Dark Justice Part 17

Ferguson said to the others, "Any questions?"

Roper said, "I'll get back to my computers, sir. Miller can take me in the van."

"I'll go with you," Dillon said. "You can drop me off."

Hannah said, "I have to confess I still don't find this easy, sir, his lack of legal representation."

"You think we're infringing on his human rights, Superintendent?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, in the circ.u.mstances in which we find ourselves, I'm not very interested in such a viewpoint. Does this mean that you would prefer to return to your normal duties at Scotland Yard?"

She hesitated. "You make it hard for me, sir."

"I have to. But I'll give you an option. Tomorrow morning, when you go to Harley Street to see Merriman to have the Omega implant, I suggest you visit the Reverend Susan Haden-Taylor at St. Paul's Church. You may recall I put Dillon in touch with her last year when I wanted his head cleared after the Ras.h.i.+d affair."

"And you think she could help?"

"She's a priest of the Church of England, as well as a top psychiatrist," Dillon said. "But most important, she's a truly good human being and she certainly helped me."

Hannah took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll do that," and she went out.

Dillon walked behind Roper's chair with Ferguson. "You can be a hard ould b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Charles."

"It's a hard ould world, Sean, and getting harder."

They stood and watched Roper wheel up the ramp into the back of the van. Miller raised the ramp and closed the door and Dillon called, "Wait for me." He turned to Ferguson. "Are we winning, Charles?"

"G.o.d knows, but as I've said before, we won't if we just play patty-cake," and Ferguson got in the Daimler and was driven away.

Dillon got in the rear of the van beside Roper's chair. "Well?" he demanded. "What do you think?"

Roper's eyes were dark in the ravaged, burned face. "Don't ask me, Sean. I'm what's left over after a car bomb."

About ten miles from Drumore Place, Tod Murphy turned the Land Rover into a narrow lane and came to a couple of hangars, a decaying control tower and a crumbling tarmac runway. If ever a place looked rundown, it was this, but then World War Two and the days when it had been used to patrol the Irish borders had been over for a long time. A single-engine Archer stood outside one of the hangars; the doors of the other stood open, revealing a twin-engine Navajo. The door of the Nissen hut opened and a man in old black flying overalls appeared: Ted Smith, around fifty, balding slightly and, like many pilots, rather small.

"Is it yourself, Tod?"

"Who else would it be, you daft b.u.g.g.e.r? Is the Navajo up and running?"

"First cla.s.s. You fancy a day out?"

"You could say that. Four of us. Me, Dermot and two of the boys, Fahy and Regan."

"What for? A day's fis.h.i.+ng over the border?"

"Farther than that. That place we used to go in the old days before the b.l.o.o.d.y Peace Process. Dunkley. The one that was a Lancaster bomber station in the war."

Smith's face dropped. "Jesus, Tod, not that again. I thought those days were behind us."

"You'll do as you're told and you'll be well taken care of. But if you say no, Dermot is likely to take care of you permanently. You follow?" He laughed and slapped Smith on the shoulder. "Don't look so worried. A quick one, Ted, just like the old days. In and out. You'll be away before you know it."

"Jesus, Tod, I don't know. I'm getting old for that sort of jig."

Tod took an envelope from his inside pocket and offered it to him. "Two thousand quid to seal the bargain, just to be going on with. We'll leave early in the morning. When we want to come back, I'll phone you. There'll be a big, big payday at the end of it, and just for dropping us onto a very old airfield in Kent, miles from anywhere."

As usual, greed won the day, and Smith took the envelope. "All right, I'll do it, Tod. Seven-thirty in the morning."

"Good man, yourself. I'll see you then," and Tod got back into the Land Rover.

d.a.m.n the IRA, but what could he do? Smith turned and went back into the Nissen hut.

And at half past seven the following morning, the Navajo, fully loaded, took off in spite of Smith's reluctance.

"There's a lot of bad weather out there, a front moving in over the Irish Sea."

"Then we'll rely on the ham sandwiches and good Irish whiskey to keep our spirits up," Dermot told him. "Jesus, Tod, we've done this run at night in the old days and black as the hob of h.e.l.l, so let's get on with it."

Which they did, and the whiskey flowed as the Navajo was pushed by a fierce tailwind over the Irish Sea, dampening the spirits of Kelly's men. They crossed the English coast over Morecambe. It was raining even harder now, a front advancing as they turned down toward the south country.

As Smith adjusted his course, Kelly, sitting beside him, said, "Everything okay?"

"It should start to quiet down. If it doesn't, we could always turn back."

"You wouldn't want to do that. Then I'd have to break your legs, wouldn't I?" Dermot smiled, looking terrible. "Just get on with it," and he got up and joined the others in the cabin.

It was raining in London, too, a short time later, as Billy got out of a cab at Professor Merriman's office in Harley Street and went inside. Dillon and Hannah Bernstein were already in Reception.

The young nurse behind the desk said, "Who's first?"

"That'll be me," Hannah told her. "I've got another appointment."

"Then follow me, please."

In his office, Merriman greeted her warmly while the nurse busied herself with items on a side table.

