Dark Justice by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page A

increased, and Dillon glanced at the Opel and decided to leave it alone. He went inside the mosque and followed a sign that said OFFICE.
    In the Opel, Greta Novikova called Ashimov on his mobile. "They were all at this Major Roper's place in Regency Square--Ferguson, Bernstein and Dillon. They've now dropped Dillon at Queen Street . Why?"
    "I should imagine because Mrs. Morgan has met an untimely accident and Mr. Dillon is about to speak to Selim about it."
    "What do you mean, accident?"
    "Her wheelchair appears to have deposited her in the Thames. These things happen. Stay there and follow Dillon when he comes out."
    Dillon found the office, knocked and walked in. There was no one at reception, so he tried the next door and found his quarry working at a desk.
    "Dr. Ali Selim?"
    Selim recognized him at once from a computer photo Ashimov had left him.
    He managed a smile. "Can I help?"
    Dillon decided to let it all hang out. "Oh, I think so, me ould son." He lit a cigarette.
    "Not in here. It is an affront," Selim told him.
    "I know, a terrible vice, but we all have them. I can see you know who I am, your face twitched, but then a guy like Ashimov would be right on the ball about me and my friends. We have a video of the two of you, by the way. That would go down big at the House of Commons, don't you think? And I notice his girlfriend, Greta Novikova, is outside."
    "I don't know what you're talking about."
    "Well, in broad terms you do, and I could fill in the rest for you. Henry Morgan walks up a Manhattan street in the rain and disappears into oblivion, his mother goes off the jetty in Chandler Street and into the Thames. A very unfortunate family."
    Selim's face turned pale.
    "Get out of here. I'll call the police."
    "Oh, I don't think you will, not with Ashimov on your back." Dillon dropped his cigarette in a half-filled cup of coffee by Selim's right hand. "Say your prayers, son, you're going to need them. Oh, and good luck with the Wrath of Allah."
    It was a long shot, but the shock on Selim's face was obvious.
    Dillon went out and paused on the pavement, looking across. Greta Novikova was taking a photo, and she was badly caught out when he crossed the street quickly, opened the passenger door and got in.
    "Now, look here . . . ," she started to say.
    "Oh, cut it out, girl dear. I know who you are and you know who I am." He produced a packet of Marlboros and took two out. "I bet you smoke, too. Most Russians do."
    "Bastard," she said. But she almost looked amused.
    He lit the cigarettes and passed her one. "Let's go."
    "Go? Where to exactly?"
    "My place in Stable Mews. Don't pretend you don't know where that is."
    She drove away, half smiling. "I bet Selim was messing himself in there."
    "Something like that. I told him we know about Ashimov and you, and who knows? Perhaps Ashimov's boss, the mysterious Josef Belov."
    "You're playing with fire, Dillon," she said. "I'd be very careful."
    "Oh, I always am."
    She paused at the end of Stable Mews. "Can I go now?"
    "Of course--unless you'd like to have dinner with me."
    "The great Sean Dillon with a romantic side? I doubt it. Besides, you've chosen a bad night. I have a function at the Dorchester ballroom this evening on behalf of the Russian Embassy."
    Dillon got out and leaned in. "Oh, I'm sure I could gain admission."
    She drove back to the embassy, turning over this strange man in her mind, and phoned Ashimov to tell him what had happened. "I've got a crazy idea he could turn up tonight."
    "So he's challenging us, is he? Well, we'll challenge back. I'll go with you. Pick me up at seven."
    After she hung up, she went into her computer, into her secret GRU files, accessed Dillon and was breathless at what she discovered. This was the man who'd been responsible for the mortar bomb attack on Downing Street in ninety-one? A feared enforcer for the IRA for years, a killer many times over . . . once an actor at the National Theatre ? She read, fascinated.
    I put the fear of God