The Midnight Bell. Jack Higgins

      “So where is this tirade leading us?” Roper asked.

      Jake Cazalet walked in at that moment and answered. “They don’t know what to do anymore, except to allow you people to shoot what we hope are the villains. The news that al-Qaeda has raised its head again in the shape of a new Master went down like a lead weight considering that the last one was barely dead.”

      “I imagine it would,” Blake said.

      Sara turned to Frankel. “Have a decent breakfast, Henry, and remember what Somerset Maugham said. ‘To dine well in England it’s necessary to have breakfast three times a day.’”

      Henry laughed. “Ah, you always find a way to cheer me up. I shall follow your advice religiously.”

      “So what’s Ferguson up to at the moment? Still at Downing Street?” Dillon asked.

      “Ministry of Defence. An ad hoc committee with interested parties discussing how to keep things from getting out of hand.”

      “Why aren’t you on it? Good God, Jake, with your experience as a soldier and president.”

      “Don’t worry, the Prime Minister has made me a special advisor. I’ll find excuses to avoid going back to Washington, won’t I, Blake?”

      “That’ll be the day,” Harry said. “So we really do have to stay close?”

      “Within reason.”

      “We do have the Dark Man to open, but I suppose young Hasim can manage in a pinch. He’s shown a lot of promise, that boy, and Dora thinks the world of him.”

      “Then there’s things to be done at Harry’s Place,” Billy said.

      “Have you got a wedding or something?” Sara asked.

      “One or two things, that’s all, but stuff needs organizing. We can get back here soon enough if you have a problem.”

      “Well, I do,” Dillon said. “I just heard yesterday that a dear friend of mine has been killed in a car crash on a visit to Ulster. A drunken driver was responsible. I need to pay my respects to the family, so I’ll have to go out for a while.”

      “No problem,” Roper said.

      Dillon nodded, staring into space, and Hannah said gently, “Is it help you need?”

      There were others listening, as Dillon said, “And you the girl to see it. When I came to live in Kilburn with my father, my mother being dead, our next-door neighbors were Finbar and Eileen Magee, her the kindest woman I ever knew, him a drunken, unpleasant swine, a con man and petty criminal who had been to prison often.”

      “So what did all that lead to?”

      “Twin boys named Tad and Larry, who attended the same school I had, though twelve years later.”

      “So what went wrong?” Sara asked. “Something obviously did.”

      “The Magees, like me, came from County Down, had been a family of substance in earlier times, and they owned a farmstead above Drumore Bay. A cousin, Eli Magee, farmed it for them and ran a big old launch named the Maria Blanco from the jetty below in the bay.”

      “Was Finbar IRA?”

      “They wouldn’t have him. He was a braggart who claimed to be IRA to his sons and encouraged them to visit, which Eileen didn’t want because there was bloodshed and war over there. There were lots of guys like him, claiming a false glory when all they were doing was driving a truck by night, hauling groceries to supermarkets, booze to pubs, and delivering orders from the chief of staff on the way to local commanders.”

      “Backed by documents that would satisfy the police?” Sara said. “If they were stopped?”

      “Of course, but carrying a weapon was out because of the danger of police searches.” He shrugged. “It was a kind of IRA postal service delivering mail to its troops.”

      “And you would know,” said Hannah.

      “Of course, I’m the fella who’d dumped a promising career at the National Theatre two years earlier because his father, in Belfast for a family funeral, stumbled into a firefight between paratroops and an angry mob, and was shot by mistake. It was the Provisional IRA for me, the Provos, next stop, and I’d have thought you’d agree with that, Hannah, after what happened to you and your parents.”

      “Nobody could understand more, Sean, and a hell of a choice to have to make.”

      Sara said, “But what did Eileen think of Finbar’s persuading his sons to visit him in bandit country?”

      “Her worst nightmare came true because the RUC began sniffing around Finbar, the man with the sons from London who kept visiting him.”

      “I’d have been surprised if they hadn’t. What did it lead to?”

      “He produced a Browning handgun from his pocket one night just to give himself the right kind of macho image, drunk as usual. Refused to stop for a police car, crashed in the chase.”

      Hannah said, “So ten years in the Maze Prison?”

      “No, because he was drunk, he had a problem handling his gun, and the police opened fire.”

      “They shot the bastard?” Hannah said.

      “No, but they did hit Larry Magee twice, one in the right leg, the other in the back, a legal response to attack, but as the police had done the shooting, it was an awkward one. They solved it for the moment by dropping the boys off at the local cottage hospital.”

      “So obviously Finbar was arrested,” Sara said.

      “Of course, but the doctors at the hospital, knowing which side their bread was buttered on, but not what to do with Larry, approached the IRA chief of staff for County Down, Hugh Tulley, who sent a top enforcer to clear things up, which he did.”

      “Would that happen to have been you?” Hannah asked.

      Sara cut in. “What did you do?”

      “The IRA had plenty of money in those days, plus the right connections. I stole the boys from hospital one night, drove them to the home of a good friend, who flew us out to a small airfield in Kent. Using our connections, I’d been able to arrange a discreet private hospital to receive a young man who’d been in a car crash abroad, back injured, leg broken.”

      “Very clever,” Hannah said. “So Ulster, the gunplay, never happened?”

      “And Eileen?” Sara asked.

      “Forever grateful.”

      “Which only leaves Finbar,” Hannah said. “What happened to him?”

      “Nothing,” Dillon said. “The RUC never brought a charge. They found him too useful as an informer.”

      “The bastard,” Hannah said.

      “Yes, he was and still is.” Roper smiled. “But at least it leaves us with Captain Wonderful here, who rights all wrongs.”

      “Not really, Larry was crippled for life,” Dillon said. “But at least Eileen got her boys back home.”

      Billy cut in. “All these years, Dillon, and you never mentioned you knew the Magees.” He appealed to Hannah. “They were the most famous gangsters in London when they were active.”

      “Gangsters?” Hannah was astounded.

      Harry said, “He’s right, Hannah. Only the best for them. Suits from Savile Row, shoes from Lobb’s, one of the nicest houses in Curzon Street, not too far from the Dorchester, which you’ve got to admit is rather convenient. The Green Harp near Shepherd Market, one of the best gaming clubs in London, with Tara Place on the upper floor specializing in Irish cooking.”

      “Which I haven’t sampled since the improvements,” Dillon