take part in riots. Let me guess. You teach them interesting things like how to make petrol bombs and handle policemen on horseback."
"You're crazy."
Dillon slashed him again.
"I can't help you," Brown said wildly, his face crumbling. "It's as much as my life's worth."
"Really?" Dillon grabbed him by the throat, pushed him across the table, and rammed the muzzle of the Walther against the side of his right knee. "And what's a knee worth? You've got ten seconds to decide."
"No, no. All right. I'll tell you. It's true. They run training courses, just as you say. They come from all over the country, sometimes even abroad. But I just take care of the house and grounds--that's all I know, I swear it!"
"Oh, I doubt that very much. But that's all right. All I needed was your confirmation. That wasn't too bad, was it? Now if you'll just open the gates, I'll be on my way." He picked up the shotgun and tossed it through the open door into some bushes. "Then I suggest you make that phone call to the good Countess. I'm sure she'll be most interested."
Brown shuffled to the front door, pressed a button in a black box, and opened the door. Outside, the main gates began to part. Dillon stopped and turned.
"Don't forget now. Dillon was here, and give her my love."
He walked out into the road and half-ran to the car. He got in beside Hannah and said to Fogarty, "Back to the plane."
They drove away. Hannah said, "You didn't leave anyone dead back there?"
"Now, would I do a thing like that? It turns out he was a very reasonable man, our factor. I'll tell you about it on the plane."
B rown, between a rock and a hard place, took Dillon's advice, of course, and phoned Kate Rashid at her house in London but found that she was out, which made him feel worse. Desperate, his face hurting like hell now, he tried the mobile number he'd been given for emergencies. Kate and Rupert were eating at The Ivy. She listened as Brown poured it all out.
She said calmly, "How badly are you hurt?"
"I'm going to need stitches. The bastard slashed my face with his Walther."
"Well, he would, wouldn't he? Tell me again what he said."
"Something like, say Dillon was here and give her my love."
"That's my Dillon. Get yourself a doctor, Brown. I'll talk to you later." She put her mobile on the table.
The waiter had stood back respectfully. When Rupert nodded, he poured Cristal champagne in both glasses and withdrew.
"To your bright eyes, cousin," he toasted her. "Why is it I smell trouble from the little I've heard?"
"Actually, what you smell is Sean Dillon." She drank a little champagne and then told him what Brown had said. "What's your opinion, darling?"
"Well, obviously they were there on Charles Ferguson's behalf. They didn't even pretend. Their only reason for visiting Loch Dhu was to let you know that they knew."
"What a clever boy you are. Anything else?"
"Yes. In a way, he's calling you out."
"Of course he is. Oh, General Ferguson's in charge, but it always comes down to Dillon. He spent all those years with the IRA, and the Army and the RUC never touched his collar once, the bastard."
"But a clever bastard. So what now?"
"We'll see him tonight. It's time you two met."
"And how do we do that?"
"Because, as you said, he's calling me out. It's an invitation, and I know just where to find him."
Chapter 6.
L ATER THAT AFTERNOON AT FERGUSON'S FLAT, THE GENeral sat by the fire, listening to Hannah Bernstein's account of the trip. "Excellent," he said. "You seem to have behaved with your usual ruthless efficiency, Sean."
"Ah, well, the man needed it."
"So what happens now?"
"She won't let it go. It's like one of those old Westerns. The villain comes out of the saloon to meet the hero for a gunfight in the street."
"An interesting parallel."
"She won't be able to resist a face-to-face."
"And where will this event take place?"
"Where we've met so often before--the Piano Bar at The Dorchester."
"When?"
"Tonight. She'll be expecting
"You're crazy."
Dillon slashed him again.
"I can't help you," Brown said wildly, his face crumbling. "It's as much as my life's worth."
"Really?" Dillon grabbed him by the throat, pushed him across the table, and rammed the muzzle of the Walther against the side of his right knee. "And what's a knee worth? You've got ten seconds to decide."
"No, no. All right. I'll tell you. It's true. They run training courses, just as you say. They come from all over the country, sometimes even abroad. But I just take care of the house and grounds--that's all I know, I swear it!"
"Oh, I doubt that very much. But that's all right. All I needed was your confirmation. That wasn't too bad, was it? Now if you'll just open the gates, I'll be on my way." He picked up the shotgun and tossed it through the open door into some bushes. "Then I suggest you make that phone call to the good Countess. I'm sure she'll be most interested."
Brown shuffled to the front door, pressed a button in a black box, and opened the door. Outside, the main gates began to part. Dillon stopped and turned.
"Don't forget now. Dillon was here, and give her my love."
He walked out into the road and half-ran to the car. He got in beside Hannah and said to Fogarty, "Back to the plane."
They drove away. Hannah said, "You didn't leave anyone dead back there?"
"Now, would I do a thing like that? It turns out he was a very reasonable man, our factor. I'll tell you about it on the plane."
B rown, between a rock and a hard place, took Dillon's advice, of course, and phoned Kate Rashid at her house in London but found that she was out, which made him feel worse. Desperate, his face hurting like hell now, he tried the mobile number he'd been given for emergencies. Kate and Rupert were eating at The Ivy. She listened as Brown poured it all out.
She said calmly, "How badly are you hurt?"
"I'm going to need stitches. The bastard slashed my face with his Walther."
"Well, he would, wouldn't he? Tell me again what he said."
"Something like, say Dillon was here and give her my love."
"That's my Dillon. Get yourself a doctor, Brown. I'll talk to you later." She put her mobile on the table.
The waiter had stood back respectfully. When Rupert nodded, he poured Cristal champagne in both glasses and withdrew.
"To your bright eyes, cousin," he toasted her. "Why is it I smell trouble from the little I've heard?"
"Actually, what you smell is Sean Dillon." She drank a little champagne and then told him what Brown had said. "What's your opinion, darling?"
"Well, obviously they were there on Charles Ferguson's behalf. They didn't even pretend. Their only reason for visiting Loch Dhu was to let you know that they knew."
"What a clever boy you are. Anything else?"
"Yes. In a way, he's calling you out."
"Of course he is. Oh, General Ferguson's in charge, but it always comes down to Dillon. He spent all those years with the IRA, and the Army and the RUC never touched his collar once, the bastard."
"But a clever bastard. So what now?"
"We'll see him tonight. It's time you two met."
"And how do we do that?"
"Because, as you said, he's calling me out. It's an invitation, and I know just where to find him."
Chapter 6.
L ATER THAT AFTERNOON AT FERGUSON'S FLAT, THE GENeral sat by the fire, listening to Hannah Bernstein's account of the trip. "Excellent," he said. "You seem to have behaved with your usual ruthless efficiency, Sean."
"Ah, well, the man needed it."
"So what happens now?"
"She won't let it go. It's like one of those old Westerns. The villain comes out of the saloon to meet the hero for a gunfight in the street."
"An interesting parallel."
"She won't be able to resist a face-to-face."
"And where will this event take place?"
"Where we've met so often before--the Piano Bar at The Dorchester."
"When?"
"Tonight. She'll be expecting
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