Bridget. It’s only a small farm,forty cows, a few pigs, goats, a small herd of sheep on the mountainside.”
“And you liked it when you were laying low there?”
“Liked it?” Riley’s face was pale. “She always said she’d leave it to me. She only has a couple of retired old boys from the village to help out, so there was plenty to do. There I was, the stench of the war zone still in my nose, up the mountain to see to the sheep in the rain with that Alsatian of hers, Karl, snapping at my heels. And you know what, Sean? I loved it, every minute of it. Isn’t that the strange thing?”
“Not really. Roots, Dermot, that’s what we all need, and your roots are in her.”
“And what about you, Sean, where are your roots?”
“Maybe nowhere, nowhere at all. A few cousins scattered here and there that I haven’t seen in years and probably frightened to death of me.” He smiled. “Take my advice, old son. Once out of this, get back to Ireland and that farm outside Tullamore. You’ve been offered a miracle. From death in life at Wandsworth Prison to your present situation.”
“I know,” Riley said. “It’s like the stone being rolled aside from the mouth of the grave on the third day.”
“Exactly.” Dillon yawned. “I’ll have a little snooze now. Give me a push in an hour,” and he closed his eyes.
Riley watched him for a while. A good stick, Sean, one hell of a comrade in the old days fighting the Brits in Derry. On one memorable occasion when Riley had taken a bullet in the left leg, Dillon had refused to leave him, had hauled him to safety through the sewers of the city.
He glanced at Dillon, sleeping now. Sorry, Sean, he wanted to say, but what would have been the point? He couldn’t face going back to Wandsworth and anotherfourteen and a half years of living hell, so he closed his eyes and tried to sleep himself.
At around two o’clock in the afternoon they came in over the sea, Palermo to one side, and landed at Punta Raisi. Lacey obeyed orders from the tower and taxied to a remote area at the far end of the airport, where a number of private planes were parked. There was a small man in a cloth cap and old flying jacket standing in front of the hangar, and a Peugeot was parked to one side.
“And who might he be?” Riley asked.
“Don’t let appearances deceive you, Mr. Riley,” Hannah said. “That’s Colonel Paolo Gagini of the Italian Secret Intelligence Service. He’s put more Mafia godfathers inside than anyone I know, and he’s an old friend of ours.”
Parry got the door open and Lacey went after him, the rest of them following.
Gagini came forward. “Chief Inspector, nice to see you again, and you, Dillon. Still around and still in one piece? Amazing.”
Dillon took his hand. “This is Tom O’Malley, a colleague.”
Gagini looked Riley over and laughed out loud. “A colleague, you say? Ah, well, it takes all sorts.”
“Stop playing policeman, Paolo,” Hannah told him.
“Anything for you, Chief Inspector. I’ve always found beauty with brains more exciting than beauty on its own, and anything for my old friend Charles Ferguson. I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t want to know, only try to keep it out of the papers.” He turned to Lacey. “And what can I do for you, Flight Lieutenant?”
“I need to refuel and then it’s Malta next stop.”
“Good. Let me dispose of my friends here first.” Heturned and led the way to the Peugeot. The driver got out, a small, eager dark-haired man in a check shirt and jeans.
“Colonel?”
Gagini put a hand on the man’s head. “Luigi, I made you a sergeant because I thought you had a certain intelligence. This lady is a Chief Inspector, so treat her accordingly. Mr. Dillon and Mr. O’Malley are colleagues. You drive them across the island and drop them at Salinas. Afterwards, you return.”
“Yes, my Colonel.”
“And if you cock this up in any way, I’ll have your balls.”
Luigi smiled
“And you liked it when you were laying low there?”
“Liked it?” Riley’s face was pale. “She always said she’d leave it to me. She only has a couple of retired old boys from the village to help out, so there was plenty to do. There I was, the stench of the war zone still in my nose, up the mountain to see to the sheep in the rain with that Alsatian of hers, Karl, snapping at my heels. And you know what, Sean? I loved it, every minute of it. Isn’t that the strange thing?”
“Not really. Roots, Dermot, that’s what we all need, and your roots are in her.”
“And what about you, Sean, where are your roots?”
“Maybe nowhere, nowhere at all. A few cousins scattered here and there that I haven’t seen in years and probably frightened to death of me.” He smiled. “Take my advice, old son. Once out of this, get back to Ireland and that farm outside Tullamore. You’ve been offered a miracle. From death in life at Wandsworth Prison to your present situation.”
“I know,” Riley said. “It’s like the stone being rolled aside from the mouth of the grave on the third day.”
“Exactly.” Dillon yawned. “I’ll have a little snooze now. Give me a push in an hour,” and he closed his eyes.
Riley watched him for a while. A good stick, Sean, one hell of a comrade in the old days fighting the Brits in Derry. On one memorable occasion when Riley had taken a bullet in the left leg, Dillon had refused to leave him, had hauled him to safety through the sewers of the city.
He glanced at Dillon, sleeping now. Sorry, Sean, he wanted to say, but what would have been the point? He couldn’t face going back to Wandsworth and anotherfourteen and a half years of living hell, so he closed his eyes and tried to sleep himself.
At around two o’clock in the afternoon they came in over the sea, Palermo to one side, and landed at Punta Raisi. Lacey obeyed orders from the tower and taxied to a remote area at the far end of the airport, where a number of private planes were parked. There was a small man in a cloth cap and old flying jacket standing in front of the hangar, and a Peugeot was parked to one side.
“And who might he be?” Riley asked.
“Don’t let appearances deceive you, Mr. Riley,” Hannah said. “That’s Colonel Paolo Gagini of the Italian Secret Intelligence Service. He’s put more Mafia godfathers inside than anyone I know, and he’s an old friend of ours.”
Parry got the door open and Lacey went after him, the rest of them following.
Gagini came forward. “Chief Inspector, nice to see you again, and you, Dillon. Still around and still in one piece? Amazing.”
Dillon took his hand. “This is Tom O’Malley, a colleague.”
Gagini looked Riley over and laughed out loud. “A colleague, you say? Ah, well, it takes all sorts.”
“Stop playing policeman, Paolo,” Hannah told him.
“Anything for you, Chief Inspector. I’ve always found beauty with brains more exciting than beauty on its own, and anything for my old friend Charles Ferguson. I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t want to know, only try to keep it out of the papers.” He turned to Lacey. “And what can I do for you, Flight Lieutenant?”
“I need to refuel and then it’s Malta next stop.”
“Good. Let me dispose of my friends here first.” Heturned and led the way to the Peugeot. The driver got out, a small, eager dark-haired man in a check shirt and jeans.
“Colonel?”
Gagini put a hand on the man’s head. “Luigi, I made you a sergeant because I thought you had a certain intelligence. This lady is a Chief Inspector, so treat her accordingly. Mr. Dillon and Mr. O’Malley are colleagues. You drive them across the island and drop them at Salinas. Afterwards, you return.”
“Yes, my Colonel.”
“And if you cock this up in any way, I’ll have your balls.”
Luigi smiled
Similar Books
