Day of Reckoning (21 page)

Besides the Gulfstream, the family operated a Golden Eagle
twin-engine aircraft out of Bardsey Aero Club outside London.
It was useful for local flights, the kind where you had to
put down on short runways, so it was particularly good for
Hellsmouth. Fox called the pilot now, an ageing, ex-RAF
pilot named Swan, and got him at home.
'Mr Fox, what can I do for you?'
'I need a flight in a couple of hours to Hellsmouth. Can
you manage that?'
'If you say so, Mr Fox. It might be a rough landing. It's
pretty dark.'
'I don't care if you put us down on its belly, just so you
get us there.'
As you say, sir.'
When Dillon arrived at Stable Mews, Fox, Russo, Falcone, Rossi and Cameci were waiting in a large black van.
Dillon got out with Blake and gave him the key to the
house. 'There you go. I'll be back later. I'll go and see what Ferguson wants.'
He got back into the taxi and it moved away. Blake walked
slowly towards the door, and the van drove up and braked. Rossi and Cameci were out and had him in seconds. Blake
tried to struggle but had little strength. Fox leaned across
Russo, who was at the wheel.
'It's my turn now, Johnson. Get him in the back. You
know what to do, Falcone.'
They dragged Blake in and Falcone produced a hypoder
mic. 'Now this will really make you feel good,' he said and jabbed it into the right arm.
Blake continued to struggle, but then everything slipped
away and he was still.
Bardsey operated a twenty-four-hour service that handled
the ever-increasing volume of private planes and executive
jets that Heathrow didn't welcome any more. For internal
flights, there was no particular security. Swan was waiting
for them.
Fox said, 'We'll take off right away. I don't want to hang
around. I'm a little worried about my friend here. He's had
too much to drink.'
'Will there be a return, Mr Fox?' Swan asked.
'Not tonight. You wait at the airstrip for further instruc
tions.'
Swan, only too well aware of the kind of people he
was dealing with, said, 'As you say, sir,' went and logged
flight details.
Rossi and Cameci took Blake up the steps, Russo followed, and Fox turned to Falcone. 'Phone the caretaker, old Carter.
Tell him I want the fireplaces lit, but I don't want him in
the house. He can go home.'
As you say, Signore.'
Fox boarded the Eagle, and Falcone got on his mobile and made the call. When he finished, Falcone followed and Swan
pulled up the steps and dosed the Airstair door. As he went
up to the cockpit, Fox reached out to Falcone.
'Give me the phone.'
He took out a card, a digest of information Maud Jackson
had given him, found Ferguson's number in Cavendish
Square and dialled it.
'Charles Ferguson.'
'Jack Fox. Is Dillon there?'
'Why, Mr Fox. And how are you this evening?' 'Shove it, Ferguson. Give me Dillon.'
Ferguson handed the phone to Dillon, and he and Hannah stood up.
'Why, Jack, so sorry to hear your bad news.'
'Yeah, well, it's nothing compared to the news I have for
you, Dillon. I've just grabbed Blake Johnson, and I'm taking
him to hell, but not, alas, back. I saw you clear off in the
cab, Dillon, and I got him before he opened the door. If you
use your brains, you might come up with where I'm taking
him, and that would please me no end.'
He switched off before Dillon could reply, and Dillon
turned to Hannah and Ferguson. 'He's got Blake. He said he's
taking him to hell but not back.' He frowned. 'Hellsmouth,
his place in Cornwall, it's got to be. Let me use the phone.'
Hannah said, 'Dillon, no, it's a trap. He made it easy for
you to guess, and now he'll kill you, too.'
'That may be, Hannah. But I can't leave Blake there
alone.'
He dialled the Holland Park safe house and got Helen Black.
'Bad news. The bastards have kidnapped Blake Johnson. Put the Major on.'
Roper said, 'Here I am, Sean. What's the deal?' Dillon told him.
Roper said, 'Give me a couple of minutes at my com
puter.'
'Good man.'
Roper was back very quickly. 'Yes, besides the Gulfstream,
the Solazzo family have a Golden Eagle. You know that
plane?'
'I've flown one many times,' Dillon said. 'It's excellent
for short runways.'
