Without Mercy (10 page)

“Ashimov should have let Johnson nose around, have lunch and move on.”

“Well, he didn’t. He’s on a holy crusade to get the lot of them, and the chance of stiffing Blake Johnson was too good to miss.”

“What happens now?”

“I should imagine Blake has already phoned Ferguson, who will ask Dillon and the good Major Roper if the name Bell means anything to them in connection with the IRA.”

“It’s a mess,” she said.

“It’s a can of worms, my love. However, I’ll handle it. I’ll phone Volkov in Moscow, give him the bad news and cover your back as well as my own. But that’s only because I like you.”

She thought about it for only a second. He had something about him, this young man, she recognized that and took it on board.

“Right, we’ll see how it goes.”

“As far as Yuri’s concerned, if anyone gets blamed for it all coming out, it’s me not you, so keep your mouth shut.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll leave it to you.”

She switched off, went and got another vodka, and Ashimov stamped in. “What a mess!”

“It was certainly that, Yuri.”

He went and poured himself a drink. “I had him in my hand, Blake Johnson, the President’s man, the ultimate coup.”

“It would have been a greater coup to allow him to pass through empty-handed,” she said. “I told you. But you just had to give Bell the wink, didn’t you? Sometimes, Yuri—I just don’t know,” and she walked out.

In London, at the Ministry of Defence, Ferguson listened to Blake, then called Dillon and Billy into his office. He gave them an account of what Blake had told him.

“Bloody marvelous,” Billy said. “That’s put the bastards in their place. What do you think, Dillon?”

“So there’s a new bunch in power from the Provisional IRA. And some guy told Blake that Belov was in Russia. Where does that get us?”

“Maybe if we traced that Bell person they mentioned. Does the name mean anything to you?”

Ferguson shook his head. “I’ll give it to Roper. He might find something.”

“What about the murder inquiry?” asked Dillon.

“Still proceeding, Sean.”

“Then maybe I should have a look myself.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Dillon shrugged. “I’ll get on, then.”

Outside, he paused at his desk, only for a moment. Billy said, “What are you going to do?”

“What do you think? I’ll see you later,” and he went out.

“Wait for me, Dillon,” Billy called, and went after him.

On the phone to Volkov, Levin explained everything that had happened. He waited while Volkov considered the matter. Finally, he said, “I agree with you, Igor, Major Ashimov has been foolish in this matter. Dillon is far from being an idiot. He’s probably already made the link between the nurse and the IRA. Now this thing at Drumore. With Roper’s assistance, Dillon may hunt down the Bell connection sooner than you think.”

“What should I do?” Levin asked.

“Watch them all carefully, Igor. One day soon we’ll need to make hard decisions, and we’ll need to know what—and who—our liabilities are.”

Levin went into the Dorchester, but instead of going up to his suite, he went into the Piano Bar. It was half busy, cheerful and sophisticated as usual. He sat on one of the banquettes, ordered a glass of champagne and glanced at the newspaper. At that moment, Dillon and Billy walked in.

The bar manager, Guiliano, approached. “Mr. Dillon, a pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“I’ll have the usual and the boy here orange juice. And if you don’t mind it, I’ll give you a tune on Liberace’s grand piano there, before your usual pianist comes in.”

“It’d be a pleasure,” Guiliano said.

Levin slipped on his earpiece. He could hear them perfectly.

“So what’s new?”

“I’m leaving it to Roper for the time being. Let’s see if this Bell thing hangs together. If anybody can find the answer, it’s Roper.”

“Oh, dear,” Igor murmured, as Dillon walked down to the piano, opened it and started to play. “We can’t have that.”

As he got up, Dillon seemed to look across at him. Levin smiled and called, in his finest public school voice, “ ‘As Time Goes By,’ old man. Never fails.”

He walked out and went upstairs. Billy went to the piano. “Who was that?”

“God knows,” Dillon said. “I think I’ve seen him somewhere before, but for the life of me I can’t remember where. Good idea on the music, though,” and he started to play the tune.

Upstairs in his suite, Levin opened the file he’d received in Moscow, found a number and rang it. When there was an answer, he said, “George Moon?”

“That’s right.”

“The midnight bell is ringing.”

