Day of Reckoning (7 page)

grey British Telecom van. The rear door opened and Blake Johnson, wearing a hard hat and yellow oilskins, got out,
carrying two grappling hooks, and lifted a manhole cover
in the pavement. Dillon passed him an inspection lamp and
a red warning light saying: Danger. Men at Work. He then passed some canvas screens and an awning against the rain. There was an army of wires and switches. Blake tried to take an interest.
Inside the van Roper, in a wheelchair, sat opposite a very simple-looking computer set-up. Dillon, in black tee shirt and jeans, crouched beside him. Roper punched the keys.
'How's it looking?' Dillon asked.
'So far, so good. Don't worry, the great Roper is never
wrong.' There was the sound of a car slowing outside and
he raised a hand. 'Wait.'
Blake looked out from under the awning, the rain pitiless. The police patrol car slowed, the driver leaned out.
'What a bloody way to make a living at this time in the morning.'
'You, too,' Blake told him, putting on his best British
accent.
The policeman smiled and drove away.
Dillon said, 'Let's do it.'
'Fine. As I told you, I can screw the entire security system, but only for fifteen minutes, so you'll need to be fast.'
'Hell, I've been all over those ground plans you showed
me. I know where I'm going.'
'You better had. I'm starting now, so count to ten and get down to that basement door.'
Various lights flickered on the screen, reds and greens,
there came a faint sound, and then Dillon was out of there,
past Blake and down to the basement, pulling up his hood.
He had a small flashlight, but really didn't need it, for
there were subdued security lights everywhere. He had no
worries about cameras. As Roper had told him, they were
frozen, too.
Remembering the ground plans from the computer screen, he went up the steps fast, passed through the kitchens, and
emerged by the entrance to the restaurant. He could see into
the glass office by the main door. The security guard was fiddling with the TV, which had gone off.
Dillon slipped through the shadows into the main gambling room and round the right table. There was a tray of
dice on the table, all very neat, but he left them alone, and
instead dropped to one knee by the right-hand side of the
table, where the dealer stood. There was a stack of dice there.
He took six, no more, and put them into his pocket, turned,
and went out fast.
The security guard was still arguing with the TV. Dillon
slipped through the shadow, went down the steps, and
speeded into the basement, closing the door behind him.
He stepped past Blake, gave him a thumbs-up, and went
into the van. He took the six dice from his pocket and put
them on the bench in front of Roper.
'There you go.'
'Thirteen minutes,' Roper said. 'You did well.' He tapped
the keys and sat back. 'Everything normal again.'
'Now what?'
'We clear up and get out of here.'
Dillon removed his hood and went out to Blake. 'It worked. I got what he wanted, so let's get moving. I'll help you.' 'Okay,' Blake said.
Dillon collapsed the screens and awning and put them into the truck, while Blake replaced the manhole cover. A few moments later, they drove away, Dillon at the wheel.
At Roper's place in Regency Square, they sat and watched him at the bench examining the dice with an eyeglass.
'Will it be okay?' Blake asked.
'Of course it will, old boy. Being a perfectionist, however,
I prefer solitude when engaged in sensitive work, so be
good and dear off. You won't be able to use these things
until tomorrow night anyway, so I've got all the time in
the world.'
Dillon nodded to Blake and they stood up. 'We'll check in tomorrow, then.'
'You do that,' Roper said, ignoring them completely as he picked up a tiny electric drill of the kind used by jewellers.
The following morning at eight, Dillon's phone rang, and
Ferguson said, 'As I've had no intimations of disaster, you
must have pulled it off last night.'
'Absolutely. We're in Roper's hands now.'
'What are you and Blake up to?'
'We're going to the King's Head for a full English break
fast.'
'I can't wait to join you.'
Which he did half an hour later, accompanied by Hannah Bernstein. They all ordered, and Ferguson said, 'You haven't checked with Roper yet?'
'Give him a chance, sir,' Hannah said, as the waiter arrived with the breakfasts on a large tray.
Dillon said, 'Pass your bacon to me, Hannah. I wouldn't
want to put your fine Jewish principles under siege.' 'You're so kind, Dillon.'
