Edge of Danger (22 page)

‘Harry, this is bad for your blood pressure. Have a decent night’s sleep. I’ll call in tomorrow.’

The following morning at Stable Mews, Dillon dressed carefully, as he’d told Billy, a black suit, white shirt, black tie.

‘Jesus, son,’ he said, looking at himself in the mirror. ‘You look like you’re auditioning for a part as a Mafia hit man in Godfather Four.’ He frowned and said softly, ‘Is that what it’s all about, the theatre of the street? Was that it, Belfast from the very beginning, all those years?’

The doorbell rang. He went down to the hall, found an Armani duster coat in black and the weaponry bag. When he opened the door, Billy was there, black suit and tie, curiously elegant. Baxter stood against the Jaguar in uniform.

‘Hey, you’re looking great,’ Billy said.

Dillon opened the weaponry bag and took out a titanium waistcoat. ‘As you know, this thing will stop a Forty-Five at point-blank range. I’ve

already got mine on under my shirt. Come in the cloakroom and put this one on, Billy. We’ll wait.’

‘If you say so.’

Billy went into the cottage and Dillon nodded to Baxter. ‘Open the boot, Joe.’

Baxter obliged. Dillon put the weaponry bag and his coat in, and opened the bag. From the assortment of weapons, he produced a Browning and a silencer.

‘With luck, you might not need it, Joe, but on the other hand …’

Baxter smiled coldly. ‘Who knows?’ He opened the driver’s door, reached for the glove compartment and slipped the weapon inside. A moment later, Billy came out, another coat on his arm.

‘I figured this was for me, Dillon.’

‘It could rain,’ Dillon said.

‘Great. Mind you, on the other hand you could put an Uzi in one of these pockets. I like walking in the rain. It puts you in your own private world. Let’s go.’

They got in the rear and Baxter drove away.

Harry sat up in bed, Dora beside him eating a boiled egg and toast fingers. He’d had a sleepless

night, so it was already mid-morning. He said, ‘Get me the office. I want to speak to Billy.’

She tried, then turned, phone in hand. ‘Billy isn’t there. It’s Sam Hall.’

Harry reached for the phone. ‘Where is he, Sam?’

‘There was a problem with the booze consignment and he’s been called to Southampton.’

‘Well, he might have told me. I’ll call him on his mobile.’

Hall, panicky, said, ‘I just found it on his desk, Harry.’

‘Stupid young bugger. Okay, if he rings in, tell him to contact me.’

Still a major in the Army Reserve, Paul Rashid was entitled to wear uniform on appropriate occasions, and as he pulled on his tunic and adjusted the Grenadier Guards buttons in front of his dressing table mirror, his medals made a brave show. He picked up his dress cap and went out.

The centre of Dauncey Place upstairs was a great circular minstrel gallery; all the main rooms led off ;:. A stairway went down to the Great Hall, and above, the curving staircase of the Bell Tower lifted

above the old house. Paul adjusted his cap and went down the stairs and found Kate standing by the fireplace, logs burning. Betty Moody stood nearby in a black suit.

Betty came forward, reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Oh, Paul, how wonderful you look.’

‘Well, it’s the least I could do for the boys. One Para wanted to send an honour guard and a bugler for George, but as I told you, Kate and I want it muted this time.’

‘I only came to check the final arrangements. The buffet at the pub is set up and the champagne. You do want champagne?’

‘We’re celebrating their lives,’ Rashid told her. ‘But later? You said you didn’t want anyone up at the house, not even servants.’

‘Kate and I will leave the buffet early after saying hello to everyone. We want to be quiet, we want to be alone.’

‘Of course. I’ll go now. I’ll see you later.’ She went out, and the great door clanged. Kate wore a black jacket with a black jumpsuit underneath, a gold chain round her throat, and diamond earrings.

‘You look very nice,’ he said.

‘And you look wonderful. A true hero.’

‘It would be nice to think so, little sister. Shall we go?’

They took the Range Rover from the stable block, Kate driving, went down the long drive, turned to the village and parked by the green. A few vehicles were already there.

They got out and moved to the door of the Dauncey Arms, passing the parked Jaguar, Joe Baxter already beside it in his uniform. There were many people, mostly locals, in the saloon bar, and amongst them Dillon and Billy standing by the fireplace in their black suits and duster coats.

Kate gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘He came.’

‘Didn’t you think he would?’ Rashid moved through the crowd with her, grasping hands, thanking people for coming.

