Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [5]
The woman turned her face into the light and stared across the room with opaque, sightless eyes. ‘Where are you, Martin Fallon?’ she said.
O’Hara turned to Fallon, his face expressionless, ‘Martin, this is Patrick Rogan’s mother come to see you.’
Fallon placed his glass carefully on the floor and got to his feet. When he looked at O’Hara there was contempt on his face and the old man dropped his eyes. He moved forward and said, ‘I’m here, Mrs. Rogan.’
She raised her hand and gently touched his face with the tips of her fingers. The skin was drawn tightly over her bones and it was parchment yellow. She looked incredibly ancient and timeless and there was the mark of great suffering upon her face. She said, ‘I’ve given a husband and a son to the cause, Martin Fallon. I’ve given enough.’
He took her hand gently in his. ‘Enough and to spare, Mrs. Rogan.’
‘You will save Patrick for me,’ she said. ‘You will bring him home safely.’ It was a statement of fact that admitted no denial.
Fallon looked into the vacant, useless eyes and tried to find words to answer her. Bitterness welled up inside him and a deep hatred for O’Hara who had placed him in such an impossible situation. How could he say no and continue to look upon the suffering in the face before him? He tried to speak and then, as if she sensed the turmoil within him, an expression of panic crossed her face and her hand tightened on his. It was as if she could see into the very depths of his soul. She swayed suddenly and he reached forward to steady her. ‘You will save him?’ she said in anguish. ‘You must!’
There was a great silence as she waited for his answer and Fallon smiled and gently squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll bring him safe home to you, Mrs. Rogan,’ he said. In his heart he knew that from the moment she entered the room, fate had taken control.
She sighed as though from a great distance, and swayed again and he steadied her and said, ‘You’d better come and lie down for a while.’
She nodded several times and leaned heavily on his arm. Doolan moved quickly to open the door for them and they went out into the passage and passed through into the bedroom.
When Fallon returned O’Hara and Doolan were in the middle of a heated argument. Doolan said, ‘I still think it was a shameful trick, using the woman.’
O’Hara raised a hand. ‘Don’t talk to me of tricks,’ he said. ‘In this game anything goes. Ask that man there,’ he added, pointing to Fallon as he joined them. ‘He’s used a few in his time.’
Fallon threw himself down into his chair. ‘Oh, he’s right enough,’ he said to Doolan. ‘Anything goes. It’s the only way to get things done, but the old spider’s over-reached himself this time.’
‘And how do you make that out?’ O’Hara demanded.
‘Simple – the whole thing’s doomed to failure from the very beginning. Do you think for a moment that the police have the slightest intention of letting anyone even get near to Rogan? There are three thousand peelers over there who want one thing very badly at the moment. They want to see Patrick Rogan hang and they’ll make damned sure nobody interferes.’
O’Hara nodded and said calmly, ‘I know that. I told you it was a desperate business, but if anyone can do it, you can.’ Fallon gave an exclamation of disgust and the old man went on. ‘No, Martin, I mean it. The trouble with most of the boys when they get over the border is that they begin to crack right way. They take the whole business too damned seriously. Now, you never did.’
‘Are you mad,’ Doolan said indignantly. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life.’
Fallon threw back his head and laughed. ‘He’s right though,’ he said. ‘I never did.’ He glanced at Doolan’s outraged face and sobered up. ‘The only way to survive over there is to treat the whole thing like a game,’ he said. ‘It’s like war – it is war. But it isn’t like the books or