s done, if you want a psychopath here, it’s not him, it’s Marco Rossi.”

“To hell with it. I’m going home. Order the Daimler.”

“It’s not available, General. Out for maintenance today, remember?”

“Then get me a bloody taxi,” and he stormed back into his office.

Dillon sat in his Mini Cooper, thinking about things. Well, everything had to come to an end, that was life. Still and all, there’d been a lot of water under the bridge. He reached for a cigarette, lit it, looked out and saw Ferguson walk to a waiting black taxi and get in. It moved off, and Dillon switched on the Mini Cooper and went after him. There was no logical reason that he should, except perhaps for some instinct, an Irish thing, but he did, eased out into the traffic and followed the cab.

In Cavendish Place, Newton and Cook had taken up a manhole to explain their presence. Derry Gibson, also wearing a yellow Telecom jacket, sat inside the van reading a newspaper. Newton moved to the passenger window.

“Come on, it’s been nearly four hours. Are we getting anywhere?”

At that moment, a black cab drew up. Derry said, “I think we might be,” and then Ferguson got out and paid the driver, who drove away.

“Now,” Gibson said and opened the small leather case on the seat beside him and took out a small plastic ampoule. “Get him.”

He got out, and as Ferguson turned away, they grabbed him by each arm and Gibson moved in. “A real pleasure, General,” and he jabbed Ferguson in the neck. The effect was almost instantaneous. Ferguson sagged, they walked him to the back of the van, Gibson opened the door and they put him inside, Gibson following. “Get going,” he said.

Dillon, turning in at the entrance to Cavendish Place, saw everything and put his foot down. A delivery van drove in front of him. Dillon braked and swerved. Beyond him, the Telecom van swung out into the traffic. He joined in, well behind. The usual London traffic made things difficult, but he always managed to stay focused on the Telecom van.

He got out his Codex Four and checked into Hannah, who answered at once. “I followed Ferguson home. He was jumped by Derry Gibson, Newton and Cook, and dumped in a fake British Telecom van. I’m following.”

“Where, for God’s sake?”

“ North London. I don’t know. Essex way. Get in touch with Roper. He can invoke the Omega thing. That should tell you where we’re going. Tell him to keep me informed.”

Derry Gibson called Marco Rossi. “We’ve bagged the bird.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll see you at Fotley.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re there before we are. Kidnapping draws at least ten years in this country.”

Roper cut into Dillon. “I’ve heard the story, I’m on the case. Omega is working fine. I’ll track and keep you informed. No reason to worry if you lose him. I’ll put you back on track.”

Dillon had a thought. “These three goons are working for Rossi, so where are they going?”

“Maybe it’s where are they flying? I’ll check.”

Emerging from London, the traffic thinned a little, not all that much, but enough to keep Dillon well back. Roper came on.

“The Baron just left Northolt, destination Munich. I’ve checked there. He’s got a helicopter booked for Neustadt.”

“Has he now?”

“Even more interesting: Rossi had a plane delivered to a place called Fotley in Essex this morning. It’s an old RAF airbase, now disused, with a long runway. I think that’s where you’re going. I hope you make it, Sean. Are you carrying?”

“I damn well am. But what if I fail? Where are they going?”

“Well, Omega will confirm, but I think we both know. Schloss Adler.”

“Right, then I suggest you get on to this Max Kubel. He can alert the Klein man at Neustadt. Tell Kubel to put in place whatever plan we’d need to mount a rescue operation. It’ll be a huge payday for him. I’ll press on and hope to catch them at Fotley.”

In the end, he failed, mainly because of a farm tractor on a narrow country road. He finally made the old airfield only to see the abandoned van and the Gulfstream already moving. As it lifted and roared past, Newton looked out.

“Jesus,” he said. “That’s Dillon’s Mini Cooper.”

“Is that a fact?” Derry Gibson laughed. Ferguson, unconscious, was strapped in one of the seats. Derry patted his cheek. “I’ll go and tell Rossi. He’ll be so pleased.”

At Arnheim, Max Kubel was working on the Storch prior to a foray into Poland. He’d always remembered the adage from the Second World War: Half the airmen who die aren’t shot down by the enemy. They die of engine failure. It was why he’d always taken care of his own maintenance. He closed the engine cowling and slapped the fuselage, which had a fresh coat of dull black paint.

“Good girl,” he said, and his mobile went.

He listened to Roper for a long five minutes and was immediately interested and full of energy. “I’ll talk to Klein.”

“This meadow outside the Schloss, can it accommodate Rossi’s plane, especially at night?”

“It’s huge, and the Schloss is floodlit. There’s plenty of light.”

“So what would we do? Could you fly in while Dillon attempts a recovery?”

“Come off it. The minute I attempted a landing, the whole thing would be blown.”

“Then how would we get to Neustadt? What could we do? Parachute in? Dillon’s done that before.”