And then the door opened with a bang and Roper surged in. 'Smells great.' He turned to the waiter. 'The same for me.'
'I must say, you look astonishingly well,' Ferguson said.
'You mean for a cripple who hasn't been to bed all night?'
Roper asked, and took the six dice from his pocket and
rolled them on the table. They all came up ones. 'Snake eyes.' He turned to Blake. 'Isn't that what you call them
in Vegas?'
'It sure as hell is.'
'Excellent. God help Jack Fox and the Colosseum this
evening. I think I'll go and watch.'
'You have to be a member,' Hannah Bernstein said.
'Which, thanks to my computer, I am. In fact, you all
are.' The waiter appeared with his breakfast. 'My God, this
looks good.' He picked up a knife and fork and got to work.
'I assume it had occurred to you that if Dillon and Blake wanted to create mayhem in the Colosseum tonight, they
also needed to be members?'
'Of course it did.' Ferguson smiled. 'And I knew you'd take
care of it. It'll be an interesting night ahead of us, I think.'
'You can sure as hell say that,' Blake agreed.

6

'Excellent. God help Jack Fox and the Colosseum this
evening. I think I'll go and watch.'
'You have to be a member,' Hannah Bernstein said.
'Which, thanks to my computer, I am. In fact, you all
are.' The waiter appeared with his breakfast. 'My God, this
looks good.' He picked up a knife and fork and got to work.
'I assume it had occurred to you that if Dillon and Blake wanted to create mayhem in the Colosseum tonight, they
also needed to be members?'
'Of course it did.' Ferguson smiled. 'And I knew you'd take
care of it. It'll be an interesting night ahead of us, I think.'
'You can sure as hell say that,' Blake agreed.
Roper's expertise produced plastic membership cards for all
of them, plus photos of Rossi and Cameci, the restaurant's
minders, to add to those of Falcone and Russo, and that
evening, at eight o'clock, they were passed through the door
at the Colosseum by Henry, Roper in a light collapsible wheelchair pushed by Dillon.
The main room was already busy, waitresses in minuscule skirts moving through the crowd offering champagne. Dillon took a glass and looked up.
'Any good?' Blake asked.
'If you like sparkling wine, but champagne it's not.'
'Ah, well, Fox will be into profit margins,' Ferguson
observed.
They stood in a small group by the bar, and Hannah said,
'There are a couple of villains you're interested in, sir. The
Jago brothers, Harold and Tony, at the end of the bar.'
The others took a look.
Ferguson said, 'Very unsavoury.'
'Yes, well, we can sort them out later,' Dillon said. 'The thing is, who's going to start the ball rolling?'
'Well, actually, I've had another of my ideas,' Ferguson
said. 'We have six dice, so why not two each?'
'Brigadier, I can see why you achieved high command,'
Blake told him. 'Agreed, Sean?'
'Why not?' Dillon turned to Roper. 'Here we go. Show-
time.'
Roper passed the dice across and Dillon gave the others
theirs. 'There you go.'
'Into action, then,' Ferguson said. 'Let's get on with it,' and turned for the dice table. 'Oh, and palm your dice smoothly, gentlemen.'
In the restaurant, Fox enjoyed his scrambled eggs and smoked salmon again and tried a little Krug champagne.
'Great stuff, this,' he said to Falcone. 'But not the vintage.
It's the non-vintage that's really special. Different grapes.'
Russo appeared. 'There's a problem, Signore. You remem
ber those two from the Four Seasons in New York, Dillon
and Johnson?'
'Yes?'
'They're here now, in the main room.'
'Really?' Fox emptied his glass. 'Well, let's take a look.'
Falcone pulled back the chair, and Fox stood up and walked
out into the most active part of the casino.
Russo said, 'Over there, Signore. Next to some woman
and another man. In the striped suit, see?'
Fox snorted. 'That "some woman", Russo, is Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein of Scotland Yard's Special
Branch. And that "another man" is Brigadier General Ferguson,
head of a special intelligence unit for the Prime Minister. An
absolutely devious old bastard. I guarantee you they're not
here for a friendly game of cards.'
'So what do we do, Signore?' Falcone asked. 'Move them out?'
