The Killing Ground

“Of course,” Dillon said. “We weren’t looking for a drink.”

Greta joined in. “We were searching for Canal Street, but we’ve obviously found the wrong one.”

“Oh, there must be a lot in the telephone directory.”

“An interesting place,” Dillon said.

“In the old days it was quite thriving, with the ships and so on, but when they went, the life went out of everything. They’ve pulled down all the properties up there. We’re like an oasis. Another six months and that’s it. We were a lodging house for years.”

“I’m very sorry,” Greta said. “Do you get any customers?”

“Now and then, but there are days when there’s nobody. Still, the Council have promised me a place in an old folks’ home.”

There really wasn’t much to say. “We won’t hold you up anymore.” Dillon smiled, and he and Greta went back across the bridge, down to the car and drove away.

“Back to Holland Park, quick as you like.”

“So you’re going to trace them, are you?” she asked.

“No, Greta, if things work out, I hope to dispose of them. A few old IRA hands who’ve met a bad end, and Scotland Yard will close the files with quiet satisfaction.”

“But Volkov will get the message.”

“And the Broker, which means al-Qaeda and Army of God. Greta, we’ve gone beyond negotiation. In the world of tomorrow that’s emerged in the last few years, we fight fire with fire or go under. You may think that strange coming from a man who was once an IRA enforcer, but that’s the way it is.”

“I don’t think it’s strange-I think it’s ironic, that’s all.”

“Excellent, so keep driving and I’ll fill Roper in.”

BY THE TIME they got back to Holland Park, it was just after five o’clock. Roper had called in Billy, Levin and Chomsky. Greta said to Roper, “I’ve got this thing with the Rashids. I’ll call in later.”

Dillon said, “Number one, I don’t want you on board, Chomsky. You did your bit in Dublin and proved your worth. You go down to the Dark Man. They may need an extra gun.”

“You’re the boss.” Chomsky shrugged.

Dillon said to Roper, “You’ve thoroughly briefed them on this?”

“Absolutely.”

Dillon faced Levin and Billy. “There are four good men, with years of experience with the IRA, the revolutionary movement that invented revolutionary movements. The object is to kill all four. To the authorities, the explanation will be some sort of IRA feud, old scores being settled and who gives a damn. I’ve just been to the bar on Canal Street. You go up by the canal, cross a Victorian iron bridge and the pub is almost the only building standing in a demolition area. They’ve no idea we’re on to them and it will be dark when we get there.”

“And bleeding raining again,” Billy said. “Are you tooled up, Igor?”

“Thanks to Sergeant Henderson.” He took a silenced Walther from his pocket. “Just like you, Dillon.”

“Okay, my car. Let’s do it,” Billy said and led the way out.

WHEN MAGGIE GRADY unlocked and opened the door at six, it was dark, but she’d switched the light on overhead and Kelly and Nolan stood there smiling at her.

“Mother Mary, is it yourself, Patrick?”

“And no other.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve brought a pal- Jimmy Nolan. We thought we’d have a drink with you. I’ve a couple of boys working with me at the moment. They’ll be along presently.”

The little bar was neat and tidy, a coal fire in the grate, old Victorian iron tables and chairs scattered round the room. Bottles stood ranged against a mirror behind the bar.

She got over her shock soon enough, even excelled herself by joining them in an Irish whiskey, just the one. In the middle of a story from Kelly, the outer door opened and Burke and Cohan entered.

“We’ve found you at last, praise be to God, and a grand sight it is with the fire and all.” The drink flowed and even old Maggie was tempted to another.

Burke said, “So this is the good woman who looked after you when you were on the run?”

“A queen among women,” Kelly told him. “A lodging house as well as a pub it was then. Sailors ashore from ships in the Pool. You’ve never seen anything like it. Every nationality on God’s earth. Indians, blacks, lascars, and if you dressed the right way you got swallowed up by them.”

He looked at his watch. “Damn me, it’s seven already. We’ll have to get moving.” He gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek.“God bless you, my darling. Here’s one man who’ll never forget you.”

They were laughing as they went out and she closed the door, tired and sad, and, making a sudden decision, she shot the bolt, crossed the bar, turned the light out and went upstairs very slowly, for she was old and past things now, that was the truth of it.

Outside, there was not just darkness in the decaying street, for a single lamp hung from a bracket on the far side of the canal. The group started down to the bridge and rain was falling, glistening in the yellow light.

Dillon and Billy came up the steps side by side, each with a Walther in his hand. “Who the hell are you?” Kelly cried.

Dillon’s hand swung up, he shot Kelly between the eyes, the sound of his silenced weapon only a dull thud, knocking him back against Nolan, who was struggling to get his gun out, and pushed Kelly’s corpse violently away from him, so that it went over the rail into the swirling waters of the canal and was instantly swept away.

Nolan almost got his gun out, but Billy was faster, shooting him in the left shoulder, turning him round and then shattering his spine with a second. Nolan fell across the bridge rail and hung there.

Burke went straight down on one knee, avoiding a return shot from Billy, and shot him in the chest. Behind him, Cohan turned to run back to the pub and Igor Levin stood up from behind a pile of bricks and shot him in the head. Burke, with nowhere else to go, vaulted over the rail into the canal, went under, came to the surface and was instantly gripped by the current, but Levin, ru

When he turned to rejoin the others, Billy and Dillon were carrying Cohan between them to throw him in the canal. The current swept him away into darkness.

“All the way down to the Pool and the Thames, and maybe even the open sea,” Dillon said.

Billy had opened his raincoat and was feeling inside his shirt.

“Are you all right, Billy?” Levin asked.

“Well, you heard what Ferguson said. Titanium and nylon waistcoat; if you’ve got one, wear it.”

He produced a damaged round that had stuck in the waistcoat. Levin said, “I’m wearing one, too. General Volkov gave it to me as a present for saving him from an assassin.”

“Let’s move it,” Dillon said. “ Mission accomplished. Now back to Holland Park.”

AT THE SAFE HOUSE there was Roper, Ferguson, Levin, helping himself to a whiskey from the Major’s private stock, and Dillon.

“All four?” Ferguson shook his head. “Remarkable. Reminds me of Ulster in the old days.”

Roper said, “It was exactly like Ulster in the old days. You did the job like you said you would, Sean.”

Ferguson turned to Levin. “What can I say about you? Sterling service indeed. You’ve served us well.”

“I’ll see the right kind of whisper gets through to Fly

“What happens now to Delaney and Flanagan?” Levin asked.

“Well, I must admit I’d prefer closure,” Ferguson said. “We’ll have to see. They should be rising to the surface at the Dark Man soon, unless they decide not to arrive at all. Billy and Harry, Baxter and Hall and our new friend Sergeant Chomsky should be perfectly capable of dealing with them.”