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‘He would be. Irish time, Lady Kate. Me, Dillon, Casey here, your brother – we’re all cut from the same piece of cloth. But there’s more here. I know I’m a bastard, but I’m a clever bastard.’
‘All right. I’ll tell you. It involves my mother and a man called Igor Gatov.’
Afterwards, Aidan Bell said, ‘Excuse the language, but they’re all fucks. The Americans, Russians, Brits. They use people, then throw them away like a paper cup.’
‘So for once, we teach them a lesson. And I do mean a big lesson. We go straight to the top. I hear Jake Cazalet is a good man, but so what? Someone pays for people like Gatov, and ultimately it must be the one in supreme power. For President Jake Cazalet, you get two million. Now are you in or out?’
Liam Casey said, ‘Jesus.’
Bell sat looking at her. ‘You’re mad, woman.’
‘No, perfectly serious. As I said, you keep the hundred thousand, no matter what.’ She took a phonecard from her purse, and a pen. She wrote quickly. ‘My coded mobile number. You’ve got seven days. My brother and I will be at Trump Tower in New York next Thursday at our apartment. If you’re interested, present yourself, plus a coherent plan. If not, you’re one hundred thousand pounds richer and no hard feelings.’
Bell smiled. ‘I’ll be there, Lady Kate, Trump Tower, Thursday.’
She nodded, a certain satisfaction on her face. ‘It was never the money, was it? It’s the game to you, just like Dillon.’
‘Well, I still expect to be paid, and for a job like this, I’ll expect not two but three million sterling.’
He held out his hand and she took it. ‘Somehow, I thought you’d say something like that.’
‘We’ll meet again next week then, in Manhattan.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Casey opened the door for her and they went out to Dillon, who was at the bar drinking Bushmills.
‘A little early, even for you,’ she told him.
‘We have to walk back through the rain, girl. I like to keep the cold out. We’re all done here, I presume?’
‘Yes, back to Magee,’ she said.
Dillon turned to Bell. ‘A sincere sensation, Aidan. I’m sure you’ll do whatever the lady wants with your usual ruthless efficiency.’
‘Oh, you can count on it, Sean.’
Kate, Dillon and George went out, and Bell and Casey stood in the door and watched them go.
Casey said, ‘It’s madness, Aidan. Even you couldn’t get away with it.’
Bell smiled, looking incredibly dangerous. ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong, Liam. I can get away with anything. There’s something burning in my brain already, something I read recently. I’ll go and check it out. That’s a hell of a woman.’ He watched her go, Dillon and George on either side. ‘But Dillon. That’s a strange one, having him here.’
‘A “minder”, she said.’
‘Could be, but he still works for Ferguson, which means he can’t be in on this business. It wouldn’t make sense.’
They walked out into the rain and moved towards the harbour at the same moment that Kate Rashid and the two men reached the Aran and stepped over the rail – and found Frank Kelly face-down on the deck. Quinn, the bearded man from the Royal George, came out of the wheelhouse with a savage grin, backed by his two cronies. They were all armed.
Without hesitation, Dillon flung himself over the rail into the harbour, dived deep and swam, surfacing at the stern.
Quinn was shouting, ‘Get the bastard, get him!’
Dillon reached to the ankle holster and drew the .22 pistol. The men above looked over the rail and he shot each one between the eyes. Quinn, shocked, turned to see what was going on and George Rashid pulled the .22 from his own ankle holster and shot him in the right arm. Quinn dropped his gun, scrambled over the rail, and stumbled away.
George took careful aim just as Dillon came back up over the rail. ‘Let him go and let’s get out of here. See to Kelly,’ he added to Kate, then moved to the wheelhouse and started the engines.
On the way down from the Royal George, Bell and Casey saw what was going on below on the boat.
Bell said, ‘That shite Quinn. He’s going to ruin everything. Come on,’ and he ran down the hill to the harbour.
They saw the action, Dillon taking to the water and shooting Quinn’s two sidekicks, Quinn being shot by George Rashid and running for cover. Bell and Casey paused, watched George cast off and the Aran move out of the harbour, saw Quinn stumble between the boats on the beach.
‘I’ve had it, Liam,’ Bell said. ‘The Provisional IRA can go to hell. This is my patch and this bastard has come close to screwing up the biggest job of my life. This time he goes down.’
He ran, followed by Casey. In working his way round the beach, Quinn had to wade through water, and when he turned around the stern of a fishing boat, he found Bell and Casey facing him.
‘Aidan?’ he said.
Bell smiled. ‘You’ve been a stone in my shoe too long, you bastard. Let’s end it now.’ He drew a Browning from his pocket and double-tapped Quinn in the heart. Quinn fell back in the water, his body floating, half submerged.
Casey said, ‘You want me to do anything?’
‘No need, the tide’s on the turn. It will take him out, and in Drumcree, who’ll ask questions?’
The Aran moved out to sea. Kate went to the stern and sat in the rain using her coded mobile. Paul Rashid answered.
‘It’s me, darling.’
‘How did it go?’
‘I’ll tell you when we meet. Bell will go for it.’
‘Good. How was Dillon?’
‘Well, he and Bell turned out to have shot at each other in the old days.’
‘So, Dillon bought your story?’
‘God knows. He’s a devious bastard. What he did do was save my life.’
There was a pause and Paul Rashid said, ‘Explain.’