'Well, that's what they have at the Hellsmouth estate.
There's an old RAF feeder station from the Second World
War. The nearest decent airfield is RAF, St Just, twenty
miles away. It's an air-sea rescue set-up, helicopters, long runway.'
'Thanks, old son.'
'You're going in hard, I take it.'
'You could say that.'
'I wish I could be with you. I'll stay on the computer,
in case you need me. Just a minute.' There was a pause,
and Roper spoke again. 'The Golden Eagle took off twenty
minutes ago. The slot booked says Cornwall, Hellsmouth,
six passengers.'
'And one of those is Blake. Thanks, Roper.'
Dillon said, 'Hellsmouth, they've gone down in a Golden Eagle from Bardsey. Six passengers.' He punched another number on the phone.
'Sean, what are you doing?' Hannah said.
'Well, I'm not phoning the Cornish police. They're a
fine body of men, but not for a job like this. I'm calling
Farley Field.'
'What for?' she demanded.
'Because he's going after them,' Ferguson said. 'I know
my Sean.'
'He said to hell but not back,' Dillon said. 'Well, I'll follow him to hell.'
A voice on the receiver said, 'Farley Field.'
'Dillon. Get me Squadron Leader Lacey, if he's there.'
'Actually, I just saw him in the mess. Hang on.'
Lacey was there quickly. 'Is that you, Dillon?'
'We're going into action, and I mean now.'
'What's the score?'
'Hellsmouth, near Lizard Point in Cornwall. It's a small airstrip, so I need a parachute landing.'
'I know that area. RAF St Just is not too far away.' 'Exactly, so you drop me, then land at St Just.'
'Jesus, Dillon, you're at it again, saving the world.'
'No, saving Blake Johnson's life. Speak to the quarter
master. Brownings, AK47s, parachutes for two. I'd say six
hundred feet.'
'You're mad, Sean, but let me get on with it.'
Dillon put the phone down and Hannah Bernstein said,
'Gear for two parachutists. What the hell are you talking
about?'
'Well, not the SAS. There isn't time. I've someone in
mind, and I'll go and see him now. If you want to see me
again, it will be at Farley Field.'
'You're just going to execute all those people, aren't you, Dillon?' she said angrily.
Dillon turned to Ferguson. 'She's a lovely woman, Briga
dier, but I've had it up to here with her morality. I'm more
interested in saving a good man's life,' and he turned and
walked out.
Hannah turned and said, 'He's mad, sir.'
'No, Superintendent. He's Dillon.'
Harry Salter, Billy, Joe and Sam Hall were in the end booth
at the Dark Man enjoying large Scotches when Dillon
came in.
'Sean, my old son,' Harry Salter said. 'Did we do it or did
we do it?'
'Fox has kidnapped Blake,' Dillon said. 'Flown off to this estate he has in Cornwall with four of his heavies.'
There was silence. Salter said, 'What are you going to
do?'
'I can't leave it, they might chop him. I'm flying down
in an hour from Farley Field. I'll drop over the estate by
parachute. Try and catch them with their pants down. It's
got to be a drop, the landing field there is too short for a Gulfstream. The nearest RAF base is twenty miles away.'
Billy said, 'Fox and four makes five, Dillon, and you're
going in alone?'
'No, Billy, I'm going in with you.'
'You must be bleeding mad,' Harry Salter said.
Dillon ignored him. 'Billy, you've heard of Arnhem in the
Second World War, all those paratroopers going in? There was one major, an army surgeon, who'd never done a jump
in his life, but they needed a doctor. He survived just fine
and so will you. Billy, trust me. You jump out, pull the
cord at six hundred feet, you hit the ground in twenty-five seconds, and that's all there is to it.'
Salter said, 'You're crazy.'
But Billy was smiling all over his face. 'I've said it before,
Dillon, you're just like me. You don't give a stuff. Just show
me the way.'
'Well, if he goes, I'm bleeding going,' Salter said. 'Even
if I'm only on the sidelines.'
'Right,' Dillon said. 'Then let's do it.'

