"It's got to be here somewhere, tell them to renew their efforts."
The Doberman whined, slipped in through the window, and rushed up to Morgan, who rather surprisingly greeted it with some pleasure. "You big lump, where have you been?" He leaned down to pat the animal. "My God, he's soaking, he could catch pneumonia. Take him to the kitchen, Murdoch, and towel him off, I'm going to bed."
Murdoch went out, his hand on the Doberman's collar, and Morgan turned and walked to the window. He stood there, looking at the night for a moment, then crossed to the door and went out, switching off the light.
Dillon slipped in through the window, went to the door, and stood listening for a moment, then he opened the door a crack, aware of voices, Asta's and Morgan's. The study door was open and he heard Morgan say, "I'm for bed. What about you?"
"I suppose so," Asta said. "If I'm out on the moors tomorrow stalking deer I'll need all my energy."
"And wits," he said. "Listen to everything Ferguson and Dillon say, store it up and remember it."
"Yes, oh master."
She laughed and when they came out, Morgan had an arm about her waist. "You're a great girl, Asta, one of a kind."
Strange, but watching them go up the great staircase together was something of a surprise to Dillon, no suggestion of the wrong kind of intimacy at all, and at the top of the stairs, Morgan only kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, my love," he said and he went one way and she the other.
"Well, I'll be damned," Dillon said softly.
He stayed there for a while, thinking. There was little point in going any further. He'd picked up one useful piece of intelligence, that they hadn't got anywhere as regards finding the Bible. That was a good enough night's work and the truth was what he'd done had been more for the hell of it than anything else.
On the other hand, again just for the hell of it, he could do with a drink and he'd noticed through the French windows the drinks cabinet in the study. He opened the door and hurried across the great hall to the study door. As he got it open, the Doberman arrived, skidding on the tiles as it tried to brake, sliding past him into the study.
Dillon closed the door and switched on a lamp on one of the tables. "You great eejit," he said to the dog and fondled its ears.
He went to the drinks cabinet and found no Irish whiskey so made do with Scotch. He went and stood looking down into the fire, taking his time, and behind him the door opened. As he turned, drawing the Walther, Asta came in. She didn't notice him at first, closed the door and turned.
And she didn't show any sign of fear, stood there looking at him calmly, and then said, "That couldn't be you, could it, Dillon?"
Dillon laughed softly. "Jesus, girl, you really are on Morgan's side, aren't you?"
He slipped the Walther back in his waistband at the rear and pulled off his ski mask.
"Why shouldn't I be? He's my father, isn't he?"
"Stepfather." Dillon helped himself to a cigarette from a silver box on a coffee table and lit it with his ever-present Zippo. "Mafia stepfather."
"Father as far as I'm concerned, the only decent one I've ever known, the first version was a rat, the kind of man who sniffed around everything in a skirt. He made my mother's life hell. It was a blessing when his car ran off the road one day and he was burned to death in the crash."
"That must have been rough."
"A blessing, Dillon, and then after a year or two my mother met Carl, the best man in the world."
"Really?"
She took a cigarette from the box. "Look, Dillon, I know all about you, all about the IRA, all that stuff, and I know who decent old Ferguson really is, Carl told me."
"I bet he tells you everything. I suppose you could give me chapter and verse on the Chungking Covenant."
"Of course I could, Carl tells me everything."
"I wonder. I mean there's the Carl Morgan of the social pages, the polo player, Man of the Year, billionaire, and then back there in the shadows is the same old Mafia sources of cash flow, drugs, prostitution, gambling, extortion."
She moved to the French windows, opened one, and looked out at the rain. "Don't be tiresome, Dillon, after all, you can talk. What about all those years with the Provisional IRA? How many soldiers did you kill, how many women and kids did you blow up?"
"I hate to disappoint you, but I never blew up a woman or a child in my life. Soldiers, yes, I've killed a few of those, but as far as I'm concerned, that was war. Come to think of it, I did blow up a couple of PLO boats in Beirut harbor, but they were due to land terrorists on the Israeli coast with the deliberate intention of blowing up women and kids."
"All right, point taken. What are you doing here anyway?"
"Just curious, that's all. I wondered if you were getting anywhere, but I overheard Morgan discussing things with Murdoch, and of the Bible, there is no sign."
"It must be here," she said. "Tanner said it came back." She frowned. "I'm not giving anything away, am I? I mean you and Ferguson wouldn't be here if you didn't know."
"That's right," he said. "Lord Louis Mountbatten, the Laird, Ian Campbell, the Dakota crash in India."
"You needn't go on. Carl would love to know how you found out, but I don't suppose you'll tell me."
"Classified information." He finished his drink and there was a noise in the hall. "On my way." He pulled on his ski mask and as he slipped out of the French window, said, "See you in the morning."
The door opened and Morgan came in. He looked surprised. "Good God, Asta, you startled me. I thought you'd gone to bed."
"I decided to come down for my book and guess what, Dillon was here."
Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Really?"
"He looked terribly dramatic. All in black with a ski mask. Looked like Carlos the Jackal on a bad Saturday night in Beirut. He's just gone."
"What was he after?"
"Just prowling around to see what was happening. Apparently he overheard you and Murdoch discussing your lack of success at finding the Bible." Morgan poured a brandy and came over to stand beside her at the French windows. "They know everything, Carl, Mountbatten, Corporal Tanner, the Laird, everything," she said.
"You got that much out of him?"
"Easy, Carl, he likes me and he wasn't giving anything away. He wouldn't tell me how they found out, and you said yourself it was obvious they knew otherwise why would a man like Ferguson be here."
He nodded. "And they don't care that we know. Interesting tactics." He swallowed some brandy. "Are they still picking you up in the morning?"
"Yes."
"Good." He emptied his glass and closed the window. "Bed then, and this time let's mean it."
"So the decks really are cleared for action now," Ferguson said.
"You did say you wanted him to know we were breathing down his neck," Dillon reminded him.
"Yes, it's a good tactic, don't you agree, Chief Inspector?"
He turned to Hannah Bernstein, who was leaning against his desk. "I suppose so, sir, if we're playing games, that is."
"So that's what you think we're doing?"
"I'm sorry, sir, it's just that I don't feel we're really getting to grips with this thing. We know what Morgan is up to and he knows what we are, I'm not sure it makes sense."
"It will, my dear, when that Bible turns up."
"Will it? Let's say he suddenly found it at the back of a drawer tonight, Brigadier. They could be into his Citation and flying out of the country in the morning and nothing we could do about it."
"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we." Kim came in with tea on a tray. Ferguson shook his head. "It's bed for me, I'll see you in the morning."
He went out and Kim poured the tea and retired. Hannah said to Dillon, "What do you think?"
"You could be right, but I've a hunch it isn't so." He moved to the window, opened it, and looked at the rain bouncing on the flagged terrace. "I don't think that Bible is tucked away in some casual spot so that a maid might find it while she's dusting." He turned. "Remember what Tanner said when the doctor asked him if the Bible had been returned to Loch Dhu?"