Day of Reckoning (6 page)

'Good. Let's go back to the house.'
They were halfway there when Blake appeared.
'Give us a little space, Clancy,' the President said.
They walked along the edge of the surf, Murchison run
ning in and out. Cazalet said, 'Idiot. I'll have to hose him
down.'
'I know. Sea water isn't good for his skin.'
Cazalet waved to Clancy, who lit a Marlboro away from
the wind and handed it over.
Cazalet passed the fax to Blake. 'I'm afraid I leaned on
your friend Harry Parker. I asked what was happening with
this whole unhappy business.'
'And he told you.' Blake smiled. 'Well, he would. After
all, I placed him under Presidential warrant. So, you know everything, Mr President.'
'Yes. A bad business. But it's wonderful that Brigadier
Ferguson and Superintendent Bernstein flew over to sup
port you.'
'And Sean Dillon.'
'As always!' Cazalet smiled. 'You know, it's a remark
able coincidence, that fire destroying Fox's warehouse
like that.'
'Mr President . .
'No, Blake, let me speak. You've been looking tired lately.
I think you need a break. Let's see what a month does.
You should travel. Get to London, Europe. See some sights. Hmmm? Any departmental facilities you need are yours.'
'What can I say, Mr President?'
Cazalet said, face hard, 'Nothing at all. If you and Dillon
can take those bastards down, then it'll be better for all
of us.' He smiled crookedly. 'However, it would seriously
inconvenience me if you didn't return from your vacation
in one piece.'
'Yes, Mr President. I'll see to it.'
'Good.' Cazalet flicked his cigarette into the surf. 'Now,
come back to the house for lunch and then, on your way.'
At Don Marco's apartment at Trump Tower, the old man
listened as Falcone related what had happened at the Four Seasons.
Don Marco nodded. 'What does my nephew intend?'
'We're going to London, landing at Heathrow.'
'He's using the Gulfstream?'
'Yes, Signore.' Falcone hesitated. 'You don't know this?'
'Oh, I'm sure he'll tell me when he's ready. You have my
coded mobile number. Keep me informed. I wish to know
what he's up to at all times.'
He held out his hand, Falcone kissed it and withdrew. Don Marco rose, went to the piano, and picked up a photo of Jack Fox, the war hero in his Marine uniform.
'What a pity,' he said softly. 'All the virtues, as well as
vanity and stupidity.'
He replaced the photo on the piano and went out.

LONDON

The following morning, Ferguson's plane landed at Farley
Field, with the usual pilots, Flight Lieutenants Lacey and
Parry, in the cockpit. A Flight Sergeant Madoc had also
been on board, to see to the passengers' wants.
It was March weather again, the rain driving in towards
the waiting Daimler. Madoc produced an umbrella as the
four of them — Ferguson, Dillon, Bernstein and Johnson —
went down the steps and led the way. They scrambled into
the Daimler, and Ferguson leaned out to the two pilots.
'It could be a busy time ahead, so don't make plans.'
They both smiled. 'Excellent, sir,' Lacey said.
'Just one thing, Lacey. I do think you should wear correct uniform.'
Lacey was staggered. 'Brigadier?'
'Check the promotions list out today. I put you up for
Squadron Leader, and for once the Ministry of Defence
has acted sensibly. In addition, in view of recent hazardous
pursuits at my behest, you've both been awarded the Air
Force Cross.'
They stared at him. 'Good God, sir,' Parry said. 'Sincere thanks.'
'Nonsense. Go and have a drink on it.'
Ferguson closed the door, and the chauffeur drove away. Dillon said, 'I always knew it. At heart, you're a sentimentalist.'
'Don't be stupid, Dillon, they've earned it.' Ferguson turned to Hannah. 'We'll drop these two off at Dillon's
house, then carry on to my place in Cavendish Square. I
suggest you contact Roper as soon as possible to arrange a meeting.'
Blake said, 'Could someone tell me about this Roper
guy?'
'Well, you recall the White House Connection and Lady Helen Grant? She wanted to know how to work the computer
field in a nefarious way,'Hannah told him. 'She asked the
London branch of her organization for help and they sent
Roper.'
'A remarkable man,' Ferguson said. 'He was a captain
in the Royal Engineers, a bomb disposal expert, awarded the Military Cross and the George Cross, and then he got
careless. A silly little car bomb in Belfast ended him up in a wheelchair. Computers became a whole new career for him,and he proved to have a real genius for them. As Lady Helen Grant found out.'
Blake was silent, remembering Lady Helen and the White
House Connection case that had so nearly ended in disaster.
So Roper had been her computer man.
