The Judas Gate (29 page)

‘And this is what he’s back from – and with a bullet in him? Where is he?’

‘Like I said, he’s on his way from Belfast City Airport, driving his Mercedes SL.’

They were on the coast road now and she seemed to have recovered. ‘What do you suggest? Do we go looking for him or do we just wait for him to turn up?’

The problem was solved, for Jack’s mobile sounded at that moment. It was Hannah. ‘The strangest thing, Jack. I went down to the pub for a few things and noticed Justin’s Mercedes by the church lych-gate.’

‘Is he in it?’

‘No, I found him sitting on the bench beside Sean’s grave.’ ‘But it’s raining, for Christ’s sake.’ ‘I know. Could he be drunk?’

‘I wish he were, but I’m afraid not. We’re on our way, I’m with Jean.’ He explained what was happening and put his foot down so that they were there in fifteen minutes. They found Hannah with a raincoat over Justin’s shoulders and Father Cassidy holding an umbrella.

‘Justin, dear, what are you doing?’ Jean said.

‘Hello, Mum, just paying my respects to Sean and all the brave young men. A bloody sight braver than I could ever be, eh, Jack?’ And then he started to cry, slow and bitter tears.

She cradled his head for a moment. ‘It’s all right, love, it’s all right, just let’s get you home.’

He nodded and reached for Kelly and grabbed him by the coat. ‘Only no hospital, Jack. This is good old Ulster, where all gunshot wounds must be reported to the police. You’re the expert, you know that.’

‘Don’t worry yourself, boy,’ Jack Kelly eased him up and, as Justin groaned, said, ‘Where are you shot?’

‘Left side and straight through. I don’t know how the hell Dillon did it. It was dawn light, so it was appalling visibility and pouring with bloody rain, just like this. A snap shot was all he managed, but it was enough. The man’s a bloody marvel. He’s done for me. Natural justice, in a way, when you think what I did to his uncle.’ He started to laugh helplessly.

They got him into the back of the Morris, Jean holding him. Hannah joined her husband in the front and called Dr Ryan on her mobile, then alerted Murphy at Talbot Place. He was waiting anxiously at the front door and, seeing the situation, got Colonel Henry’s wheelchair out of the cloakroom. He and Jean crowded into the lift and took him up to his bedroom. Kelly and his wife followed upstairs, and Hannah got bath towels and spread them on the bed so they could lay him out.

Justin seemed quiet now, and Jean panicked. ‘What’s wrong?’

Murphy said, ‘He’s passed out, his pulse is weak, but it’s
there. Dr Ryan is on his way, so just leave me to do my job. I’m the nurse here. Go and have a cup of tea or something.’

He produced scissors and cut open Justin’s battle blouse and eased him out of it. Fatima had used two wound packs and they were swollen with blood.

‘Oh, my God,’ Jean said.

‘Just take her away, Jack, until the doctor gets here. You stay, Hannah,’ Murphy said.

Kelly tucked Jean’s arm firmly in his. ‘Let Murphy do his job. During his years as a nurse in Belfast, he worked on more gunshot wounds than most battlefield surgeons.’

He took her down to the study and gave her a brandy in spite of her protests. ‘Drink it down, it will help.’

She did as she was told, the warm glow steadying her, but refused another. ‘Tell me what Justin meant when he said that what Dillon had done to him was natural justice.’

Kelly was caught and it showed in his face. ‘Oh, he was just rambling.’

‘Come off it, Jack, you’re hiding something. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve heard already, so spit it out.’

‘Mickeen Oge Flynn’s mishap … I was with Justin that night, he was out of his mind with rage about everything after the funeral. Dillon had been on the phone from London to Mickeen, and Paddy O’Rourke overheard. It was mentioned in PIRA circles and the news passed to me. I told Justin because, in his circumstances, I’d no choice.’

‘And what did he do?’

‘Insisted he and I go and speak to Mickeen, which we did, and found him under the car and working. Justin just lost it.

He was shouting at Mickeen, demanding to know what Dillon had been talking about.’

‘And there was an accident?’ Jean Talbot sounded so weary.

‘Exactly, the jack was raised, Justin was—’

‘Stop it, Jack,’ she cut in. ‘What happened to that old man wasn’t any accident, you know it and I know it.’

Kelly couldn’t help himself and blurted out, ‘All right then, but Dillon believes that it was an accident. Mickeen’s had serious brain surgery, he’s in a coma. Dillon’s had him flown over to a private hospital in London, but there’s every chance he’ll never regain consciousness.’

