Touch the Devil (28 page)

Within a matter of moments it had climbed into the mist and was only a fast disappearing sound in the distance.

Devlin said, "Let's hope this is it. No mistakes."

But Brosnan was already at the partly open hangar door, pulling it back on its rollers, disclosing the Cessna. "This is it, all right. So where's Barry?"

"I should think this fellow Salter will be able to tell us that, but just in case Barry intends to use this thing again let's make sure he can't."

Devlin produced a Browning from his pocket, took deliberate aim and fired at each wheel in turn. The Cessna lurched slightly as the tires deflated.

"That's it," Brosnan said. "Now let's move, Liam. According to that map, it's about five miles to Marsh End."

But luck was with them, for as they were walking along the main road five minutes later a farm truck with milk cans in the back passed them and stopped up ahead.

The man who leaned out of the window looked cheerful enough, in spite of the early hour. He badly needed a shave, and his pajama jacket showed under his old raincoat.

"In trouble?"

"We were last night," Devlin said smoothly. "Coming over the pass from the next valley when the car broke down." "Wastwater?"

"That's right. We must have walked five or six miles." "More like eight. Where are you making for?"

"You know Mr. Salter's place?"

"Pass it every day. If that's where you're going, hop on the back, and I'll drop you off."

"Thanks," Devlin said. "We can phone the local garage from there."

They climbed on board and squatted among the milk cans. Brosnan said, "You're never at a loss, are you?"

Devlin grinned. "All you have to do is live right."

Barry drove along the track beside the creek and braked to a halt at the end of the jetty. The Kathleen waited, silent in the rain, and fog draped the marsh in a gray blanket. He helped Anne-Marie out and walked her along the jetty, a hand on her elbow.

Salter hurried along behind. "But what are you going to do, Mr. Sinclair?"

Barry helped Anne-Marie over the rail. "I'm going to retrieve something that belongs to me, Mr. Salter, and for that, I need your boat. Afterward, you collect your five thousand, take us back to Tanningley Field, and I fly away into the gray morning like a departing spirit. I'm sure you'll be most relieved."

Salter stayed on the jetty, staring at him stupidly. "But we can't." "Why not?" Barry frowned. "You told me when I was last here that you always keep the Kathleen ready for sea."

"The ignition key," Salter said. "I can't start the engines without that, and it's up at the house."

Barry swore. "Then go and get it, you bloody idiot, and be quick about it."

Salter turned, hurried along the jetty, and got into the Land Rover while Barry pushed Anne-Marie across the deck and into the wheelhouse.

"How are you liking it so far?" His smile was fixed, his eyes were alive with excitement, and when he lit a cigarette his hands trembled.

"Careful," Anne-Marie said. "You're coming apart."

"Who, me?" he laughed excitedly. "Not till hell freezes over."

He pulled down the inspection flap beneath the instrument panel. The Sterling and the Smith and Wesson were still in place. As he pushed it up again, she said, "So much for poor Mr. Salter."

"I know," he said. "But then I hate leaving loose ends. He shouldn't have joined, should he?"

He pulled her out of the way, lifted the lid of the bench seat, and rummaged around until he found the briefcase. He opened it, checked that the money was still there, and closed it again.

"The war chest?" she said.

"Something like that." He moved to the wheelhouse entrance and stood listening. "Come on," he said softly.

"Maybe he isn't coming back."

"Don't be stupid."

"Oh, I don't know. He looked frightened to death to me."

He turned and glanced at her, the smile wiped from his face, then grabbed her arm, pulled her out of the wheelhouse, and ran her along the deck and down the companionway to the cabin. He pushed her inside, locking the door on her, went back on deck, jumped over the rail, and ran along the jetty.

The milk truck drove away into the fog, and Devlin and Brosnan turned to the gold-painted sign beside the gate.

"Henry Salter, Undertaker. House of Rest and Crematorium," Devlin said. "Very tasteful. Let's see if he's at home."

The house was still, as if waiting for them, quiet in the morning rain as they moved toward the rear, keeping to the shelter of the rhododendron bushes. They paused, the courtyard before them, the barn door open. There was the sound of a vehicle approaching. The Land Rover turned into the yard and rolled to a halt. Salter got out and went in the back door.

Devlin whispered, "He has a look of a corpse about him, wouldn't you agree? I'd say that's our man."

Salter wasn't happy--wasn't happy at all. The whole thing had a bad smell to it, and Sinclair frightened him. On the other hand, he didn't really have much choice. He reached for the ignition key hanging on the key board above the refrigerator just as the door burst open behind him. Before he knew what was happening, he was lying on his back across the table, Brosnan's hand on his throat, the muzzle of the Mauser rammed against his temple.

Salter had never been so terrified. "Please, no!" he gabbled.

Devlin said, "You are Henry Salter, I presume?"

"That's right," Salter said, as Brosnan relaxed his grip. "Where's Frank Barry?"

Salter said, "Frank Barry? But I don't know anyone of that name."

Brosnan's grip tightened. "You picked him up at Tanningley field no more than half an hour ago."

"That was a man named Sinclair, Maurice Sinclair."

"I see," Devlin said. "And he had the young woman with him?" "That's right. When he took her off the plane she was i
n h
andcuffs."

"And where are they now?"

"Down in the marsh on my boat, the Kathleen. He sent me up for the ignition key--look."

He held up the key in his right hand, and Brosnan said, "I'll take that."

Devlin said, "He was here before?"

"That's right. A few days ago."

"To get that rocket pod?"

Salter looked bewildered. "I don't know what he was here for. I was paid to hire men for him. They were here for two days. They left. That's all I know."

He was obviously telling the truth. "How do we get to this boat of yours?" Devlin asked.

