me."
Ferguson nodded. "You know, you could be right. I'd better come with you."
"What about me, sir?" Hannah asked.
"Not this time, Superintendent. You've had a strenuous day. You could do with a night off."
She bridled. "You know, I did pass a stringent medical exam before Special Branch allowed me to return to duty. I'm fine, really I am."
"Yes, well, I'd still prefer you to take the night off."
"Very well, sir," she said reluctantly. "If you've no further need of me, I'll get back to the office and clear a few things off. Are you coming, Sean?"
"Yes, you can take me to Stable Mews."
Ferguson said, "Seven o'clock about right, Sean?"
"Fine by me."
S he dropped him at his cottage, but Dillon didn't go in. He waited until the Daimler had turned the corner, rolled up the garage door, got into the old Mini Cooper he kept as a run-around, and drove away.
He was thinking about Harry Salter. Salter was a very old-fashioned gangster, now reasonably respectable, but not completely so, and he and his nephew, Billy, had been involved as much as anyone else in the feud that had led to the death of Kate Rashid's brothers.
Traffic was as bad as London traffic usually is, but Dillon finally reached Wapping High Street, turned along a narrow lane between warehouse developments, and came out on a wharf beside the Thames. He parked outside The Dark Man, Salter's pub, its painted sign showing a sinister individual in a dark cloak.
The main bar was very Victorian, with gilt-edged mirrors behind the mahogany bar, and porcelain beer pumps. Bottles arranged against the mirror seemed to cover every conceivable choice for even the most hardened drinker. Dora, the chief barmaid, sat on a stool reading the London Evening Standard.
At that time in the afternoon, before the evening trade got going, the bar was empty except for the four men in the corner booth playing poker. They were Harry Salter; Joe Baxter, and Sam Hall, his minders; and Harry's nephew, Billy.
Harry Salter threw down his cards. "These are no bleeding good to me," and then he looked up and saw Dillon and smiled.
"You little Irish bastard. What brings you here?"
Billy turned in his chair and his face lit up. "Hey, Dillon, great to see you," and then he stopped smiling. "Trouble?"
"How did you guess?"
"'Cos you and me have been to hell and back more times than I can count. By this time, I can tell the signs. What's up?"
There was an eagerness in his voice and Dillon said, "I've been the ruin of you, Billy. You never used to be so willing to put yourself in danger. Remember when I quoted your favorite philosopher: 'The unexamined life is not worth living'?"
"And I said that to me it meant the life not put to the test is not worth living. So what's up?"
"Kate Rashid."
Billy stopped smiling. They all did. Harry said, "I'd say that calls for a drink. Bushmills, Dora."
Dillon lit a cigarette and Billy said, "Let's hear it."
"Remember Paul Rashid's funeral, Billy?"
"Don't I just. No mourners, she said, but you had to go anyway."
"And you said, 'Is that it then?' and I said, 'I don't think so.' And then when we ran into her at The Dorchester, she sentenced us all to death."
"Well, she can try," Harry said. "As I told her then, people have been trying to knock me off for forty years and I'm still here."
Billy said, "Look, what's happened, Dillon? Let's be having it."
Dillon swallowed his Bushmills and told them everything. They'd worked with him and Blake Johnson in the past, knew all about the Basement, so there was no reason to hide anything. He finished by telling them what had happened at Loch Dhu and what he intended.
"So you think she'll be there tonight?" Harry Salter asked.
"I'm certain of it."
"Then Billy and I will be there, too. We'll have another drink on it," and he called to Dora.
A little while later, Dillon punched the doorbell at Roper's place. The Major said over the voice box, "Who is it?"
"It's Sean, you daft sod."
The electronic lock
Ferguson nodded. "You know, you could be right. I'd better come with you."
"What about me, sir?" Hannah asked.
"Not this time, Superintendent. You've had a strenuous day. You could do with a night off."
She bridled. "You know, I did pass a stringent medical exam before Special Branch allowed me to return to duty. I'm fine, really I am."
"Yes, well, I'd still prefer you to take the night off."
"Very well, sir," she said reluctantly. "If you've no further need of me, I'll get back to the office and clear a few things off. Are you coming, Sean?"
"Yes, you can take me to Stable Mews."
Ferguson said, "Seven o'clock about right, Sean?"
"Fine by me."
S he dropped him at his cottage, but Dillon didn't go in. He waited until the Daimler had turned the corner, rolled up the garage door, got into the old Mini Cooper he kept as a run-around, and drove away.
He was thinking about Harry Salter. Salter was a very old-fashioned gangster, now reasonably respectable, but not completely so, and he and his nephew, Billy, had been involved as much as anyone else in the feud that had led to the death of Kate Rashid's brothers.
Traffic was as bad as London traffic usually is, but Dillon finally reached Wapping High Street, turned along a narrow lane between warehouse developments, and came out on a wharf beside the Thames. He parked outside The Dark Man, Salter's pub, its painted sign showing a sinister individual in a dark cloak.
The main bar was very Victorian, with gilt-edged mirrors behind the mahogany bar, and porcelain beer pumps. Bottles arranged against the mirror seemed to cover every conceivable choice for even the most hardened drinker. Dora, the chief barmaid, sat on a stool reading the London Evening Standard.
At that time in the afternoon, before the evening trade got going, the bar was empty except for the four men in the corner booth playing poker. They were Harry Salter; Joe Baxter, and Sam Hall, his minders; and Harry's nephew, Billy.
Harry Salter threw down his cards. "These are no bleeding good to me," and then he looked up and saw Dillon and smiled.
"You little Irish bastard. What brings you here?"
Billy turned in his chair and his face lit up. "Hey, Dillon, great to see you," and then he stopped smiling. "Trouble?"
"How did you guess?"
"'Cos you and me have been to hell and back more times than I can count. By this time, I can tell the signs. What's up?"
There was an eagerness in his voice and Dillon said, "I've been the ruin of you, Billy. You never used to be so willing to put yourself in danger. Remember when I quoted your favorite philosopher: 'The unexamined life is not worth living'?"
"And I said that to me it meant the life not put to the test is not worth living. So what's up?"
"Kate Rashid."
Billy stopped smiling. They all did. Harry said, "I'd say that calls for a drink. Bushmills, Dora."
Dillon lit a cigarette and Billy said, "Let's hear it."
"Remember Paul Rashid's funeral, Billy?"
"Don't I just. No mourners, she said, but you had to go anyway."
"And you said, 'Is that it then?' and I said, 'I don't think so.' And then when we ran into her at The Dorchester, she sentenced us all to death."
"Well, she can try," Harry said. "As I told her then, people have been trying to knock me off for forty years and I'm still here."
Billy said, "Look, what's happened, Dillon? Let's be having it."
Dillon swallowed his Bushmills and told them everything. They'd worked with him and Blake Johnson in the past, knew all about the Basement, so there was no reason to hide anything. He finished by telling them what had happened at Loch Dhu and what he intended.
"So you think she'll be there tonight?" Harry Salter asked.
"I'm certain of it."
"Then Billy and I will be there, too. We'll have another drink on it," and he called to Dora.
A little while later, Dillon punched the doorbell at Roper's place. The Major said over the voice box, "Who is it?"
"It's Sean, you daft sod."
The electronic lock
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