When the boat tied up at the jetty at Salinas, it was dark. Dillon checked his watch. It had taken around twelve hours and he had been drugged as before, but only for the first eight hours. When they took him up the companionway, it was dark and raining, silver rods driving down through the sickly yellow light of a lamp.
“Eight o’clock on a fine Sicilian evening, Mr. Dillon,” Aaron said, “and good old Salinas awaits you.”
“What a pleasure.”
“Good luck, Mr. Dillon,” Aaron said, and added rather surprisingly, “You’re going to need it.”
Dillon went over the rail and walked along the jetty through the rain. At the far end, he moved into a shelter, lit a cigarette, and watched the boat move out to sea, the red and green lights fading into the night. He took out his personal mobile phone and punched in Ferguson’s number at the Cavendish Square flat.
It was surprising how quickly he got a response. “Ferguson.”
“It’s me,” Dillon told him.
“Thank God.”
“They’ve dumped me back on the jetty at Salinas with a message for the President via you and me.”
“Is this as bad as it sounds?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
“Right. I’ll have Lacey and Parry leave Farley Field within the hour for Palermo. I’ll phone Gagini and get him to arrange transportation for you as soon as possible. Where will you be?”
“The English Café.”
“Just wait there.” There was a pause. “I’m glad you’re in one piece, Sean.”
Dillon switched off his phone. Surprise, surprise, he thought, sentiment from Ferguson.
Ferguson phoned Hannah Bernstein first at her flat. When she answered, he said, “He’s safe, Chief Inspector, back at Salinas. I’m arranging to have him back as soon as possible.”
“What was it all about, sir?”
“I don’t know. I’d like you to come round now. You can use one of the spare bedrooms. Kim will fix it up.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Next, he phoned Transportation at the Ministry of Defense and arranged the flight to Palermo. Finally, he spoke to Gagini.
“Look, I can’t tell you what this is about, Paolo, but it’s big, and I want Dillon out of Salinas and safe in Palermo as soon as possible.”
“No problem,” Gagini told him. “Let’s say you’ll owe me a favor.”
“My pleasure.”
“Ciao, Charles,” Gagini said and put down the phone.
Ferguson sat by the fire and Kim served him tea and crumpets, and although he enjoyed them, he felt extremely uneasy.
“Damn you, Dillon!” he said softly. “What have you come up with now?”
A little while later, Kim answered the door and Hannah entered with an overnight bag, which she gave him. Her raincoat was dripping and Kim took it from her.
“God, you’re soaking,” Ferguson said. “Come and sit by the fire.”
“I’m fine, Brigadier, but what about Dillon?”
“They dumped him back at Salinas, as I told you. All I know is that he said it’s big and something to do with the President.”
“My God!” she said.
“I don’t think we need to involve the Almighty just yet. I’ll get Kim to provide fresh tea and we’ll just have to possess ourselves in patience.”
At Salinas, Dillon was sitting on the terrace, rain dripping from the roof. He’d just finished a bowl of spaghetti Napoli and half a bottle of some local red wine when a police car drew up. The driver stayed behind the wheel, but a young sergeant got out and came up the steps.
“Excuse me, signor.” He paused, his English obviously poor.
Dillon helped him out in fluent Italian. “My name is Dillon, Sergeant. How can I help?”
The sergeant smiled. “I’ve had orders from Colonel Gagini in Palermo. He has ordered us to deliver you there as soon as possible.”
Another police car pulled up behind with two officers in it, the one in the passenger seat holding a machine pistol.
“A long drive,” Dillon said.
“Duty is duty, signor, and Colonel Gagini insists you are delivered in one piece.” He smiled. “Shall we go?”
“A pleasure,” Sean Dillon said, swallowed his wine, and went down the steps.
It was raining at Farley Field at nine o’clock the following morning when the Lear jet landed. Dillon disembarked and grinned at Lacey. “I wouldn’t bank on a holiday, Flight Lieutenant. You’re going to be very active.”