Then he added, “Just so that you know, there are two of your friends dead in the woods — one I shot through the neck, the other I had to break his neck with my bare hands. Another is dead by the garage — most of his brains are on the wall. And your mate in there is barely alive, but he should pull through. The phone won’t work because you’re wearing its wire, so you’ve no way of warning the Conners, or whatever their name is. I’ll call for an ambulance when I’m well clear of here. Now, did you get all of that?”
“Fuck off.”
Dillon smiled.
“I’m going to. But I’m also going to inform the police that there are armed men out here. I don’t know how much time that gives you to get free, find your dead, haul your injured mate to whatever vehicle you arrived in and get away before the armed response unit arrives. You haven’t done very well so far, have you? But I’m a sporting man, so I’ll half cut the cord around your wrists, you can do the rest.”
“You don’t want the police calling here any more than we do, so untie this wire and we’ll call it quits.”
“You’re nearly right. But I don’t want to risk setting you completely free either. You don’t know who I am and sure as hell is all fire and gremlins, you won’t be giving a detailed description, because that might get back to your boss and he wouldn’t like that at all. Tommy Trevelyan has special methods of dealing with individuals who bring unwelcome attention to him or his organisation. So, you see, it really does depend on how quickly you can break free and untie your ankles.”
Dillon hauled the injured man over onto his side and, using a kitchen knife, partially cut through the telephone wire.
“There you go, your time starts now. And remember this for the future: If you ever come after me again you will end up like your three mates — dead.”
Dillon went outside. The house was still ablaze with lights and he almost felt sorry for Harry Conner when he finally came home to the devastation and mayhem with the police waiting on his doorstep. He ran back to the Ford, throwing the Uzi into the bushes as he went thinking that he would be safer driving back to the apartment in Lilliput rather than all the way back to London. He cleared away the foliage and branches from the car, pulled off his gloves and, sitting in the driver’s seat with the side window wound down, lit a cigarette whilst enjoying the dawn chorus for a moment or two.
It had been quite a night, but at the end of it he still wasn’t satisfied. Survival was only part of this game — he had managed that all right, but he had left himself with even more unanswered questions than before. Discovering the hidden room only added to those questions of why it was there and who it all belonged too. His gaze was held, as if spellbound by the gold bar that he was holding in his hands, stroking it as if it were a cat. Some say that gold can turn the most honest of men corrupt.
Even with everything that had preceded this point in time, there was nothing in that room that warranted such violence and loss of life. Somehow he had to get at Hart, because he was sure that all the answers lay with him in spite of Tommy Trevelyan’s deadly involvement.
As he drove back to Poole he kept a lookout for a public pay phone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Charlie Hart received the news that same morning. He’d got up early and had gone for a jog along the beach. Forty minutes later he was back indoors and showered, had breakfast and was in his study when the phone on the desk started to ring. He took the call, knowing that it was safe from prying ears and that it could not be listened into or intercepted by anyone or anything. The sophisticated decoder software that was active throughout the system took care of that, which meant that listening in was impossible. He listened to Trevelyan’s gruff tones without expression, all the time thinking what an unsavoury man he was. Things were getting serious, which didn’t surprise him at all.
The hit squad had managed to evade the armed police unit, who arrived with the sun coming up. This was mainly due to the timing of an anonymous caller informing them of gunshots coming from the property. Out of the five men sent down to Dorset, only two got away with their lives intact; one of these had been shot in the shoulder. They did, however, manage to carry the three dead men deep into the woods and lay low until the police left an hour later. They eventually managed to get the bodies back to their van and actually passed the police on their way back to the property as they were driving off up the road.
The three dead men’s bodies would be dumped at sea and the two wounded men were being taken care of by the doctor in the East End of London. It had been a bloody fiasco from start to finish. It was supposed to erase a problem, but instead it had left many elements at risk, and many unanswered questions. Nobody knew whether Dillon had found the secret room or not — he had certainly ransacked the house which didn’t matter in the least. Conner had the common sense to play out the innocent victim who had come home to find that his home had been the scene of some heinous crime. Both he and his wife were now under sedation with a police guard outside, just in case those involved returned.
Hart listened to all of this from Trevelyan, who was clearly angry and then said calmly, “Tommy, I know you have the organisation and the muscle power but you should have left it to me. Throwing men at this problem is only going to make matters worse.”
“I think I know what makes this man tick, Charlie. He was an army intelligence officer whose official army record states that he resigned his commission after striking a senior officer whilst serving in Afghanistan. I’ve even spoken to some of his former colleagues and they tell a very different story — that the army gave him an ultimatum, serve time or resign. He’s exceptionally well-trained and has come top in everything he’s ever done. It’s as simple as that.”
“I disagree. There’s much more to him than that. But let’s not argue about such a trivial matter. Tell me, what happens now, Tommy?”
“Well, for starters we’ve got to find the son of a bitch and then make sure he’s taken care of once and for all time. I just can’t believe he’s still alive.”
Hart smiled to himself. “As I said, Tommy. There’s far more to Mr. Dillon than you know.”
He hung up, because there was nothing more to say and because he was almost pleased that the overpowering Trevelyan had failed. But he accepted that that was merely a personal feeling. Of course Dillon must be found — he was stirring up far too much and starting to attract too much attention.
At the end of the street, Dillon was sitting behind the wheel of the Porsche, which had been fully repaired and looking brand new again. He had driven back to the apartment in Lilliput. Stopping off along the way to make the phone call, shaved, showered, and had grabbed two hours of sleep before parking up at the end of Charlie Hart’s road. By this time Hart would already have learnt of what had happened and it might force him to make some sort of move. Hart would not expect Dillon to be so active so soon after the night time events that had taken place in Lyme Regis.
Dillon had been waiting about thirty minutes before the big electric gates opened. Hart appeared behind the wheel of his brand new Jaguar convertible and as he pulled out into the morning traffic, Dillon followed three cars behind. Tiredness was catching up with him — not only from lack of sleep, but because recent events were starting to take their toll on his body and mind. He didn’t know where Hart was going, or what to expect. The journey might be a complete waste of time and most likely would be. But he was convinced that by following up so quickly on the Lyme Regis fracas, Hart would be at his most vulnerable.