Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 2: Angel of Death, Drink With the Devil, The President’s Daughter

‘Dillon.’ Quinn’s face was pale. ‘You fucking bastard. Working for the Brits now.’

‘But I thought that was your side, Danny? Make your mind up. Now, open the case.’

‘You go to hell.’

Dillon’s hand came up, he fired and part of Quinn’s right ear disintegrated. He lurched against the table, a hand to his ear.

‘Open it!’ Dillon snapped.

Quinn unclipped the briefcase. Inside were two objects resembling thermos flasks. Dillon picked one up and slipped it into his dive bag. He did the same with the other.

‘What have I got here?’

‘Plutonium 239. Three hundred grammes.’

‘That could take out half of Dublin.’

‘For God’s sake, Dillon, you’re not with the IRA any more. We can show the fucking Fenians we mean business.’

‘It’s finished, Danny,’ Dillon said. ‘Peace is coming whether you like it or not. We’ve got Callaghan. He’ll sing like a bird. I killed Daley in Belfast and five of your foot soldiers. You’re finished, me ould son.’

The door opened behind him. He turned, dropping to one knee, and found Bikov there. Dillon fired twice, knocking him out to the deck. Behind him, Quinn dropped behind the desk, drew a pistol and fired, at the same time shouting at the top of his voice.

Dillon went out, crouching low in time to catch the seamen emerging on to the deck further along. Several of them were armed and when they saw him they fired.

He darted to the other side of the ship, paused beside the engine room and took out the Semtex block. He activated both three-minute timers, raised the engine room hatch and dropped them in, then he went up a ladder to the top deck.

Cohen had been watching through the night sight. As gunfire cracked, Hannah said, ‘What is it?’

‘He’s in trouble.’ Cohen dropped the night sight, picked up an Uzi, cocked it and gave it to her. ‘I hope you can pull a trigger, because we’re going in to get him.’

As the first seaman emerged at the top of the ladder behind him, Dillon turned and fired twice, knocking him down, then he vaulted over the stern rail into the water. As he surfaced the inflatable surged forward, Cohen at the tiller, Hannah Bernstein spraying the deck above with the Uzi.

‘Hang on!’ Cohen cried and threw a line.

They sped away into the darkness, the odd angry shot pursuing them, and finally slowed. Cohen leaned over. ‘Did you get it?’

‘Oh, yes, it’s here in the dive bag.’

Cohen gave him a hand on board and at that moment, the Alexandrine blew up in a great eruption of orange flames, the sound echoing towards the land.

‘Oh, my God!’ Hannah Bernstein said.

‘They must have had trouble in the engine room.’ Dillon shook his head. ‘And the Sons of Ulster are going to need a new leader. Just shows you can’t depend on anything in this wicked old life.’

It was exactly two hours later that the Lear lifted off the runway at Beirut International Airport and started a steady climb to thirty thousand feet. Callaghan, dressed in slacks and a polo neck sweater, sat by himself looking decidedly unhappy. Ferguson, Hannah Bernstein and Dillon were grouped together.

‘You did well, Chief Inspector,’ the Brigadier told her.

‘Better than well,’ Dillon said. ‘When Cohen came in to get me, she stood up in that boat and gave us covering fire with an Uzi. Annie Oakley come back to haunt us. Time you made her Superintendent, Brigadier.’

‘Out of my hands. It’s a Scotland Yard matter.’

‘And you with no influence,’ Dillon mocked.

‘And what about Dillon, sir?’ Hannah demanded. ‘If anyone did well it was he.’

‘Yes, well, I had every confidence in him, as usual, which was why I brought this.’ Ferguson opened the small ice box in one of the cupboards and produced a bottle of Krug. ‘You open it, dear boy.’

‘You old sod,’ Dillon said and eased off the cork while Hannah got out the glasses. He turned to Callaghan. ‘Will you join us in a glass, Francis?’

‘Go stuff yourselves, the lot of you,’ Callaghan said.

LONDON 1994 (#ulink_9693bba9-024f-52b2-b313-4eb8f76ef5fb)

8 (#ulink_65cc0eab-9810-5b98-91e6-54d63a752fdb)

The prime minister at the debriefing the following morning was absolutely delighted. ‘So Dillon’s done it again.’ He turned to Carter. ‘I know you don’t like him, but you must admit he gets results.’

‘Yes, the little swine manages that all right.’

‘Oh, come on, Simon,’ Rupert Lang told him. ‘It’s results that count. The Protestant terrorist movements have been dealt a crippling blow. Ferguson’s unit has not only foiled the worst bomb threat possible, a threat that would have added an entirely new dimension to the Irish problem, they’ve also got rid of one of the most dangerous leaders there was.’

‘And that is of crucial importance,’ the Prime Minister told them. ‘President Clinton is giving us all his support in an effort to produce a final and lasting peace in Ireland. Senator Edward Kennedy has brought his considerable influence to bear in Congress and several other prominent Irish-Americans, such as Senator Patrick Keogh and former Congressman Bruce Morrison, have been working behind the scenes for months to persuade the IRA to come to the peace table.’

‘I’ll believe it when it happens,’ Carter snorted. ‘I mean, how can we deal with people who’ve bombed the hell out of us for twenty-five years?’

‘We dealt with Kenyatta in Kenya after the Mau Mau rebellion and gave them independence,’ Ferguson told him. ‘Same thing in Cyprus with Archbishop Makarios.’

‘I think Ferguson’s right,’ Rupert Lang said. ‘We have to travel hopefully.’

‘Quite right,’ the Prime Minister said. ‘Look, gentlemen, I’m the last person to look favourably on the IRA. I don’t forget the Brighton Bombing when they almost got the entire Government, but twenty-five years is long enough. The chance for peace is overwhelming and we must seize it, but it does mean keeping the lid on the Protestant hard men. It’s the most volatile of situations. Let me put it this way. I don’t want us on the very brink of peace to see it all destroyed by the wrong kind of incident.’

‘I think we’re all agreed on that,’ Ferguson told him.

‘Now, I intend a flying visit to Washington quite soon to see President Clinton. The Irish Prime Minister, Mr Reynolds, will be joining us. This is all very hush-hush and you gentlemen will respect my confidence.’

‘Of course, Prime Minister,’ Carter said and they all nodded.

‘One other matter. You may have heard of Mr Liam Bell?’

‘I know him,’ Rupert Lang said. ‘Met him in Washington when he was a Senator before he gave up politics and became president of some huge electronics firm.’

‘He’s also Irish-American and was much involved with fund-raising for the IRA through NORAID, the Northern Ireland Aid Committee,’ Carter added.

‘Yes, well, he’s seen the error of his ways there. He’s genuinely committed himself to achieving peace. He’s coming over on a fact-finding mission on behalf of President Clinton on Thursday. He’ll spend one night in London at his house in Vance Square, then proceed to Belfast. He’ll be coming in by private jet.’

‘Do you want us to look after him, Prime Minister?’ Carter asked.