"What a girl," Dillon said. "Let's get moving then."
The warehouse in Lambeth was crammed with diving equipment of every kind. The manager, a man called Speke, handled things himself and he and Dillon went through the list, checking each item off as they did so.
"There seems an awful lot," Hannah said. "Do you really need all this? I mean what's this thing?"
She held up a yellow colored Orca and Dillon said, "That's my lifeline, girl dear, a diving computer that tells me how deep it is, how long I've been down there, how long I've got to go. It even warns me if I'm coming up too fast."
"I see."
"I need it just like I need this." He picked up the heavy nylon diving suit in orange and green. "It's going to be very cold down there and very dark. It isn't the Caribbean."
"About the visibility, Mr. Dillon," Speke said. "The two lamps you asked for. I've given you the new Royal Navy halogen type. Twice the power."
"Excellent," Dillon said. "That's it then. Get this lot up to Gatwick as soon as you can."
"It'll take at least two hours, sir, maybe three."
"Just do your best," Hannah said.
As they got into the Daimler, Dillon said, "What kind of time do you think we'll get off?"
"Three o'clock," she said.
"Good." He took her hand. "You and I can take a little time off. What about Mulligan's for oysters and Guinness? After all, tomorrow I'll be diving down to God knows what."
"Dammit, Dillon, why not?" She laughed. "We've earned it. Oysters and Guinness at Mulligan's it is."
THIRTEEN
Theflight from London Gatwick WAS reasonably smooth until the final stages when the weather deteriorated into low cloud and heavy rain. As they made their approach over the loch, Flight Lieutenant Lacey said over the loud speaker, "Headquarters have notified the Brigadier of our arrival time. He's on his way."
They dropped in for the touchdown and as they rolled along the runway they saw the Citation standing inside one of the hangars.
"Now what's that doing here?" Hannah said.
"I'd say it was on standby for a quick move out," Dillon said. "It makes sense. That's what I'd do."
As he opened the door for them Flight Lieutenant Lacey said, "You've got company, Chief Inspector."
"That's the personal plane of Mr. Carl Morgan presently of Loch Dhu Castle," Dillon told him.
"The polo player?"
"Jesus, son," Dillon laughed. "And isn't that the grand way to describe him?"
The Range Rover was crossing the decaying tarmac toward them, Kim at the wheel, Ferguson beside him. It stopped and the Brigadier got out. "Everything go well?"
"Couldn't be better," Dillon told him. "I've got a map of the loch with the exact location. By the way, guess who the pilot of that Lysander turned out to be?"
"Surprise me?"
"Air Marshal Sir Keith Smith," Hannah told him.
Ferguson looked genuinely astonished. "Of course! I didn't make the connection when Lady Katherine told us his name. I mean, nineteen forty-six, a wing commander."
Lacey said, "We'll get all this stuff in the back of the Range Rover, Brigadier, if your man could lend a hand."
"Of course." Ferguson nodded to Kim, then took a large golfing umbrella from inside the Range Rover and put it up against the rain.
"Morgan's plane seems to have taken up permanent residence," Hannah said.
"Yes, the bastard's there himself keeping an eye on us. I saw their Shogun parked in the hangar beside the Citation. Probably got their field glasses turned our way right now."
"Let's give them something to see then," Dillon said. "Pass me those two Sterling submachine guns, Flight Lieutenant."
Lacey handed them over and Ferguson smiled. "What a happy thought. Hold the umbrella for me, Chief Inspector." He checked one of the Sterlings expertly and then said, "Right, let's move out into the open so they can see what we've got."
Which he and Dillon did, standing in the rain for a few moments and then turning back to the Range Rover.
"That should do it," Dillon said and put the Sterlings on the backseat.
"You looked like a couple of little boys then playing gangsters in the school yard," Hannah said.
"Ah, if it were only so, Chief Inspector, but the time approaches when this whole thing becomes serious business. I've just, in a manner of speaking, given Morgan fair warning, but let's make certain. We'll take a walk."
He moved directly toward the hangar and the Citation and they moved with him, all three sheltered by the huge golfing umbrella. As they got close, they saw the Shogun, Marco and Morgan leaning against it. Two men in flying overalls were hanging around on the other side of the plane. Hannah slipped her right hand inside her handbag, which hung from a shoulder strap low on her thigh.
"No need for that, Chief Inspector," Ferguson murmured. "He isn't about to declare war just yet." He raised his voice. "Ah, there you are, Morgan. Good day to you."
"And a good day to you, Brigadier." Morgan came forward followed by Marco with his battered face, who stood there glaring at Dillon.
"Successful trip, Chief Inspector?" Morgan asked.
"Couldn't have been better," she told him.
"Who would have thought it?" He turned and looked out across the loch, quiet in the rain. "Down there on the bottom for all these years. Place of Dark Waters, isn't that what the locals call it in Gaelic? Aptly named, Dillon. I should think you'll have problems down there."
"Who knows?" Dillon told him.
"I see you've got your plane on standby," Ferguson said.
"Yes, leaving at the crack of dawn. We've got an eight o'clock start. Let's face it, Brigadier, you've won and I've certainly had enough of the delights of Loch Dhu Castle and this eternal bloody rain."
"Really?" Ferguson said. "Carl Morgan giving up? I find that difficult to believe."
"Oh, he's just being a good sport, aren't you, Morgan?" Dillon said.
"But of course," Morgan said calmly.
"Well, give our best to Asta as we probably shan't be seeing her again," Ferguson told him.
"I will."
"Good, we'll be off now."
As they walked back to the plane, Hannah said, "I don't believe a word of it. He isn't going anywhere."
"Or if he is he intends to come back," Dillon said. "I'm not sure how, but that's what he'll do."
"Of course he will," Ferguson said. "We're back with the kind of game playing that's characterized this affair from the beginning. We know that he intends to return and he knows that we know." He shook his head. "Inconceivable that he'd give up now. It's against his nature. Have you ever seen him boot an opponent out of the saddle in a polo match? Well that's Carl Morgan. He's always got to win whatever it costs."
"I'd say this is a situation Asta could help with, sir," Hannah said.
"Yes, well we'll see."
They reached the Lear and Lacey said, "All in, Brigadier, is there anything else we can do?"
"Not at the moment, Flight Lieutenant, except return to Gatwick. As usual, I require a twenty-four-hour standby."
"I'll see to it, Brigadier."
"Good, on your way then." He turned. "Come on, you lot. Let's move out."
They got into the Range Rover, Kim behind the wheel, and as they drove away, the Lear was already starting up behind them.
Morgan went into the study and poured himself a brandy, then moved to the fire. He sipped the brandy slowly, savouring it, and the door opened and Asta came in.
"They arrived back then, I heard the plane."
He nodded. "They unloaded a quantity of diving equipment and Ferguson and Dillon rather ostentatiously displayed a couple of Sterling submachine guns, all for my benefit. We had a nice chat."
"And?"
"I told Ferguson I was retiring from the fray, flying out at eight in the morning."
"And they believed you?"
He smiled. "Of course not. Ferguson knows damn well I'll return in some way. Of course, the important thing is that I know that he expects that, so it's all a question of timing."
"How do you mean?"