Moon said, “That’s fine by me.” Silly buggers, all this code stuff, he thought.

“I’ll see you in half an hour at the Harvest Moon pub in Trenchard Street. I’ll recognize you. Be alone.”

“Fine by me. Side entrance. There’s a light like a moon over the door. A moon for a Moon—fitting, right?”

Chapter 6

Levin checked his briefcase, the Walther with the silencer. In the room safe in the wardrobe of the suite, he had five thousand pounds in mad money. He took out two thousand in fifties, stowed them in the briefcase, put on his trench coat and left.

He took his Mercedes, drove in the general direction of Soho, and beyond Brewer Street he finally came to the pub in Trenchard Street, an old Victorian sort of place. He parked some distance away and walked through the rain, not bothering with an umbrella.

The light over the door in the side alley had the shape of a half-moon on it, sure enough. Levin glanced up, then pressed the bell. After a moment, the door opened and a rather tarty young woman appeared.

“I’ve an appointment with Mr. Moon.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Mr. Nobody to you, sweetheart. Just lead the way.”

“All right, keep your shirt on.” She was quite attractive in her own way, a cotton skirt tightening over her buttocks, high-heeled ankle boots on her feet.

She turned at the top of the stairs and paused to open a door. “Had a good look, did you?”

“Definitely. Not to be missed.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Most men are.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You like having the last word, don’t you? In here.”

She opened a door and ushered him into a room lined with books like a small library. There was a large desk with a lamp, the light low, and the man seated there was small, balding, wearing steel spectacles. He nodded to Levin, and held out a limp hand without getting up. Behind him a man leaned against the wall, hard, brutal, with the flattened nose of an ex-boxer, and arms folded.

“I’m George Moon, no need to say who you are. I know your principals and that’s sufficient. Cup of tea for me, Ruby, although considering this gentleman’s antecedents, I expect he’d prefer a large vodka.”

“Yes, O Great One.”

She went out. Levin said, “A lot of character there.”

“A lot of everything. A very naughty girl. Harold?”

The man behind him moved close enough to smell, and it was not good. Ruby opened the door and said, “Tea’s brewing, George.” She had a bar tray, a bottle of vodka and a glass on it.

Harold said, “All right, china, arms wide.” His hands went for a body search.

Levin said, “Now who’s being naughty? I don’t like that, Harold.” His right hand came out of his pocket clutching the Walther, and he rammed it under Harold’s chin. “Now go back to propping up the wall like a good boy, or I’ll castrate you.”

Harold, in shock, eased away. “Do as the gentleman says, Harold.” That was Moon.

Levin turned to Ruby, who was smiling. She said, “My God, a right hard bastard. Who’d have thought it? Ready for your vodka, then?”

“Why not?”

She poured a large one and he drank it down.

“Fabulous. I’ll have another.”

He held the glass out and placed the Walther on the desk as if daring Harold, who glowered at him.

“So what can we do for you?”

Levin opened his briefcase and took out the money it contained in two packets.

“It’s simple enough. A man lives in Regency Square, in a wheelchair most of the time, a Major Roper. I want him seen to.”

“Permanently?”

“That would be the best solution. After all, anything could happen to somebody like that. He could end up dead in his wheelchair, the victim of an opportunistic burglar. There’s two thousand here; if you accept the assignment, another two on completion. Just one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“You do it now—tonight.”

There was silence for a moment. Harold said, “Regency Square’s only twenty minutes away.”

“That’s true.” Moon nodded. “As I know your principals,” he said to Levin, “I presume this is a political matter?”

“None of your affair.”

Moon nodded and turned to Ruby. “You’ll keep an eye on those bastards behind the bar. You never know what they’ll get up to.” He handed her the two thousand. “Look after that, love.”

“You’re going yourself, George?”

“Why not? I’ll keep an eye on Harold. Find a raincoat for me and an umbrella.”

“Yes, George.”

Levin took a computer printout from his briefcase, with a photo of Roper on it and his address. Moon picked it up and checked it, then handed it to Harold, who looked and shrugged.

“Piece of cake.”

Moon said to Levin, “You coming or are you just watching from afar?”

“I’ll see you after your successful completion, or let’s hope I do.”

