Drink with the Devil

‘Some gentlemen to see you, sir.’

He was pulled to one side and a very large man in a navy blue raincoat entered, hands in pockets.

‘So there you are, you old bastard.’

‘Scully. What do you want?’ and Bell knew fear.

‘I’ve brought an old friend to see you.’

He stood to one side and a small man entered. His face was thin and wasted, he wore wire spectacles beneath an old trilby hat and a fawn raincoat.

‘Mr Reid,’ Bell said, his mouth dry.

‘Nice to see you, Hugh.’ The Belfast accent was very pronounced. ‘A word would seem to be in order.’

‘A word?’ Bell said. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You don’t?’ Reid took off his hat and sat at the table. ‘And me all the way from Belfast on behalf of the Army Council.’

‘But what would they want with me?’

Reid took out an old silver case and selected a cigarette. Scully lit it for him with his lighter. ‘Don’t fence with me, Hugh. The other year Michael Ryan put up a hare-brained scheme to knock off some bullion truck up in the north-west of England. Don’t deny it because you were involved. The Army Council turned it down.’

‘That’s true,’ Bell said lamely. ‘I do recall something of that.’

‘Don’t bullshit me, Hugh. Things get out as things always do and the whisper is that Michael is going ahead with this job on his own initiative right now.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It would seem obvious that you would be the man to know the truth of the matter.’ He turned. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Scully?’

‘Oh, I would indeed, Mr Reid.’ And Scully’s smile was terrible.

He was in deep trouble, Bell knew that, but also knew that disclosing what he did know would do him no good at all. When Scully was brought in, it always meant a bad end to things. He was not known as the Shankill Butcher for nothing. Bell made his decision and took a deep breath.

‘Sure and I can’t deny I know something of the matter, Mr Reid. Michael did come to me the other day and discussed certain aspects.’

‘The word I got was that a bullion truck would be heisted, is that true?’

‘Well, it was in the original plan submitted to the Army Council.’

‘And trans-shipped to somewhere in County Down. Do you know where?’

‘God save us, but I don’t.’

‘Scully!’ Reid said.

The big man took a Browning from his pocket and advanced. Bell said hurriedly, ‘No need for that. I know where Ryan is staying here in London. I’ll take you there now.’

Scully relaxed and Reid smiled. ‘Very sensible, Hugh.’

‘I’ll get my coat.’

Bell went into the bedroom, picking up his jacket, put it on, then, quickly opening the opposite door, darted along the corridor, exited into the alley at the side of the pub and ran for the main road.

When the phone in the hall rang at Folly’s End it was Mary Power who answered it. She came into the kitchen and said to Ryan, ‘It’s for you. Mr Bell.’

Ryan went out to the hall and picked up the phone. ‘Yes, Hugh?’

‘We’re in trouble. Reid turned up from the Army Council with that sod Scully. They know, Michael, they’ve heard a whisper.’

‘Did you tell them anything?’

‘Did I hell. I ran for my life, but they knew the plan. I mean they would, wouldn’t they? You submitted it to them originally.’

‘The original plan was sketchy, Hugh. No mention of Folly’s End or the precise target and, at that stage, the boat was only an idea. Did you tell them about the Irish Rose? Did you tell them we’d be putting in at Kilalla?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good. Then we’ll get on with it. Keep your head down and mind your back, Hugh. Go to ground for a while.’

After replacing the phone he stood there in the hall, lighting a cigarette and thinking about it. No point in alarming anyone. No point at all.

He returned to the kitchen. ‘Hugh Bell. Nothing important.’ He smiled at Keogh. ‘I’ll stay up here in case there are any more calls from Hugh. You’ll have to spend the night at the cottage down at Marsh End on your own. No room here. Take the Ford van.’

‘I’ll be on my way then.’ Keogh swallowed his tea and got up. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Bell didn’t know where he was going. He hesitated and started across Kilburn High Road. At that moment, an old Mercedes limousine turned out of a side-street, Scully at the wheel, Reid beside him.

‘He’s there,’ Reid said, ‘crossing the road. Get him.’

Scully gunned the motor. Bell, alarmed at the sound, turned. He tried to run and slipped in the rain. The Mercedes hit him at fifty miles an hour, bounced him into the gutter and moved on.

A woman screamed as a crowd converged. A uniformed Woman Police Officer pushed her way through, but by the time she knelt down beside Hugh Bell he was very dead indeed.

4 (#ulink_9578990c-0a37-5719-bfa6-b4a51d6adc85)

The morning was bleak, heavy clouds draped across the mountains. After breakfast, Ryan sat at the table drinking tea and thinking about things, wondering about Bell and Reid and that bastard Scully. On the other hand, there shouldn’t be any danger from them as long as Bell kept out of their clutches. The original plan submitted to the Army Council had been simply the idea of the thing. That he knew of a truck somewhere in the north-west of England that carried bullion, that he thought it could be lifted and taken to Ulster by boat. So Reid was at a dead end without Bell.

He decided to take a chance, went out into the hall and phoned the William & Mary. The barman answered at once.

Ryan said, ‘Ryan here, Angus. I was wanting a word with Hugh. Is he there?’

‘He’s dead, Mr Ryan. Killed in Kilburn High Road last night.’

‘What happened?’ Ryan said.

‘He was knocked down crossing the road. Hit-and-run accident. The police found the car that did it abandoned a few streets away.’

‘Have they traced who was in it?’

‘The police sergeant who called earlier said it had been stolen in Hampstead a year ago. He thinks it must have been standing in some garage.’