Day of Reckoning

'Right, but I'd like you to manacle him, Sergeant. Once a killer, always a killer.'

'Certainly, ma'am.'

'Now, look here,' Regan protested.

'Just hold out your wrists and be a good boy.'

Regan was sweating and very, very worried. He'd had three weeks in Wandsworth, with the lavatory bucket, — the twice-a-week showers, the unwelcome attentions of certain wild-eyed prisoners, and others: basic English criminals who didn't like the IRA. The contrast of his treatment at the safe house spoke for itself. In a way, he'd thought he was going to be all right, but now he had this woman who looked like his elder sister, acting like the Gestapo.

She unbuttoned her jacket, revealing the holstered Colt. 'Now then, let's get started.'

Roper had joined the group on the other side of the mirror. 'She's really very good.'

'Outstanding,' Blake agreed.

'And still won't take a commission,' Ferguson said. 'You can't buy her, sir,' Hannah put in.

'I know,' Ferguson sighed. 'Very depressing.'

And then, Helen Black started to work.

The change was astonishing. This pleasant, decent Englishwoman seemed to take on a new persona.

'I've been fighting people like you for years. The bomb and the bullet, women and kids — you couldn't care less. I shot dead two of your bastards in Derry. They were parking a van with fifty pounds of Semtex on board outside a nurses' hostel. Well, we couldn't have that, could we? I took a bullet in the left thigh, got the bastard who did it, then sat up and got his friend in the back as he ran away.'

Regan was terrified. 'For Christ's sake, what kind of woman are you?'

She grabbed his jaw and shook his head painfully from side to side. 'The Apache Indians used to give their prisoners to their women to go to work on. I'm that kind of woman.'

'Excellent,' Ferguson said. 'She should be at the National Theatre herself.'

'You crippled a comrade of mine. Fred Dalton.' She took out her Colt and touched him between the eyes. 'These are hollowpoints, you scum. I pull this trigger and your brains are on the wall.'

'For God's sake, no,' Regan cried.

Dillon caught her wrist and turned the gun. 'No. Sergeant Major, this isn't the way.'

She turned, as if in fury. 'I'll be back.' She walked out. Regan was shaking. Dillon said to Miller, 'Uncuff him, Sergeant, he isn't going anywhere.'

'As you say, sir.' Miller got out a key and unlocked the manacles. Dillon opened his old silver cigarette case, took out two cigarettes, lit them, and gave Regan one.

'There you go, just like in Now Voyager.'

Regan was shaking. 'What in the hell are you talking about?'

'Never mind, Sean, I've a weakness for old movies. Now listen. Me, I got smart. I could have faced a Serb firing squad, but Ferguson is an extraordinarily powerful man. He saved my life, and in return I dropped working for the glorious cause and work for him instead. Which means I'm alive.' Regan was trembling, and Dillon turned to Miller. 'A large brandy, Sergeant.'

'Certainly, sir.'

Miller opened a cupboard and returned with a glass, which Regan emptied at one throw. He looked up at Dillon. 'What do you want?'

'What's best for you. Look, Ferguson's in charge now, and you did shoot that fella, Dalton. Peace process or not, he'll make you stand up in court if he wants to.'

On the other side of the mirror, Ferguson said, 'In you go, Sergeant Major.'

Helen Black went back into the sitting room, a document in one hand. 'All right, I've had enough. It's back to Wandsworth for you, you bastard.'

Regan simply fell apart. 'For God's sake, tell me what you want, just tell me.'

'Excellent,' Roper said. 'Pure Gestapo. They used physical abuse much less than people realized. Didn't need to. They just messed with their heads.'

Ferguson said to Hannah, 'We won't overwhelm him.' He turned to Roper. 'You and Blake stay here. You come in with me and do your Scotland Yard bit, Superintendent.'

Ferguson walked in with Hannah and said to Miller, 'Give him another brandy, Sergeant.'

'Sir.' Miller did as he was told, and Regan took the glass with shaking hands and drained it.

'Do I have a deal?'

'That depends on what you have for me.'

Regan looked at Dillon, who said, 'The Brigadier's a hard man, Sean, but a moralist. If he says it, he means it.'

Hannah said, 'Mr Regan, I'm Detective Superintendent Bernstein of Special Branch. I'd be interested to know if you can assist us in our inquiries regarding the activities of one Brendan Murphy.'

Regan said, 'What do you want to know?'

'I understand there's an underground concrete bunker somewhere in County Louth.'

'Semtex, machine guns, mortars,' Dillon said. 'Enough to start a civil war. Where is it, Sean?'

Regan said, 'Close to Kilbeg.'

'Jesus, son, there are Kilbegs all over Ireland.'

'Well, this one is in Louth, like the Superintendent says, just south of the border in the Republic and south of Dundalk Bay. Near Dunany Point. Very remote.'

'I know that area,' Dillon said.

'You wouldn't last long, Dillon. They're a funny lot. Strangers stand out like a sore thumb.'

Ferguson said, 'Let's be specific.'

'When I fled to the States, I was helped by a wealthy Irish American group who were a bit radical. Didn't approve of peace. I brokered a big financial deal for Brendan. The idea was to prepare for the future, the next war.'

'Which explains the bunker,' Ferguson said.

'But where did the arms come from?' Dillon asked. Behind the mirror, Roper was making notes.

'Oh, that was a Mafia connection. Brendan had worked with them in Europe. A fella called Jack Fox.'

'Fronting for the Solazzo family?' Hannah said.

'Well, I always figured he was fronting for himself. He supplied the arms.'

'Anything else?' Hannah asked. 'Lebanon, for example?' 'Christ, is there nothing you don't know?'

'Get on with it,' Dillon said.

'Murphy was trained in Libya years ago, has strong Arab contacts, can even get by with the language, enough to order a meal, anyway.'

'So?' Ferguson asked.

'Well, Fox controls the Solazzos' drug operations in Russia, so he has big contacts. Murphy has the Arab link.' 'Which Arab link?'

Regan hesitated. 'Saddam. Iraq.'

'That's nice,' Dillon said. 'What's intended?'

'There's a freighter down from the Black Sea next week. Called the Fortuna. If it's on time, it's due at a place called Al Shariz, south of Beirut, next Tuesday.'

Dillon took over. 'Russian crew?'

'No, Arab. All Army of God.'

'And the cargo?' Regan hesitated. 'Come on, what's the bloody cargo?'

'Hammerheads.'

There was a pause, and Hannah turned to Ferguson. 'Hammerheads, sir?'

The door opened and Blake entered. 'Sorry, Brigadier, but I know all about those. They're short-range missiles mounted on a tripod that only take two minutes to erect. Their range is three hundred miles. Nuclear-tipped. They wouldn't take out Israel or Jordan completely, but Tel Aviv wouldn't look too good.'

Ferguson turned to Regan. 'Have you told me the truth, told me everything?'

Regan hesitated again. 'When the boat gets in, the Fortuna, Brendan will be on board. Fox meets them, gets paid in gold. Five million.'

'Dollars or pounds?' Dillon asked.

'How the fuck would I know? Paid on the boat is what I heard, because they want to arrange another consignment a

month later.'

'And all this is true?' Ferguson asked.

'Yes, damn you.'

Ferguson turned to Helen Black and Miller. 'Send him

back to his room.'

They took Regan out between them, and Roper came in

after they left.

'I've had a thought,' he said. 'I've got details of Fox's Gulfstream. It's parked at Heathrow, as I recall. Let me