‘Glad you could make it, Dillon.’

‘A great performance,’ Dillon said to him.

‘Glad you approve. I love the coats. Amazing what will go in those big pockets. And very considerate of you to bring your friend here.’

‘What do you want to do, pay me off for Rama? Do what you did to Bronsby?’ Billy shook his head. ‘Just try, that’s all I ask.’

Kate said, ‘Paul, let’s go.’

Betty came up, frowning. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Not at all. These gentlemen are friends of mine.’ Rashid smiled. ‘Buffet and champagne afterwards.’ Betty turned away. ‘And then I’ll expect you at Dauncey Place, if that’s your pleasure.’

‘Well, it’s certainly my bleeding pleasure,’ Billy told him.

‘Excellent. I look forward to it. Come on, Kate.’ And they turned away.

People started to filter into the church from eleven o’clock. Still, only a few limousines were outside this time, unlike the old Earl’s funeral and Lady Kate’s. As Rashid had arranged it, the great and the good were virtually excluded although, as before, one of the most important Imams in London had agreed to appear with the Rector, a measure of the liberality of the Muslim religion not often appreciated by outsiders.

Dillon moved in, with Billy. People were seating themselves, others walking around examining the marble edifices of the long dead. Billy was walking ahead, joining in. He suddenly paused, then motioned to Dillon.

‘Look at this geezer, Sir Paul Dauncey. Says he died in fifteen-ten.’

‘He’s the original Paul,’ Dillon said. ‘The one who fought for Richard III at Bosworth, a bad day for his side. He escaped to France and the new King, Henry Tudor, pardoned him.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I looked it up, Billy. It’s all in Debrett’s - that’s the bible of the English aristocracy.’

Billy looked down at Sir Paul Dauncey. ‘He even looks like Rashid.’

‘That kind of thing happens in families, Billy.’

‘I tell you what, he looks a hard bastard.’

‘He looks like a warrior, Billy, which is what he was.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s what Rashid is. To be honest, it’s what you are. Remember something I once told you? There are men of a rough persuasion who look after those things ordinary people can’t handle in life. Usually, they’re soldiers of one kind or another.’

‘Just like you and me.’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ Dillon smiled. ‘Now let’s move to the back of the church.’

The congregation settled, the organ started to play and Major Paul Rashid, Earl of Loch Dhu, and Lady Kate Rashid came through the main entrance, followed by the undertakers carrying the two coffins, one behind the other. Each was draped

in the Union flag. George’s had his paratrooper’s red beret on top, Michael’s the cap he’d worn when passing out of Sandhurst, and in both cases, the ceremonial jambiya of a Rashid chieftain. The Rector had moved in from the vestry, followed by the Imam.

There was silence. The Rector said, ‘We are here to celebrate the lives of two young men. George and Michael are Rashids but also Daunceys, a bloodline linked to our village that has borne that name since the fifteenth century.’ The service began.

Later, it rained as the coffins were taken to the family mausoleum. The congregation followed, one undertaker carrying a huge black umbrella over Rashid and Kate. Baxter had parked the Jaguar by the churchyard gate. Billy ran down to him and came back with a brolly.

‘Jesus, I’ve never seen so many umbrellas.’ ‘It’s life imitating art. I could do with a cigarette and a large Bushmills, in that order.’

‘So we’re going to this buffet at the pub?’

‘Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound.’

He turned and walked away, and Billy followed.

At the Jaguar, Joe Baxter got out, and Dillon said, ‘We’ll walk. You wait by the green, Joe.’

Baxter glanced at Billy, who said, ‘What he says goes, just do it.’

‘As you say, Billy.’

He got in and drove away as Dillon lit a cigarette. Billy said, ‘We’re not tooled up yet.’

‘There’s time for that, Billy, plenty of time. Let’s take a walk.’ And they moved down towards the green, Billy holding the umbrella over them.

In London, Harry Salter called Sam Hall but had difficulty in contacting him. A young woman secretary informed him that Sam was taking care of a consignment down the river. In truth, Sam was well and truly keeping his head down.

Harry, totally frustrated, told Dora to arrange

his car and a driver and got dressed. She had to help him because his shoulder wound needed its sling. As she finished, the matron looked in.

‘Are you discharging yourself, Mr Salter?’

‘No, I’m just going home. I’ll come back any time you want for my check-up.’

‘Well, Professor Bernstein’s here at the moment, having a look at General Ferguson, but I don’t think for long.’

