“He must be laughing his head off,” she said.
“Yes, he always was a cynical bastard.”
Dillon came back and slid into his seat. “Low cloud and turbulence at Shannon and heavy rain that’s expected to last most of the day.”
“Any problems?” Ferguson asked.
“Not with the two lads up there in the cockpit flying this thing. They flew Tornadoes in the Gulf War. Twenty trips each to Baghdad.”
“That’s all right then.”
“Good,” Dillon said. “We’ll have some tea, and just to stay politically correct and on the right side of Miss Wonderful here, I’ll make it.”
The conquest came out of cloud at approximately a thousand feet and saw the coast of Ireland ahead, County Waterford to be precise. Carson went lower, approaching the coastline at five hundred feet over a turbulent sea. And then, as Grace looked out, they were across, green fields below, hedgerows and farmhouses. A few miles inland and he started to climb until they were enveloped in cloud. She unbuckled her belt and went forward and tapped him on the shoulder and he pulled down his earphones.
“Any problems?” she asked.
“None so far, but there are headwinds from now on.”
“Will it hinder us? My timing is of absolute importance.”
“I shouldn’t think so, thanks to that early start. If it stays like this we’ll have a tailwind most of the way back. A much quicker trip home.”
“Good,” she said.
“There’s a black box back there by the luggage compartment and toilet. You’ll find a thermos flask of boiled water and coffee and tea bags.”
“What’s your preference?”
“Coffee, very black.”
“I’ll see to it,” and she turned and went along the gangway.
The Lear Jet came in to Shannon Airport sixteen miles west of Limerick at twenty minutes to eleven. The pilot made an excellent landing and proceeded to a dispersal point at the far end of the hangars as ordered, an area of little activity. The only other machine in sight was a helicopter, two crew visible in the cockpit. There was also a black Rover car parked there, a driver at the wheel, and a large man in a navy-blue raincoat and an umbrella over his head came forward as one of the pilots opened the door of the Lear jet and the stairs came down. Ferguson went first, followed by Hannah Bernstein and Dillon, who carried a canvas hold-all bag.
The big man had a Cork accent and a tough, hard face to him. “Brigadier Ferguson? I’m Chief Superintendent Patrick Hare, Special Branch.”
Ferguson shook hands. “This is my assistant, Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch.”
“A great pleasure.” Hare shook her hand.
“And this rogue is one Sean Dillon, of whom you may have heard over the years.”
Hare’s astonishment was plain. “Holy Mother of God, I can’t believe it.”
“In the flesh,” Dillon said. “I remember back in the eighties I was on the run in the Republic and you were snapping at my heels. Chief Inspector then.”
Hare grinned reluctantly. “So you’ve gone over?”
“Haven’t we all these days?” Dillon said and offered his hand.
After a slight hesitation Hare took it and turned to Ferguson. “There’s an office in the hangar we can use. The Gulfstream carrying Senator Keogh is twenty minutes out. As you can see, the helicopter is ready and waiting.”
“How much do you know?” Ferguson asked as they went into the hangar.
“Everything. I’ve been briefed by the Prime Minister himself, who stressed the need for total secrecy, which is why he’s not here himself. It would obviously attract too much attention.”
“Of course,” Ferguson said as they went into the office.
There was a tray with cups, a thermos flask and milk on a desk. Hare said, “Tea there if it takes your fancy.”
“How long to reach Drumgoole?” Ferguson asked as Hannah opened the thermos.
“Half an hour. I’ll wait until you’re ten minutes on your way and then I’ll telephone the mother superior, Sister Mary Fitzgerald. A good, kind soul. I know her well. The father confessor to the Little Sisters of Pity at Drumgoole is Father Tim McGuire, a decent ould stick. Just the nuns and the school kids there, and they’ll all go potty when they hear Keogh is coming.”
“But not for long. Ardmore House is what’s important,” Ferguson said as Hannah handed tea round.
“Well, I wish him well there,” Hare said. “I think he’s going to need it.”
“How close?” Grace was at Carson ’s shoulder now.
“Not far. Fifteen miles.”
“And where is Drumgoole Abbey from here?”
“We fly over it.”
“Good, I’d like to take a look.”
She went back to her seat and peered out of the window. The Conquest came out of cloud at two thousand feet into heavy rain and there it was in a pleasant wooded valley below, the Abbey, a schoolhouse, and several cottages. Grace took in the lay of the land, the approach road leading up from the valley and disappearing into a vast forest area.
The Conquest continued for another ten miles and during that time, she opened the suitcase, took off her tracksuit trousers, then dressed in the nun’s habit, not easy in the restricted space of the cabin, but years of having to change in cramped dressing rooms had given her a certain expertise. She finished off by pulling on a pair of black knee socks and black flat-heeled shoes. She took the shoulder bag out, pushed the case between two seats, and sat waiting.
Kilbeg was a desolate sort of place, the grass runway plain. There was a wind sock on a pole, a ruined cottage at the north end, a shed beside it, and as they landed she could see a dark green car parked inside.
The plane rolled to a halt close to the cottage and Carson switched off. When he got out of the pilot’s seat and saw her he looked truly shocked.
“God in Heaven.”
“The door, Mr. Carson.”
He got the Airstair door open and went down the steps, turning to give her a hand. She accepted, lifting the skirt of her habit with the other, and they ran through the relentless rain to the shelter of the shed.
The car was a Toyota saloon. The door wasn’t locked, but when she opened it there was no key in the ignition. She felt under the rubber mat and found it at once. She turned to Carson and held it up.
“Here we are.”
She got behind the wheel and put the shoulder bag on the passenger seat. “How long will you be?” Carson asked.
“Two to two and a half hours if I’m lucky.”
“I’ve got to have a time. Can’t wait forever.”
She looked up at him calmly. “Be here when I return, Mr. Carson. I need hardly remind you that Colonel Belov has a very long arm. There would be nowhere you could go that he couldn’t find you.”
He shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I don’t want to hang around too long.”
“You won’t have to.” She switched on the engine and drove away.
The Gulfstream landed and taxied toward the hangars, taking up position beside the Lear jet.
Patrick Hare said, “I’ll go and get him.”
He walked out toward the Gulfstream under his umbrella and the door opened and the stairs came down followed by Sergeant Black. A moment later Captains Harris and Ford appeared. They lined up at the bottom of the stairs and Keogh joined them, shaking hands with each in turn. As Ferguson watched, Hare engaged the Senator in a brief conversation, then they walked toward the hangar.
“Brigadier, great to see you again,” Keogh said. “And you, Dillon.”
“Allow me to introduce my aide, Detective Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein,” Ferguson told him.
Keogh gave her his best smile. “A real pleasure, ma’am,” and shook hands.
Dillon said, “We have a present for you, Senator.” He opened the hold-all he had been carrying. “Kevlar jacket, latest model.”