Day of Reckoning

'That makes sense,' Blake said. 'When you put me in there

undercover the other year, I recall it was dicey as hell.' 'So,' Dillon said. 'I've got another diver in mind.' 'Who?' Ferguson demanded.

Dillon told him.

The Brigadier laughed helplessly. 'Oh, I like it. I really do. Do you mind if I come with you and hear him turn you down?'

'No problem, Brigadier, it'll be the best pub grub in London. Meanwhile, though, I want Blake's shoulder checked out by Daz at Rosedene.'

'Rosedene?' Blake asked.

A private clinic we use near Pine Grove. We have a very nice man, a professor of surgery at London University, who, shall we say, helps us out.'

Ferguson said to Regan, 'Fancy a sea trip to Ireland, do you?'

'I don't have much choice, do 1?' But already, his mind was racing.

Ferguson turned to Helen Black and Miller. 'Take him away. The Superintendent will pick him up tomorrow.'

'Fine, sir.' Miller took Regan by the arm and she followed them out.

Ferguson said, 'All right, Dillon, take Blake to Rosedene. The Superintendent will phone ahead and make sure Daz is there. We'll go back to the office. I'll meet you for lunch.' He laughed. 'I can't wait to get his reaction. Hope he's a patriot.'

'People like him usually are, Brigadier.'

Rosedene was an exclusive town house in its own grounds. The receptionist greeted Dillon like an old friend, spoke on the phone, and a pleasant, middle-aged woman in matron's blue came out of her office. She had the accent of Ulster, like Dillon, and kissed him on the cheek.

'Have you been in the wars again, Sean?'

'No, Martha, but he has,' and he introduced Blake. 'Well, let's get on with it. Mr Daz is waiting.'

'Mister?' Blake was puzzled.

'In England, ordinary physicians are "doctor", but surgeons are "mister".' Dillon smiled. 'And only the English could explain that to you. In his case, he's also "professor".'

She took them along a corridor and opened the door into a well-equipped operating theatre. Daz, in a white coat, was sitting at a desk reading some papers, a tall, cadaverous Indian with a ready smile.

He got up and took Dillon's hand. 'Sean, it's not you this time. What a change.'

'No, it's my friend, Blake Johnson.'

'Mr Johnson, a pleasure. And what is the problem?'

A superficial gunshot wound. I mean, it's nothing.'

'It never is, my friend.' Daz turned to the matron. 'Under the circumstances, Martha, I'd rather not have one of the girls in. Would you be kind enough to assist?'

'Of course, Professor. I'll get ready.'

Daz said, 'Stay if you want, Sean.'

Blake, stripped to his waist, stood while Daz and Martha, suitably robed, got to work.

'My goodness, you have been to the wars.' Daz probed

under the left ribs. 'Bullet scars are always distinctive.' Another here,' Martha said. 'Under the left shoulder.' 'Vietnam,' Blake said. 'A long time ago.'

'But not this, I think,' Daz said, as Martha cut away the pad on the right shoulder. He made a face. 'Nasty.' 'Hell, it's nothing,' Blake told him.

Daz ignored him. 'Yes, well, nothing requires some very careful stitching. How many would you say, Martha? Fifteen? Perhaps twenty. In the circumstances, I don't think a local anaesthetic will do. We'll need a general. Get Doctor Hamed for me. I know he's here. He can assist.'

'Now, look here, I don't want to be on my back,' Blake said. 'I've got things to do.'

'Not if you have a crippled shoulder for the rest of your life.'

Martha said, 'Do as you're told, Mr Johnson. You're not a stupid man.' She turned to Dillon. 'Leave him to it. Check in this afternoon.'

'For God's sake, Sean,' Blake said.

'No problem. If you're not fit, you can come up to Oban tomorrow with Hannah and Regan.'

At that moment, Billy Salter drove up to St Richard's Dock in the Range Rover and parked. He got out and walked along the embankment to where an old Ford van was parked, opened the door, and got in beside Joe Baxter, who was looking down at the shingle beach through a pair of old binoculars. He lowered them.

'What is it?' Billy asked.

'Well, having nothing to do, we checked out that cafe where Manchester Charlie Ford has breakfast. The thing is, he wasn't only with the big beast.'

'Go on, surprise me.'

'Connie Briggs.'

'Well, that's good. He's about the best on any kind of electronic security system in London.'

'I know, he's a genius.'

'Who else?'

'Val French.'

'Jesus. The big expert with the thermal lance. Cut up those security boxes on that Gatwick gold bullion job like sardine cans. We all know that.'

'So do Scotland Yard, but they couldn't prove it.' 'So why are we here?'

'They all came down in a Toyota van. We followed. They got out carrying a couple of canvas bags, went along the beach, the tide being out, and went along to the tunnel entrance. Sam's down there now, tucked behind that old wreck.'

Billy took the binoculars, focused them, and at that moment Manchester Charlie Ford and the others came out of the tunnel and went back to the steps up to the dock.

They all got in the Toyota and drove away. 'Give me the torch and let's take a look.'

'Let them go,' Billy said.

The tunnel was damp from the receding early morning tide, the brickwork green, as Billy switched on the torch. The rusting iron grille was there as before. The only difference was that the huge old lock had gone and the gate responded to a strong heave.

'Well, well,' Billy said. 'Let's take a look.'

They followed the tunnel, sloshing through two or three inches of water. It seemed to go on forever and there were side tunnels.

'All right,' Billy said. 'Enough is enough. We're under the dock and there's nothing important. Let's go back.'

They arrived back at the Dark Man at noon and found Salter in his usual booth. He listened and nodded.

'Okay, it's on, and it's got to be the White Diamond Company. I'll check with Ferguson.'

At that moment, Ferguson and Dillon walked in.

'I can't believe it,' Billy said. 'We were just talking about you and here you are.'

'Magic, Billy,' Dillon said. 'It's with me being from County Down.'

'What are you after, Brigadier?' Salter asked.

'Cottage pie for lunch and an indifferent red wine would do, for a start.'

'Yes, well we've got news for you,' Billy said, and told

him.

Ferguson took out his mobile and called Roper at Pine Grove and relayed the information. 'I'm concerned with timing here. It's just occurred to me. If you could access the White Diamond Company, we might find something is going on.'

'Leave it with me, Brigadier.'

Ferguson put his phone down. 'So, we could be in business, gentlemen. It's an OBE for you, Harry, for services to the country.'

'Fuck off, Brigadier.'

Dora appeared. 'Cottage pie, love, and a bottle of that Krug champagne, as Dillon's here.'

She walked away and Dillon said, 'It's the great man you are, Harry.'

'What are you trying to do, you little Irish git, butter me up?'

'Actually, yes. I need a favour.'

'What favour?'

'I need a master diver, and the only one I know on short notice is Billy.'

Salter was totally shocked. 'You've got to be kidding.'

'No. My American friend Blake took a bullet in the shoulder and won't be too fit. I'm taking a boat into a remote part of the Irish coast, where there's an underground bunker full of the wrong kind of weapons waiting to be used in the next round of the Irish troubles. I intend to blow it to hell, and as friend Fox has a financial interest, I'll get extra pleasure.' He turned to Billy. 'Listen, you young dog, it'll be a good deed in a naughty world. Are you with me?'