Edge of Danger

'Breakfast?' the man said.

Dillon cut in, making his Belfast accent even more pronounced. 'That's it, me ould son, three Ulster fry-ups. We've just sailed in from Magee. Then phone Aidan Bell and tell him Lady Kate Rashid is here.'

'Phone Aidan Bell?' the man said.

'What's your name?' Dillon asked.

'Patrick Murphy,' the man replied, as a reflex.

'Good man yourself, Patrick, now breakfast and Bell, in whatever order you want.'

Murphy hesitated and then said, 'Take a seat.'

Which they did, on the opposite side from the three men. Dillon lit a cigarette, there was a murmur of conversation, then the bearded man got up and crossed to the table. He stood there looking at them.

'English, is it?' he said to Kate, then leaned down and brushed her face. 'Still, I suppose anything's better than nothing where a woman's concerned. Come on, English bitch, let's see what you've got.'

There was a large bottle of brown sauce on the table. George tried to get up, but Dillon pushed him down, picked up the bottle and smashed it across the side of the man's head, sending him to his knees. The man knelt, blood and sauce on his cheek, and Dillon stamped on his face, sending him sprawling.

Patrick Murphy appeared at that moment and was totally shocked as the two young men jumped up and Dillon produced his Walther.

'I don't think so.'

'For Christ's sake,' the barman said. 'What are you doing? They're Provisional IRA.'

'Once in, never out, I was told,' Dillon said. 'And I've been a member since I was nineteen. I'll tell you what, Martin McGuinness wouldn't approve of this lot. I mean, he's a family man.' He turned to the two young men and nodded to the floor. 'Get this piece of dung out of here.'

Their rage was plain, but they got the bearded man to his feet. Behind them, the door swung open and a man almost as small as Dillon strode in, dark hair tousled, needing a shave, wearing a Barbour jacket against the rain, with a large red-haired man behind.

'Jesus,' he said. 'Is that you, Quinn, and in a damn bad way?' He laughed out loud. 'And whose toes did you stand on?'

'Mine,' Dillon said.

Bell turned in astonishment and his expression was close to awe. 'Dear God, is it you?'

'As ever was. A long time ago it was: Derry, and those Brit paratroopers chasing us through the sewers.'

'You saved my life once.' Bell held out his hand.

'You tried to kill me twice.'

'Ah, well, so we had a falling out.' Bell turned to the two men supporting Quinn. 'Get him out of my sight.'

They took the bearded man out of the door and Bell said, 'What in the hell goes on, Dillon?'

'This is Lady Kate Rashid. I believe you have a meeting arranged.'

Bell didn't even look surprised. 'I should have known. Take me unawares, is that it? And where does this bastard fit in?' he asked her.

'Mr Dillon is acting in a private capacity. I wanted his expertise on County Down, and he's been provided with ten thousand pounds to supply it.'

'Flew into Aldergrove yesterday. Boated out overnight, back to Magee in an hour or two. Money for old rope,' Dillon said.

'Come off it, you still work for Ferguson, you turncoat.' He took a Browning from his pocket. 'Hands high. See to him, Liam.'

The red-haired man ran his hands over Dillon and found the Walther. He turned to Kate. 'Now you, darling.'

It was Bell who said, 'Mind your manners, Casey, a lady this.' He gestured to the briefcase. 'See what's in there.'

'No, Mr Bell,' Kate told him. 'What's in there is between you and me.'

'I see.' He turned to George as Liam Casey checked him. 'This would be the younger brother? One Para.'

'You're well informed,' said Kate.

'I always am, and if your head of security is on that boat, he's also One Para and a damned Prod.'

'Which you are yourself,' Dillon reminded him and shrugged to Kate. 'One of the few in the IRA.'

'So what am I doing here?' Bell asked.

'Business, Mr Bell. As you're so well informed, you'll know I am Executive Chairman of Rashid Investments, and you'll know we have big plans for development in Ulster.'

'I had heard.'

'Can we talk?'

Bell nodded to the barman. 'We'll use the snug.' He led the way to a door, opened it to usher her through, and turned to Dillon. 'Sean?'

'You still don't understand,' Kate told him. 'Dillon is here only as a minder. My business is with you, and you alone, on behalf of Rashid Investments.' She turned and nodded to her brother. 'George, join us.'

The door closed. Dillon turned and said to the barman, 'I know it's early in the day, but it's cold out there and pouring with rain, and I'm County Down myself, so let's celebrate and get the Bushmills out.'

There was a fire in the open hearth of the snug, chairs on each side and a small coffee table in between. Kate Rashid sat down, her brother standing behind; Bell sat opposite and lit a cigarette, Liam Casey stood behind.

'So, the word is that Rashid Investments are having problems with their plans in Northern Ireland, and need a little protection.'

'Not really, Mr Bell. That's a story even Dillon believes. No, I don't need you to guard the door, as it were; you're far too talented for that.'

'Really? Then what do you need me for?'

'Last year you killed General Petrovsky in Chechnya, and also blew up most of his staff.

The world in general thought the Chechen freedom fighters had scored a great coup, but I know that you were paid one million pounds by Chechen sources in exile in Paris.'

'Do you now?'

'Oh, yes.'

His face was calm. 'You or your famous brother, the Earl, isn't it? A man to reckon with, and all the money in the world, I hear.'

'Not quite, but close. You've never met, of course.'

'Almost. He was a Lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards. Crossmaglen in South Armagh. I was with one of my best snipers. Your brother and a small patrol were moving in. My man had him in his sights, then a helicopter dropped in with another twenty Guardsmen and we had to run for it.'

'If you'd shot him, you'd have missed a big payday.' She pushed the briefcase across. 'Have a look.'

He flicked the catches and lifted the lid. Inside were rows of fifty-pound notes. 'How much?' he asked.

'A hundred thousand pounds as evidence of good faith. You keep it, whatever happens. My brother's gift to you.'

'And what do I have to do?'

'You may or may not know about this, but the Americans and Russians intend to prospect for oil in Hazar. The Sultan brokered a deal for them. It involved assassinating my brother.'

'The Sultan's dead. It was in the papers.'

'Exactly. One of his assassins almost killed me. My brother shot him dead. He's that kind of man.'

'He would be. Irish time, Lady Kate. Me, Dillon, Casey here, your brother – we're all cut from the same piece of cloth. But there's more here. I know I'm a bastard, but I'm a clever bastard.'

'All right. I'll tell you. It involves my mother and a man called Igor Gatov.'

Afterwards, Aidan Bell said, 'Excuse the language, but they're all fucks. The Americans, Russians, Brits. They use people, then throw them away like a paper cup.'

'So for once, we teach them a lesson. And I do mean a big lesson. We go straight to the top. I hear Jake Cazalet is a good man, but so what? Someone pays for people like Gatov, and ultimately it must be the one in supreme power. For President Jake Cazalet, you get two million. Now are you in or out?'

Liam Casey said, 'Jesus.'

Bell sat looking at her. 'You're mad, woman.'

'No, perfectly serious. As I said, you keep the hundred thousand, no matter what.' She took a phonecard from her purse, and a pen. She wrote quickly. 'My coded mobile number. You've got seven days. My brother and I will be at Trump Tower in New York next Thursday at our apartment. If you're interested, present yourself, plus a coherent plan. If not, you're one hundred thousand pounds richer and no hard feelings.'