Страница 49 из 50
“What the hell, I trust you.” He went and unlocked an old-fashioned safe in the corner and put the money inside.
“Can we go now?” she said.
“I don’t see why not.”
He turned and led the way out. As they walked across to the hangar, she said, “Can we get away with it?”
“Oh, sure,” McGuire said. “There’s more unrestricted air space out there than people realize, and if I approach the coast of the Lake District at under six hundred feet I won’t even show on radar.”
“I see.”
They went into the hangar, she climbed over the wing, and took the seat directly behind the pilot’s. McGuire climbed in and closed the door. He fired one engine, then the other and turned.
“Okay?” She nodded. “Here we go, then.”
He taxied out onto the runway, bumping over holes, and turned into the wind at the far end. There was a slight pause and they moved forward. He boosted power and they lifted up into the mist and rain.
IN THE OFFICERS’ mess at Whitefire, Dillon and Ha
“Here you are, Brigadier,” he said.
Ferguson gave him his best smile. “I’d appreciate a word with my people, Commander. Ten minutes? After that we’ll leave in that Sea King for the destination I’ve indicated on the map.”
“As you say, Brigadier.”
Murray saluted and withdrew. Ferguson turned and smiled. “Is that tea? I really would appreciate some, Chief Inspector.”
“Of course, sir.”
Ha
“Well, it’s been complicated, I’ll say that.”
Ferguson accepted the cup of tea from Ha
“Jesus, Brigadier, have I disappointed you again?”
“Don’t be silly, Dillon. What about the girl?”
“She’s quite mad,” Ha
“So you think she’ll turn up at Folly’s End?”
“She doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” Dillon told him.
“All right, calm down.” Ferguson put his cup on the table. “Let’s go and see, shall we?”
MARY POWER WAS feeding the chickens at her back door, a black and white sheepdog at her side. It was late afternoon, darkness tingeing the sky on the distant horizon. She finished with the chickens, then went in search of Be
“There you are. Did you see to the sheep in the north meadow?”
He nodded eagerly. “I brought them down,” he said in his slow pedantic way. “And put them in the paddock.”
“You’re a good lad, Be
He reached for an ammunition box, took out two cartridges, loaded the gun, and snapped the barrels up. For a moment it pointed at her and she cuffed the side of his head and pushed the shotgun to one side.
“I’ve told you before. Never point it at anyone. Guns are bad.”
“But the fox might come again,” Be
“Well, you get the bastard when he comes, but don’t shoot me,” she said. “Now come and have your break. Cup of tea and that nice fruit cake I made.”
He put the shotgun on the table and followed her out.
THE CESSNA 310 came in from the sea at four hundred feet and banked to starboard. A few moments later it dropped in at the end of the runway at Laldale and taxied toward the far end. McGuire turned into the wind and switched off the engines. Kathleen reached for the door handle.
He said, “I’ll get that for you,” and opened it. “You first.”
She went out over the wing, put a foot on the little passenger ladder, and reached the ground and McGuire followed her. The mountains were shrouded in mist, and the rain was a persistent damp drizzle.
“You know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I can walk.”
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“It’s just three or four miles.”
“Only I was thinking about all that money in your shoulder bag. I mean, anything might happen.” He reached and grabbed it from her.
He stood there beside the plane scrabbling in the bottom of the bag and found the rest of the dollars. “Jesus Christ!” he said.
“Bastard,” Kathleen Ryan told him. “You’re all bastards,” and she took out the Browning and shot him twice in the heart.
McGuire bounced against the wing and fell to the ground. She picked up the bag, slipped the strap over her shoulder, turned, and walked away.
AT FOLLY’S END, Be
Be
Suddenly the air was filled with noise, an incredible roaring. Mary turned in alarm and ran into the yard, Be
Dillon ran forward and Mary said in amazement, “Martin? Martin Keogh, is that you?”
“As ever was, Mary. Has Kathleen been here? Kathleen Ryan?”
She looked bewildered. “No, should she be?”
Dillon turned and shook his head to Ferguson, who still stood by the helicopter. Ferguson leaned in and spoke to the pilot, then stood back and the Sea King rose into the air and banked away.
Ferguson came forward and smiled at Mary Power, who stood outside the barn door, Be
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What’s happening?”
“Brigadier Charles Ferguson, Mrs. Power. Is the truck still in the barn?”
She went very pale. “The truck?” she whispered.
“Yes, is the truck still in the barn?” he said patiently.
It was Be
IT WAS RAINING hard now as Kathleen Ryan tramped along the Eskdale Road, a strange forlorn figure in her raincoat and beret, hands thrust into her pockets. She reached the gate with the sign Folly’s End, paused, then turned in and approached the farmhouse.
It was almost dark, fading fast, and there was no light in the house. She stood there in the yard remembering this place ten years ago, her uncle and Martin, and she ran a hand over her face. Was it then or now? And then she saw a glimmer of light at the door of the barn.
MARY POWER AND Be
“So you’ve come back, Kathleen Ryan?”
“I had to,” Kathleen told her. “It was meant to be from the begi
“Oh, yes, it’s always been here. Your uncle Michael changed his mind. Told Be
“I know about that, he told me. He was afraid the crew of Irish Rose would try to steal the bullion. More than that, he was afraid he would have problems with the Army Council in Ulster. There was a man called Reid.” Kathleen shrugged, looking very tired. “He could have caused trouble. Can I see the truck?”
“Be
He tossed bales of hay to one side as if they were nothing, then pulled on the false wall, swinging it back. Kathleen went forward, turned the locking bar, and opened the doors and there was the bullion in its boxes.