"It only takes a moment, Superintendent, but you'll have to remove your blouse. You can keep your bra on. I only need an armpit."

"Will it hurt?" Hannah asked as she took off her blouse.

"Not with this. An excellent anesthetic." The nurse handed him a plastic ampule. There was a slight p.r.i.c.k on her arm and the skin went numb. "It's instant," he said, and the nurse handed him a sort of aluminum pistol. He placed the muzzle into her right armpit and pulled the trigger. She didn't feel a thing.

"Is that it?" she asked, as she pulled her blouse on.

"Absolutely. Your implant is already code indexed into the Omega computer. Where you go, it goes."

"I'm not sure I'm happy about that."

"It's a tool, Superintendent, that's all. A reflection of the world we live in."

She pulled on her jacket and coat. "That's one way of looking at it," she said. "Tell me, St. Paul's Church is near here, I believe?"

"End of the street and turn left."

"Thank you and good morning."

She went out and was followed by the nurse, who called Billy in. Dillon stood up.

"On your way already?"

"I have an appointment."

"At St. Paul's. She's a remarkable lady and good at extracting confessions. I should know."

"I'll see you later, then, back at the office."

She left, and Billy emerged. "No big deal."

"Good. I hate needles."

Billy said, "I'll see you later. I've got a bit of business back at the Dark Man."

"You're an idiot, Billy. Smuggled cigarettes from Amsterdam and you don't even need the money. You'll be back behind bars at Wandsworth."

"That'll be the day," Billy said and left.

When Dillon emerged into Harley Street, it was still raining. He lit a cigarette, looked down the pavement in the direction Hannah had gone and walked the same way. St. Paul's Church was on the other side of the street when he turned the corner, a notice board in front with the times of services and the name of the priest. He went up the steps, eased open the small Judas gate in the main door and stepped inside.

It was Victorian, a half-dark sort of place, and there was the smell of damp, candles and incense. He noticed a statue of the Virgin and Child, more candles flickering there, all very old-fas.h.i.+oned Church of England, except for the newer fas.h.i.+on that allowed women priests.

Susan Haden-Taylor was a calm, pleasant woman in a clerical collar and ca.s.sock. She was sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Hannah, two pews away, but facing her.

"Yes," she was saying. "Charles Ferguson has spoken to me of your dilemma. And his."

"And his?" Hannah was astonished and showed it.

"Yes. There are always two sides to everything, however simplistic that may sound. Charles tells me you read psychology at Cambridge."

"That's right."

"And that your father is Arnold Bernstein. I know his work. One of the finest general surgeons in London."

"And my grandfather is Rabbi Julian Bernstein."

"Leaving you totally walled in by morality."

"Something like that."

At the back of the church, Dillon sat on a chair behind a pillar in the corner and listened.

"During my time with the police," said Hannah, "I've killed when I had no choice and I've been wounded myself. I even killed a woman once, a truly evil person who was trying to kill a friend. I could accept all this as somehow being part of the job."

"So what is the problem now? You know you can speak freely. As both a priest and a psychiatrist, I must keep your confidence."

Hannah told her. When she was done, Susan Haden-Taylor said, "I'm not taking sides, just examining the situation. In spite of what he's been responsible for, you want Selim to have a legal representative, which means due process of law and an eventual trial, which will probably take six months to come to court, if not longer."

"I know all the difficulties."

"Whereas Ferguson wants the details of all those who've pa.s.sed through this Wrath of Allah organization before they have time to set more bombs off. In pursuit of that aim, he obviously feels that giving Selim a hard time is worth it. Don't you?"

"Dammit." Hannah was extremely frustrated. "It makes me sound so b.l.o.o.d.y unreasonable. I've been raised on the law, I believe in the law. It's all we've got."

"So do I, but the times are changing very rapidly and we must face that. Global terrorism provides a whole new perspective. It's not that you're wrong, Hannah, but it's not that Ferguson is wrong either. And one final point. As in all things, each of us has personal choice."

"Which means?"

"If you really feel strongly about this matter, it would be better if you resigned. Better for yourself. In fact, better for everyone."

"How strange," Hannah said. "That makes me feel as if I'd be running away."

"It's the best I can do, I'm afraid. Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks, I'd better get on."

Dillon got up at once and slipped out through the Judas gate, where he lit a cigarette and stood waiting. She came out a few minutes later.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I thought I'd hang around outside and see how you got on."

"You were right. She is a remarkable woman."

They started along Harley Street. "Are you still with us, then?"

"I suppose so. I'll give it another week or two and see. As I was leaving, she said the strangest thing."

"And what was that?"

"That when Christ told us to turn the other cheek, he didn't tell us to do it twice. What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

Dillon grinned. "It makes perfect sense to me," and he hailed a cab.

At Dunkley in Kent, the visibility was poor in the pouring rain as Smith eased the Navajo down on the old decaying bomber runway and rolled to a halt by the decrepit hangars. A white Ford Transit was parked nearby, a man in a cloth cap and bomber jacket holding an umbrella.

Tod got the door open and they all piled out with their bags. Smith peered out, and Kelly said, "Keep your mobile with you at all times. When I call, you come running."

"You can rely on me, Dermot, but I'm best out of it now."