‘And that’s supposed to be good, is it?’ Her face was white and strained. ‘So it lets Justin Talbot off the hook, is that what you’re saying?’ She shook her head. ‘What kind of world has it become when I’m surrounded by deceit and lies at every turn?’

She turned, wrenched open the door, ran out, and found Dr Ryan just being admitted at the front door by Hannah.

It took Larry Ryan only fifteen minutes to examine the wound; they all waited for his verdict.

‘No question, the bullet’s passed straight through, which is fine, but he should be in the hospital.’

Jack Kelly said, ‘How many times did you say that to PIRA volunteers who went to you for help in time of trouble, Larry – and we were grateful to you.’

‘That’s a kind of blackmail, Jack. I’d remind you I could get struck off.’

Jean said, ‘Please, Larry, anything you can do.’

He sighed heavily. ‘Damn Justin, he was always a wild man, but just for you, Jean.’ He turned to Murphy, ‘You’re as good as I am at handling wound trauma. Keep a close eye on him. I’m going back to my place to pick up everything we’ll need to set up a hospital bed.’

He went out and Murphy said, ‘Why don’t you all go and have a cup of tea, pull yourselves together so we can sort everything out when Doc Ryan’s back.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Jean began.

‘He’s right, Mum,’ Justin murmured. ‘Sorry about all this. I always was a bloody nuisance.’

The Falcon had landed at Farley an hour and a half later than the Citation X had in Belfast. On the way in, Dillon stopped by Rosedene to check on Mickeen.

Professor Bellamy wasn’t there, but Maggie Duncan was, and had a bit of news as they stood looking in at Mickeen through the window. He looked exactly the same as when Dillon had last seen him, lying very still with all the paraphernalia attached to him.

‘He’s moved a little, according to the staff on night duty. A line in his saline drip was pulled out, and they’ve reported sounds.’

‘What kind of sounds?’ Dillon asked her.

‘Nurse Perry said she’s heard long, low sighs in the middle of the night.’

‘What does Bellamy think?’

Her practical Scottish nature came to the fore. ‘Wee signs of hope, Sean, that’s all he will say. It could be worse, though.’

‘Absolutely.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

At Talbot Place, Justin’s bedroom had been adapted as much as possible to hospital standards. His double bed had been replaced by a single to facilitate the nursing. He wore a hospital smock and there was a saline drip on the pole beside the bed, a portable machine on the other side measuring heart and pulse rates. Ryan had stitched both the entry and exit wounds, assisted by Murphy, and Justin, heavily bandaged around his waist, was propped up, the top of the bed inclined behind him.

Ryan had used local anaesthetic for the stitching, and Justin sat there, drinking glucose through a straw and looking surprisingly well. Murphy was sitting beside his bed when Jean came in.

‘Go and get something to eat. I’ll spell you,’ she said, and Murphy got up and left.

She leaned down and kissed Justin’s forehead. ‘It’s not so sweaty,’ she said. ‘Larry’s done a first-class job on you.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll see he’s taken care of.’

It was a careless and throwaway remark and in a way typical of him. ‘He’s taking a great chance, Justin. It’s a criminal act in the eyes of the law. He could be struck off, his career ruined.’

‘Okay, Mum, I take your point. Dammit, he did enough
for men on the run during the Troubles, so now he’s doing it for me.’

‘When I hear you talking like that, I think I never really knew you. You use people, Justin, then throw them away.’

‘That’s a nice turn of phrase.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you’re turning against me, too? I mean, here I am, the wounded hero—’

She cut right in on him. ‘Don’t give me that,
Shamrock,
because I only see the young British and American soldiers you’ve killed – and for what? Because Justin Talbot enjoys war in all its blood and gore more than anything else in this life. When I look at you, I see the body count, and if that wasn’t enough, I see Mickeen Oge Flynn lying under a car and that car collapsing on him.’

‘It was an accident,’ Justin said.

‘That was no accident.’ She shouted the words, carefully spacing them. ‘I’ve spoken to Jack.’

A moment later, the door burst open and Murphy came in, Jack Kelly behind him. ‘Is everything okay?’ he said.

‘No, it’s not. Apparently, you’ve been shooting your mouth off, Jack,’ Justin said to Kelly. ‘We can’t have that. I think you’re maybe forgetting your place.’

