“Not a word, I swear it.”
“Good man yourself,” Devlin said and left him there.
Dillon and Hannah were waiting beside Devlin’s silver Toyota saloon. “The game’s afoot, as Sherlock used to say, so to Ballyburn, and you can drive, Sean. I’m getting old.”
Dillon got behind the wheel and Devlin held the rear door open for Hannah. “You don’t look pleased. You didn’t like it back there.”
“I never do when I see the way he operates.”
“Yes, well, he always was the hard man, our Sean,” and he went round to the other side and joined her.
AT VICTORIA FARM they all had breakfast in the kitchen. When it was finished, Kathleen cleared the table and stacked the plates and strangely enough it was Mori who helped her when her uncle, Barry, and Sollazo went out. She half expected Mori to make a pass at her, was all ready for it. Instead, he filled the sink with hot water and put the dirty dishes in.
“Leave them to soak. Less work that way.”
“And what’s got into you, you big lump?” she demanded.
He laughed. “My father owned a restaurant in Palermo. When I was a kid I worked there all the time in the kitchen. Later I was a waiter for him.”
“Then you took to the gun.”
He shrugged and said calmly, “It paid better.”
When she went into the sitting room the three of them were looking at the map. “That’s it, then,” Barry was saying. “Up to Dundalk, then across the border. No trouble there these days since the peace talks. You can drive straight through.”
“And then Scotstown,” Sollazo said.
“Exactly. We might make it in a couple of hours, two and a half at the most.”
“And who is we?” Kathleen asked.
“Sollazo and me,” Barry told her. “You can stay here in Mori’s tender care.”
“You’ve got your bloody cheek.”
“Yes, well I’m in charge. Mr. Sollazo and I will drive up to Scotstown with the diving gear. Kevin Stringer at the Loyalist thinks he has a suitable boat. We’ll check it out. If it’s okay, Kevin can stow the gear and we’ll return. We’ll probably be back here by five.”
She glared at him, then looked at her uncle. He shrugged. “All for the best, Kathleen.”
“If everything is on course, we’ll all drive up to Scotstown in the morning,” Barry said.
“Oh, do what the hell you like,” she said and stormed out.
THE TOYOTA COASTED down the hill outside Ballyburn. Dillon slowed and there it was, the opened five-barred gate, the sign Victoria Farm, and the farmhouse beyond.
“Pull up in the lay-by,” Devlin said. “I’ve got some glasses in the glove compartment.” He rummaged inside and found a pair of Zeiss binoculars. “Just let me take a look.”
He stood beside the Toyota and focused them on the station wagon in the farmyard, and at that moment the house door opened and they all came out, Barry, Sollazo, Mori, and the Ryans.
“Christ,” Devlin said. “It’s the whole damn bunch of them. Jack Barry for starters. Take a look, Sean.”
Dillon took the binoculars, focused them, and nodded. “Barry, Michael, and sweet Kathleen.”
Hannah had got out of the Toyota and he passed the binoculars to her. She took a look. “The other two are Sollazo and his minder, Giovanni Mori,” she murmured to Devlin. “We had photos of them faxed from Blake Johnson.” She stiffened. “Barry and Sollazo have got into the station wagon. The others are going inside.”
“Out of here quick,” Devlin said to Dillon.
They scrambled in and Dillon drove away quickly and took a side turning. He stopped. “Give them a couple of minutes to see if they come this way. If not, I’ll reverse and try and catch them up.”
It was Hannah a moment later, watching through the rear window, who said, “There they go.”
“And with luck, to where we all want to be,” Devlin said. “So after them, Sean.”
DILLON STAYED WELL back, Devlin acting as lookout, and the amount of traffic on the road gave them plenty of cover. Drogheda was twenty miles, Dundalk another twenty, and they were just under the hour as they passed through the town.
“The border soon,” Devlin told Hannah. “Then we cross over to Warrenpoint if it’s the Down coast as it must be, we’ll go through Rostrevor and down to Kilkeel and take the coast road.”
“Which would bring us to Drumdonald and Scotstown, the area where we landed after the Irish Rose went down,” Dillon observed.
“What was the name of the pub you went to in Scotstown?” Hannah said.
“The Loyalist,” Dillon laughed. “The wrong name entirely. Kevin Stringer, who runs it, worked for Barry for years.” He frowned and turned to Devlin. “What do you think?”
“That it sounds promising. We’ll see. Now I’ll take a little nap and you young ones keep alert.”
AFTER WARRENPOINT, THE traffic thinned out, but there were still vehicles on the road, private cars and the occasional truck, enough to give cover if Dillon stayed well back. It started to rain, sweeping in from the Mourne Mountains.
“Sweeping down to the sea as the song says,” Devlin commented. “A grand sight.”
“It certainly is,” Hannah said.
There were two cars and a large farm truck ahead of them and the station wagon in front. Devlin said, “One thing, if we are going to end up in Scotstown or some such place, we have a problem. Fishing villages only on this coast, a jetty, a harbor, a few boats. Strangers stick out like a sore thumb.”
“We’ll have to go gently,” Dillon said. “Wait and see.”
THE RAIN INCREASED into a solid downpour, and Barry, at the wheel of the station wagon, swore softly. “The curse of this country.”
“You can say that again,” Sollazo said.
“Kilkeel coming up. There’s a grand cafe on the road just before we go through. I don’t know about you, but a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich would go down fine.”
“Suits me,” Sollazo told him.
A few moments later, they came to the very place and Barry turned into the car park. There were several trucks, a few cars, and he parked beside them. There was a filling station and garage with a sign that said Patrick Murphy amp; Son. The cafe was at the other end of the car park. They ran through the rain and went in.
Dillon pulled the Toyota in between two trucks and switched off the engine. Hannah said, “I’ll go and see what’s happening. I need the toilet anyway.”
She got out and hurried away through the rain. “A darling girl,” Devlin said.
“She saved my life once and took a bullet in the doing,” Dillon told him.
“Jesus,” Devlin said. “A nice Jewish girl like that.”
“I remember what Ferguson told me she said once,” Dillon said. “It was after she shot Norah Bell, the bitch had stabbed me in the back twice. She said I’m not a nice Jewish girl at all. I’m a very Old Testament Jewish girl.”
Devlin laughed. “God save us, if I wasn’t seventy-five years of age I’d fall in love with her.”
“Seventy-five?” Dillon said. “It’s the great liar you are.”
Hannah came back and leaned down. “They look settled. I saw Barry give the waitress an order. Look, I’m thinking about what you said, Liam, about us standing out like a sore thumb whenever we get where we’re going. That might apply to you more than me. I mean, if it turns out to be Scotstown, for example, this Kevin Stringer would know you, Sean, even you, Liam.”
“He could recognize me,” Devlin said. “I was well known in these parts, mainly because I was born in the country.” He grimaced. “Sometimes it’s hell being a living legend.”
Hannah said, “Not me. I’m just an English tourist or I could be. That garage has a car hire sign. Pass me my shoulder bag and I’ll go and see what I can get. If our friends leave before I’m ready, just go. I’ll follow the coast road Drumdonald and Scotstown way. I’ll find you.”