'I'm afraid so.'
Dillon said, 'Well, you've got me, and I'm going to play public executioner again.'
Hannah stood up. 'I can't manage this, sir,' she said to Ferguson.
'Then I suggest you take a couple of weeks' leave, Superintendent, and I would remind you that you signed the Official Secrets Act when you joined me.'
'Of course, sir.'
'Off you go then.'
She went out, and Ferguson said, 'Now how do we handle this?'
increased in force as darkness fell and the Bentley arrived at Westminster Pier and Don Marco got out and walked up the gangplank. Falcone and Russo had joined the boat on its earlier trip, dressed in jeans and reefer coats, the kind of thing crew members wore. So did Billy and Harry Salter.
The fog was quite bad and rain fell heavily. The Bluebell nosed out into the river, and Don Marco walked out of the saloon, where there were only two other passengers, old ladies, and on to the stern, where there was a certain cover from the upper deck. He lit his cigar, and Ferguson moved out of the shadows.
'Don Marco, Charles Ferguson.'
'Ah, Brigadier.'
Fog swirled in. There was a seaman coiling a rope at the starboard rail. 'One of yours?' Ferguson asked.
'Oh, come now, Brigadier. All I want to do is bring this whole unfortunate affair to an end. My nephew was stupid, I acknowledge that.'
'He wasn't only stupid, he was murderous,' Ferguson told him. 'Having said that, don't tell me you don't want revenge.'
'What would be the point?'
'You know something?' Ferguson said. 'The older I get, the more obvious to me it is that life's like the movies. Take this situation. It's the gunfight at the OK Corral. Earp and the Clantons. Who's going to shoot whom? I mean, my dear old stick, why would an ageing Mafia Don go to all the trouble of coming here?'
The seaman at the rail, Falcone, stood up, and another, at the port rail, appeared, Russo. On the top deck, Billy and Harry Salter looked over, Billy holding a silenced AK.
Out of the shadows, Dillon appeared, Blake beside him, his right arm in the sling, sweating badly.
Don Marco said, 'You don't look good, Mr Johnson.' 'Oh, I'll get by.' Blake turned to Falcone. 'You butchered my wife.'
'Hey, it was business.' Falcone had a gun in his hand.
'Well, this is personal.' Blake's left hand came out of his sling holding a silenced Walther, and he shot Falcone, knocking him against the rail. Falcone spun round and went over head first into the river.
Russo raised his gun to Ferguson, and Billy, leaning over the rail on the top deck, extended the silenced AK and gave Russo a burst that sent him over the rail after Falcone.
Blake was really very ill, sweat all over his face. He said to Don Marco, 'Why the hell I don't kill you, I'll never know, but we ruined your nephew, killed the bastard and his men. I think I'd rather leave you to chew on that.'
He turned, and he and Ferguson walked away. Dillon lit a cigarette. 'He's one of the good guys, Blake, wants to improve the world. Even Ferguson still tries, but not me. I've found life more disappointing than I'd hoped, so to hell with you.' He slapped Don Marco back-handed across the face, reached for his ankles, and tossed him over into the river. The fog swirled. A cigar butt floated smouldering on the water. It was over.
They were waiting for him in the Daimler on Charing Cross Pier. Ferguson said, 'Taken care of?'
Dillon nodded. 'Whichever gang took out Jack Fox and his men in Cornwall was obviously laying in wait for Don Marco here. Another Mafia execution. Very messy.'
'All in all, then,' Ferguson said, 'a satisfactory night.'
'Except for one thing.' They turned to the figure who sat slumped and ashen in the dark. Blake looked at them, his eyes burning. 'It won't bring her back.'
And to that, there was no answer.