‘Justin, for God’s sake,’ Jean said. ‘After everything Jack’s done, to talk to him like that.’

‘It’s all right, Jean,’ Kelly said. ‘I always worried there was too much of his grandfather to him. He was Colonel Henry to the life for a minute there.’

He went out. Justin said, ‘So now you’ll go after him and say sorry? Well, I’m damned if I will.’

She took a deep breath, turned and went out, leaving the door swinging. Justin reached and opened the locker on his right side and found his rucksack. The pain on his left side was intense. He cursed, found the half-bottle of brandy and turned the cap with his teeth.

Murphy had closed the door and stood watching. ‘You were dying when you got here and Doc Ryan’s done a marvellous job, just about pulled you back from the brink. You could still die – I’d be failing as a nurse not to tell you that – but one thing is certain. Drink that stuff and you might as well order your coffin.’

‘Is that so?’ Justin Talbot said, and swallowed deep.

Murphy showed no emotion. ‘Like they say, it’s your funeral, Major. I’ll go down to the kitchen now and see what they’ve got for you to eat.’

In London, Shah was methodically going through the newspapers when the text light blinked on his mobile on the desk. He picked it up at once and his world turned. The message said:
The winds of heaven are blowing and you must fly with them as does the Eagle. May Allah go with you.

It was advice he had hoped never to receive, and from the highest level of Al Qaeda, the word that meant the game was up and his cover blown. If there was no escape for him, the only alternative was death. He thought quickly. He had three passports under different names. Many Muslims used the airports in Yorkshire or Lancashire, he’d blend in better there. At least he could try.

He quickly packed a holdall with basic requirements: the passports, a toilet bag, a Koran and a couple of law books. He had always kept two thousand pounds in the zipped base of the holdall, had never touched it, so that was all right.

He looked around him. So this was how it all ended. The house in which he had been born, in the West Hampstead street where he had played as a boy, in the great city with one of the finest universities in the world where he’d been privileged to work. He suddenly felt incredibly sad, as if all this couldn’t be happening.

He shook himself out of it, let himself out of the front door and went to the Toyota saloon parked in its usual place. He opened the driver’s door and got in, but when he started it up, the car wouldn’t move. He got out and saw the case: all four tyres were flat. As he stood there looking at the car, Billy Salter got out of a red Alfa, one of a line of cars parked on the other side of the street. Shah recognized him instantly.

Billy called, ‘Have a nice day,’ then produced his mobile, called Roper, and Shah went back in the house.

Roper said to Billy, ‘Did you hear anything to make you think he was going to try to leave the country?’

‘No, I checked him out, chatting up people in the local newsagent and café. He never uses his car since he had a bump a year ago. He’s a taxi man. I just thought it would be a good idea to make the car useless to him, just in case.’

‘And he saw you?’

‘Too damned right he did.’

Ferguson’s voice boomed. ‘You’ve forced my hand, of
course. We’ll have to lift him now. Stay there, make sure he doesn’t try to sneak out of the back.’

Shah sat at his desk as despair overwhelmed him. For the first time, he realized the price he was going to have to pay, his eminence as a lawyer, his professional standing. He had come to this: someone to be despised. And for what? It was all Talbot’s fault, the fiasco of the Khufra affair. Damn him! A complete loose cannon. He thought back to what the girl, Fatima, had said. If she was right and Talbot’s life hung in the balance, it would be nice if somebody gave him a nudge. Shah thought he had the very man.

Jack Kelly was in the estate office at Talbot Place, angrily clearing his desk, for what had passed between him and Justin had been hard to take. ‘Jack Kelly,’ he barked.

‘Why, you sound angry, Mr Kelly. You should be, after Justin’s role in the Algeria debacle. He’s not well, I understand. I gather Sean Dillon put a bullet in him.’

‘Who the hell is this?’ Kelly was aghast.

‘Talbot knows me as the Preacher.’

Shah’s front doorbell rang. He got a pillbox out of a small drawer in his desk, took what looked like a lozenge out of it and slipped it into his pocket. He walked to the bow window, taking the desk phone, looking through the glass at Ferguson, who was standing there with Billy and Harry Miller.

Kelly was shouting, ‘Answer me, damn you, what’s going on?’

‘Well, I’ve just looked out to see Major General Charles Ferguson at my door with two henchmen. I fear my end is near.’

‘Does he know that Justin is Shamrock?’