“Not into Schloss Adler. Battlements, courtyards, roofs – it isn’t nice.”

“Then when you want to make a nefarious trip into Holstein Heath, how do you do it? I know how mysterious the damn place is. The locals must be suspicious of any kind of strangers.”

“Yes, but if I put a group together for an in-and-out job, they won’t look like strangers. The police in Holstein Heath look very like the Vopos of the old East German days. Believe it or not, they still use Russian Cossack motorcycles and field cars.”

“So what are you saying?”

“In the past, I’ve gone in with my people when I’ve needed them, using those vehicles and uniforms. Would Dillon buy that?”

“Well, his German is fluent.”

“He couldn’t do it on his own.”

“What about you?”

“No way. My task would be to do the extracting. Dillon and whoever, helped by Klein’s intelligence, pull Ferguson, and all hell breaks out, so the smart thing would be for me to fly in from Arnheim. It’s a short flight. I’d drop in at the Schloss in my Storch and pick them up.”

“And you’re confident you could do that?”

“To the great Kubel, anything is possible, and to avoid any problem with angry foresters, it would be the only way. These are the Baron’s people.”

“You mean it’s Indian territory?”

“Exactly. Another thing. In the Storch, I could manage Ferguson, but only two others. Two men only to take on the situation at the castle. I’ve got the idea that Dillon’s that crazy, but does he know someone else who is?”

“Oh, yes,” Roper said. “I think so. There’s a big payday for you on this, by the way.”

“Stuff the payday. I’ve been getting stale and I’ve looked you up, Roper. You’re what the Jews call a
mensch.
I’m a great admirer.”

“Flattery is always appreciated.”

“I’ll speak to Klein and get things moving.”

At his cottage behind the church at Neustadt, Klein took the call from Kubel and listened to what he had to say.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Let me know the minute the Baron turns up in the helicopter. After that, Rossi in his plane. Can you get into the Schloss?”

“Of course I can. I’ve known it backwards since I was a child.”

“In spite of security?”

“The security is crap. I can go around all that.”

“Get this right, Hans. There’s a lot of money in it for you.”

“And where the Baron is concerned, it will be a pleasure. I’ll go and check things out up there.”

Kubel switched off and Klein got a hunting jacket on, put a sawn-off shotgun in one pocket, a double handful of cartridges in the other and went out, smiling.

On the final stretch back to London, Dillon listened to everything Roper had to say. “Fine,” he said. “Alert Hannah. Tell her to book Lacey and Parry. Alert the quartermaster. The destination will be Arnheim.”

“There’s one thing, Sean,” Roper said. “You can’t do this on your own. Don’t tell me you’re going to ride a Cossack through the Schwarze Platz and do a ‘Dirty Harry.’ You need a friend.”

“I’ll get a friend.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me. I’ll ask him, and for this, he’ll be there.”

Dillon turned down to Hangman’s Wharf and
The Dark Man,
parked and went inside. There were only a couple of customers, Dora at the bar, and Harry and Billy in their usual corner booth. Harry looked up and frowned.

“You look stressed.”

“You could say that.” Dillon sat down. “Just listen.”

When he was finished, Harry said, “I knew that Rossi was bad news.”

Dillon’s phone sounded and Roper said, “No question, Sean, it’s Neustadt they’re aiming for. Everything all right with you? The extra man?”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m sure you will.” He switched off.

Dillon said, “Billy. You heard the story. I’m going to go in like a Vopo on a Cossack. It’s a good thing I speak German.”

“Which I don’t, but you need a gun, and I can wear one of these Vopo uniforms as well as you can.” Billy had that cold, pale smile on his face.

It was Harry who cut in. “We’d better get sorted, Dillon. We can’t leave Ferguson in the hands of these bastards. Anyway, I like the old sod. You and Billy do it. Billy’s come on a bit since you took him in hand. Right, Billy? Likes doing something because it’s the right thing to do.”

“I should say so.” Billy got up. “I’ll go and pack.” He smiled at Dillon. “This is getting to be a habit.”

At Farley Field, Dillon arrived to surprises. First of all, the presence of Hannah Bernstein. He said, “What in the hell are you doing here?”

“I speak German, Sean, and it’s my boss at the sharp end. I think I should be here.”

Then the Salter Rolls appeared and disgorged not only Billy, but Harry, both with hand luggage.

Dillon said, “What is this?”

“This German police thing. I’m going with you. I’ll stay back at base with the superintendent, if you want, but you always want to do it on your own. Well, this time you can’t. It’s too important.”

Dillon said, “Fine, just don’t get in the way.” He walked toward the Citation, and Lacey came out, dressed in anonymous flying overalls. “You know what we’re up to here?”

“The superintendent filled us in. You’ll notice we’ve sprayed over our RAF rondels. Don’t want anybody identifying us.”