The Killing Ground (14 page)

Hal Stone said, “Remember what Roper said about the whole thing being opportunistic? Well, what happened earlier was a perfect example. Everything just fell into place. It occurred to me that those two Arab boys couldn’t have the slightest idea where she lived in London.”

“Good point,” Billy said.

“She’s a remarkable young woman,” Dillon said. “To field that ball and the mention of her father’s name took some doing.”

“But slipping in her visit to the mosque on Wednesday was a nice one,” Hal Stone said.

“Yes, but we can’t go in as a team,” Billy pointed out.

“I can go, see what the situation is in the mosque itself.” Caspar produced a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “There’s no need to worry about me anymore, gentlemen. All my doubts are absolved, all passion spent.

It’s going to work, I know that now. The only thing is how.”

“I know one thing,” Hal Stone said. “Her visit to the mosque will do us no good. A family affair. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s a kind of state visit to the Imam, and my uncle and Hussein are bound to go.”

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Dillon said, “Roper was right. It all comes down to recognizing the opportunity and taking it.”

“What do you mean?” Hal Stone said.

“Billy and I weren’t available, but you two were. All you had to do was shoot the two boys. Billy?”

Billy poured Dillon a Bushmills and handed it to him. “I’m afraid he’s right, gents.” He turned to Caspar. “It’s why we’re along, to be worse than the bad guys. Don’t kid yourself about those two nice boys with their Kalashnikovs. They’ve accompanied her from Baghdad. They’ve done their share of killing.”

Caspar took a deep breath. “How would it be done?”

“We keep a lookout and hope for an approach. Billy and I can be in the water, just in diving jackets. Silenced Walthers are just as good in water.”

“And the woman with Sara?”

“Straight down the companionway and lock her in a cabin,” He looked across to the jetty. “Turn up the speed, and we’re there in fifteen minutes. Warn Lacey we’re on our way, pile into the station wagon and it’s the airport next stop. If by some odd chance Hussein turns up, we’ll kill him, too.”

“I’m going to the stateroom to call Lacey and Parry and bring them up to date. Then Ferguson. Then bed. See you all in the morning.”

F E R G U S O N W A S H I M S E L F I N B E D reading defense papers and having a brandy nightcap. Dillon brought him up to snuff.

“You really think you can pull it off?” Ferguson asked.

“If they visit us again like they did today, yes. I’ll tell you one thing—

Sara Rashid is no ordinary thirteen-year-old.”

“My dear Dillon, go to Shakespeare. Juliet was thirteen.”

“Jesus, General, that’s all right then, we’re home and dry. Good night to you, as they say in Belfast!”

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T H E B R O K E R , in a sense, was going to war. Ferguson would fall to Hussein Rashid. Now it was time to settle scores elsewhere: the Salters, both Harry and Billy. He knew all about the events involving George Moon and Big Harold, so he also knew Ruby Moon now ruled the bar at the Dark Man.

He brooded for a while. Besides the Dark Man, Salter had opened a highly successful high-end restaurant, he recalled, the kind of place that attracted only the best people. Trouble there would hit Salter hard.

He looked in his book and found Chekov’s number.

“Who is it? I’m in bed and not alone. It’s too damned late.”

“The Broker.”

Chekov was suddenly all attention. The Broker heard him say, “Get some clothes on and get the hell out of here or I’ll give you a slapping.”

He was back to the phone in a minute. “What can I do for you?”

“You know Harry Salter and his nephew Billy?”

“Who doesn’t? He’s a hard old bastard, that one. Why, what do you want?”

“I want them permanently removed. He and his people have caused serious distress to General Volkov and the President.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“No. I think this is work for Stransky—Big Ivan. You know that fancy restaurant of Salter’s?”

“I’ve been there. Harry’s Place.”

“Destroy it. You know what to do.”

“And?”

“Salter started life as a river rat. Let him end there. Put him in the Thames along with his nephew and his hard men.”

“What about Dillon?”

“What about him?”

“He and the Salters are like brothers.”

“Then let them die like brothers.”

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C H E K O V T O O K A T A X I to the Dorchester Hotel, where he knew he would find many members of the Russian community. Many of them were millionaires, and some billionaires, and they were a hard-drinking lot.

