Cry of the Hunter. Jack Higgins

be. That there was no romance and no adventure in it at all. That from now on he would live with fear. But he said none of these things. He looked into the boy’s eager, reckless young face and saw himself twenty years ago. He smiled and said, ‘Do you smoke?’ Murphy nodded and they lit cigarettes and sat back in comfort while the rain drummed on the roof.

      ‘Do you like the car?’ Murphy asked. Fallon nodded, and the boy went on. ‘I got it a bit cheaper, but I thought it would be less conspicuous. Did I do right?’

      Fallon laughed lightly. ‘You used your head,’ he said. ‘And that’s the only thing that keeps men like us out of the hands of the police.’

      Murphy flushed with pleasure. ‘Will you have a look at that stuff I was telling you about, Mr Fallon?’

      Fallon nodded and the boy took the car away from the kerb in a sudden burst of speed. ‘Steady on!’ Fallon told him. ‘No sense in being picked up for dangerous driving.’

      Murphy slowed down a little and they proceeded along the main street through light traffic at a steady pace. Fallon leaned back in his seat and tipped his hat down over his eyes. Until this moment he had given the problem of how he was to get Rogan off the train no immediate thought. He considered the business soberly. At first sight it was impossible. There would be at least four detectives with Rogan. They would be well armed and in a reserved compartment. Possibly even in a reserved coach. He shook his head. It looked bad and it was one of those tricky jobs which depended on circumstances and couldn’t be properly planned beforehand. The car braked to a halt and Murphy switched off the engine. ‘We’re here. Mr Fallon,’ he said.

      They were parked in a back street beside a high stone wall, and beyond the wall the tower of a church lifted into the sky. Fallon looked out in puzzlement. ‘Are you sure this is it?’ he said.

      The boy grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Fallon. We’re at the right place. The safest place in the world.’ He produced a bunch of keys from his pocket and got out of the car. There was a solid-looking door set in the face of the stone wall. He opened it with one of the keys and motioned Fallon through.

      Fallon found himself standing at the back of a graveyard. A forest of monuments and gravestones reared out of the ground on all sides and the church stood at the far side, firmly rooted into the ground. Murphy led the way towards the church, picking his route through the graves with care. He halted at a small wooden door that was half sunk into the ground at the base of the church walls so that three small steps led down to it. Murphy took out the bunch of keys again and selecting one of them, tried the door. It failed to open. He cursed and tried again. At the fourth attempt the door opened and he disappeared inside. Fallon followed him cautiously.

      He found himself in the half-darkness of a stone vault. Great arching ribs of stone supported the ceiling and the only light seeped through an iron grill that looked out on to the graveyard. There was a click and Murphy switched on the light. ‘It’s got everything this place, Mr Fallon,’ he said. ‘Electric light and running water.’ He pointed to the steady trickle of rain that was seeping through the iron grill and down the wall, and laughed.

      ‘Where are we?’ Fallon demanded.

      ‘Church of St Nicholas,’ Murphy told him. ‘In the vaults. No one ever comes in here. We’re quite safe.’

      ‘Are you sure about that?’ Fallon said.

      ‘Look for yourself,’ Murphy pointed to a truckle bed and several boxes which stood in the far corner. ‘That stuff’s been there for over a year now. No one ever comes down here.’

      Fallon raised a hand. ‘All right, don’t get worked up. I believe you.’ He looked around the quiet vault and sighed. ‘It seems a dirty trick to use a place like this.’

      Murphy’s face sobered immediately. ‘I used to think that,’ he said, ‘but it was Rogan’s idea. He said the end justified the means.’

      Fallon laughed grimly. ‘It always does. You know, the more I hear about Mr Patrick Rogan the less I like him.’ He unbuttoned his coat and moved across to the boxes. ‘All right, let’s have a look at this stuff you’ve got here.’

      In the boxes he found a formidable collection of explosives. In the first box were hand-grenades and clips of ammunition. The second contained belts of plastic explosive. It was the third box that Fallon found interesting. ‘Where did they get this one?’ he said.

      Murphy came and had a look. ‘Oh, that was a job they did one night when there were troops camped just outside the town. They broke into the ammunition store. Rogan was furious. He said they’d taken the wrong box. Why, what’s in there?’

      Fallon laughed. ‘Smoke bombs. I can see what he meant. Not a great deal of use in our kind of work.’ He started to close the box again and then hesitated. ‘I wonder,’ he said, and there was a faraway look in his eyes.

      ‘What good would them things be, Mr Fallon?’ Murphy said.

      Fallon smiled softly and took one of the smoke bombs out and hefted it in his hand. ‘This might just be the solution.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and explained. ‘The things are automatic. You break this fuse at the end and a chemical action starts instantly. I’ve seen them work. Within a matter of seconds they give off thick clouds of black smoke. What sort of effect would it have, do you think, if I let one of these things go to work on that train?’

      ‘Jesus help us!’ Murphy said. ‘There’d be a panic. People would think the train was on fire.’

      ‘Exactly!’ Fallon murmured. ‘Everybody would panic, the women would be near hysterical. The corridors crammed with people. Just the right conditions in which to rescue a man.’

      ‘It can’t fail,’ Murphy said in awe. ‘God help us, you’re a genius, Mr Fallon.’

      ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Fallon said. ‘Have you got a map of the district?’ Murphy produced one from his inside pocket and Fallon spread it out on the bed and examined it. After a few minutes he said, ‘Now listen carefully. About ten miles out of Castlemore on the east side of the railway track is a wood. Do you know it?’ Murphy examined the map and nodded and Fallon went on, ‘I want you to be there with the car from nine-fifteen onwards. No earlier because I don’t want you hanging about looking conspicuous.’

      ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit close to town?’ Murphy asked.

      Fallon shook his head. ‘Absolute surprise is the one thing that will bring this off. Even if they do expect trouble I don’t think they’ll be looking for it so soon. They’d be thinking in terms of someone trying to board the train at one of the smaller stations along the line.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, that’s it. You never can tell what’s going to happen in this game, but at least this scheme has a chance.’

      ‘What happens afterwards – if it does come off,’ Murphy said. ‘Do we make a run for the border?’

      Fallon shook his head. ‘That’s what they all do,’ he said, ‘and that’s why they get caught. We’ll come straight back here and lie low for at least three days.’

      Murphy took out a battered wallet and extracted a railway ticket. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘A single to Dunveg. That’s three stops up the line.’

      ‘Good lad!’ As he put the ticket away Fallon said, ‘What do you do for a living, Johnny? Today, for instance?’

      The boy laughed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m lucky there. My parents are dead. My father left us a grocery shop in one of the back streets. Kathleen – that’s my sister – she runs it. I’m supposed to help her, but I told her I was busy today. Besides, business will be slack. Always is on a wet day.’

      Fallon nodded and stood up. ‘We’ll take a run out to the scene of the crime,’ he said. ‘If you know a good pub on the way where we can get a bite to eat, stop at it. We’ve got all the time in the world.’

      They found a quiet place just off the main road outside Castlemore