“Don’t worry.” She raised her shoulder bag. “I’m carrying.”
“Hannah, you’re the wonder of the world.” Dillon kissed her on both cheeks and then softly on the mouth.
Her eyes widened. “Damn you, Dillon, that was a first,” and she got into the Renault and drove away.
TEN MINUTES LATER a delighted Kevin Stringer was showing Hannah a bedroom with a view of the harbor. “And how long would you be staying?” he asked.
“Two nights, possibly three. I’m just touring. Down from Belfast.”
“A great city. We don’t have en suite facilities, but the bathroom and the necessary is just next door.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’ll see you later. Dinner at seven if you like,” and he went out.
DILLON CAUGHT UP with the station wagon within fifteen minutes and settled back. “What do you think they’re up to?”
“This was just a preliminary sortie to check the boat. They’ve probably dropped off the diving equipment. It’s back to Ballyburn now. They’ll return, maybe tomorrow, with the others.”
“And up we come again and what then?” Dillon asked.
“That’s up to you and that young woman back there. She has the police authority, Sean. Scotstown is in Ulster and that’s part of the United Kingdom. It’s up to you and Ferguson.” Devlin leaned back. “Maybe a little gunplay, who knows, but not as far as I’m concerned. I’m getting too old, Sean. The trigger finger isn’t what it was. I’d let you down.”
“Cobblers,” Dillon said.
“I’ve done my bit. Good luck and God bless you, but count me out.”
IT WAS ALMOST four o’clock and at Victoria Farm, Kathleen was in the kitchen boiling the kettle. Ryan sat at the table and Mori was in the sitting room.
She glanced at her watch. “They’re due back in an hour. If we’re going to do it, it should be now.”
“If you think it will work,” Ryan said.
“Look, Uncle Michael.” She held up the pill bottle. “Three Dazane pills will bring on your angina symptoms. The effect will really start showing by the time Barry and Sollazo are back. Jack Barry isn’t going to just let you lie there and die, he’s not the kind.”
“You mean you hope he isn’t?”
“Look, even if they did nothing Dr. Sieed told me the symptoms wear off in a couple of days. On the other hand, if Barry listens to me and takes you to a hospital, that’ll be our chance.”
He sat there looking at her and then laughed. “Oh, what the hell, what have we got to lose?” She opened the bottle, put three pills in her palm, got a glass of water, and went back to him.
“There you go then, Uncle Michael.”
RYAN’S SYMPTOMS FIRST became apparent within half an hour. He stayed there at the kitchen table, head in his hands, and then he started to sweat. Fifteen minutes later the trembling started.
Kathleen called, “Mori, get in here.”
The Sicilian appeared on the instant. “What is it?”
“He’s having an angina attack. He’s had them before. Get him into the sitting room on the sofa.”
Mori pulled Ryan up and got an arm round him. They went out of the kitchen together and along the hall to the sitting room. Kathleen followed with a glass of water. Ryan looked terrible, his face gray, and for the first time she felt doubt.
“Uncle Michael, drink this.” She put the water to his lips and at that moment he started to shake terribly. This was more, much more, than she had expected, and at that moment Barry came in the room, Sollazo at his back.
“For God’s sake, what is it?”
“He’s having another angina attack,” she said. “He needs a hospital.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Sollazo turned to Barry. “Hospital is out.”
Barry knelt down and put a hand on Ryan’s forehead. “He’s in a bad way.” He stood up and said to Mori, “Get him in the station wagon.” He turned to Sollazo. “It’s all right. There’s a nursing home just outside Dublin we’ve been using for years. Decent doctors, good facilities. We’ll take him there. Twenty-five minutes.”
STANDING BESIDE THE Toyota observing the farmhouse through the binoculars, Devlin said, “There’s something up. Sollazo and the Mori fella have just brought Ryan out of the house. They’re putting him into the station wagon. They looked as if they were supporting him.”
“Let me look.” Dillon took the binoculars. “They’re all getting in, Barry and Kathleen, too. Let’s get ready to move.”
He slid behind the wheel and Devlin got in on the other side. A few moments later the station wagon turned into the road and Dillon followed.
THERE WAS A telephone box in the village, but it was out of order. Hannah needed to speak to Ferguson, had to take a chance. She returned to the Loyalist and went up to her room. There was the usual system where she punched nine to get an outside line, and she dialed Ferguson’s direct line at the Ministry of Defence.
It was bad luck that Kevin Stringer was sitting at his desk in the office doing accounts and was intrigued by the sound of the rather long series of numbers clicking through. He reached for the main switchboard phone and lifted it gently.
“Brigadier Ferguson, Chief Inspector Bernstein.”
A little later Stringer heard a voice say, “Ferguson here. What’s happening, Chief Inspector?”
“I’m staying at the Loyalist in Scotstown, sir, on the Down coast. We followed them up here, Barry and Sollazo. They have a boat in the harbor and brought a load of diving gear. They’ve gone back to Barry’s place outside Dublin, that’s where the Ryans are. Dillon and Devlin are in hot pursuit.”
“You expect them to return?”
“Probably tomorrow. I’m staying on as an English tourist, lone female variety.”
“Well, for God’s sake watch yourself.”
“Don’t I always?”
She put the phone down. In the office, Stringer sat thinking about it, then he rang Barry’s phone number at Ballyburn. There was no reply. He sat there thinking about it some more and finally opened his desk drawer and took out a Browning automatic.
HANNAH, SITTING AT the dressing table, was aware of a slight noise and turned to find the door open, Stringer standing there, the Browning in his hand.
“Chief Inspector, is it? So what’s your game, lady?”
FOURTEEN
THE SIGN AT the entrance to the drive said Roselea Nursing Home. The station wagon turned in through the gates and Dillon in the Toyota stopped on the other side of the road.
“What in the hell is going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Devlin said, “but my impression is something nobody counted on.”
IN THE RECEPTION area, they sat waiting, Mori, Sollazo, Barry, and Kathleen. She was in a bad way and Barry had an arm round her.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. The guy who runs this place, Dr. Ali Hassan, is a brilliant doctor.” He tried to make a joke. “An Egyptian Irishman. He’s patched up more bullet holes in more members of the IRA in the last twenty years than most doctors have had hot dinners.”
“It’s my fault,” she said. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t be crazy, girl, your uncle has a history of heart trouble, you know that as well as I do.”
Hassan, a small brown-skinned Arab in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, appeared.
“How is he?” Barry demanded.
“Not good, not good at all.” Hassan turned to Kathleen. “Your uncle has a history of angina? That’s what he told me.”
“Yes.”
“But this attack is most extreme. I don’t understand. What is his medication?”
“Dazane.”
“Good God, there’s no chance he has overdosed?” She stared at him, her face bone white. He said urgently, “Could he have overdosed?”
She nodded slowly. “He took three of the pills at four o’clock.”