‘You mean Ferguson’s here?’

‘Certainly.’

‘You show me where.’

A little while later, he sat in a reception area, turning. A door opened and Ferguson emerged, followed by Arnold Bernstein, briefcase in hand.

‘Why, Harry,’ Ferguson said.

‘Don’t Harry me, you old sod.’

Bernstein said, ‘I can’t remember telling you you could get out of bed, Mr Salter.’

“Well, I’m out and I’m going. I’ll sign anything you want, only I need a word with his Highness here.’

“Oh dear, trouble?’ Bernstein sighed. ‘I’m going to see my daughter. I’ll be back shortly, and I urge you to seek my advice. You need the correct medication at least.’

He walked away and Harry turned on Ferguson. ‘What a bastard you are, having Dillon banged up.’

Ferguson said, ‘What in the hell are you talking about?’

‘Billy told me last night. You had Special Branch lift him, using the old IRA record you were supposed to wipe clean, and banged him up at West End Central to stop him going to the Dauncey funerals and confronting Rashid.’

Ferguson said, ‘I ordered Dillon not to go. He wouldn’t listen. You say Billy told you this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he? Phone him now.’

‘Well, he’s unavailable. A job in Southampton.’ A look of horror appeared on his face. ‘Oh, God, he lied to me. Dillon’s gone down there.’

‘And I think you’ll find Billy has gone, too, to watch his back. It’s the only likely explanation for his absence.’

‘I knew he wanted to go and I said I’d go, too.’

‘Well, that explains a lot. You’ve been damaged enough. He wanted to keep you out of it. You see, a face-to-face confrontation with Rashid will probably be like a spaghetti Western.’

‘And you’re letting this happen? You’re worse than me.’

Ferguson said, ‘Because of our connection over the last few years, I’ve really had you checked out. In your days of Empire as one of the most important Guvnors - I believe that’s the phrase - you fought off the Corelli brothers, three of them, who totally disappeared. Then there was Jack Hedley, the one called Mad Jack. Found in an alley off Brewer Street. I could remind you of a few more.’

“All right,’ Harry said. ‘That was business. It was only ever that with me. I never did whores, never did drugs.’

I know, Harry, you just killed people who got in your way. I do the same thing or have it done. There’s always a good reason. It’s my job, Harry, it’s business.’

“So what are you getting at?’

I’ve had enough of Rashid. I don’t need to go into it. You know what he’s been responsible for. His two brothers have gone down, thanks to Dillon. Bell and his cronies are out of it. That only leaves Rashid, and he’s got to go, too.’

“But you didn’t want Dillon to go down to that funeral and face Rashid’s challenge.’

‘So I’m a liar, Harry. I pushed Dillon a little, but I knew he’d go, and if he finishes Rashid in the right way, it suits me. You see, Dillon is a remarkable man not just because of his many gifts and his good brain and the fact that he can kill without it giving him a problem.’

‘So what have you left out?’ ‘He couldn’t care less whether he lives or dies.’ ‘That’s good, that’s very comforting, and my nephew’s going the same way?’

‘Your nephew was, to use London underworld parlance, a right villain. His involvement with Dillon over the past few years has given him a sense of himself. He actually has quite a brain on him.’ ‘All right, so I know that, but what do we do?’ Ferguson glanced at his watch. ‘The funeral service started at eleven thirty. There’s a buffet afterwards at the Dauncey Arms, mainly for villagers. As it’s now twelve thirty, I don’t think there’s much we can do except rely on Dillon.’ ‘And Billy?’ ‘Of course Billy.’

Bernstein came back. ‘So, you’re still leaving, Mr Salter?’

‘I have to,’ Harry said.

‘All right. Come to the reception desk and I’ll

arrange the right antibiotics, but I insist on seeing both of you tomorrow at my rooms in Harley Street at ten o’clock. I’ll sort you out then.’

People ate and drank champagne at the Dauncey Arms, Betty Moody supervising everything tirelessly. Dillon and Billy joined in, had some salad, smoked salmon, new potatoes. Billy, as usual, only drank water. Dillon tried the champagne and rejected it as reasonably inferior.

A young woman leaned over the bar. ‘Are you Mr Dillon?’

‘That’s right, my love.’

‘This champagne is just for you.’ She held it up. ‘Cristal.’

‘The best,’ Dillon said. ‘Now who would do a thing like that?’

‘Why, the Earl, sir.’