'Don't be stupid,' Fox said. 'This is one of the most pres
tigious gambling clubs in London. Scandal is the last thing
we want. You expect me to expel a brigadier general and his friends? No, we wait and see what they're up to.'
The dice table was a popular one, every inch taken up by
the crowd standing around. Ferguson said to Hannah, 'Would you like to have a go, Superintendent?'
'No, sir. I don't know craps. It's not one of my vices.'
'Well, it's one of mine,' Blake said. 'Let's do it.'
He had to wait ten minutes for his chance, then took the offered dice and started. Strangely enough, he did quite well
for the first three throws, actually won money. Then he
palmed the dice and tossed two of Roper's.
'Snake eyes.'
There was a groan from the crowd.
The dealer passed the dice to Dillon, who palmed them for the real article, and made two successful throws. Then, just
when he had everything riding on the toss – 'snake eyes!'
'Hey,' he said ruefully, 'bad luck I understand, but this is diabolical.'
Ferguson moved in. 'Let me try, old boy. Mind you, these
dice do seem to have lost their edge.' He turned to the
croupier. 'Let me have a new pair.'
The croupier complied. Ferguson rolled and immediately
came up with snake eyes. He turned to a military-looking
man with a stiff moustache next to him. 'How strange.' He laughed. 'We all keep getting the same thing.'
'Yes,' the military-looking man said slowly. The croupier's rake reached out, but the military-looking man said, 'Not so fast,' and grabbed the dice.
The croupier said, 'I hope monsieur isn't suggesting there could be something wrong?'
'Let's see.'
The man rolled the dice and threw them the length of the table: again, snake eyes. The croupier's rake reached out and the military gentleman beat him to it.
'Oh, no, you don't. That's snake eyes too many times.
These dice are loaded.' There was a sudden murmur from
the crowd and he turned to an ageing gentleman. 'See for yourself. Pair of ones guaranteed.'
The man threw and the result was clear. The outrage in the
crowd was plain to see, and Mori hurried down the steps. 'Ladies and gentlemen, please. A misunderstanding.' Are you the manager?' Ferguson demanded.
'Yes,' Mori replied.
'Then oblige us by throwing those dice.'
Mori hesitated. People in the crowd shouted, 'Get on
with it.'
Mori threw. The dice rolled.
Snake eyes.
The crowd roared in anger. The military-looking man said, 'That settles it. Loaded dice, and I've lost a bundle here in the last few weeks. We need the police.'
'Ladies and gentlemen, please,' Mori called.
Fox, Falcone and Russo stayed well to the rear.
Hannah Bernstein moved forward and said to Mori, 'The
dice, sir, I'll have them.'
'And who the devil are you?' He was so upset he asked
her in Italian.
Hannah replied with fluency in the same language. 'Detec
tive Superintendent Bernstein, Special Branch.' She looked
at the dice she picked up. 'I notice that, in accordance with the Gaming Act, these carry the club's registered mark. Do
you agree?'
'Well, yes,' Mori said lamely, then added, 'Someone must have substituted false ones.'
The military-looking man said, 'Don't be stupid. What on
earth would be the point of a player substituting for the real
dice a pair that would make him lose?'
There was a roar from the crowd, Mori sagged across
the table, and Hannah said, 'In accordance with the statu
tory provisions of the Gaming Act, sir, I must issue an
order closing you down until such time as Westminster
Magistrate's Court can consider the matter. I believe you
also own twelve betting shops in the City of London. Is
that so?'
'Yes,' Mori told her.
'I'm afraid they must close, also. Any infringement of this order means a fine of one hundred thousand pounds
with further penalties thereafter.'
'Of course.' Mori raised his voice shakily. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid we must close by order of the police. Please leave now. Don't forget your things.'
The crowd faded, and at the rear were Ferguson, Bernstein,
Dillon, Blake, and Roper in his wheelchair. At the door,
Dillon turned and waved to Fox.
'Hey, there you are, old buddy. Have a good night!'
They went out. Fox turned to Falcone. 'I want to know
where they go. There must be a couple of young punks
available. Not Rossi or Comeci.'
Russo said, 'There's Borsalino and Salvatore in the kitchen.'
