Solo - Jack Higgins [55]
'He does have one other profitable sideline, an associate of mine was involved in. It's not far from Cheyne Walk, near Chelsea Creek. A paint factory called Wetherby and Sons.'
'And?'
'It's what's known in the trade as a cut liquor still. What they usually do is hijack a tanker carrying Scotch whisky, or something similar, on the motorway. It's then heavily diluted with water. They have their own bottling plant and all the best labels. Supply clubs all over the country.'
'And the police - don't they know any of this?'
'They can never get close and when they do, there's always some front man in between to take the drop. I'd stay clear if I were you, unless you're prepared to go all the way.'
'Oh, but I am, Jock. I am.'
Morgan was sitting at his desk cleaning a Smith and Wesson Magnum when the phone rang. It was Kate Riley.
'You're back,' she said.
'Yes, last night.'
'Did you get anywhere?'
'I'll know that for sure later on tonight. Where are you calling from - Cambridge?'
'No, I'm in town for a few days, working at the Tavistock Clinic. I've borrowed the apartment of a colleague who's in New York for a month. It's in Kensington. Douro Place.'
'I'll tell you what,' Morgan said. 'I've got an appointment with the worst villain in London tonight at the Flamingo in Cheyne Walk.'
'But that's one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town.'
'So they tell me. You find yourself a pretty frock, comb your hair and I might be persuaded to take you.'
'You're on,' she said.
The place was everything they'd said it would be. Soft lights, sweet music, attentive waiters, the ultimate in luxury. Morgan and Kate Riley were obviously expected, were led to a corner table that was one of the best in the house.
The head waiter snapped a finger and a champagne bucket appeared. 'Mr Jago's compliments, sir. Tonight you are his guests.'
From his office high above the main restaurant Harvey Jago, resplendent in a black velvet evening suit, watched them through an ornamental grille.
'I like the look of his bird, Arnold. Real class, there. You can always tell.'
'What about him, Harvey? He's a colonel and all that, isn't he?'
'Rubbish,' Jago said. 'I don't know what his story is, but he's off the same length of street as you and me.'
'Shall I have him up?'
'Not just yet. Let them enjoy their meal. I mean, it's the dessert that counts, isn't it, Arnold?'
'What about men?' Morgan asked her.
'None of your business.'
'What do you do for a bit of action and passion, then?'
'Fly,' she said. 'I've had a licence for twelve years now. I'm really rather good.'
The head waiter came and whispered discreetly in Morgan's ear. He left Kate to finish the champagne and followed the man out and through a door marked Private. There was a flight of carpeted stairs. Arnold waited at the top.
'This way, Colonel.'
Morgan went up the stairs and entered the office, which was Jago's pride and joy and had been put together for him by one of the best interior designers in London. Everything was Chinese and some of the art objects had cost him a great deal of money.
Jago sat behind the desk, smoking a cigar. 'There you are. They looking after you all right down there?'
'Fine,' Morgan said. 'But my time is as limited as yours, Mr Jago. The information you promised me?'
'Didn't we say something about another grand, Arnold?' Jago said.
Morgan produced an envelope from his inside pocket. 'We'll hear what you have to say first. Then you get this.'
Jago sighed. 'Well, now, that's going to prove rather difficult. You see, I'm afraid we haven't been able to come up with the information you require.'
'Can't or won't?' Morgan asked.
'You can amuse yourself on long winter evenings thinking about that one.'
'And the thousand pounds I paid you earlier today?'
'My time, old sport, is valuable.' Jago looked at his watch. 'Show the Colonel out, Arnold. I've got things to do.'
Morgan walked to the door, paused and picked up a large Chinese vase from a lacquer table. 'Early nineteenth-century,' he said. 'Not particularly rare, but nice.'
He dropped