'You didn't need to tell me, not with the years I spent in Ulster. See you, Charles, and thanks for asking me to the party.'
At Farley Field, the Gulfstream was ready. Madoc loaded the luggage, then took them in. As Parry and Lacey came on board, Hannah made the introductions.
Lacey said, 'There's a bit of a headwind. It'll be an hour and forty-five minutes, but could run to two.'
He joined Parry in the cockpit, the engines started, and they moved away, taking off very quickly and climbing steeply.
Regan held out his manacled wrists. 'Can I have these off? I'm not going anywhere.'
Helen Black laughed. 'That's true.' She took out a key and unlocked him.
Madoc appeared from the galley. 'Tea, ladies.'
'An excellent idea,' Hannah said.
'Personally, I'd like an Irish whiskey,' Regan told him. Madoc looked at Hannah, who nodded. 'Give him what he wants, Sergeant.'
Helen Black turned to her. 'Well, here I go, into the war zone again.'
As they returned to the Highlander, Billy said, 'Jesus, Dillon, not only two women, but both coppers.'
'Yes, Scotland Yard Special Branch variety and Royal Military Police. But remember one thing, Billy: they've both killed more than once in the course of duty. They both know what they're doing.'
'What have I got myself into?'
'Well, as Heidegger said, and you quoted him to me, life is action and passion. .'
Billy cut in. 'Okay, so it's going to be bleeding active and terribly exciting.'
'You'll love it, Billy,' Dillon said, as they coasted in and he reached for the Highlander's ladder.
12
The rain continued relentlessly. Billy was coiling a rope under the awning when a voice called, 'Highlander, ahoy.' Hannah, Helen Black and Regan were standing on the jetty beside a Range Rover, the driver in plain clothes but obviously RAF.
Billy called down the companionway, 'They're here, Dillon.' Dillon came up on deck and looked across. 'Fine. I'll go and get them.'
The inflatable coasted in at the bottom of the steps and Hannah called. 'Everything okay?'
'Absolutely. Let's have the luggage.'
There were only three bags and the driver brought them down. Regan followed, hands manacled again. He held up his wrists to Dillon. 'I might as well be on a Georgia chain gang.'
'You deserve to be, you shite.' Dillon shoved him into the boat. 'Go on, get in there.' He turned to greet the women. 'Sergeant Major, Superintendent. A fast boat and a passage by night. Action, passion, we've got it all here.'
'How riveting,' Helen Black said. 'I can't wait,' and she stepped into the inflatable.
Dillon handed the luggage up to Billy, and Helen climbed in, followed by Hannah. Hannah looked around the Highlander. 'My God, I must say it looks pretty basic.'
'Underneath its lack of a good paint job, it's superb, so don't worry,' Dillon said. 'Just get settled in, stick Sean in the saloon, and let's get on with it.' He turned to Regan. 'Just remember one thing, we're back with the old movies again: one false move and you're dead.'
'Come on, Dillon, you're going to kill me anyway.' 'Not if you're good.'
They put Regan in the saloon, the two women settled into the aft cabin, and Dillon made ready for sea. He took Billy, Hannah and Helen into the wheelhouse and went over the controls, then showed the women the Walther in the fuse box beside the wheel.
'Just in case.'
The sea was starting to flood in through the entrance to the harbour, and the Highlander was rocking from side to side.
Billy said, 'Jesus, I feel terrible,' and he turned, went out on deck, and vomited over the side.
Dillon followed, took a plastic pill bottle from a pocket of his reefer jacket, shook the pills out, and offered them. 'Get them down, Billy. They'll make a difference.'
Hannah said, 'Kindness and consideration from the great Sean Dillon?'
Dillon smiled. 'Sticks and stones, Hannah, not that it matters. We've got to leave if we're to make tonight's schedule, so I've other things to worry about. We'll discuss the plan of attack later. The wind's force five to six at the moment, but it should ease later.'
They left at three, and ploughed out into the turbulent waters, the sea running heavily. Dillon stood at the wheel alone. After a while, Helen Black came in with a mug. 'Tea,' she said. 'I believe that's your preference.' 'It's the grand woman you are.'
'I'm part Irish, too, Dillon, from my father's mother's side. In spite of thirty years of war, it seems we're somehow inextricably mixed.'
'Eight million Irish in the UK, Sergeant Major, and the population of the Republic only three and a half million. It's a puzzle.'
'You and the Superintendent, that's a puzzle, too.'
'She's a hard woman, Hannah, a moralist. She finds it difficult to forgive my wicked past. You, on the other hand, understand perfectly. We've both been down the same road on different sides.'
'Yes. That's the problem, isn't it?' And she left.
Billy turned up an hour later with another mug of tea. 'Are you okay, Dillon?'
'I'm fine, but what about you?'
