Solo - Jack Higgins [50]
'The one in the cap is Tim Pat Keogh, Tully's right-hand man. The other's Jackie Rafferty. A bit touched in the head, that one. He usually does what Tully tells him to and likes it,' O'Hagan said.
Seumas braked to a halt and the two men came forward. 'Good day to you, Mr O'Hagan,' Keogh said. 'If you'd leave the Land-Rover in the barn, we'll take you up to the farm in the jeep.'
O'Hagan nodded to Seumas who drove the vehicle under cover. They all got out and as they emerged, Keogh and Rafferty closed the barn door. O'Hagan had slung a Sterling submachine-gun over one shoulder and Morgan carried a Smith and Wesson .38 service revolver in a standard issue webbing holster.
Keogh said, 'A friendly visit, is it, Mr O'Hagan?' O'Hagan said, 'Don't be bloody stupid, Tim Pat. Now let's get up to the farm. I could do with some breakfast. It's been a hard night.'
The farm was a poor sort of place, in a small hollow backed up against the side of the mountain for protection against the wind. The outbuildings were badly in need of repair and the yard was thick with mud.
Brendan Tully was a tall, handsome, lean-faced man with one side of his mouth hooked into a slight perpetual half-smile as if permanently amused by the world and its inhabitants. He greeted them at the door. He'd obviously just got out of bed and wore an old robe over pyjamas.
'Liam!' he cried. 'You're a sight for sore eyes, in spite of that bloody uniform. Come away in.'
They followed him into the kitchen where a wood fire burned on an open hearth. An old woman, a black shawl about her shoulders against the morning chill, was at the stove preparing breakfast.
'Don't worry about her. She's deaf as a post. Seumas, lad.' He clapped the boy on the shoulder. 'I've still got a place for you, if you fancy some real action.'
'I'm content where I am, Mr Tully.'
Tully turned, eyeing Morgan curiously. 'And who might this be?'
'An old friend. Dai Lewis of the Free Wales Army. They helped us out with guns in the autumn of sixty-nine, remember, when things were bad.'
'Does he speak Welsh then?'
'A bloody poor sort of Welshman I'd be if I didn't,' Morgan answered in his native tongue.
Tully was delighted. 'Marvellous,' he said. 'Only I didn't understand a word of it. Now, let's start the day right, while the old bag there gets the food ready.'
He produced a whiskey jug and glasses. O'Hagan said, 'A bit early even for you.'
'A short life, eh?' Tully was obviously in high spirits, 'Anyway what brings you out this way?'
'Oh, things were a little bit warm in town last night and then Dai came over to see me from Cardiff. Let him tell you himself.'
He accepted the glass Tully passed him and Morgan said, sounding very Welsh indeed, 'We've decided to go active properly this time, Mr Tully. Talking to the bloody English about an independent Wales is wasted breath.'
'Seven hundred years of talking to the buggers we've had and where's it got us?' Tully asked him.
O'Hagan said, 'What Dai and his people are after are some silenced pistols. He thought I might be able to help and then I remembered those two lads of yours who died last year. Terry Murphy and young Phelan. Wasn't it silenced Mausers they were carrying?'
'That's right,' Tully said. 'And damned difficult to come by they were.'
'Can we ask where you got them?'
'The Jago brothers - two of the biggest villains in London.' Tully turned to Morgan. 'I don't know if they'll still have what you want, but watch them. They'd dig up their grandmother and sell the corpse if they thought there was money in it.'
There was a strange, nervous unease to him and his eyes were very bright. He swallowed some of his whiskey and said to O'Hagan, 'I'm glad you've come. I'd like to talk. Something of considerable importance to the whole movement.'
'Is that so?'