When they wanted to avoid trouble of the violent or disruptive sort, they brought in Ivan Stransky.

He was six-foot-four, built like a brick wall, his hair cropped and half of his left ear missing, left in Chechnya where he’d served in a Guards regiment. He was standing at the end of the bar, a black leather coat straining at his shoulders, a cigarette between his fingers, and saw Chekov at once.

A waitress was passing and Chekov said, “Scotch whiskey, my lovely, two large ones and make it the cheap stuff.”

He took a seat in the corner and Stransky sat beside him. “What can I do for you?” said the big man.

“What do you know about Harry Salter?”

Stransky smiled without humor. “A major gangster who’s gone legit, they say—warehouse developments, casinos, apartment blocks. They say he’s worth four or five hundred million.”

“But I bet he hasn’t entirely given up his old ways, has he?”

“Of course not. Action is the juice of life to a man like him. It’s the game that appeals. He’s not rubbish, he’s got balls and brains and in his time, he’s killed. He’s got a nephew, Billy, who’s a younger version. So, what about him?”

“I want you to start giving Salter a bad time, as a favor to a broker friend of mine. Eventually, we’re going to eliminate him, but we’re going to work up to it, let him think about it a bit. We’ll start with that fancy restaurant of his, Harry’s Place. A lot of rich people go there—they wouldn’t like it if their cars got messed up; it would be very bad for business, you know what I mean?”

“When do you want this?”

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“Right now. Sudden blitz, so that he knows whoever did it means it.

A hunting party will do. Five or six top men.”

“My pleasure.”

Chekov finished his whiskey. “Have another.”

“No. I’d rather get moving. There are people I’ll need to talk to.”

“Good.”

They hadn’t mentioned money. It was not necessary. Stransky went out and Chekov called the waitress over. “Large whiskey, my love. I’ll have the expensive stuff this time, the Highland Special that’s eight hundred pounds a shot.”

Outside the hotel on the left-hand side were private limousines waiting, their chauffeurs chatting beside them, and Stransky’s own Mercedes was there, his driver, a hard-looking young man called Bikov, standing by it smoking a cigarette. “Get in.” Stransky opened the rear door.

“What’s up, boss?” Bikov demanded.

“Café Rosa, quickly. Will Makeev and the boys still be there?”

“Sure. They’re having a card school tonight.”

“I need five, maybe six of them.”

“Trouble?”

“No, to make trouble. You know Harry Salter?”

“Of course I do.”

“That restaurant of his, Harry’s Place—Chekov wants it messed up good. Let’s see if Makeev and his boys are interested.”

“For Chekov? You won’t have to ask twice.”

B E H I N D T H E B A R at the Dark Man, Ruby called to Harry, who was sitting in a booth. Joe Baxter and Sam Hall were propping up the bar behind him.

“It’s thinning out a bit, Harry. We can go if you like. Rita can close up.”

She came round the bar in a demure white blouse and a black velvet skirt and shoes to die for.

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“Bleeding marvelous,” Harry said and turned to his minders.

“Isn’t she?”

“Absolutely, Harry,” they chorused.

“Right, let’s check how things are going at Harry’s Place. Leave the Aston, we’ll go in the Shogun.” He handed Ruby in and followed her.

“I’m really looking forward to this,” Ruby said. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to take me there.”

“Don’t be silly, girl, we just haven’t had the opportunity. Anyway, you look like a princess. Doesn’t she look like a princess, boys?”

“A queen, Harry,” Baxter said.

“Get stuffed,” Ruby told him and leaned back. “I wonder how it’s going in Hazar?”

“We’ll know soon enough, girl, but one thing’s for sure, if anybody can handle it, Dillon and Billy can.” He leaned forward and said to Baxter, “Are we tooled up?” Baxter dropped a hidden flap. “The Colt twenty-fives, just like you said, boss, two of them.”

“Guns, Harry?” Ruby was shocked. “Is that necessary?”

“There are funny people around these days, love. Russian Mafia, Albanians, fourteen-year-olds in knife gangs who’ll stick a shiv in you as soon as look at you. I’ve got mates who are Italian Mafia and they’re the good guys now.”