'I look forward to meeting him,' Blake said.
The Daimler turned into Stable Mews, and Dillon and
Blake got out. Hannah said, 'I'll contact Roper straight
away.'
Blake carried the bags, and Dillon unlocked the door at
the mews house and led the way in. It was small, Victorian, with Turkish carpet runners and wood block floors. The living room was delightful, sofa and chairs in black leather placed among scattered rugs, a superb painting over the fireplace.
'My God, that's fabulous,' Blake said.
A great Victorian painter, Atkinson Grimshaw. Liam
Devlin gave it to me. Remember him?'
'How could I forget? He saved our bacon. Is he still
around?'
'Ninety years old and pretending to be seventy-five. Come
on, I'll show you your room. Then we'll go to the King's
Head on the other side of the square for what we call great
pub grub in England.'
'Sean, I know what great pub grub is. It's usually the best food in London. So lead the way.'
As they were sitting in the King's Head, drinking Guinness
and eating shepherd's pie, Dillon's coded mobile rang faintly.
Hannah said, 'I've contacted Roper. He lives on Regency Square, only half a mile from you.'
'Shall we go round?'
'No, he said he prefers the exercise. He operates one of
those state-of-the-art electric wheelchairs. He hates being regarded as a cripple.'
'I hear what you're saying, dear girl.'
'He'll see you at Stable Mews at two-thirty.'
'We'll be there.'
‘Another thing. I put out a search on the Special Branch
computer. Guess who's arriving at Gatwick this evening?
Jack Fox, Aldo Falcone and Giovanni Russo.',
'As Ferguson would say, quite delicious. This should prove interesting.'
He put the phone down, turned to Blake, and filled him in.
An hour later, at Stable Mews, it was Blake who happened
to be at the sitting room window and looking out into the
street, when he witnessed the arrival of the strange young
man in the electric wheelchair. The man wore a navy blue
reefer coat, a white scarf at his throat. When Blake went
into the hall, Dillon already had the door open.
'Ah, Mr Dillon. I've seen your face on my computer.
Roper's the name.'
He had hair to his shoulders, hollow cheeks and very blue
eyes. His face was a taut mask of scar tissue, the kind you
only got from burns.
'Come in,' Dillon said cheerfully.
'Only if you help me over the step. It's the one thing these gadgets can't manage.'
Dillon obliged, then pushed him along the hall into the kitchen, Blake following.
Roper said, 'What I could really do with is a nice cup of
tea.' He turned to Blake. 'Lieutenant.'
Blake smiled. 'Should I say "sir"?'
'Of course. I outrank you.'
Forty-five miles later they'd filled him in on every
thing they needed from him. Roper said. 'Fine. I'll go into everything. The Solazzo family, Jack Fox, the Colosseum
operation, these Jago brothers. Oh, and this Brendan Mur
phy. I remember the name from my Irish service. A hard
man, as I recall.'
'No, a fanatic, Brendan,' Dillon said. 'I had dealings with
him in the old days. Hates the peace process, and now we
hear he's into arms dumps – and possibly worse, this hint
of an involvement with Saddam in Beirut.'
'So I'll access Army HQ at Lisburn, the RUC, the Garda
in Dublin, maybe the Security Services.'
'You can do that?' Dillon asked.
'Dillon, I can even access your lot, and Ferguson probably knows that. I'm the hand of God, so leave it with me.'
'Okay,' Blake said. 'But in case you don't know, Fox turns
up in London this evening, plus his two minders.'
'Falcone and Russo.' Roper smiled tranquilly. 'Mafia hard
men. Ireland was my business for eleven years and ter
rorists were my enemy, but in a strange way you can
empathize with your enemy, both IRA and Loyalists. These two wouldn't last half an hour in Derry or Belfast.'
'So, what happens now?' Blake asked.
Well, from what I've been told, you want to see the
Colosseum severely damaged.'
'Exactly.'
'Good. Then wheel me out into the street and I'll go home and organize it.'
Blake said, 'You'll be able to do it, then?'
Roper nodded. 'No problem. God wouldn't have given
some people brains if He'd wanted the scum to inherit the earth.' He turned to Dillon. 'I'll see you at six at my place
in Regency Square. You will then put into operation what I
tell you to. Is that acceptable?'
'Bloody cheek,' said Dillon, but then he smiled. 'I'm sure it Will be, so let's get on with it,' and Dillon wheeled him out.
Roper's apartment in Regency Square was on the ground
floor, with a slope to the front door for his wheelchair.
Everything from the bathroom to the kitchen had been
designed for a handicapped person. In what would have
been the sitting room was a kind of computer laboratory,
with every kind of equipment on view on a workbench.
