The White House Connection

Below him, Blake landed on the sand just in front of the surf. Dillon, further behind, plunged into six feet of very salty water, surfaced and ploughed forward with difficulty because of the parachute trailing behind. He punched the quick release clip, let the harness slip away and waded to the beach.

Blake came to meet him. 'You okay?'

Dillon nodded. 'Let's do it.'

They went up the beach, paused in the pine trees, then started towards the house. They stood together, looking down, and there was a sudden explosion and smoke drifted up.

'I'd say that was a smoke grenade,' Dillon said. 'Let's go,' and they charged down the hill.

Barry stayed back, some instinct telling him to. Quinn led the others down towards the barn, and Hedley focused on Mullen and shot him through the head. Then he tossed a smoke grenade. The others flung themselves down and sprayed the first floor of the barn with fire. Hedley lay there at the top of the steps, head down, a round creasing his right shoulder.

Lady Helen crouched behind him. 'Are you all right?'

'Slightly damaged. Don't worry.'

Barry said, 'Get on with it, Quinn.'

Quinn stood up. 'Let's get to it,' he urged and they all stood and followed him. Lady Helen, behind Hedley, raised the Browning and fired it repeatedly, blowing Quinn away. They retreated, she reached down for Hedley.

'Come on, inside.'

Dolan and McGee crawled back. Barry said, 'Right, lads, into the barn. They've nowhere to go.'

'Christ, Jack, it's a bad scene,' Dolan said. 'Walk in the door and get your head blown off.'

Barry took out a Beretta. 'Well, you fucking well get in or I'll blow your head off myself. Go on, up those steps.'

Dolan, terrified, started up, and Blake, arriving in the courtyard at the same moment, sprayed him with his AK, sending him headfirst to the cobbles below.

Blake crouched, and Barry moved closer to McGee. 'Don't worry, we'll manage.'

Dillon appeared on the other side of the courtyard and fired his AK. 'You there, Jack?'

Barry called, 'So it's you, Sean. You always arrive too late.'

Blake fired in the general direction of Barry's voice, and there was return fire. He felt a red-hot poker in his left arm and fell back. Dillon fired in reply, three rounds, catching McGee in the face.

There was silence now, only the rain and the fog. Barry crawled forward, eased open the bottom door and passed inside. He saw her, up there on the barn platform, pulling Hedley back to safety, hay drifting down.

'I'm here,' he called.

She turned, dropping Hedley. Barry had his gun hand raised, as she pulled out the Colt without hesitation.

His Beretta jammed. He worked the slider desperately and she took deliberate aim. And then something strange happened. She seemed to struggle for breath, staggered back and fell to her knees. Barry ejected one magazine, rammed another in and took aim, and Dillon burst in through the barn door.

'No!' Dillon cried and fired, and his bullet creased Barry's face, sending him lurching back with a cry.

Barry recovered, and fired back repeatedly, sending Dillon down, then vanished through the back door. There was silence. Dillon stood and went up the stairs.

Hedley lay there, blood on his shoulder, Lady Helen beside him, face grey. Dillon kneeled beside her. 'What is it?'

'My heart, Mr Dillon. I've been on borrowed time for a while. Did we get them?' Dillon hesitated. 'The truth now.'

'From the looks of it, his gang, but not Barry.'

'What a shame.' She closed her eyes.

A moment later, an RAF Land Rover drove into the courtyard with Charles Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein.

Dillon worked his way from one body to another. Quinn, shot several times, was only just alive. Dillon said, 'Jesus, Quinn, I haven't seen you in years.'

'Dillon?'

'All down, your mates finished.'

'And Jack?'

'Oh, the Devil always looks after his own. He's away out of it as usual.'

'Bastard.'

'Where would he be going?'

Quinn managed a ghastly smile. 'It'll cost you a cigarette.'

Dillon got his silver case out. The cigarettes inside were still dry in spite of his ducking. He gave Quinn one and a light from his Zippo.

Quinn said, 'We flew from Doonreigh in a Chieftain with Docherty. Remember him from the old days?'

'Surely.'

'Landed on an old airstrip not far from here. Shankley Down, run by a man called Clarke. Docherty was to wait.' His voice was tired. 'A bastard, Jack, he always thought of number one. Flying back to Ulster and to hell with the rest of us.' He was wandering now. 'Back to Spanish Head. Always his bolt-hole.'

He was going fast. Dillon said, 'Hang on, Quinn, I could still get him. Remember that special thing about me? I can fly anything with wings. This Shankley Down. Was there another plane there?'

Quinn nodded. 'Small plane, but two engines. The kind where you walk over the wing to get in.'

'Cessna 310,' Dillon said.

'Get him, Dillon, fuck the bastard.' The cigarette fell from Quinn's fingers and his head lolled to one side.

Dillon went to Ferguson, who was speaking into his mobile. He switched off. 'I've sent for a disposal unit. I shouldn't think they'll make it in this weather in less than four hours. What about him?'

He nodded to Quinn and Dillon said, 'Dead, all four dead.'

'Anyone I should know?'

'Oh, you'll be delighted. Four to cross off your most-wanted list.'

Hannah Bernstein had got the medical kit from the RAF Land Rover. She had wrapped a field service bandage round Blake's arm. Hedley was holding another to his shoulder as he crouched beside Lady Helen. Dillon dropped to one knee and she smiled.

'So he got away, Mr Dillon, what a pity.'

Dillon took her hand, never so cold, never so calm. 'He only thinks he has. I'll get him for you, my love, I swear it.' He stood up and helped her to her feet. 'Take her inside,' he said to Ferguson.

They stood there, Hedley and Blake, Ferguson and Lady Helen, Hannah with an arm around her. Blake was obviously in considerable pain and Hedley didn't look good.

'Terrible mess, all this, Charles,' Lady Helen said. 'It won't look good in the papers.'

'It won't be in the papers,' Ferguson said. 'My disposal unit will take this trash back to London where they will be processed in a certain crematorium. They'll be several pounds of grey ash each by the morning, and they can dump it in the Thames as far as I'm concerned.'

'And you have the power to do that, Charles.'

He took her from Hannah and put an arm around her. 'I can do anything.'

Dillon said, 'I'll leave you to it. I'll be away. I'll take the Land Rover.'

Ferguson said, 'What is this?'

'Quinn told me they flew into a place called Shankley Down in a Chieftain piloted by an old acquaintance of mine called Docherty. I should imagine Jack's taking off about now, if he hasn't already.'

'But what can you do?'

'The place is run by a man called Clarke and there's a Cessna 310 there. I'm going to chase Jack Barry to the hob of hell. Oh, the 310 is a bit slower than a Chieftain, but I think I can take care of that. You see, I know his ultimate destination.'

And it was Blake who saw it. 'Spanish Head?'

'Got it in one.'

'But it would be crazy for him to go there.'

'He is crazy.'

'But where can you land, Sean?'

'I know the place well from the old days. Great beaches off the Head with the tide out.'

'In weather like this?' Ferguson said. 'You're mad.'

'I always was, Brigadier.'

Hannah Bernstein said, 'In the circumstances, I'd better go with him, sir.'

'Like hell you will,' Dillon told her.

'Let me tell you something, Dillon. To leave here in the Land Rover, you need the keys and I have them. Secondly, you have no authority to proceed without a police presence, which as a Detective Superintendent of Special Branch I will provide, Northern Ireland being part of the United Kingdom.'

'Jesus, but you're a hard woman.'