Sam Hall pulled in outside the warehouse Salter had transformed into Harry’s Place, a red neon sign above the door and a queue outside.

Two young black men in dinner suits had the door.

“The Harker twins,” Harry told Ruby.

Baxter and Hall took the Shogun to the car park, and Harry and Ruby walked along the side of the queue. They found five youths in black leather pushing and shoving, alarming people ahead of them.

Ruby said, “They’re Russians, Harry. I used to serve a lot like that at the old pub.”

They were, in fact, Makeev and four of his friends, who’d been hired by Stransky as ordered.

“Here, you bleeding well cut it out,” Harry told them.

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They jeered in good Cockney English, “Who the hell are you, her father?”

He handed Ruby up the steps, where one of the Harker twins apol-ogized profusely. “Sorry, boss, real sorry and more bad news. Big Ivan Stransky and another guy came in just before these guys turned up.”

Baxter and Hall arrived on the run and ranged themselves beside the Harkers, making a formidable barrier. Harry said, “Don’t let them in.

We’ll see what Stransky wants.”

He held out his hand, Baxter slipped a Colt .25 into it and Harry took Ruby’s arm as Fernando, the headwaiter, appeared, full of apologies.

“Not needed,” Harry said. “This is Mrs. Moon. Take us to my table.”

He added to Baxter and Hall, “You come with us.”

The place was rather pretty, in an Art Deco style, with a cocktail bar, small, intimate tables, a dance floor, a trio playing music of the Cole Porter variety. Harry’s table was in a booth with mirrors behind it and Baxter and Hall stood one on each side.

A waiter in a white waistcoat with brass buttons who had responded to Harry’s nod brought a large brandy and ginger ale for him and a champagne cocktail for Ruby.

“I thought you should have a champagne cocktail on your first visit.”

“It’s lovely,” she said. “What’s that?”

“Brandy and ginger ale. They call it a Horse’s Neck.”

“I wonder why?”

“Doesn’t really matter, Ruby—it’s a British thing. We’re funny that way. Here’s to you. You look lovely.”

He took his drink straight down and nodded to the waiter, then folded his arms as Stransky, Bikov behind him, came down the steps from the bar and crossed the dance floor toward them.

“Nice little place you’ve got, Harry,” Stransky said.

“Mr. Salter to you. Now what can I do for you and the fairy prince here?”

Bikov’s hand went in his pocket, his face tightened, but Sam Hall

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stepped close and slipped his hand in the same pocket. “Gawd bless me, but someone’s got a big one.” He produced a Smith & Wesson Bankers Special and put it on the table in front of Harry.

“A little old-fashioned,” Harry said. “Bloody rude bringing it in at all, ladies present and so on.”

Stransky looked around. “Ladies? I don’t see any ladies.” He smiled at Ruby. “Of course, I don’t count the whore here.”

“She’s got more class than you any day, you fat pig.”

Stransky stopped smiling. “You’ll be sorry you said that, Salter, and when you’re gone”—he laughed out loud, reached over and patted Ruby’s face—“we’ll see.”

“Outside,” Harry told him.

“What an excellent idea. Come on, Bikov,” and they went.

“What do you think, boss?” Baxter said.

“They’ll be up to no good outside with that bunch he brought along.”

He sighed. “I’m really getting too old for this. Let’s go out and see what they’re up to. You stay, Ruby love.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“All right, then stay by the door. Just be a good girl. I told Billy I’d look after you.”

“What a liar you are, Harry Salter.” She took his arm and the whole group left. “There was a story about you going the rounds year before last when the Franconi twins were running wild over half of London. The word was they got an IRA expert to put a bomb in your Jaguar.”

“God was on my side,” he told her cheerfully. “The guy got the timer wrong and it blew up before Billy and I got there.”

“And is it true the Franconis are in cement on the North Circular Road?”

“Ruby, love, do I look like I’d do a thing like that?”

Outside, the queue had gone and it was quiet, only the sound of the trio playing “Night and Day” drifting out. “What’s happening?” Harry asked the Harkers.

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“The Russian punks cleared off, as far as I know, and Stransky and his driver went off to get his car.”