'Get them now. I know who most of them are, but not
the one in the wheelchair. Then follow him to hell.'
They took Roper from his wheelchair, eased him into the
Daimler, and then followed him, after folding his wheel
chair.
'Now what?' Blake asked.
'We wait for Fox to react,' Dillon said.
'Shall we eat?' Ferguson asked.
'Not me, Brigadier,' Roper told him. 'I want to check out
the computer again. Take me home, then you lot go and
enjoy yourselves.'
But already following the Daimler was a very ordinary
Ford car driven by a young man named Paolo Borsalino,
with his friend, Alex Salvatore, sitting beside him. In Sicilian
terms, they were
Piccioti,
youngsters gaining respect, doing the odd killing, climbing up the ladder. Borsalino had acted
as executioner three times, and Salvatore twice, and they
were eager to do more.
The Daimler stopped in Regency Square, and Dillon got
out, set up Roper's wheelchair and helped him into it. They all got out and Dillon took Roper's key and opened his door.
Ferguson said, 'We'll speak tomorrow. Excellent job, Captain.'
'We aim to please, Brigadier.'
Dillon pushed Roper up the ramp into the hall. 'You're a
hell of a fella, Roper.'
'Well, considering your background, I take that as a compliment.'
Dillon closed the door and went back to the others. 'Now what?'
'Fredo's – it's round the corner from Cavendish Square. A
nice Italian restaurant,' Ferguson said. 'We can have a look
at what's next.'
The Daimler drove away, and Borsalino and Salvatore,
parked at the end of the square, watched them go. Salvatore said, 'Now what?'
'You watch the car,' Borsalino said. 'I'll be back.'
He walked to the other side of the square and found a
corner shop, the kind that stayed open until midnight. The
man behind the counter was Indian. Borsalino asked for two packs of Marlboros.
'You know, I saw this guy earlier getting out of a taxi in
the square in a wheelchair. I thought I knew him, but I'm
not sure.'
'That would be Mr Roper,' the Indian said. 'He was a
captain in the Royal Engineers. Blown up in Ireland.'
'Oh, well, I've got it wrong. Thanks, anyway.'
Borsalino returned to the Ford, called Fox on the mobile,
and relayed the information, also telling him where they
were.
Fox said, 'Stay there. I'll be back.'
At that point, he was still in Mori's office at the casino.
He picked up the telephone and called Maud Jackson in New
York. It was late afternoon there and she was enjoying a pot
of tea and cookies.
Fox said, 'Maud, I'm having serious problems here in
London with Ferguson and company. There's a wild card,
a British Royal Engineers captain in a wheelchair, blown
up in Ireland, name of Roper. I'd like to know who he is
right away.'
'Where are you?'
'I'm going back to the Dorchester. We had problems at
the Colosseum.'
'Sounds like a bad night. Give me an hour.'
At the Dorchester, in the Oliver Messel Suite, Fox drank
Krug champagne and looked across the wonderful London
view by night from the terrace. Russo was down in the suite
he and Falcone were sharing, but Falcone was standing by,
as usual.
'More trouble, Signore?'
'We'll see, Aldo.'
The phone rang and he answered it. Maud Jackson said,
'Boy, do I have a good one for you. This Roper was blown
up by the IRA, all right, and now he's a legend – in com
puters. Jack, if he's into your affairs, you've got serious
trouble.'
'Thanks, Maud, you're an angel.'
'Yeah, well, don't forget to send a cheque.'
Fox put down the phone and said to Falcone, 'Take him
out.'
'Me personally, Signore?'
'Of course not. Get over to Regency Square. See Borsalino
and Salvatore. Give them their instructions. Have them get
rid of him. I smell big trouble where he's concerned.'
'At your orders, Signore,' Falcone said. 'I'll leave Russo
here.'
He used Fox's Mercedes limousine, driven by Fox's Italian driver, Fabio, closed the screen, and called Don Marco on his mobile and brought him up to date.
'This isn't good,' Don Marco said. 'I'm beginning to smell trouble here myself. Keep me informed, Aldo.'
Falcone found Borsalino and Salvatore in the Ford parked