The Wolf at the Door by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online

getting into trouble and started churchgoing, and then he cleared off.”
    The officer who had been searching the pockets said, “There’s this, sir, tucked away.”
    He offered the damp card, and Parky examined it. “I’ve seen something like this before. It’s a prayer card.”
    Billy took it from him and read it aloud. “‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, we who are ourselves alone.’”
    Harry said, “But what the hell does it mean?”
    Parky smiled. “I told you he’d turned to religion, didn’t I, so I was right.”
    “You certainly were,” Billy said. “I’ll hang on to this and the passport. You can keep the rest.”

3
    T hey met in the computer room at Holland Park, all of them, Ferguson presiding, and Harry Salter was a very angry man indeed.
    “I mean, what in the hell is going on?”
    “It’s simple, Harry,” said Dillon. “You’ve been targeted, you and Billy, just like Blake Johnson, General Ferguson, and Major Miller. Maybe somebody thinks it’s payback time.”
    “All very well,” Harry pointed out. “But that bastard Costello or Docherty, or whatever he called himself, was prepared to torch the pub, just to get at Billy and me.”
    “Whoever these people are, they’re highly organized and totally ruthless. The would-be assassin in Central Park, Frank Barry, called somebody and told them where he was. The instant response was an executioner.”
    “Exactly,” Miller put in. “And one professional enough to remember to snatch Barry’s mobile before departing, so details of that call couldn’t be traced.”
    “I’ve spoken to Clancy Smith, brought him up to speed, including the arson attack on the pub,” Roper said. “His people have established that Flynn’s passport was an extremely good forgery, as was his driver’s license and Social Security card.”
    “So there’s no way of checking if he had a police record?” Ferguson put in.
    “Exactly,” Roper carried on. “His address in Greenwich Village is a one-room apartment, sparsely furnished, basic belongings, not much more than clothes. An old lady on the same floor said he was polite and kept to himself. She’d no idea what he did for a living, and was surprised to hear he had an American passport, as she’d always thought he was Irish. She’s a Catholic herself and often saw him at Mass at the local church.”
    Miller said, “Interesting that Costello-cum-Docherty has a forged Irish passport, too, and his religion had been the saving of him, according to Inspector Parkinson.”
    “A passport which claims he was born in Dublin, yet we know from his other identity documents that his address is in Point Street, Kilburn,” Dillon said.
    “And Henry Pool from Green Street, Kilburn,” Ferguson said. “Too many connections here. This would appear to be a carefully mounted campaign.”
    “Another point worth remembering,” Roper said. “I’ve processed the computer photo of Major Miller that was in Barry’s wallet.” His fingers worked the keys, and the photo came on screen. “Just a crowded street, but that’s definitely the side of a London black cab at the edge of the pavement. The photo was definitely taken in London, I’d say.”
    “Careful preparation beforehand by someone who knew I was going to New York,” Miller said.
    “Yes, and remember that Blake was only visiting his place on Long Island because he was going to the UN.” Roper shook his head. “It’s scary stuff, when you think about it.”
    Salter said, “But nobody had a go at you, Dillon, when you were in New York. Why not?”
    “Because I wasn’t supposed to be there. It was only decided at the last moment that I should join Harry.”
    “Nobody has had a go at me either,” Roper told him. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not going to.”
    “Exactly,” Ferguson said. “Which raises the point again—what in the hell is this all about?”
    “Let’s face it,” Billy said.