“Don’t be stupid.” Sollazo turned to Barry. “Hospital is out.”

Barry knelt down and put a hand on Ryan’s forehead. “He’s in a bad way.” He stood up and said to Mori, “Get him in the station wagon.” He turned to Sollazo. “It’s all right. There’s a nursing home just outside Dublin we’ve been using for years. Decent doctors, good facilities. We’ll take him there. Twenty-five minutes.”

STANDING BESIDE THE Toyota observing the farmhouse through the binoculars, Devlin said, “There’s something up. Sollazo and the Mori fella have just brought Ryan out of the house. They’re putting him into the station wagon. They looked as if they were supporting him.”

“Let me look.” Dillon took the binoculars. “They’re all getting in, Barry and Kathleen, too. Let’s get ready to move.”

He slid behind the wheel and Devlin got in on the other side. A few moments later the station wagon turned into the road and Dillon followed.

THERE WAS A telephone box in the village, but it was out of order. Hannah needed to speak to Ferguson, had to take a chance. She returned to the Loyalist and went up to her room. There was the usual system where she punched nine to get an outside line, and she dialed Ferguson’s direct line at the Ministry of Defence.

It was bad luck that Kevin Stringer was sitting at his desk in the office doing accounts and was intrigued by the sound of the rather long series of numbers clicking through. He reached for the main switchboard phone and lifted it gently.

“Brigadier Ferguson, Chief Inspector Bernstein.”

A little later Stringer heard a voice say, “Ferguson here. What’s happening, Chief Inspector?”

“I’m staying at the Loyalist in Scotstown, sir, on the Down coast. We followed them up here, Barry and Sollazo. They have a boat in the harbor and brought a load of diving gear. They’ve gone back to Barry’s place outside Dublin, that’s where the Ryans are. Dillon and Devlin are in hot pursuit.”

“You expect them to return?”

“Probably tomorrow. I’m staying on as an English tourist, lone female variety.”

“Well, for God’s sake watch yourself.”

“Don’t I always?”

She put the phone down. In the office, Stringer sat thinking about it, then he rang Barry’s phone number at Ballyburn. There was no reply. He sat there thinking about it some more and finally opened his desk drawer and took out a Browning automatic.

HANNAH, SITTING AT the dressing table, was aware of a slight noise and turned to find the door open, Stringer standing there, the Browning in his hand.

“Chief Inspector, is it? So what’s your game, lady?”

FOURTEEN

THE SIGN AT the entrance to the drive said Roselea Nursing Home. The station wagon turned in through the gates and Dillon in the Toyota stopped on the other side of the road.

“What in the hell is going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Devlin said, “but my impression is something nobody counted on.”

IN THE RECEPTION area, they sat waiting, Mori, Sollazo, Barry, and Kathleen. She was in a bad way and Barry had an arm round her.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. The guy who runs this place, Dr. Ali Hassan, is a brilliant doctor.” He tried to make a joke. “An Egyptian Irishman. He’s patched up more bullet holes in more members of the IRA in the last twenty years than most doctors have had hot dinners.”

“It’s my fault,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t be crazy, girl, your uncle has a history of heart trouble, you know that as well as I do.”

Hassan, a small brown-skinned Arab in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, appeared.

“How is he?” Barry demanded.

“Not good, not good at all.” Hassan turned to Kathleen. “Your uncle has a history of angina? That’s what he told me.”

“Yes.”

“But this attack is most extreme. I don’t understand. What is his medication?”

“Dazane.”

“Good God, there’s no chance he has overdosed?” She stared at him, her face bone white. He said urgently, “Could he have overdosed?”

She nodded slowly. “He took three of the pills at four o’clock.”

“Oh, my God.” Hassan turned and ran along the corridor. Kathleen went after him and Barry and Sollazo followed, leaving Mori in reception.

RYAN LAY TWITCHING on the bed in intensive care while Hassan and a male nurse worked on him. Kathleen, Barry, and Sollazo peered in through the window and Barry held the girl tight. Suddenly Ryan gave a terrible gurgle and reared up on the bed and then he relaxed, all life draining out of him.

Hassan came out. “I’m afraid he has gone.”

Kathleen struck out at him. “He can’t have. It’s not possible.”

Barry restrained her. “Hold on, girl, it’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” she said. “I’m a trained nurse, I’m supposed to know these things. I checked at my old hospital at Green Rapids. The doctor told me three Dazane would give him an angina attack, but not more than a couple of bad days. It was our way out, don’t you see? You’d have to take him to hospital and we’d have a chance to get free.”

She broke down entirely. Barry handed her over to Sollazo. “Take her to the station wagon. I’ll handle things here.”

Sollazo took her out and Barry turned to Hassan. “You’ve been a good friend to the IRA, Ali, and we appreciate it, so this is another special one.”

“I understand, Jack.”

“You get him up to the crematorium tonight and put him through the ovens. No name, no certificate.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Good man yourself,” Barry said, turned, and went out.

DILLON AND DEVLIN, sitting in the Toyota, watched the station wagon drive away. Dillon said, “Only the three of them and the girl and no Ryan. What goes on?”

“I know this place,” Devlin told him. “An IRA safe house. It’s run by a damn good surgeon, an Egyptian named Ali Hassan. Maybe we should pay him a visit?”

ALI HASSAN, SITTING in his office, only a desk light on, was aware of the door opening and glanced up to see Devlin, Dillon behind him.

Devlin said, “Hello, Ali. Remember me? Liam Devlin. You took a bullet out of me eighteen years ago.”

“Oh, my God, Mr. Devlin,” Hassan said.

“And this is a friend of mine, Sean Dillon, who’s done as much for the cause as I have.”

“Mr. Dillon,” Hassan said uncertainly.

“A few people we know were in earlier propping up a Mr. Ryan between them,” Dillon said. “They left without him. Why would that be?”

“I think you must be mistaken,” Hassan said desperately.

Dillon produced his Walther. “Well, this doesn’t agree with you, so think again.”

Which Ali Hassan did and told them all.

AT VICTORIA FARM, Kathleen was in the bedroom, still weeping. Barry, Sollazo, and Mori were in the sitting room drinking whiskey when the phone rang.

Stringer said, “Thank God you’re there, Jack. Something’s come up.”

He started to talk. When he was finished, Barry said, “Hold her tight, Kevin, we’re on our way. We’ll leave now.”

“I will, Jack.”

Barry put down the phone and turned to Sollazo. “Do you recall a woman in glasses having lunch in the Loyalist today?”

“Sure,” Sollazo said. “Good-looking lady in an Armani trouser suit.”

“She’s not only a Detective Chief Inspector, she also works for Brigadier Charles Ferguson, the Prime Minister’s special intelligence expert, and guess who his troubleshooter is, Sean Dillon.”

“Christ,” Sollazo said. “What do we do?”

“We get the hell out of here now. Don’t ask me what’s going on because I don’t know, but we leave now for Scotstown and we check Irish Rose out tomorrow morning.” Barry turned to Mori. “Get the girl.”