HELLSMOUTH

When Dillon, Harry Salter and Billy arrived at Farley Field, Lacey and Parry were waiting.
'Let's go into the operations room and make sure I've got
it right,' Lacey said.
The quartermaster stood ready with Dillon's Brownings,
two AK47s
_,
parachutes and jumpsuits ready.
Dillon said, 'Have a word with Mr Salter, Sergeant Major, it's his first jump.'
'Is that so, Mr Dillon?' the Sergeant Major replied, face impassive. 'Then a word might be indicated.'
'Just show me,' Billy told him.
Dillon went to the chart table and started to check it out
with Lacey and Parry. 'It's not as bad as it could be,' Lacey said.
'There's almost a half moon. One pass is all I'd recommend.
There's no time for more, then we'll rush to St Just.'
'Sounds good to me.'
'The other chap,' Lacey said. 'He knows what he's doing?' Absolutely!
Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein came in. When the Brigadier
saw the Salters, he was astonished. 'For God's sake, what is this?
You said two parachutists, and he isn't a parachutist.'
'Well, I am now,' Billy said. 'I think I've got the hang of
it, Dillon. I pull this ring and that's it. The guns are pretty obvious. I managed Kilbeg, I can manage this.'
'This is madness,' Hannah Bernstein said.
'No, it's trying to save Blake Johnson's life,' Dillon said.
'I'm ready when you are, Brigadier, unless you have other
ideas.'
'No,' Ferguson said. 'It makes the usual wild sense where
you are concerned, so let's get on with it.'
'Harry's coming along for the ride,' Dillon said. 'I suggest
you lot board, and Billy and I will change and follow.'
As you wish.'
Ten minutes later, Dillon and Billy, in jumpsuits, flak jackets,
parachutes, shoulder holsters, AKs suspended across the chest,
went up the steps and took their seats. Parry dosed the door.
Salter said, 'Christ, Billy, you look like you're in a Vietnam war movie or something. What are you playing at’
Billy actually smiled. 'I'm playing at being me, Harry, and
it feels great.'
Blake sat down again on the stone seat in the tunnel, waist
deep in water, hugging himself and trying to keep warm.
Would Dillon come? Fox seemed to expect it, dangling him
as bait. It was an impossible situation, but then, Dillon had
always been master of the impossible. Somewhere high
above, through the thick walls of the old house, he seemed to hear a noise, far off, something like an aircraft engine, but he couldn't be sure. The rat appeared and circled, swimming.
'I told you,' he said. 'Behave yourself.'
The noise of the aircraft faded quickly. Falcone said, 'What
was that?'
'It could be normal air traffic at the RAF place at St Just,'
Fox said. 'And then again, it could be Dillon. We'd better
get ready.'
He was standing by the fire in the great hall with Falcone and Russo. 'Get me a brandy first.'
Russo went to the sideboard, filled a glass and brought it back. Rossi and Cameci came in, holding Uzis.
Falcone said, 'Excuse me, Signore, but do you really think Dillon will come?'
'I gave him enough clues. He's smart. He'll come.'
It was Russo who said, 'But what if they send the police?' 'Dillon? No, it's too personal for that. He's not going to
trust the police to do this for him.'
'But Ferguson is secret intelligence,' Falcone pointed out. 'What if he decided to use special forces, the SAS?'
'Same thing. He's operated this whole thing very close
to his chest. Publicity is the last thing he wants, he won't
change now. Low key, that's the way they'll do it. Like in
the bullring, mano a mano, hand-to-hand, face-to-face.'
'As you say, Signore.'
Fox turned to Rossi and Cameci. 'Get out in the garden
and keep watch. Check the doors.'
They went out and he drank some of the brandy. He
was right in all respects except one. Dillon was already
there.
As the Gulfstream throttled back to almost stalling speed,
Parry ran back, opened the door, and dropped the steps.
There was a rush of wind.
Salter said, 'Christ Almighty.'
Dillon turned and grinned at Billy. 'I'm an older guy, you young bastard. I'll go first.'
'Thanks very much. Get going, Dillon.'
Billy, feeling totally insane, pushed him out and dived
after him.
