“My name’s Murray. You’ll be Brigadier Fergu-son’s people.”
“That’s right,” Hannah said.
“He’s due to land in ten minutes. I’ll take you along to the mess and you can have a coffe%”
They got in the Range Rover and he drove away. TONY McGUIRE CAME INTO THE OFFICE AND
found her sitting by the stove. “You all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “Your five thousand dollars are on the table.” He went and picked them up, a bundle in each hand. “Count them if you like,” she said.
“What the hell, I trust you.” He went and unlocked an old-fashioned safe in the corner and put the money inside.
“Can we go now?” she said.
“I don’t see why not.” He turned and led the way out. As they walked across to the hangar, she said, “Can we get away with it?” “Oh, sure,” McGuire said. “There’s more unrestricted air space out there than people realize, and if I approach the ctSast of the Lake District at under six hundred feet I won’t even show on radar.” “I see.” They went into the hangar, she climbed over the wing, and took the seat directly behind the pilot’s.
McGuire climbed in and closed the door. He fired one engine, then the other and turned.
“Okay?” She nodded. “Here we go, then.” He taxied out onto the runway, bumping over holes, and turned into the wind at the far end. There was a slight paus and they moved forward. He boosted power and they lifted up into the mist and rain.
IN THE OFFICERS’ MESS AT WHITEFIRE, DILLON and Hannah were having a cup of tea when Lieutenant-Commander Murray came in with Ferguson. “Here you are, Brigadier,” he said.
Ferguson gave him his best smile. “I’d appreciate a word with my people, Commander. Ten minutes?
After that we’ll leave in that Sea King for the destination I’ve indicated on the map.” “As you say, Brigadier.” Murray saluted and withdrew. Ferguson turned and smiled. “Is that tea? I really would appreciate some, Chief Inspector.” “Of course, sir.” Hannah found a clean cup and poured. Ferguson said, “You have been having a ball, Dillon, haven’t you?” “Well, it’s been complicated, I’ll say that.” Ferguson’ accepted, the cup of tea from Hannah.
“And your usual kill ratio I see. Barry, Sollazo, and Mod. Really, Dillon, you constantly remind me of · the tailor in the fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm who boasted of having killed three at one bl&, only in his case it turned out to be flies on a piece of jam and bread.” “Jesus, Brigadier, have I disappointed you again?” “Don’t be silly, Dillon. What about the girl?” “She’s quite mad,” Hannah Bernstein said.
“Whatever mental state she was in before is one thing, but this business of the death of her uncle has put her right over.” “So you think she’ll turn up at Folly’s End?” “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” Dillon · told him. “All fight, calm down.” Ferguson put his cup on the table. “Let’s go and see, shall we?” MARY POWER WAS FEEDING THE CHICKENS AT her back door, a black and white sheepdog at her side.
It was late afternoon, darkness tingeing the sky on the distant horizon. She finished with the chickens, then went in search of Benny and found him in the barn sitting at the tackle table cleaning the barrels of a shotgun.
“There you are. Did you see to the sheep in the north meadow?”
He nodded eagerly. “I brought them down,” he said in his slow pedantic way. “And put them in the paddock.”
“You’re a good lad, Benny.”
He reached for an ammunition box, took out two cartridges, loaded the gun, and snapped the barrels up. For a moment it pointed at her and she cuffed the side of his head and pushed the shotgun to one side.
“I’ve told you before. Nevel point it at anyone.
Guns are bad.”
“But the fox might come again,” Benny said slowly. “Last tim he killed twelve chickens.”
“Well, you get the bastard when he comes, but don’t shoot me,” she said. “Now come and have your break. Cup of tea and that nice fruit cake I made.”