There was a short silence. She said, “But why? And what happened to the real Carter and his men?”
There was no reply, and when she turned cautiously he had gone. She went down the steps and hurried along the waterfront, but as she reached the jetty she heard an engine start and then the boat eased away. There was one man in the wheelhouse, another coiling lines in the stern. Nothing to be done, and she turned and hurried along the waterfront.
Carter went down the companionway and found Dillon seated on a bench seat, Riley with a glass in his hand, sitting morosely on the other side of the table.
“Ah, you found the whiskey,” Carter said.
“You saw the Chief Inspector?”
“Yes, and gave her a message for Ferguson.”
“That was kind of you. You were talking Hebrew earlier. I don’t speak it, but I recognize the language. If you’re Israeli, that’s the grand English public-school accent you’ve got.”
“My father was a diplomat in London. I went to St. Paul’s.”
“Not bad. Dermot has revealed all, by the way. So Hakim was just a fantasy?”
“Not at all. The villa exists and Hakim was in residence.”
“You say was?”
“We did you a favor. I dropped in with my boys last night and knocked him off.”
“Just him?”
At that moment, the engines rumbled into life. “Oh, no, we killed all of them.”
“Including the two women?”
Carter shrugged. “No choice, it had to be all of them. The Arab nations are at war with us, Dillon, so it’s all or nothing. As an old IRA hand, I’d have thought you’d appreciate that.”
Dillon said, “What about the real Carter and his men? Did you kill them, too?”
“No need. They got in this afternoon and tied up on the other side of the jetty. Moshe swam across and waited until they all went below for a meal or perhaps a conference. He boarded with a canister of Calsane and released it down the companionway. It’s a nerve gas that knocks you out for twelve hours. Only temporary, no ill effects afterwards.”
“As far as you know.”
Carter smiled. “Got to go. We’ll have words later.”
He went out and Dillon turned to Riley. The boat wasn’t moving very fast, obviously easing out through the small fleet of fishing boats. Riley poured another whiskey, looking hunted.
Dillon said, “So you don’t know who they are?”
“I swear on the Virgin, Sean. I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I want my money and I want out.”
“Really? And when do you go over the side with a bullet in the head?”
Riley looked shocked. “Why in the hell would they do that?”
“Because they don’t need you anymore. You’ve served your purpose. Christ, Dermot, are you thick or something? You heard Carter. You’re dealing with thoroughly ruthless people.” Dillon was actually feeling angry. “They not only stiffed Hakim and his two goons, they also killed the caretaker and his wife and the daughter. They simply don’t take prisoners, and I don’t care what they say, Calsane gas is still experimental and there’s a high chance of permanent brain damage.”
“Holy Mother of God!” Riley moaned.
“So who needs you, Dermot?”
“Sean, what do I do?”
“It’s staring you in the face. You’ve got my five thousand dollars operating money, you’ve got a passport. Over the side with you before we’re out of the harbor, but be quick about it.”
Riley seemed galvanized into action. “By Christ, and I will.” He hesitated. “I can’t take you with me, Sean, the handcuffs.”
“Oh, get on with it,” Dillon told him.
Riley opened the door at the top of the companionway cautiously and peered out. One of the men was on the prow. Carter and the one he had called Arnold were in the wheelhouse. The boat was edging forward, threading its way between the little ships of the fishing fleet. Riley dodged across the deck, went over the rail, hung there for a moment, then eased into the water. It was surprisingly warm and he swam under the stern of a fishing boat, turned and watched the lights of the boat move out of the harbor entrance.
“Good luck, Dillon, you’re going to need it,” he said softly, turned and swam to some steps, then hurried along the jetty. He had the money and the passport. Palermo next stop and a plane to Paris and from there to Ireland and safe amongst his own people again. He couldn’t get there fast enough.
As the boat moved out to sea, Carter went down the companionway and found Dillon still in place on the bench seat. He frowned. “Where’s Riley?”
“Long gone,” Dillon told him. “After hearing how you dealt with Hakim and company, it occurred to him that you might just find him as disposable.”
“Oh, you persuaded him? I’m surprised, Mr. Dillon, after the way he betrayed you.”
“Come off it, old son, he didn’t have much choice. I’d have done the same faced with that kind of prison sentence, and Dermot and I go back a long way.”
Carter called in English, “Arnold, get down here.”
He opened a drawer and found a leather case, removed a hypodermic, and filled it from a small bottle.
“What do I call you?” Dillon asked.
Carter smiled. “Why not? It’s Aaron, Mr. Dillon, and this is Arnold,” he added, as the other man entered. “Turn Mr. Dillon over, Arnold.”
Arnold did as he was told. Dillon felt a hard finger tap on the back of his right hand, then the needle.
“I hope this one isn’t as experimental as Calsane.”
“A derivative of Pethidine, but it lasts longer.”
“No sense in asking where we’re going?”
“None at all.” Aaron nodded to Arnold. “Take him to the cabin and lock him in.”
Dillon managed to make it along the corridor, was aware of the door being opened, the bunk bed, but after that, nothing.
Hannah got through to Ferguson with no trouble at all, using her satellite-linked mobile phone. He was at his flat in Cavendish Square, sitting beside the fire in the drawing room, and he listened patiently while she filled him in.
“My God, but they really shafted us on this one, whoever they are.”
“But what would they want with Dillon, sir? And what about the real Carter?”
“God knows, but we’ll know soon enough. They said they’d be in touch and they also said Dillon would be back. We’ll just have to wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll contact Lacey at Malta and tell him to fly back to Palermo to pick you up in the morning, and I’ll ask Gagini to send the car back for you.”
“I’d be grateful,” she said.
“Just come home, Chief Inspector, nothing else to be done at the moment.”
Ferguson sat there thinking about it for a while, then phoned Wandsworth Prison and asked to speak to the head of security.
Dillon came half-awake in the darkness of the cabin. His handcuffs had been taken off and it was very dark. He tried to make sense of the luminous dial of his watch, which appeared to indicate that he had been out for about eight hours. The motion of the ship indicated a reasonably fast speed and he stood up, felt by the door, and found the light switch.
The porthole was bolted tight and painted black. His mouth was bone dry, but there was a small corner basin and a plastic cup, which he filled with water several times, sitting on the edge of the bed. A key turned in the door, it opened, and Aaron came in. A different man was behind him carrying a tray.
“I thought you’d be up and about by now,” Aaron said. “This is Raphael, by the way, bearing gifts. There’s a razor and shaving cream and shampoo. You’ll find a little shower room through that door. More importantly, a flask of tea, milk and ham sandwiches.”
“Ham?” Dillon said. “And you a nice Jewish boy?”
“Yes, disgraceful, isn’t it, but then, as I told you, I went to St. Paul’s. We’ll see you later.”