Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [31]
The small man leaned against the door, eyes staring, foam dribbling from his mouth. ‘Yes, I fixed that grenade up,’ he screamed. ‘I fixed it up because I hoped it might kill somebody. That’s what I’m here for. To kill people. That’s what the Organization needs.’ He seemed to choke for a second and then he recovered and pointed a quivering finger at Fallon. ‘It doesn’t need men like you – frightened to spill a little blood, worried about your drivelling consciences.’ He began to laugh, tears streaming down his face.
‘God help us, he’s mad, Mr. Fallon,’ Murphy said in a terrified voice.
Rogan straightened up. ‘Mad is it?’ he snarled. ‘It takes a madman to get things done then. While you clever ones slept I was out in the rain and the dark looking for an address. An address just three streets away. And I found it. I spent half an hour underneath Mr. God-Almighty Stuart’s car. Just half an hour.’ He cackled and wiped the spittle from his chin with the back of his hand. ‘They’ll be needing a new County Inspector before the morning’s out.’
Anne Murray lifted a hand to her mouth and stifled a scream. ‘Martin!’ she wailed.
Fallon stood as if turned to stone and Rogan suddenly lashed out with one foot that connected with Murphy’s shins. He whirled round, wrenched open the door and ran out into the rain. They had a final glimpse of him as he bounded down the path and then the door in the wall banged and he was gone.
Murphy was doubled up against the wall, clutching his right knee. Fallon turned to him quickly. ‘Are you all right?’ he said.
The boy nodded. ‘The bastard caught me on the kneecap.’
Anne caught hold of Fallon’s arm and turned him round. ‘What’s he done to Philip Stuart? What did he mean?’
Fallon lifted up the belt of explosive. ‘From the sound of it he’s put a sort of time bomb under Stuart’s car. It’s a trick from the last war. You fasten a lump of plastic gelignite to the underneath of the car and attach the fuse to the exhaust pipe with insulating tape. When the car’s been driven for five minutes or so the pipe gets hot enough to ignite the fuse.’
An expression of horror came into her eyes. ‘Martin, you’ve got to save him.’
He nodded reassuringly and took her by the shoulders. ‘I intend to. Don’t worry. It’s unlikely he’ll be using the car for a while yet.’
She shook her head obstinately. ‘That’s not true. When there’s trouble he’s out at all hours. That’s why men like Rogan fear him so much. He never stops, never lets up. He was out at five yesterday morning.’
Fallon nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ll phone him right away.’
He turned to lift the receiver and she cried, ‘But the phone isn’t working. I asked them to cut it off because I was leaving.’
For a brief moment they stood staring at each other and Fallon felt his flesh turn cold. It was as though a grey wave ran through him, lifting the hair on the back of his head, and he was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been. ‘What’s the address?’ he said urgently.
‘The street in the far corner of the square,’ she said. ‘It’s the third turning along on the left. A tall, narrow house, with a basement garage painted blue. Number four.’
He gripped her arms firmly and said, ‘I want you to stay here. Keep the boy with you. Whatever happens don’t let him follow me.’ She nodded dumbly, and unexpectedly he smiled. ‘They told me this was going to be a desperate bloody business,’ he said and turned and ran down the garden path, out through the open door into the square.
He ran very fast and before he had gone far the heavy rain had soaked his shirt, wetting him to the skin, running down from his hair into his eyes. He turned into the street in the comer of the square and splashed through a swollen gutter. There was no one about and he ran on alone along the empty pavement, never stopping even when a foot slipped and he almost lost his balance. As he approached the third street, a saloon car emerged from the turning and proceeded along the road in the direction in which he was running. He turned into the street and searched for number four. The blue