“Pack a suitcase.”
“I thought you’d say that. They’re expecting you at Farley, too. Stay in touch.”
IBIZA
8
The Falcon, with Greta on board, dropped in at Archbury and picked up Levin. “You’ve been busy,” she said as they took off again.
“What’s happening?”
“The net’s closing in.” She told him about Billy Salter in Dublin.
“So now they know definitely,” Levin said. “Thanks to a family-minded Dublin detective.”
“They know Liam Bell is in charge of Drumore, they’re aware that Max Zubin is playing Belov at Station Gorky. They don’t know about Ashimov or me.”
He smiled. “Or me.”
“So let’s keep it that way.”
“You’ve got Fitzgerald’s address, details of what he’s up to? He knows we’re coming?”
“Oh, yes. Bell’s been in touch with him.”
“That was a mistake.” Levin opened the bar cabinet and got out the vodka.
“Why?” she asked as he poured.
“He could wonder why. He could wonder whether the only present we’re bringing is a bullet in the head.”
“Not with me along.”
“A good-looking woman to make him feel comfortable?”
“Why not? Tell me one thing. You really think Dillon will turn up?”
“Absolutely.”
“It should be an interesting trip, then,” and they toasted each other. “Here’s to Mary Hall.”
“Who’s that?”
“Me, Igor. That’s what it says on my passport.”
When Billy arrived at Farley Field, he was delivered by Harry, grumbling as usual. “I mean, what’s he got you into now?”
“I’m a member of the Security Services, Harry. They yell, I jump. It’s called doing your duty.”
“Only Ferguson doesn’t know.”
“He will when he’s finished dinner. Roper will see to that.”
They parked outside the terminal building, went in and there was Lacey in flight overalls talking to Dillon. “The Quartermaster’s left you the usual bag, Sean, said you’ll find everything you want inside.”
Billy and Harry looked on. “There you are, you little Irish bastard,” Harry said.
Lacey said, “I’ll go and get us started.”
Dillon frowned. “Does Ferguson know about this?”
“He soon will. Roper’s in charge.” Billy picked up the Quartermaster’s bag and took his own from Harry. “Come on, Dillon, let’s get moving,” and he led the way out and walked to the Citation X.
Flying through the night at thirty thousand feet, Dillon indulged himself on half a bottle of Krug champagne.
“So what’s the first move?” asked Billy.
“To find Fitzgerald. Roper’s going to check diving sites and the kind of hotels divers use. If that doesn’t work, I’ll try my old friend Aldo Russo.”
“Italian, not Spanish? How come you were involved with him?”
“Way back in the old days when I was the pride of the IRA, I was sent to Sicily to buy arms, only the Mafia knew British intelligence was onto them, so they moved Russo, his wife and son to Ibiza, and used that as a base. There were Spanish elements who didn’t like it, thought the Mafia were encroaching on their territory.”
“What happened?”
“I did him a favor one night when a bit of business came up at the last minute. I offered to drive his wife and son home. Two men who’d been given the contract ambushed us, wounded the boy and his mother.”
“Don’t tell me. You took them out?”
“Something like that. God, it was thirty years ago. The son is an attorney in Palermo now.”
“Working for the Mafia?”
“Who knows?”
“And the wife?”
“Cancer, ten years ago.”
There was silence for a while. Billy said, “When it’s time, it’s time. I suppose Russo has never forgotten what you did. Italians are funny like that.”
“Honor is everything, Billy, you know that.”
“Or respect,” Billy said.
Dillon’s Codex Four went and Ferguson exploded. “What in the hell do you think you are playing at?”
“Don’t blame Roper, he was trying to make it official for Lacey. As for Billy, he’s only here because he’s a sentimentalist. Thinks he owes me.”
“Put him on – that’s an order.”
Dillon handed the phone to Billy.
“Yes, boss.”
“For God’s sake, watch him. The whole thing’s put him on a knife edge. I don’t want to lose him.”
“Do you think I do? Listen, I’ve got a good feeling about this, especially with Russo on board. I’ll hand you back.”
“Who’s Russo?” Ferguson demanded of Dillon.
“Roper will fill you in. I used to deal with him for the IRA. Ex-Mafia.”
“There’s no such thing. It’s like saying ex-IRA. Once in, never out, isn’t that the truth of it? Oh, for God’s sake, go to hell in your own way, but keep in touch.”
“An angry man,” Billy commented.
“No, really. He cares, Billy, about what we do and what happens to us.” He finished the last drop of champagne.
Billy said, “I’ve never been to Ibiza. What’s it like?”
Dillon said, “Great in the old days, more tourists now. I used to love the old city, Ibiza town, the bars, gypsies, bullfighters, the flamenco dancers.” He shook his head. “Best-looking women you’ve seen in years.”
“Sounds good. You like the bulls, then?”
“A lot of people wouldn’t approve, but there’s something about a man putting himself straight in front of a charging bull.”
“It must be awesome.”
“It is.” Dillon pushed his seat back. “I’m going to have forty winks.”
He closed his eyes and Hannah flooded in. Why did it have to be her and how much had he been responsible? He saw Ashimov plow her down in the street, experienced again his own shots missing and Hannah sliding down the railings and there was blood falling down her face and he was afraid and horrified.
And then the vision again, the Playa de Toros, the bullring in Ibiza, the toreros in uniform, the picadors on horseback, the band, and then everything focusing on the red door on the other side, the Gate of Fear, and the bull roared out and came straight for him.
He came awake with a kind of convulsion, a cry on his lips. Billy grabbed his arm. “You okay?”
Dillon said, “Bad dream, that’s all.” He managed a smile and his phone went. It was Roper.
“I’ve tried for Fitzgerald through the Divemasters Association and the general run of hotels they use. He was at a place called Sanders, but booked out earlier today. I’ve managed to come up with one useful item. A Belov International Falcon left Ballykelly first thing this morning carrying one passenger, a woman named Mary Hall.”
“Who in the hell is she?”
“God knows. The plane streaked across to Archbury, where, guess what? It picked up Igor Levin, commercial attaché at the Russian Embassy.”
“Destination?”
“Ibiza.”
“So, it gets even more interesting. Keep pushing on Fitzgerald. See what we can come up with. Everything is happening quickly. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I’ll try.” Roper switched off.
Levin had phoned Luhzkov at the London Embassy and the GRU computer had come up with the Sanders Hotel as the place where Fitzgerald was staying.
He said to Greta, “I’m keeping the plane as a precaution, just in case. He might have moved on. Let’s go and check his hotel, this Sanders place. I’ll get a cab.”
The Sanders Hotel wasn’t exactly a dead end. The man on reception was a shifty sort of individual who made the point that Fitzgerald had left in a hurry. It was Greta who instinctively knew he was holding back.
“So he was only here for a day? You know he always stays longer.”
The man replied instinctively. “Well, yes.”
Levin took out an English fifty-pound note. “Don’t try my patience. Where is he?”
The receptionist, of course, opened up. Fitzgerald had decided to move on to Algeria two hundred miles away. He’d taken the ferry to Khufra. He’d often gone there in the past for the diving.