Confessional - Jack Higgins [81]
'Do you know the area?' Devlin asked.
'Had a week's shooting on some chap's estate about twenty years ago. Funny place, the Galloway hills. High forests, ridgebacks and secret little lochs everywhere.'
'Galloway, you said?' Devlin looked closer at the map. 'So that's Galloway?'
Ferguson frowned. 'So what?'
'I think that's where he's gone,' Devlin said. 'I think that's where he was aiming to go all along.'
Fox said, 'What makes you think that?'
He told them about Danny Malone and when he was finished, Ferguson said, 'You could very well have something.'
Devlin nodded. 'Danny mentioned a number of safe houses used by the underworld in various parts of the country, but the fact that he's in the Galloway area must have some connection with this place run by the Mungo brothers.'
'What do we do now, sir?' Fox asked Ferguson. 'Get Special Branch, Glasgow, to lay on a raid on this Mungo place?'
'No, to hell with that,' Ferguson said. 'We've already had a classic example of just how efficient the local police can be; they had him and let him slip through their fingers.' He glanced out of the window at the darkness outside. 'Too late to do anything tonight. Too late for him as well. He'll still be on foot in those hills.'
'Bound to be,' Devlin said.
'So - you and Harry fly up to Glasgow tomorrow. You check out this Mungo place personally. I'm invoking special powers. On this one, Special Branch will do what you want.'
He went out. Fox gave Devlin a cigarette. 'What do you think?'
'They had him, Harry, in handcuffs,' Devlin said, 'and he got away. That's what I think. Now give me a light.'
Cussane went down through birch trees following the course of a pleasant burn which splashed between a jumble of granite boulders. He was beginning to feel tired now in spite of the fact that the going was all downhill.
The burn disappeared over an edge of rock, cascading into a deep pool as it had done several times before and he slithered down through birch trees through the gathering dusk rather faster than he had intended, landing in an untidy heap, still holding on to his bag.
There was a startled gasp and Cussane, coming up on one knee, saw two children crouched at the side of the pool. The girl, on a second look, was older than he had thought, perhaps sixteen, and wore wellingtons and jeans and an old reefer coat that was too big for her. She had a pointed face, wide dark eyes, and a profusion of black hair flowed from beneath a knitted Tam O'Shanter.
The boy was younger, no more than ten, with ragged jersey, cut-down tweed trousers and rubber and canvas running shoes that had seen better days. He was in the act of withdrawing a gaff from the water, a salmon spitted on it.
Cussane smiled. 'Where I come from that wouldn't be considered very sporting.'
'Run, Morag!' the boy cried and lunged at Cussane with the gaff, the salmon still wriggling on the end.
A section of the bank crumbled under his foot and he fell back into the pool. He surfaced, still clutching the gaff, but in an instant, the swift current, swollen by the heavy rain, had him in its grasp and carried him away.
'Donal!' the girl screamed and ran to the edge.
Cussane got a hand to her shoulder and pulled her back, just in time as another section of the bank crumbled. 'Don't be a fool. You'll go the same way.'
She struggled to break free and he dropped his bag, shoved her out of the way, and ran along the bank, pushing through the birches. At that point the water poured through a harrow slot in the rocks with real force, taking the boy with it.
Cussane plunged on, aware of the girl behind him. He pulled off his raincoat and threw it to one side. He cut out across the rocks, trying to get to the end of the slot before the boy, reaching out to grab one end of the outstretched gaff which the boy still clutched, minus the salmon now.
He managed it, was aware of the enormous force of the current and then went in headfirst, a circumstance impossible to avoid. He surfaced in the pool below, the boy a yard or so away and reached