He answered the door when Dillon, Blake and Hannah Bernstein arrived. 'Ah, there you are.'
He led the way through to the sitting room. 'Here we are, then.' He tapped a keyboard and the screen started
to fill. 'Colosseum Casino, Smith Street. General Man
ager, Angelo Mori. Minders, Francesco Cameci, Tino Rossi.' Photos appeared. After a while, he tapped again and ground plans came up.
'Lots of security,' Blake said.
'Not if you know your way in.'
'So what would be the point?' Dillon asked.
A top casino stands on its reputation. The slightest hint
of scandal, and the Gaming Act enters into it and the place
can be dosed down.'
There was silence. Dillon said, 'And how do we achieve
that?'
'Tonight will tell you, if you do what I say and go in
hard.'
'You mean go in feloniously, Captain,' Hannah said.
'That sums it up. You want this bastard, we go for the
throat.'
Dillon said, 'That suits me, and as the Superintendent
knows, I've been guaranteed the full cooperation of the
Department by Brigadier Ferguson, so let's hear what you
have in mind.'
'It's very simple. What's one of the oldest games of chance
in the world? They loved it at the height of the Roman
Empire. They still love it.'
Blake smiled. 'Craps.'
'Exactly. You simply throw the dice and pray the right
number comes up. People can't resist.'
Dillon said, 'So what do you want?'
'Dice, old boy. Steal me some dice.'
'Why?' Blake asked.
'Because every casino has its own made to order. Unique.
Of course, once I have them at my workbench I make a
slight adjustment, put a spot of lead inside, and they become
what's known in the trade as loaded dice. Now, if the house
is using loaded dice, the punters are bound to lose.'
'But how do you make the house actually use the loaded
dice?' Blake asked.
'That's the whole point about having house dice. You or
Dillon join the crowd making a wager. When your turn
comes and the dealer gives you the dice, you palm them
and use the ones I've doctored. They'll have the house logo
on them, so everyone will assume they're the real thing. Of course, it will be necessary to bring this unfortunate situation to the attention of the other gamblers. The results could be devastating for the casino.'
'You wicked man, you,' Dillon said.
'You or Blake, I think, should be the ones. I wouldn't
dream of asking the Superintendent.' He smiled at Hannah. 'I happen to know you're Jewish Orthodox, with a rabbi for
a grandfather.'
She smiled. 'My grandfather might surprise you. His
poker is deadly.'
Dillon said, 'Sounds good to me. So what's the plan?'
At ten o'clock that evening, Jack Fox arrived at the Colosseum,
backed by Falcone and Russo. He was stopped at the door by
a large man in evening dress.
'Membership card, sir.'
'I don't need one. I own this casino.'
'Very funny.'
The bouncer put a hand on Fox's shoulder and Russo said,
'You want me to break your right arm? You just made the biggest mistake of your life.'
'Signor Fox, what a pleasure,' a voice called, and Angelo
Mori, the general manager, rushed down the stairs, followed
by his two minders. 'Is there a problem?'
'Hell, no,' Fox said, and smiled at the bouncer. 'What's
your name?'
'Henry, sir.' He looked very worried.
'You're doing a good job, Henry.' Fox took out his wallet,
extracted a fifty-pound note, and slipped it into Henry's breast pocket. 'In fact, you're doing a great job. Anyone
else comes in and says they own the joint, kick them in
the balls.'
There was sweat on Henry's forehead. 'Yes, sir, anything
you say.'
Inside, the main room was crowded, every kind of game
in progress. Fox nodded approvingly. 'Looks good. How's the cash flow?'
'Terrific.'
Fox turned to Mori's minders, Cameci and Rossi. 'You two behaving yourselves?' He used Italian.
'Absolutely,' Rossi told him. 'Don Marco is well?'
If this seemed overly familiar, it wasn't. Rossi came from
the same village as the Solazzo family, close to Corleone
in Sicily.
'He is very well,' Fox continued in Italian. 'And I appreciate your concern.' He turned to Mori. 'We just flew in, and I'm starving. The restaurant is still open, I trust.'
'For you, it never closes, Signore.'
'Fifty,' Tony answered.
Harold said, 'Shut your mouth,' and turned back to Fox.
^,
I'll read the file, but I can tell you now we're in, Jack. Leave the team to me.'
'Good man.' Fox smiled. 'Now, let's have a bottle of
champagne on it.'
The casino dosed at two in the morning; by three all was
quiet, with only a security guard in the office by the main entrance, watching TV.
Along the street beside the basement entrance was a