There was rain, light mist, and yet the moon, the house
and estate were clear below. Dillon hit in no time at all,
punched the quick release after a perfect landing, not even
a roll, and looked around. He saw the other parachute bil
lowing like some strange flower, ran over, and stamped on
it. Billy sat up.
'Are you okay?' Dillon asked.
'I think so. Went backwards and hit my back.' He worked
the muscles around. 'But it feels okay.'
Dillon punched Billy's quick release. 'Then come on, move it!
Billy was on his feet in a moment. 'Jesus, Dillon, I can't believe this is happening.'
'Well, it is. Kilbeg all over again, except this time there are five bad guys out there waiting to pounce, so be ready.'
Dillon trawled the gardens with the Nightstalker and saw
Cameci over by the terrace. 'Take a look,' he whispered
to Billy.
Billy nodded. 'Can't see anything else.'
'I'll go left, you right.'
'I'm with you, Dillon.'
Cameci was by the balustrade, looking out over the moonlit
garden, when the muzzle of an
_AK47
nudged his back.
Billy said, 'Make a sound and I'll blow your spine apart.' Cameci said, 'Is that Dillon?'
'No, I'm his younger brother.' Billy called softly, 'Over
here.'
Dillon moved out of the shadows, and Rossi, on the other side of the terrace, stood up. It was Billy who saw him. 'Dillon!' he rasped.
Dillon turned, his silenced AK coughed, and Rossi went backwards, dead.
Dillon took Cameci by the jaw. 'Tell me who's inside and
tell me now, or I'll kill you.'
Cameci, terrified, said, 'Signores Fox, Falcone and Russo.' Dillon said, 'Excellent. Now what about the American?'
'He's in the tunnel in the cellars.'
'Good. Take us there.'
Cameci led the way through the kitchen, down the stairs
and into the cellar system. They arrived at an old oak door. 'That's it,' Cameci said.
'Then open it.'
Cameci did as he was told. Blake, in the water, turned, the light falling across his face, and Dillon said, 'What are you
doing, taking a dip? This is no time for fun. Get the hell out
of there.'
Blake stumbled up the steps. 'What kept you?'
He was shivering and very wet. Dillon said to Cameci,
'Get your clothes off. The man's freezing.'
'But, Signore,' Cameci protested.
Dillon shoved the muzzle of the AK under his chin. 'Just
do it.' He pulled the combat scarf from around his neck and gave it to Blake. 'Dry yourself a little.'
Blake did the best he would while Cameci stripped. Blake pulled on the clothes. Cameci was left in his underpants.
Meanwhile, Falcone, upstairs, had opened the French win
dows, gone out on the terrace, and found Rossi. He was back inside in an instant to Fox and Russo.
'Rossi's out there dead. No sign of Cameci.'
'Christ,' Fox said. 'He's here, the bastard's here. Spread
out.'
At that moment, Dillon shoved Cameci into the room
in his underpants, and startled by the sudden apparition, Falcone turned and fired. Cameci went down, writhing. 'Hey, you got the wrong guy,' Dillon called. 'It's me, Jack. Time to pay up.'
'Fuck you, Dillon,' Fox shouted.
They crouched in the hall, the great chandelier hanging
from the ceiling spreading its illumination. Falcone whis
pered to Russo, 'Stick with me. Let's move towards the
door to the kitchen quarters.' He saw Fox moving to the
right.
'There's too much light,' Russo said.
Falcone fired his Uzi up at the chandelier and brought it crashing down.
'Not any more.'
He ducked, pulling Russo with him.
The hall was a strange place now, only the light from the
great log fire picking out the suits of armour, the ancient
banners, the great staircase to the left. Dillon, Blake and
Billy crept in and crouched behind the great central table.
'Now what?' Billy demanded.
'Just wait, Billy, always hasten slowly.' He took out his Browning and passed it to Blake. 'Just in case.'
'How the hell did you get here, anyway?' Blake asked. 'Lacey and Parry did a low pass, and Billy and I jumped.'
'Dear God, what does this boy know about parachuting?'
'A lot more than he did a couple of hours ago. Don't worry,
there are reinforcements coming.'
A special forces team?'
'No. Ferguson, Hannah and Harry Salter.'
