Dillon said, 'Look, Blake, Vietnam was a long time ago.'
'Stuff you, Dillon, okay?' Blake told him.
'Hey, I'm with you.'
They dressed in jump suits, shoulder holsters for the Brownings, and checked the AKs. Ferguson and Hannah came in. 'Lacey says still sporadic fog, but worse for you at Horseshoe Bay. Not too bad at Bramley for our landing.'
'Well, good for you, Brigadier.' Dillon grinned at Blake. 'Let's do it.'
'Why not?' Blake said, picked up his parachute and walked out.
NORFOLK ULSTER
FIFTEEN
In the Transit, the mood was euphoric. Barry, sitting behind Quinn at the wheel, brought them up to date.
'The woman we're visiting is called Lady Helen Lang, originally American, but don't be fooled by appearances. She's killed several times. There's one wild card. She has a very big black chauffeur called Hedley.'
'Just another nigger,' Dolan said, and patted his ArmaLite. 'I'll take care of him.'
'You've already made a mistake that could cost you your life,' Barry told him. 'As you all know, I'm an old Vietnam hand and so is Hedley Jackson. Marines, Special Forces, medals. This man could be bad news.'
'So he's a bad nigger,' Dolan sniggered.
'Your funeral, old son.' Barry produced a large-scale Ordnance Survey map and passed it back to them in the rear of the Transit. 'You'll find Compton Place there. Right on the edge of the sea. There's a village called Compton, but it's five miles away. One of those no-no places you find in the countryside, with a dying population of about fifty. No problem.'
Mullen, a large, evil-looking specimen with a shaved head, said, 'This is a walkover, Jack, why bring us all along? You could do it yourself
'Because she's invited me. I killed her son three years ago, a Brit officer working undercover. That's why she stiffed Tim Pat
Ryan in London and my friends in New York. Now she wants me. It's a bit like one of those old Westerns on television where the hero says meet me on the street at dawn.'
'She must be puddled,' Mullen said.
'Five dead men, all killed with the same gun. That says she knows her business. She even stiffed two lowlifes on Park Avenue one night who were trying to rape some girl.'
'We'll blow her away,' Quinn said. 'Her and the black.'
'I sure as hell hope we do,' Barry said. 'I don't want her on my case for the rest of my life, and that's where she'll be if she isn't wasted.'
There was a kind of regret in his voice as he said that, a regret he couldn't explain even to himself, and Quinn said, 'An easy one, Jack. We'll be on our way back before you know it.'
'Let's hope so,' Barry said. 'Study that map. Just make sure you know where we're going.'
It was late afternoon, with fog, and rain falling and the Mercedes passed through Compton, followed the winding roads through that ancient countryside. Hedley pulled into the courtyard and switched off. Lady Helen was already out of the car and unlocking the kitchen door. Hedley carried the bags in.
'Now what?'
'I'm going to change, then we'll get ready.'
'Ready for what, Lady Helen?'
'Jack Barry.' She raised a hand. 'Oh, he'll come, Hedley, he won't be able to resist. On the other hand, Charles Ferguson, Mr Dillon, Blake Johnson
'Could arrive first and I hope they do.'
She looked out at the fog. 'Don't be silly, Hedley. If they have to drive from Gatwick in this pea-souper, it will take hours. I'll see you in fifteen minutes.'
In her bedroom, she undressed, took a one-piece jump suit
from the wardrobe, and put it on. She found some elastic-sided ankle boots, then opened her purse and took out the Co She unloaded it, screwed the silencer on the end, then inserted the magazine again. She opened a drawer, took out four magazines and put two in each pocket.
She was breathing heavily now, found her pill bottle, shook two into her hand, hesitated, then shook out two more. She went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water and swallowed them down.
'What the hell,' she murmured. 'What does an overdose matter at this stage? It's all the same in the end.'
She went downstairs and found Hedley in the kitchen, making tea. He was wearing a track suit. He handed her a cup. 'Ready for war, Hedley?'
'It's been a long time.'
'I suppose some things you don't forget.' She smiled. 'You've been a good friend.'
'It's easy where you're concerned.' He swallowed his tea. "Hell, I even drink this stuff instead of coffee to please you.' He put the cup down. 'Still, if you're intent on seeing this thing through, I suggest we adjourn to the barn.'
There, she didn't use the Colt, although she had it in a small holster at her waist. Hedley gave her a 9mm Browning pistol with a silencer on the muzzle and slammed in a twenty-round magazine which protruded from the butt.
'I really feel I'm going to war with this,' she said.
'Believe me, you are. Legs apart, both hands.'
She worked her way across the target figures, shredding them. 'Oh, my word. Now what, Hedley?'
He said, 'It's simple. We wait to see who gets here first.'
The Transit pulled in by a pine wood overlooking the estate at Compton Place. The fog swirled, touched by the wind, giving
occasional glimpses of the countryside below and there was the house and grounds and the sea beyond, and then the fog descended again.
'Leave the Transit here,' Barry told them. 'Keys under the mat. We'll go on foot.'
'We're with you, Jack,' Quinn said.
'That's good to know. You can take point, as we used to say in Vietnam.'
It started to rain as they went down the hill and approached the outbuildings. Hedley, on top of steps leading to the upper floor of the barn, had an AK47 with a silencer and a night sight. He focused on Quinn and pressed the trigger. By chance, Quinn turned at the precise moment to speak to Barry, and the bullet missed his heart and hit the stock of his ArmaLite. He staggered back.
'Christ, Jesus.'
'Down!' Barry called, and they all obeyed him.
He crawled to Quinn. 'You okay?'
'I think so.'
