He pulled in under some trees and they all got out. ‘How far?’ Trent asked.
‘Less than a quarter of a mile. I’ll show you.’
He led the way up through the trees at the side of the road, scrambling up through ferns and bracken and paused cautiously on the ridge line. ‘There you are.’
The farm was below in the hollow a few hundred yards away. ‘Cannery Row,’ Devlin murmured.
‘Yes, it does look a bit like that,’ Fox replied. ‘No sign of life.’
‘What’s more important, no sign of the jeep,’ Devlin said. ‘Maybe I was wrong after all.’
At that moment, both the Mungo brothers came out of the kitchen door and crossed the yard. That’s them presumably.’
Fox took a small pair of Zeiss fieldglasses from his pocket and focused them. ‘Nasty looking couple,’ he added, as they went into the barn.
A moment later Morag Finlay came into view.
Trent said excitedly, ‘It’s the girl. Has to be. Reefer coat, Tarn O’Shanter. Fits the description exactly.’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Devlin said softly. ‘I was right. Harry must be in the house.’
Trent said, ‘How are we going to handle this?’
‘You’ve both got personal radios?’ Fox asked.
‘Sure.’
‘Right, give me one of them. Devlin and I will go in from the rear of the farm. With any kind of luck, we’ll take them by surprise. You go back and wait in the van. The moment I give you the good word, you come up that road like an express train.’
‘Fine.’
Trent and Brodie went back towards the road. Devlin took a Walther PPK from his pocket and cocked it. Fox did the same.
The Irishman smiled. ‘Just remember one thing. Harry Cussane isn’t the kind of man to give any kind of a chance to.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Fox said grimly. ‘I shan’t.’ He started down the slope through the wet bracken and Devlin followed.
Morag came awake and lay staring up at the ceiling blankly, and then she remembered where she was and turned to look at Cussane beside her. He slept quietly, his breathing light, the face in repose, very calm. He still clutched the Stetchkin in his right hand. She gently eased her feet to the floor, stood up and stretched, then she walked to the window. As she looked out, Hector and Angus Mungo crossed the yard and went into the barn opposite. She opened the door and stood at the top of the stone stairs and was aware of some sort of engine starting up. She frowned, listening intently and then quickly went down the steps and crossed the yard.
In the bedroom, Cussane stirred, stretched, then opened his eyes, instantly awake as usual. He was aware of the girl’s absence at once, was on his feet in a second. Then he noticed the open door.
The barn was rilled with the sour-sweet smell of mash for the Mungos operated their still in there. Hector switched on the old petrol engine and pump that provided their power supply, then checked the vat.
‘We need more sugar,’ he said.
Angus nodded. Til get some.’
He opened a door that led into a hut built on the side of the barn. There were various supplies in there, all necessary ingredients of their illegal work, and several sacks of sugar. He was about to pick one up when through a broken plank, he saw Morag Finlay outside, peering in through a window at what was going on in the barn. He smiled delightedly, put down the sack and crept out.
Morag was not even aware of his approach. A hand was clamped over her mouth, stifling her cry and she was lifted in strong arms and carried, kicking and struggling, into the barn.
Hector turned from stirring the vat. ‘What’s this?’
‘A little nosey-parker that needs teaching its manners,’ Angus said.
He put her down and she struck at him wildly. He slapped her back-handed and then again with enough force to send her sprawling on a pile of sacks.
He stood over her and started to unbuckle his belt. ‘Manners,’ he said. That’s what I’m going to teach you.’
‘Angus!’ Harry Cussane called from just inside the door. ‘Are you a bastard by nature or do you really have to work at it?’