Eye of the storm Page 0,75

was delayed.

He crossed to the booking desk. “I was hoping to catch the Glasgow flight,” he told the young woman booking clerk, “but got here too late. Now I see it’s delayed.”

She punched details up on her screen. “Yes, half-hour delay, sir, and there’s plenty of space. Would you like to try for it?”

“I certainly would,” he said gratefully and got the money from his wallet as she made out the ticket.

There was no trouble with security and the contents of his briefcase were innocuous enough. Passengers had already been called and he boarded the plane and sat in a seat at the rear. Very satisfactory. Only one thing had gone wrong. Devlin, Brosnan and the woman had got to McGuire first. A pity, that, because it raised the question of what he’d told them. Harvey, for example. He’d have to move fast there, just in case.

He smiled charmingly when the stewardess asked him if he’d like a drink. “A cup of tea would be just fine,” he said and took a newspaper from his briefcase.

McLeod had Brosnan, Mary and Devlin taken up to the airport, and they arrived just before the passengers were called for the four-thirty London flight. An RUC police inspector took them through to the departure lounge.

“Only thirty passengers, as you can see, and we’ve checked them all thoroughly.”

“I’ve an idea we’re on a wild-goose chase,” McLeod said.

The passengers were called and Brosnan and Devlin stood by the door and looked each person over as they went through. When they’d passed, Devlin said, “The old nun, Martin, you didn’t think like doing a strip search?”

McLeod said impatiently, “Oh, for God’s sake, let’s get moving.”

“An angry man,” Devlin said as the colonel went ahead. “They must have laid the cane on something fierce at his public school. It’s back to London for you two, then?”

“Yes, we’d better get on with it,” Brosnan said.

“And you, Mr. Devlin?” Mary asked. “Will you be all right?”

“Ah, Ferguson, to be fair, secured me a clean bill of health years ago for services rendered to Brit Intelligence. I’ll be fine.” He kissed her on the cheek. “A real pleasure, my love.”

“And for me.”

“Watch out for the boy here. Dillon’s the original tricky one.”

They had reached the concourse. He smiled and suddenly was gone, disappeared into the crowd.

Brosnan took a deep breath. “Right, then, London. Let’s get moving,” and he took her arm and moved through the throng.

The flight to Glasgow was only forty-five minutes. Dillon landed at four-thirty. There was a shuttle-service plane to London at five-fifteen. He got a ticket at the desk, hurried through to the departure lounge, where the first thing he did was phone Danny Fahy at Cadge End. It was Angel who answered.

“Put your Uncle Danny on, it’s Dillon,” he told her.

Danny said, “Is that you, Sean?”

“As ever was. I’m in Glasgow waiting for a plane. I’ll be arriving at Heathrow Terminal One at six-thirty. Can you come and meet me? You’ll just have time.”

“No problem, Sean. I’ll bring Angel for the company.”

“That’s fine and, Danny, be prepared to work through the night. Tomorrow could be the big one.”

“Jesus, Sean—” but Dillon put the phone down before Fahy could say anything more.

Next, he phoned Harvey’s office at the undertaker’s in Whitechapel. It was Myra who answered.

“This is Peter Hilton here, we met yesterday. I’d like a word with your uncle.”

“He isn’t here. He’s gone up to Manchester for a function. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s no good to me,” Dillon said. “He promised me my stuff in twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, it’s here,” Myra said. “But I’d expect cash on delivery.”

“You’ve got it.” He looked at his watch and allowed for the time it would take to drive from Heathrow to Bayswater to get the money. “I’ll be there about seven forty-five.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

As Dillon put the phone down, the flight was called and he joined the crowd of passengers hurrying through.

Myra, standing by the fire in her uncle’s office, came to a decision. She got the key of the secret room from his desk drawer and then went out to the head of the stairs.

“Billy, are you down there?”

He came up a moment later. “Here I am.”

“Been in the coffin room again, have you? Come on, I need you.” She went along the corridor to the end door, opened it and pulled back the false wall. She indicated one of the boxes of Semtex. “Take that to the office.”

When she rejoined him, he’d put the box on