Day of Reckoning

Fox said, 'That bastard Dillon. He and Johnson, they've ruined the operation!'

'Signore?' Falcone said.

'God, I see it all now. It wasn't them just with the Colosseum, but Al Shariz and Kilbeg, too. And now this!' 'But how, Signore? How would they know?'

'The Johnson woman, everything flows from that. Somehow she found out and told them. God knows how.' 'So what do we do now, Signore?'

Fox turned to him with a hard light in his eyes. 'We exact revenge,' Fox said. 'That's what I want, revenge.' 'And how do we do that?'

'I'll tell you later. Right now, I want you and Russo to get down to the Colosseum and pick up Rossi and Cameci. Go on, do it now.' He was angry. 'And make it fast.'

'Signore.'

Falcone left, picked up Russo from his room, and filled him in as they went down in the elevator to get the car.

Russo said, 'He's too angry, and being too angry isn't good.'

'You don't have to tell me,' Falcone said.

In the car on the way to the Colosseum, he phoned Don Marco in New York and brought him up to date.

'Ah God, Aldo, can't he see? They're looking for him to come after them. He should just cut his losses, get out of there.'

'He won't do that, Don Marco. He's an angry man.' 'And insane to go after them. But then, Jack was always headstrong.'

Falcone hesitated, then said the unthinkable. 'Do you wish me to take care of him, Don Marco?'

'No, Aldo. No matter what he's done, he's my nephew, flesh of my flesh. I'm coming over there. I'll leave New York within the hour. You stay in dose touch.'

'Of course.'

'Aldo. I need your total loyalty in this.'

'You have it as always, Don Marco.'

Besides the Gulfstream, the family operated a Golden Eagle twin-engine aircraft out of Bardsey Aero Club outside London. It was useful for local flights, the kind where you had to put down on short runways, so it was particularly good for Hellsmouth. Fox called the pilot now, an ageing, ex-RAF pilot named Swan, and got him at home.

'Mr Fox, what can I do for you?'

'I need a flight in a couple of hours to Hellsmouth. Can you manage that?'

'If you say so, Mr Fox. It might be a rough landing. It's pretty dark.'

'I don't care if you put us down on its belly, just so you get us there.'

As you say, sir.'

When Dillon arrived at Stable Mews, Fox, Russo, Falcone, Rossi and Cameci were waiting in a large black van.

Dillon got out with Blake and gave him the key to the house. 'There you go. I'll be back later. I'll go and see what Ferguson wants.'

He got back into the taxi and it moved away. Blake walked slowly towards the door, and the van drove up and braked. Rossi and Cameci were out and had him in seconds. Blake tried to struggle but had little strength. Fox leaned across Russo, who was at the wheel.

'It's my turn now, Johnson. Get him in the back. You know what to do, Falcone.'

They dragged Blake in and Falcone produced a hypodermic. 'Now this will really make you feel good,' he said and jabbed it into the right arm.

Blake continued to struggle, but then everything slipped away and he was still.

Bardsey operated a twenty-four-hour service that handled the ever-increasing volume of private planes and executive jets that Heathrow didn't welcome any more. For internal flights, there was no particular security. Swan was waiting for them.

Fox said, 'We'll take off right away. I don't want to hang around. I'm a little worried about my friend here. He's had too much to drink.'

'Will there be a return, Mr Fox?' Swan asked.

'Not tonight. You wait at the airstrip for further instructions.'

Swan, only too well aware of the kind of people he was dealing with, said, 'As you say, sir,' went and logged flight details.

Rossi and Cameci took Blake up the steps, Russo followed, and Fox turned to Falcone. 'Phone the caretaker, old Carter. Tell him I want the fireplaces lit, but I don't want him in the house. He can go home.'

As you say, Signore.'

Fox boarded the Eagle, and Falcone got on his mobile and made the call. When he finished, Falcone followed and Swan pulled up the steps and dosed the Airstair door. As he went up to the cockpit, Fox reached out to Falcone.

'Give me the phone.'

He took out a card, a digest of information Maud Jackson had given him, found Ferguson's number in Cavendish Square and dialled it.

'Charles Ferguson.'

'Jack Fox. Is Dillon there?'

'Why, Mr Fox. And how are you this evening?' 'Shove it, Ferguson. Give me Dillon.'

Ferguson handed the phone to Dillon, and he and Hannah stood up.

'Why, Jack, so sorry to hear your bad news.'

'Yeah, well, it's nothing compared to the news I have for you, Dillon. I've just grabbed Blake Johnson, and I'm taking him to hell, but not, alas, back. I saw you clear off in the cab, Dillon, and I got him before he opened the door. If you use your brains, you might come up with where I'm taking him, and that would please me no end.'

He switched off before Dillon could reply, and Dillon turned to Hannah and Ferguson. 'He's got Blake. He said he's taking him to hell but not back.' He frowned. 'Hellsmouth, his place in Cornwall, it's got to be. Let me use the phone.'

Hannah said, 'Dillon, no, it's a trap. He made it easy for you to guess, and now he'll kill you, too.'

'That may be, Hannah. But I can't leave Blake there alone.'

He dialled the Holland Park safe house and got Helen Black. 'Bad news. The bastards have kidnapped Blake Johnson. Put the Major on.'

Roper said, 'Here I am, Sean. What's the deal?' Dillon told him.

Roper said, 'Give me a couple of minutes at my computer.'

'Good man.'

Roper was back very quickly. 'Yes, besides the Gulfstream, the Solazzo family have a Golden Eagle. You know that plane?'

'I've flown one many times,' Dillon said. 'It's excellent for short runways.'

'Well, that's what they have at the Hellsmouth estate. There's an old RAF feeder station from the Second World War. The nearest decent airfield is RAF, St Just, twenty miles away. It's an air-sea rescue set-up, helicopters, long runway.'

'Thanks, old son.'

'You're going in hard, I take it.'

'You could say that.'

'I wish I could be with you. I'll stay on the computer, in case you need me. Just a minute.' There was a pause, and Roper spoke again. 'The Golden Eagle took off twenty minutes ago. The slot booked says Cornwall, Hellsmouth, six passengers.'

'And one of those is Blake. Thanks, Roper.'

Dillon said, 'Hellsmouth, they've gone down in a Golden Eagle from Bardsey. Six passengers.' He punched another number on the phone.

'Sean, what are you doing?' Hannah said.

'Well, I'm not phoning the Cornish police. They're a fine body of men, but not for a job like this. I'm calling Farley Field.'

'What for?' she demanded.

'Because he's going after them,' Ferguson said. 'I know my Sean.'

'He said to hell but not back,' Dillon said. 'Well, I'll follow him to hell.'

A voice on the receiver said, 'Farley Field.'

'Dillon. Get me Squadron Leader Lacey, if he's there.' 'Actually, I just saw him in the mess. Hang on.' Lacey was there quickly. 'Is that you, Dillon?'

'We're going into action, and I mean now.'

'What's the score?'

'Hellsmouth, near Lizard Point in Cornwall. It's a small airstrip, so I need a parachute landing.'

'I know that area. RAF St Just is not too far away.' 'Exactly, so you drop me, then land at St Just.'

'Jesus, Dillon, you're at it again, saving the world.'

'No, saving Blake Johnson's life. Speak to the quartermaster. Brownings, AK47s, parachutes for two. I'd say six hundred feet.'

'You're mad, Sean, but let me get on with it.'