Eye of the storm Page 0,81
spanner reluctantly and went back to work.
The leathers weren’t bad at all and Dillon stood in front of the wardrobe mirror as he zipped up the jacket. “Would you look at that?” he said softly. “Eighteen years old again when the world was young and anything seemed possible.”
He unzipped the jacket again, took it off, then opened his briefcase and unfolded the bulletproof waistcoat Tania had given him at their first meeting. He pulled it snugly into place, fastened the Velcro tabs, then put his jacket on again.
He sat on the edge of the bed, took the Walther out of the briefcase, examined it and screwed the Carswell silencer in place. Next he checked the Beretta and put it on the bedside locker close to hand. He put the briefcase in the wardrobe, then switched off the light and lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling through the darkness.
He never felt emotional, not about anything, and it was exactly the same now, on the eve of the greatest coup of his life. “You’re making history with this one, Sean,” he said softly. “History.”
He closed his eyes and after a while, slept.
It snowed again during the night and just after seven, Fahy walked along the track to check the road. He walked back and found Dillon standing at the farmhouse door eating a bacon sandwich, a mug of tea in his hand.
“I don’t know how you can,” Fahy told him. “I couldn’t eat a thing. I’d bring it straight up.”
“Are you scared, Danny?”
“To death.”
“That’s good. It sharpens you up, gives you that edge that can make all the difference.”
They crossed to the barn and stood beside the Ford Transit. “Well, she’s as ready as she ever will be,” Fahy said.
Dillon put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done wonders, Danny, wonders.”
Angel appeared behind them. She was dressed, ready to go, in her old trousers and boots, anorak and sweater and the Tam o’Shanter. “Are we moving?”
“Soon,” Dillon said. “We’ll get the BSA into the Morris now.”
They opened the rear doors of the Morris, put the duckboard on the incline and ran the bike up inside. Dillon lifted it up on its stand and Fahy shoved the duckboard in. He passed a crash helmet through. “That’s for you. I’ll have one for myself in the Ford.” He hesitated. “Are you carrying, Sean?”
Dillon took the Beretta from inside his black leather jacket. “What about you?”
“Jesus, Sean, I always hated guns, you know that.”
Dillon slipped the Beretta back in place and zipped up his jacket. He closed the van doors and turned. “Everybody happy?”
“Are we ready for off then?” Angel asked.
Dillon checked his watch. “Not yet. I said we’d leave at eight. We don’t want to be too early. Time for another cup of tea.”
They went across to the farmhouse and Angel put the kettle on in the kitchen. Dillon lit a cigarette and leaned against the sink watching. “Don’t you have any nerves at all?” she asked him. “I can feel my heart thumping.”
Fahy called, “Come and see this, Sean.”
Dillon went in the living room. The television was on in the corner and the morning show was dealing with the snow which had fallen over London overnight. Trees in the city squares, statues, monuments, were all covered, and many of the pavements.
“Not good,” Fahy said.
“Stop worrying, the roads themselves are clear,” Dillon said as Angel came in with a tray. “A nice cup of tea, Danny, with plenty of sugar for energy and we’ll be on our way.”
At the Lowndes Square flat Brosnan was boiling eggs in the kitchen and watching the toast when the phone went. He heard Mary answer it. After a while she looked in. “Harry’s on the phone; he’d like a word.”
Brosnan took the phone. “How goes it?”
“Okay, old buddy, just checking you were leaving soon.”
“How are we going to handle things?”
“We’ll just have to play it by ear, but I also think we’ll have to play rough.”
“I agree,” Brosnan said.
“I’m right in assuming that would give Mary a problem?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then she definitely can’t go in. Leave it to me. I’ll handle it when we get there. See you soon.”
Brosnan put the phone down and went back to the kitchen where Mary had put out the eggs and toast and was pouring tea. “What did he have to say?” she asked.
“Nothing special. He was just wondering what the best approach would be.”
“And I suppose you think that would be to batter Harvey over the head with