Afterwards, he said, ‘He doesn’t take prisoners.’
‘No. Mind you, George didn’t let you down, either.’
‘I’m proud of him. Tell him so for me. I’ll see you soon.’
The Aran was plunging out to sea through strong waves. Dillon and George were in the wheelhouse, and Kate arrived with tea.
‘How’s Kelly?’ Dillon asked.
‘He’ll be all right. A bash to the head, that’s all. He’ll have a headache for a while, but he’s a tough nut.’
‘Good,’ Dillon said.
Dillon said, ‘Now, Kate, there’s half a bottle of Bushmills under the chart table.’
She found it, got it out, and poured into two mugs of tea. Dillon said, ‘George, boy, as my Jewish friends would say, you’re a mensch. My thanks.’
‘Dillon, I’ve been through Sandhurst and One Para. Sometimes I forget the estate management.’
‘Go on.’ Dillon laughed. ‘Get him out of here, Kate.’
When she was gone, he used her coded mobile phone to reach Ferguson. When the Brigadier answered, he gave him a rundown of events.
‘Christ, Dillon, you’ve been killing again.’
‘The ranks of the ungodly, Charles.’
‘All right. Did you believe that story of hers, hiring Bell for protection for Rashid Investments?’
‘Not for a moment.’
‘So why involve you?’
‘I’ve told you. I know Down and I knew Bell in the old days. I knocked off guys who wanted to knock her off. She hired me as a minder and mind her I did. Without me, she’d be dead.’
‘And you still think there’s something going on?’
‘Absolutely. Something big, but I’ve no idea what.’
‘Come home, Sean, and we’ll think on it.’
At Aidan Bell’s house, Casey was in the kitchen making tea. Suddenly the door opened and Bell appeared, a magazine in his hand.
‘I was right, I found the story in Time magazine. It tells me exactly how to shoot Jake Cazalet.’
‘You’re mad,’ Casey told him.
‘Not at all, Liam. This could work. Trust me.’
MANHATTAN (#ulink_5e4a9fa1-d197-52d8-853b-494235d2309d)
4 (#ulink_809a736e-90c5-51c7-9b75-3ea8e0414b1e)
Aidan Bell and Liam Casey shared a suite at the Plaza Hotel beside New York’s Central Park. They had flown over earlier on Concorde, the seats provided by Rashid Investments, and found a chauffeur-driven limousine waiting to take them to the hotel.
‘This is the life, Aidan,’ Casey said.
‘Well, don’t let it go to your head. Shave, shower and put your best suit on. It’s like we’re visiting royalty tonight. I don’t want him to think we’re straight out of the bogs.’
He showered in the second bathroom, then dressed in a white shirt, blue tie and an easy-fitting dark suit. When he went out to the sitting room, Liam Casey was standing at the window, looking out.
‘Jesus, Aidan, what a town.’
He turned, wearing a black suit and shirt and black tie.
‘Will I do?’
‘You look like a bouncer at the Colosseum,’ Bell said. ‘Now let’s go. We’re only a couple of blocks away. Just behave yourself and do as I say, and this ought to go as smooth as butter.’
At Trump Tower, they went up in a private lift to the Rashid penthouse, where Kate opened the door. She wore a black dress and a gold chain round her neck, very understated.
‘Mr Bell.’
‘Lady Kate. What do I give to the woman who has everything?’ He opened his briefcase and took out a cheap plastic box. ‘A present from County Down. A sign of good luck. A four-leafed shamrock.’
‘Well, we can do with lots of that, Mr Casey.’ She nodded. ‘In you come. My brothers are waiting.’
Paul Rashid sat by the fire in the drawing room with Michael and George. Kate made the introductions.
‘Aidan Bell and his associate, Liam Casey.’
‘Mr Bell.’ Paul Rashid didn’t shake hands. ‘My sister tells me you almost had me shot in Crossmaglen.’
‘True, but Allah was good to you,’ Bell told him.
‘I like that – I like it very much. You want a drink?’
‘Perhaps later. For now, let’s get to business, I think.’
‘Fine. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think you could do it, am I right?’
Bell said, ‘Yes, you are. Now, there are two common types of assassination. One is by nutcases who press through the crowd and shoot the President up close, with no chance of getting away. Often, they don’t even want to get away. That’s not for me. Two is the clever, complicated kind, the Day-of-the-Jackal thing, meticulously organized, every possibility accounted for – like I did in Chechnya when I got Petrovsky and his staff. That takes a long time to plan, however, and I sense you want results a little sooner.’
‘You’re quite right,’ Paul said. ‘So what’s the answer?’
Bell smiled. ‘There’s a third way.’
There was silence. It was Kate who said, ‘What, for God’s sake?’
Bell was enjoying himself. ‘Well, to shoot the President of the United States should be an impossibility – or could it be absurdly simple?’ He opened his briefcase and took out a magazine. He held it up. ‘America, like Britain, is a democracy. You can write anything you want about the great and the good. There’s an article in here on Jake Cazalet, everyone’s favourite President. It was in my head, so I looked it up, and it’s all I need for a general plan. Now I only need to finish working out the details.’
The silence was profound. He smiled, feeling his power. ‘I think I’d like a large Bushmills Irish whiskey and then we’ll talk.’
A few minutes later, he stood on the terrace looking down at the traffic while Paul Rashid read the article, then passed it to the others.
