The Killing Ground

“All the people on the board meet at the Dark Man on a regular basis. I’m betting most of them will be there tonight,” Nolan pointed out.

Kelly said, “And so will we. See that you are. Now away with you.”

“Thank God for that,” Delaney said. “Come on, Sol,” and Flanagan followed him.

Cohan said, “Are those two for real? Is this what we’ve come down to, working with scum?”

“They kill without hesitation,” Nolan told him.

“It’s the only point in their favor.”

“And have to be drugged up to the eyeballs to be able to do it,” Burke said.

Cohan shook his head. “Not Delaney, he’s naturally evil, that one, and born that way.” As he followed Burke out, he paused at the door. “Christ, is this what it was all about? The great days we knew and it comes down to this?”

“Those days have gone,” Nolan said, “and won’t come back ever.”

“Enough bloody nostalgia,” Kelly put in. He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a pistol and silencer and three clips, which he pushed across to Nolan, then took out the same for himself. “We’ll go for a drive, check out Ferguson ’s gaff and Dillon’s.”

Nolan loaded his weapon, a Colt automatic, and Burke and Cohan watched him. “That sounds sensible. Do it like the movies.”

“To hell with that. I remember when we were the movies. The biggest bombing campaign seen in London since the Luftwaffe,” Burke said.

“The bowsers had to virtually wall off the city, the Bank of England, the lot. God, you had to keep your head down at that time.”

“There was a bar called Grady’s in Canal Street. A leftover from the Victorian times. There was a canal ru

Nolan said, “That’s a great idea. Spend some time there before the Dark Man.”

Kelly turned to Burke and Cohan. “Why not join us, say about six, give the Dark Man the chance to warm up? We’ll have a couple of glasses to start the evening off.”

“And why not?” Cohan said. “We’ll see you there. Come on, Jack.”

Nolan took down a reefer coat from a peg, whistling tunelessly. He loaded his Colt, screwed on the silencer, and Kelly said, “Come on then, Jimmy.”

And Nolan swung to look at him, eyes wild, and from somewhere deep inside, it all burst out. “What in the hell happened to us, Patrick?”

“It’s simple, Jimmy, we lost the war.” Kelly patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s go, old son, and make the best of it.”

They went out to the snug, where Fahy, who had been listening at the door to all the comings and goings, was suddenly busy polishing glasses behind the door.

“We’ll be out for the day,” Nolan said.

“That’s fine, Jimmy. I’ll see to things.”

They went out, and Fahy, his face grave, poured himself a whiskey and filled his pipe.

Chapter 11

IT WAS A LITTLE EARLIER THAT A COUNCIL OF WAR AT Holland Park had examined the situation. “The real threat in all this,” Ferguson said, “is Russian. By taking Fly

“So he must have presidential backing,” Roper said. “I’m sure Putin has felt for some time that something should be done about us, General.” He glanced at Harry. “And anyone who’s on our side.”

“But the thing at the moment is Nolan and Kelly and that contract and what to do about it,” Roper pointed out.

“If we were police, you couldn’t touch them,” Ferguson said, “because they haven’t done anything, but I have implicit faith you’ll find a way of dealing with it. I have a meeting in one hour with the Prime Minister. I’ll call in later at Holland Park and I’ll greet our friends from Dublin then.”

“I admit I’ve got things to do at the development,” Harry said. “I mean, we can’t let stupid threats interfere with business.”

“I admire your spirit, Harry,” Ferguson said. “But I think we can leave the activities at the Green Tinker to these three.” He and Harry went out. Dillon said, “Where’s Greta?”

“She was going to call in at Gulf Road, see how the Rashids are coping. Hal Stone has hit the highway for Cambridge this morning to the halls of academia,” said Roper. “My God, the students would flock to his lectures if they knew only half of the things that fella gets up to. Do you think Hussein will come?”

“Only time will tell, but now to the matter at hand. Jimmy Nolan and Patrick Kelly, his cousin. They own the Green Tinker pub in Kilburn.

Both active in the movement and not only in Ulster. Nolan was down as a suspect for that mortar attack on John Major’s cabinet during the Gulf War, but we discovered it was someone else.”

Billy looked at Dillon. “And we know who.”

“Still, he was seven years into a fifteen-year prison term when it was all over, so he was released from prison according to the terms of the peace agreement. Kelly got pretty much the same deal. British citizens, born in London, they inherited the Green Tinker from Nolan’s father. Served their time, clean as a whistle, both of them.”

“Like hell they are,” Billy said. “I think Dillon and I will go and check the beer out.”

“Stay calm, Billy.”

“With a couple of guys who’ve accepted a contract on my uncle?”

“Well, leave your Walther at home.”

“Roper, old son, I’d remind you that as an agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Services, I actually have a license for it. We’ll go in my car, Dillon.”

“I thought so.” Billy had just taken delivery of a scarlet Alfa Romeo Spider and was obviously proud of it.

“Very nice,” Dillon told him. “I’m impressed. Now, as to business, I don’t recall these two from my IRA time, so they’re both a blank page to me, except for what Roper had to say.”

“So what? There’s only one way to handle this.”

“You noticed the prison photos on Roper’s screen were about twenty years old. You wouldn’t even recognize them now.”

“Let’s just see.”

THEY PARKED OUTSIDE the Green Tinker and went in the saloon bar. Three old men sat at a table by the window and played dominoes. An unshaven young man in a black T-shirt with short sleeves and lots of muscle stood behind the bar reading a newspaper. The snug door was open and old Fahy was filling a pipe. He took one look at them and an expression of horror appeared on his face. The barman glanced up. He wore a black patch over his right eye. From the expression on his face, he wasn’t impressed by what he saw.

“Yes?”

“I’ll have half a bottle of still water,” Billy told him.

“And a glass of your strongest for me.” Dillon smiled. “Bushmills, if you have it.”

“And we’d also like to see Nolan and Kelly,” Billy said.

The man put Dillon’s whiskey into a shot glass. He gave it to Dillon, pushed another glass at Billy and picked up a jug of water from behind the bar. “Will this do, sir?”

Billy reached for the glass. “Why not?” The man started to pour, then moved all the way up the sleeve of Billy’s trench coat.

Old Fahy called, “I wouldn’t do that, Michael,” but Billy was already reaching, pulling the man across the bar, punching him heavily in the face several times.

The old man stopped talking. Billy pulled Michael up, jerked the left arm out straight, the edge of his own right hand descending like a chopping axe. He eased him down into a chair.

“I think you’ll find I’ve broken it. Now, Nolan and Kelly? Who’s going to speak up?”

Old Fahy said, “You’d better come in the office. I expect you’ll force your way in anyway.”