'The pills worked. It's Regan who's in trouble. You'd better give me some more of those pills.'
Dillon handed him the bottle. 'Take care of it, Billy. Let me know how he is.'
Perhaps half an hour later, Billy came back. 'He's lying down, but I think they're doing the job.'
'Good.'
Billy said, 'Dillon, on the White Diamond job. I've been thinking.'
'Go on.' Dillon turned to automatic pilot and lit a cigarette.
'So they've sliced through the grille entrance and we know those tunnels go right into the St Richard's Dock basement. Then all you need is a sledgehammer to break through those old brick walls.'
'So?'
'But the vaults. I still don't see how they get past the electronic security.'
'Neither do I. But there must be a sophisticated explanation. It's like computers, Billy. They're state of the art, too, but if you can get in, if you can access the files, then all is revealed.' Dillon smiled. 'Don't worry. Harry's on the case, and so is Roper. They'll come up with our answer. All I'm concerned with now is Kilbeg, and taking you back to the Dark Man in one piece, because if I don't Harry will want an explanation.'
'Hey, stuff that, Dillon. I'll do my thing.'
'Okay, time for truth, Billy. Since Blake isn't here, it's the women I'm leaving behind. I'll need you to go on shore with me. How do you feel about that?'
'Great.' Billy smiled. 'Never better. I'm with you, Dillon, all the way.' And he went out.
It was into early evening when the wheelhouse door opened and there was the smell of fried bacon sandwiches. 'And tea,' Hannah said.
'Now what's a nice Jewish girl doing, giving me bacon?' She ignored him. 'Where are we?'
'Islay to the east. Rain's a bit squally.'
'Can I take over?'
'No need. I'll go on automatic pilot.'
Dillon checked the course, then locked on. He attacked the sandwiches. 'Fabulous. Any word from London?'
'No.'
He finished the sandwiches and drank the tea. 'There you go. Thanks, love.'
'I really think you should go and lie down for a couple of hours, and let me take over.'
'Hell, what do women know about boats?'
The wheelhouse door swung open and Helen Black came in. 'Don't be a chauvinist pig, Mr Dillon. I don't know if the Superintendent knows boats, but I do. My husband and I race them as a hobby, so do shut up and go and rest. You're going to have a very hard night.'
Dillon raised his hands. 'I give in to this monstrous regiment of women. I'll leave you to it, ladies,' and he went below.
Hannah, too, went, and Helen Black took the wheel, enjoying it as she always had, increasing speed as heavy weather threatened from the east. She thought about her husband, Tony, serving in the hell of Bosnia with the Household Cavalry. It was a source of hurt that just because the Households were the Queen's personal bodyguard and rode round London in breastplates and helmets on horseback there were those who thought they were chocolate soldiers. In fact, they'd served in the Falklands, in the Gulf War, in Ireland, and in most of the rotten little wars in between.
Her trouble was that she was a woman and she was a soldier and she loved the army. Of course, Dillon had been a soldier too, to be fair. She rather liked him, although he'd been the worst of the enemy.
Against the early darkness she could see the outline of one of the Irish ferries, red and green navigation lights visible. She altered course a couple of points, then increased speed, racing the heavy weather that threatened from the east, and the waves grew rougher.
By now it really was dark, only a slight phosphorescent shining from the sea, and then the door opened and Dillon appeared.
'How are things?'
'A bit rough.'
He tapped the radio, got the weather channel, listened, and added, 'That's okay. The wind's going to drop soon. Why don't you go and get some coffee? I'll hang on, then I'll put her on automatic pilot and we can discuss what's going to happen. An hour, an hour and a half, we'll hit the Louth coast.'
'Fine.' She nodded and went out.
Half an hour later, Brendan Murphy, Dermot Kelly, Conolly and Tomelty arrived at Kilbeg and pulled up outside the Patriot public house. Murphy led the way in, running through torrential rain.
It was a typical Irish pub for either side of the border, with a bar, beer pumps, and a log fire in the hearth. There were only three old men at the fire and the landlord behind the bar, one Fergus Sullivan.
'Jesus, Brendan, and it's grand to see you.'
They shook hands. Brendan said, 'You're dying the death tonight.'
'Well, it's Monday night. What can I do for you?'
'Beds for me and Dermot. We've business elsewhere at the moment. We'll have a drink now and see you later.'
Sullivan poured four Irish whiskeys and a fifth for himself.
'Up the IRA.'
And confusion to the English,' Murphy said.
A short while later, inside the grounds of the ruins of Kilbeg Abbey, they entered an ancient hall and approached a dark old oaken door at one end banded with iron that looked as if it had been there for centuries. In fact it was a modern replica backed by steel plate of the finest quality. Murphy took a transceiver from his pocket and pressed the button. There was the murmur of a voice.