Ferguson put down the phone and sat back. “Come on, Dillon,” he said softly. “Give me a result.”
DEVLIN, AS A favored customer at his local pub, was given the best booth in the corner of the restaurant. He insisted on ordering for all of them so they started with a lentil and potato soup to be followed by Irish ham in a white sauce with new potatoes and boiled cabbage.
Hannah said, “I’m sorry, Liam, I’m Jewish, you’ve forgotten. Ham is out.”
He was immediately contrite. “Would poached salmon be in?”
“That I could manage.”
“I should tell you as a serving police officer that the emphasis is on poached.”
“Oh, dear.”
He turned to Dillon. “As for you, boy, forget your ideas about the Krug champagne. All they do is a house champagne here at twelve quid the bottle.”
“Irish champagne?” Hannah said.
“Well the name on the label is French.”
Dillon raised his hands. “Order it, I surrender.”
THE MEAL WAS delicious, the champagne almost acceptable, and the conversation the most interesting Hannah Bernstein had heard in years.
“So your granddad’s a rabbi, your father a professor of surgery, and you went to Cambridge University?” Devlin said. “That’s a terrible weight to bear, and you a peeler? How did that come about?”
“I wanted to do something worthwhile. Money wasn’t a consideration. I’ve got plenty of that.”
“God, you on the beat in a blue uniform must have been the grand sight.”
“Don’t be sexist, Mr. Devlin.”
“Liam. Do I have to tell you again? But a nice Jewish girl like you. I mean, didn’t your da want you to marry and have babies?”
“This nice Jewish girl shot dead Norah Bell,” Dillon said.
Devlin stopped smiling. “Jesus, big for the Protestant cause, that one.”
“And I killed the boyfriend, Ahern,” Dillon said. “They were in London to knock off the American President.”
Hannah looked strained and Devlin put a hand on hers. “It is not on you, any of it, girl, it’s the world we live in. Now, a Bushmills whiskey to put me to sleep and we’ll go home.”
He shouted the order across to the barman, turned back with a smile, then suddenly frowned. “I’ve had a thought.”
“And what would that be?” Dillon asked.
“They’ve got to go looking for the site of the Irish Rose.”
“That’s right. Somewhere off the Down coast. We landed in the general area of Drumdonald and Scotstown.”
“I’m not thinking of that. I’m thinking they have to go looking, which means chartering a boat, but more than that, wouldn’t they need diving equipment?”
Dillon nodded. “Of course.”
“And you, they tell me, are an expert in that field these days.”
“I’ve done my share. What are you getting at?”
“Well, they’ve got to get that equipment from somewhere, and Dublin isn’t exactly saturated with firms in that line of business.”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Dillon said.
“What if I told you there’s a firm called Seahorse Supplies on the edge of Dublin that’s owned by an old IRA hand called Tony Bradley? Served under Jack Barry, did five years in Portlaoise Prison. Now if you were Jack Barry and you needed diving equipment, where would you go?”
“Seahorse Supplies,” Hannah Bernstein said.
Devlin smiled and raised his glass in a toast. “Exactly, which is where we’ll go first thing in the morning. Everything comes to he who waits.”
THIRTEEN
IT WAS EIGHT-THIRTY the following morning when Tony Bradley turned his Land Rover into the car park outside the Seahorse Supplies warehouse. The staff didn’t clock on until nine, but he always liked to get there early. There were a number of vehicles parked already to do with other businesses nearby. He walked through them and paused to get out his keys. There was a small Judas gate in the great sliding doors for easy access. He unlocked it and there was a step behind him.
“Good man yourself, Tony.”
Bradley turned and found the three of them behind him, but it was Devlin he recognized immediately. “Dear God, Liam Devlin.”
“And another old friend. Surely you haven’t forgotten Sean Dillon.”
Bradley knew fear then of the kind that made his stomach contract. This had to be heavy, he knew that. “Sean, it’s been a long time.”
He glanced at Hannah nervously. “And who might you be?”
“She’s with us, that’s who she is, so in you go,” Dillon told him and pushed him in through the Judas gate.
Bradley was very frightened now. “I’ve done nothing. What is this?”
“Sit.” Dillon pushed him down on a packing case.
“A question or two, then we’ll let you go,” Devlin said. “You had Jack Barry here.”
He deliberately made it a statement of fact and it worked. “That’s right,” Bradley said eagerly. “Yesterday afternoon.”
“Buying diving equipment?”
“Yes, he was here with an American, a Mr. Sollazo. He was the expert. Hired a load of diving gear. I thought it was something to do with the Organization with it being Jack.”
“I’m afraid not,” Devlin told him. “Jack’s been a bit naughty. Up to no good, you might say. Colum O’Brien and the Army Council would not be best pleased.”
“My God,” Bradley said, “and how was I to know that?”
“Yes, you’re in bad trouble, old son,” Devlin told him. “So you’d better retrieve your position. Colum O’Brien doesn’t know of your part in this so maybe I can help.”
“Anything,” Bradley moaned.
Devlin turned to Dillon. “You’re the diving expert?”
Dillon lit a cigarette and said to Bradley, “Tell me what they took.”
Bradley hurriedly went through the list as he remembered it. “I think that’s all.” He paused, then added quickly, “No, I was forgetting the Master Navigator. I gave them the new model.”
“And a demonstration?” Dillon asked.
“More than that. The American gave me some bearings and I punched it in for them. Those things are like a homing device. They take you straight to the place.”
“Which was where?” Hannah cut in.
“How would I know, it was just bloody numbers.” He was getting upset. “I’ve told you all I know.”
“Except where they were going when they left,” Devlin said.
“Barry lives in Abbey Road, everyone knows that.”
“Only he isn’t there,” Devlin said gently. “Now where else might he be?”
“How would I know?” Bradley said wildly.
Dillon produced his Walther with the Carswell silencer. “I’m wondering whether a bullet in your left kneecap might improve your memory.”
“For God’s sake, Sean.” Bradley was terrified and then he remembered. “Just a minute. The last time I saw Jack Barry was in a pub in Ballyburn. I was driving down from Dundalk and I stopped for a drink and there he was in the corner of the bar.”
“And what happened?”
“We had a crack and he told me he had an old farmhouse just outside the village. He’d intended to walk back, but I gave him a lift. It was an old place, all a bit run down. He said he didn’t use it much since his wife died.” He was desperately searching for more information and found it. “There was a sign on the gate where I dropped him. Victoria Farm. I remember because he made a joke about it being a Brit Royal Family name.”
There was sweat on his face now. Devlin said, “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Dillon said softly. “It better be, Tony boy, or I’ll be back to take care of that left kneecap.”
He turned away and moved to the Judas gate, Hannah at his side. She murmured softly, “You really are a bastard, Dillon.”
“Yes, well, it gets results, girl dear, and that’s what counts.”
Devlin smiled and put an arm around Bradley. “Cheer up, Tony, it may never happen, but if you try and get in touch with Barry or speak of this to anyone, I’m afraid Dillon will be very annoyed indeed, and you know what that means.”