'Christ Almighty.'
'We can make it, Blake. Cameci and Rossi are down. That
just leaves Falcone, Russo and good old Jack Fox.'
'So how do we do it?' Billy asked.
'I've told you. We wait, Billy, and let them come to us.'
There was quiet. Falcone and Russo had reached the green
baize door leading to the kitchen. Fox had reached another
door to one side of the fireplace. He opened it and went up
a spiral staircase to the landing, peered down at the hall, and saw a movement behind the table. Beneath his foot, a board creaked.
'The bastard's somewhere above us,' Dillon said. 'Slide off
to the right, Billy.'
Billy moved away and Dillon called, 'Why, Jack, here we are again at the final end of things.' He pushed Blake away.
'Get over to the shadows on the other side.'
Up above, Jack Fox moved, crouching by the switches for the wall lights that normally illuminated the collection of paintings that hung on the wall. He paused and reached.
Below, Blake started to move, slipped, and cried out in pain
as he fell on his arm. Dillon reached down to pick him up and Fox switched on the lights.
'I've got you now, you bastard.'
He raised the Walther in his right hand and shot Dillon
twice in the back. To do it he had to stand, and so did Billy, over to the right. Raising his AK, he pumped ten rounds into
Fox, driving him back across the landing. Fox bounced off the
wall back to the balustrade and fell over. He lay there on the stone flagging, twitching for just a second. Then there was silence.
Falcone eased open the green baize door and said, 'We're
out of here.'
'Where to?' Russo asked.
'The airstrip. We've got to get to London. Don Marco's
due in, and we've got to give him the news.'
Russo said, 'Sometimes they kill the messenger.'
'Not now. This is too important.'
They slid back through the door, went down the steps
and made the courtyard. A few moments later, they were
driving away to the airstrip.
In the hall, Dillon had been thrown onto his face by the
force of the bullets he'd taken in his back. Groaning, he
forced himself up. Billy ran over, crouching.
'Dillon, are you all right?'
'Yes, thank God for flak jackets. I'll be a little sore, that's
all.' He looked around. 'Anyone there?' he called.
There was silence. Blake said, 'Are you okay, Sean?'
'Yes, I'm fine. I think they've run for it. I heard a car leaving.'
He got up and walked to Jack Fox's body, and Blake fol-
lowed. They stood, looking down.
'Well, there you go, Blake. He's paid the price. You've
got your revenge now.'
Blake said, 'Not really. Fox gave the order, but Falcone boasted to me that it was he and Russo who killed my wife.' 'And where are they?' Billy asked.
'Come with me and I'll show you,' Dillon said.
He went and opened the front door and stood at the top of
the steps, and Billy and Blake followed. A moment later, there
was the sound of an aircraft engine as a plane passed over.
'There they are, Billy: Falcone and Russo getting out while they still can.'
As they turned to the door, an RAF Land Rover drove into
the courtyard, Hannah Bernstein at the wheel and Ferguson
and Harry Salter in the rear.
Standing by the fire in the hall, Harry Salter said, 'Are you
okay, Billy?'
'He's better than okay,' Dillon said. 'Fox shot me in the
back twice. Only my flak jacket saved me, and Billy blew the bastard away.' He turned. 'That's three, Billy, you're an ace.'
'So what happens now, sir?' Hannah Bernstein asked.
'Shall I notify the Cornwall constabulary?'
'I think not,' Ferguson said. 'Leave this for the caretaker
to discover. Fox and these other two rogues are on Scot
land Yard's intelligence information computer. This whole
thing is obviously a Mafia feud, therefore it's nothing to do
with us.'
'But, sir,' Hannah said.
'Superintendent, be sensible. That would be the best way of handling it, so don't let's argue. Now let's get out of here
and back to St Just.'
On the Golden Eagle, Falcone called Don Marco on his mobile.
The Don was about to board his Gulfstream in New York.
Aldo, what news do you have for me?'
'Terrible, Don Marco. How can I tell you?'
Don Marco said, 'By getting on with it.'
Afterwards he said, 'Poor Jack, so stupid, so headstrong.' 'What shall I do, Signore?'