'I recognized the sound. A silenced AK. I heard enough of those in Vietnam.' He spoke to the others in low tones. 'She's there and she's waiting. Take care. Now fan out and move forward.'
The Lear jet went down and down, passed through fog at one thousand feet, then broke clear, Horseshoe Bay below, surf creaming in, a touch of early evening grey.
Flight Lieutenant Lacey said over the intercom, 'It's not good. Half-tide at the moment. Better to abort.'
Dillon and Blake in parachutes, jump suits, shoulder holsters, AKs suspended across their chests, glanced at Ferguson and Bernstein.
The Brigadier said, 'Your call, gentlemen.'
'What the hell.' Dillon reached for the lever and dropped the Airstair door. 'Who wants to live for ever?' He grinned at Blake. 'Hell, you're an older guy. You can go first.'
'You're so kind,' Blake said, and as Lacey made a pass at eight hundred, dived out headfirst and Dillon went after him.
The sky was turbulent, fog swirling to the horizon, the evening light fading. Dillon, aware of Blake in front of him, went down the Airstair door and allowed himself to fall, turning over in the Lear's slipstream. He pulled the ring of his rip cord, looked up and saw the plane climb steeply.
Below him, Blake landed on the sand just in front of the surf. Dillon, further behind, plunged into six feet of very salty water, surfaced and ploughed forward with difficulty because of the parachute trailing behind. He punched the quick release clip, let the harness slip away and waded to the beach.
Blake came to meet him. 'You okay?'
Dillon nodded. 'Let's do it.'
They went up the beach, paused in the pine trees, then started towards the house. They stood together, looking down, and there was a sudden explosion and smoke drifted up.
'I'd say that was a smoke grenade,' Dillon said. 'Let's go,' and they charged down the hill.
Barry stayed back, some instinct telling him to. Quinn led the others down towards the barn, and Hedley focused on Mullen and shot him through the head. Then he tossed a smoke grenade. The others flung themselves down and sprayed the first floor of the barn with fire. Hedley lay there at the top of the steps, head down, a round creasing his right shoulder.
Lady Helen crouched behind him. 'Are you all right?'
'Slightly damaged. Don't worry.'
Barry said, 'Get on with it, Quinn.'
Quinn stood up. 'Let's get to it,' he urged and they all stood
and followed him. Lady Helen, behind Hedley, raised the Browning and fired it repeatedly, blowing Quinn away. They retreated, she reached down for Hedley.
'Come on, inside.'
Dolan and McGee crawled back. Barry said, 'Right, lads, into the barn. They've nowhere to go.'
'Christ, Jack, it's a bad scene,' Dolan said. 'Walk in the door and get your head blown off.'
Barry took out a Beretta. 'Well, you fucking well get in or I'll blow your head off myself. Go on, up those steps.'
Dolan, terrified, started up, and Blake, arriving in the courtyard at the same moment, sprayed him with his AK, sending him headfirst to the cobbles below.
Blake crouched, and Barry moved closer to McGee. 'Don't worry, we'll manage.'
Dillon appeared on the other side of the courtyard and fired his AK. 'You there, Jack?'
Barry called, 'So it's you, Sean. You always arrive too late.'
Blake fired in the general direction of Barry's voice, and there was return fire. He felt a red-hot poker in his left arm and fell back. Dillon fired in reply, three rounds, catching McGee in the face.
There was silence now, only the rain and the fog. Barry crawled forward, eased open the bottom door and passed inside. He saw her, up there on the barn platform, pulling Hedley back to safety, hay drifting down.
'I'm here,' he called.
She turned, dropping Hedley. Barry had his gun hand raised, as she pulled out the Colt without hesitation.
His Beretta jammed. He worked the slider desperately and she took deliberate aim. And then something strange happened. She seemed to struggle for breath, staggered back and fell to her knees. Barry ejected one magazine, rammed another in and took aim, and Dillon burst in through the barn door.
'No!' Dillon cried and fired, and his bullet creased Barry's face, sending him lurching back with a cry.
Barry recovered, and fired back repeatedly, sending Dillon down, then vanished through the back door. There was silence. Dillon stood and went up the stairs.
Hedley lay there, blood on his shoulder, Lady Helen beside him, face grey. Dillon kneeled beside her. 'What is it?'
'My heart, Mr Dillon. I've been on borrowed time for a while. Did we get them?' Dillon hesitated. 'The truth now.'
'From the looks of it, his gang, but not Barry.'
'What a shame.' She closed her eyes.
A moment later,anRAFLandRover drove into the courtyard with Charles Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein.
Dillon worked his way from one body to another. Quinn, shot several times, was only just alive. Dillon said, 'Jesus, Quinn, I haven't seen you in years.'
'Dillon?'
'All down, your mates finished.'
'And Jack?'
'Oh, the Devil always looks after his own. He's away out of it as usual.'
'Bastard.'
'Where would he be going?'
Quinn managed a ghastly smile. 'It'll cost you a cigarette.'
Dillon got his silver case out. The cigarettes inside were still dry in spite of his ducking. He gave Quinn one and a light from his Zippo.
Quinn said, 'We flew from Doonreigh in a Chieftain with Docherty. Remember him from the old days?'
'Surely.'
'Landed on an old airstrip not far from here. Shankley Down, run by a man called Clarke. Docherty was to wait.' His voice
was tired. 'A bastard, Jack, he always thought of number one. Flying back to Ulster and to hell with the rest of us.' He was wandering now. 'Back to Spanish Head. Always his bolt-hole.'
He was going fast. Dillon said, 'Hang on, Quinn, I could still get him. Remember that special thing about me? I can fly anything with wings. This Shankley Down. Was there another plane there?'