“That will be entirely satisfactory.”

“So you trust me not to vanish into the night?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve dealt with your people on many occasions. Why would they let me down? There’s always a next time. I’m well aware how powerful they are.”

“I’ll see you later, then.” Levin turned to Ruby. “And you.”

“God, but you’re a cold-blooded bastard.”

“It’s been said before.” He grinned, brushed past her, went down the stairs and back to his Mercedes, got in and drove away. He made it to Regency Square. There was plenty of parking at that time of the evening. He found one very close to Roper’s place, pulled in, switched on the radio and sat there listening to it and waiting.

Roper, busy at his computers, had had enough and his stomach told him as much. There was an Italian on the corner of the square by the main road. They always did well by him and his wheelchair. He pulled on his reefer coat and a cap in the hall and went out into the rain.

Levin saw him at once, and so did Moon and Harold, who’d just arrived and parked at the side of the square.

“How convenient,” Moon said.

“How do we do it?” Harold asked.

Moon nodded down to the main road. “I always prefer to keep it simple. It looks nice and busy down there. We push him along the pavement and simply let go. He’s bound to run in front of a truck or something.”

They got out of their car, Moon put up his umbrella and they crossed the road as Levin watched. He had an insane desire to laugh. Did those cretins really think it was going to be that easy?

“Dear God almighty,” he murmured.

Harold had a hand on one side of Roper’s wheelchair now, Moon on the other. “Be a nice gentleman now,” Moon said, “and you’ll come to no harm.”

“Come to no good, you mean,” Roper said. He eyed the two of them. “I’ve been here before. Last time it was the Mafia. What’s your religion?”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling you, love.”

“Ah, well, then we can’t do business, I’m afraid,” Roper said. Then he took a silenced Walther from the right-hand pocket of his wheelchair and shot Harold through the side of his knee.

He went down with a curse, and Moon said, “Oh, my God.”

Roper grabbed him by the coat. “What’s your name? Come on, quick, or I’ll give it to you, too.”

Moon was in such a panic, he told him. “Moon—George Moon.”

“Who sent you?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t seen him before in my life.”

He pulled away, turned to run, and Roper shot him in the right thigh. He hit the pavement, writhing. Roper said, “Remember this—somebody tried to mug you and it went wrong. That would be a good line if you want to stay out of court when the police come.”

“Yes,” Moon babbled. “Yes.”

Roper went down the square, taking out his mobile and dialing 999. “Ambulance needed in Regency Square. Two men down. Looks like a shooting.” The operator asked for his name, but he switched off and called Dillon.

“Sean, I’ve had a spot of bother.” He explained what had happened. “I’ll wait for you in the Italian restaurant at the end of the square.”

“I’ll call Billy and we’ll be with you soon, and I’ll notify Ferguson. I don’t like the sound of this. First Hannah, now you. I think you’d be better off in the Holland Park safe house.”

Ruby was upstairs at the Harvest Moon when the bell sounded at the alley door. She went down, opened it and Levin smiled at her.

“We need to talk.” He moved in and followed her upstairs.

She led the way into Moon’s office and turned. “What is this?”

“Moon and Harold made a big mistake. You’ll be hearing from them quite soon. They are, as we speak, seeking treatment in the accident and emergency department of some third-rate National Health hospital.”

“I’ve just heard. Had a phone call from the hospital. It said they’d been mugged by a black street gang. Is it bad?”

“Gunshot wounds to the legs and so richly deserved, just like the IRA. I’ve never seen such incompetents. The story about being mugged does two things. It keeps them out of court and it doesn’t involve the people I work for. If it did, George and Harold would be dead in the near future, one way or the other.”

“So what do you want here?”

“Two thousand, Ruby?”

“You’ve got cheek.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. I’ll do you a favor. Give me a thousand and you can tell Moon I came back and took it all. A thousand for you.”

She thought about it, then went and unlocked a cabinet at the end of a bookcase, took out a packet of banknotes and tossed it to him.

“He’s my husband, you know.”

“Then I’m sorry for you.”

“It’s not as bad as you think. He swings the other way.” She smiled. “I’d get out of here if I were you. I’ll be getting callers.”