The Killing Ground

“Is that what we’re going to do?”

“I’d say so. There’s a flying club I know at Killane, executive planes, just right for millionaires like me. We’ll call at your place, too. Don’t forget your passport,” and he leaned back.

ROPER RECEIVED THE CALL from Killane at one-thirty. He was having a conference meeting with Ferguson, Dillon, Billy and Greta. Doyle and Henderson stood against the wall.

Ferguson had just said, “Right, people, I want to bring you all up to speed on the present situation.”

The phone went and Roper flicked it on to open transmission. Levin said, “Roper, it’s me, Levin. Can we talk?”

“If you don’t mind the entire firm hearing. Everybody’s here.”

“Fine by me. Very convenient, actually. Volkov tried to stitch me up royally, with the assistance of Michael Fly

“Stitch you up how?” Ferguson demanded.

“Oh, the coffin lid being slammed down firmly. Would you be interested to know that Fly

Belov International?”

“Yes, I damn well would,” Ferguson replied. “Tell me more.”

Which Levin did. Everything that Mary O’Toole had told him, the Popov betrayal, the shootings at Riley’s Bar.

Dillon broke in, “So you’ve two bodies lying there. Does that give you a problem?”

“No. It seems in Fly

“Damn Judas,” Dillon said. “Why do you think Mary O’Toole told you everything?”

“Interesting, that. She said that for a man who had been chief of staff of the Provisional IRA, he was a disgrace. Then I recalled Popov telling me once that her father was IRA and killed in a gunfight with Brit paratroopers in Ulster.”

“God save us, but that kind of Fenian female can be harder than an Orange Presbyterian. Make sure she’s safe. You owe her, big-time.”

“I will, be sure of that.”

Roper said, “So where are you now?”

“A flying club at Killane outside Dublin. Under the circumstances, Chomsky and I have decided to come over.”

It was Greta who broke in now. “Does that mean what it sounds like?”

“Greta, my love, I’m bored. Dublin is totally charming, one of the world’s great cities, but I pass my days in idle pleasure.”

“I would say that sounds unlikely, based on what you’ve told us,” Ferguson said. “But if what you’re trying to say is that you and Sergeant Chomsky are seeking employment, I welcome you with open arms.”

“Are you sure of that, General?”

“All sins forgiven. You’re booking a plane from Killane?”

“That’s right.”

“Do bring your British passports. I know you have a selection, but I’d prefer it, and tell your pilot to call his details ahead and he’ll be welcomed at Farley Field.”

“We’ll see you soon, General.”

The deaths of Riley and Popov had not yet become known and Fly

She picked it up. “Mary O’Toole? It’s Levin.”

“I was just leaving, Fly

“I trust you’re leaving for good? You saved my life, Miss O’Toole, but so long as you’ve gotten rid of any evidence of your involvement, you should be safe enough.”

“I’ve left my notice on his desk. To be honest with you, I think he’ll be glad to be shut of me. We had an affair, I was his leavings, but that wasn’t the reason I did what I did. When I think of my dad and what he stood for, and Fly

“Very quickly. Do you live alone?”

“Yes-I rent a flat only fifteen minutes’ walk from the office.”

“Do you have a passport?”

“Of course I have.”

“You have done me the greatest favor in my life and I must repay the debt. I’m at Killane, twenty minutes outside the city at the Aero Club. Chomsky and I are going to fly to England in a private plane. I think you’d be better out of things for a while, just in case. You’re perfectly welcome to join us. London ’s a big place. Easy to lose yourself.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Absolutely. Do you have cab fare?”

“Of course I do. There’s a rank outside the office. I’ll get a driver to take me home and wait for me.”

Levin put his mobile away and, standing at the counter of the small bar, Chomsky ordered two vodka shots. He raised his glass. “To a nice girl called Mary O’Toole, who did the right thing.”

“And thank God for it,” Levin said.

They moved out into the entrance and found Magee, the chief pilot, standing under the canopy out of the rain, smoking a cigarette and chatting to a young pilot named Murphy. They stopped their conversation.

“Have you sorted it out yet?” Magee asked Levin.

“Three passengers-destination, Farley Field, in Kent, just outside London. It’s all fixed up. We’re expected.”

“I don’t know that one. Check it on the screen, Murphy.”

Murphy returned in a few moments. “It’s there, all right, and classified restricted.”

“Did you send our names?” Chomsky said, the efficient sergeant taking over. “Look again, I’ll come with you.”And it was there on the screen. Captain Igor Levin and Sergeant Ivan Chomsky.

Magee looked. “My God, you must have some pull for a place like that. I think I’ll do the flight myself. You can come with me,” he told Murphy. “A couple of nights in London will do us good. We’ll take the King Air.” He turned to Levin, “Turbo prop, but it gets you there nearly as fast as the jet and the seats are bigger. What about the other passenger?”

“A lady. She’ll be here soon.”

“Is she on the classified list?”

“Thanks for reminding me. Are you?”

“As we both served in the RAF, I expect so.”

Roper answered at once. Levin said, “The girl, Mary O’Toole. I’ve decided to get her out of here fast in case of any trouble from Fly

“Certainly. I was talking to Harry. He says he really owes you one. If you hadn’t come up with the story, he could have had Jimmy Nolan and Patrick Kelly visiting with maybe a bomb and certainly guns.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t have known if it hadn’t been for the girl. If he wants to do anyone a favor, he can help her get a job.”

“Yes, that makes sense. I’ll see you at Holland Park.”

“You mean I can’t stay at the Dorchester anymore?”

“Look on it as a debriefing. Anyway, the safe house is a bit like a hotel these days.”

A little later, Mary was delivered in her taxi. She had only one small suitcase and a handbag. She was excited. “I’m traveling light.”

“Any sign of Fly

“Not when I left.”

“Let Ivan have your passport. He’ll put your details through.”

She went off with Chomsky, leaving her case by the door. Murphy picked it up. “That’s women for you. There could be a bomb in there. They never learn.”

“No, they never do,” Levin said with some irony, took Mary’s case from him and went to join them.

Magee was finishing some sort of documentation at the desk and suddenly they were all together. “Okay, folks, follow Murphy. I’m right behind.”

They went out to the runway, and the King Air was there in the rain. Murphy got a couple of golfing umbrellas from a stand by the door and they walked under their shelter together toward the plane. Levin was smiling, and so was Chomsky when he glanced at him. It was behind them, what had been. What was ahead was a new chapter, and that could mean anything.

CALLED BY TWO of his collectors, as he thought of them, to Riley’s Bar, Michael Fly