"Turn left on to the main road. There's a signpost to the right saying Marsh End Creek. The Kathleen's tied up at the jetty there. You can't miss her. She's the only boat there."

Devlin reached up and ripped down the clothesline that stretched across the sink. He threw it to Brosnan. "All right, Martin, tie him up."

He went outside, got into the Land Rover's passenger seat and took out his Browning. He removed the clip, pushed the bullets out one by one with his thumbnail and reloaded very carefully. As he finished, Brosnan came out of the kitchen door and got behind the wheel.

He turned to Devlin, his face very pale. "He's mine, Liam, remember that."

Devlin said, "The Japanese believe revenge is a purification, but personally I doubt it."

He leaned back, eyes closed, holding the Browning in his lap as Brosnan drove away.

Frank Barry, taking the short-cut through the garden saw the Land Rover through the trees, still in the courtyard and paused. What the hell was Salter playing at? Perhaps the girl had been right after all. He started forward and stopped, blinking, for coming out of the house and crossing the yard was his dead enemy, Liam Devlin.

Barry's instinct was to yell at the ghost, to frighten it away, but in fact it was he who was suddenly and strangely frightened. He cursed at himself. He wasn't a superstitious idiot. And then he saw Martin Brosnan come out of the kitchen door and go round to th
e o
ther side of the Land Rover, then disappear from view. A second ghost? Feeling himself trembling, he tried to take courage from the weight of the Ceska in his pocket. How many times do you have to kill a man?

By the time Barry reached the jetty, panting from his exertion, he was in control again. That Devlin and Brosnan were still alive was a fact. Any explanation of the situation was of secondary importance at the moment.

He ran along the jetty and paused, listening. Already the Land Rover was close behind in the fog, and without that damned ignition key he couldn't move the boat, not under power anyway.

He cast off the lines at prow and stern, pushed as hard as he could against the rail and scrambled over, as the gap suddenly widened between the Kathleen and the jetty. In a moment the gap was ten or twelve feet, and then, suddenly, the boat started to drift broadside on back toward the jetty. When he looked over the rail, the reason was plain, for the tide was moving in through the marsh strongly.

Anne-Marie heard him thunder down the companionway. The door to the cabin was flung open, he grabbed her and pulled her out and back up the companionway. She went cold, certain that he was about to kill her. Instead, he pushed her along the deck into the wheelhouse.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"The second coming," he said savagely.

And then, the Land Rover moved out of the fog, stopped at the end of the jetty, and her heart nearly stopped beating.

Two things happened very quickly. Barry smashed the side window of the wheelhouse with his elbow and Anne-Marie yelled at the top of her voice, "Martin, look out!"

Barry shoved her down and loosed off a couple of shots through the broken window as Devlin and Brosnan ran, heads down, alon
g t
he jetty. The gap between the Kathleen and the jetty was only about three feet now, as Brosnan jumped for the stern and dived behind the deck housing. Devlin had chosen the prow and was down out of sight on the blind side of the wheelhouse.

"Now then, Frank," he called, "and how are you this fine morning?"

"Miracles is it now, Liam?" Barry called back.

"That's right. The Devil's sent us straight from hell to fetch you!"

"He'll have to wait a while yet." Barry got hold of Anne-Marie's hair in one hand. "I'm going to stand up with your girlfriend, Martin," he called. "If I go, she goes. Remember that. Try and pick me off, and my last act will be to squeeze this trigger."

He pulled Anne-Marie up with him and stood holding her as close as if they were lovers, her head dragged back painfully, the muzzle of the Ceska under her chin.

"Two choices," Barry said. "She dies now, even if I have to die with her, or you come out here and lay down your guns."

"No, Martin," Anne-Marie called, and Barry twisted his fingers in her hair.

"Don't muck about. Yes or no."

There was a pause, then Brosnan stood up holding the Mauser. "Throw it in the water!" Barry said.

Brosnan did so with an almost casual gesture, his eyes never leaving Barry's face. Devlin had moved out from the other side of the wheelhouse and stood only five or six feet away. He tossed his Browning into the creek without being told.

"Right," Barry said. "Come closer." His voice cracked, the first real signs of stress beginning to show. "I said closer."

They stood together, just outside the wheelhouse. "Let the girl go, Frank," Devlin said.

"Sure, why not?" Barry shoved her out of the wheelhouse into their arms. In the same moment he reached for the button on the instrument panel, the flap fell down and he tore the Sterling submachine gun from its brackets with his free hand.

"My ace in the hole, Liam." He grinned. "I learned the importance of that one from you, remember?"

Devlin said, "What happens now? Another execution?"

"Not yet," Barry said. "First, I'm going to put you to work. A few hundred yards down that creek there's a pool in the reeds with a boat on the bottom. There's something in the cabin I very much want. You can go swimming for me, Martin."

"The rocket pod?" Devlin said. "Very ingenious."

"You're remarkably well informed," Barry said. "But enough conversation. Martin, you and the girl move along to the top of the companionway. Nice and slow. We'll have you two below in the cabin while we get this thing moving." He swung the barrel at Devlin. "You walk ahead of them, right along to the stern."

Devlin moved first, and Brosnan pushed the girl in front of him and turned, backing away, protecting her with his body, his burning eyes never leaving Barry's face. Barry stayed where he was in the wheelhouse entrance, the Sterling ready.

Brosnan said, "You should have stayed behind at the farm, Frank. You made a bad mistake using rubbish like those three hoods from Nice. They wouldn't have lasted one bad Saturday night in Belfast."

"Yes, this time I'll see to it myself," Barry told him.

Brosnan turned, put a hand in Anne-Marie's back, sending her tumbling down the steps, dived over the rail into the creek, and went down deep into the brown stinking water, turning to pull himself under the hull, his feet kicking desperately in the thick ooze of the bottom.