Solo - Jack Higgins [58]
Morgan moved cautiously down wooden stairs and found himself in a large garage. There were two vans and a three-ton truck which contained dozens of cases of a very prestigious brand of Scotch whisky, or so it seemed.
There were big double doors, held together by a locking bar. He peered through a window and saw that a small ramp led down to the yard below. From that point, he couldn't even see the security guard, only the lighted window of the hut.
He thought about it for a while, then went back upstairs to the bottling rooms, unscrewed the cap of one of the drums of industrial alcohol and put it on to its side so the contents spilled across the floor.
He returned downstairs, leaned in the cab of the truck, put the gear stick into neutral and released the handbrake. Then he removed the locking bar and very carefully pulled back the double doors.
There was no sign of life from the hut at all. He went round to the rear of the truck, put his back to it and pushed. It started to roll, slowly at first, and then the front wheels were on the ramp. Its speed increased so suddenly that he lost his balance and fell.
As Morgan got to his feet and ran for the stairs, the truck lumbered across the yard and crashed into the double gates, tearing them from their hinges and grinding to a halt in the street outside.
By that time, he was already half-way across the bottling room. He paused to strike a match, tossed it into the pool of industrial alcohol which flared immediately, like gas exploding, driving him back out through the fire-escape door.
He paused half-way across the weir and glanced back to see flames blossom at the first-floor windows. He turned and waded on, climbing up to the road and hurrying away quickly through the maze of side streets leading to the King's Road.
Jago was still at the club when he received the news and he wasn't pleased. 'What in the hell goes on?' he demanded. 'Is someone trying to move in or what?'
'I don't know, Harvey,' Arnold told him.
'And the Scotch in the truck they found in the street? Where was that from?'
'Export stuff on the way to Harwich Docks. The boys lifted it the other night outside a truckers' cafe in Croydon.
'Jesus,' Harvey said. 'That's all I need. Coppers nosing into everything and maybe some burk left his fingerprints in the wrong place.'
'They can't get within a mile of you, Harvey.' Arnold assured him eagerly. 'The lease on that place is in the name of an Irish geezer called Murphy.'
'Then you get him on the first plane back to the Republic and I mean like yesterday.'
'No sweat, Harvey, he's already there. Some Dublin drunk who hadn't been over in years. That's why I picked him.'
The phone rang. Jago lifted it and said, 'Yes, what is it?'
'Ready to talk now, Mr Jago, or would you care for a further demonstration?' Morgan said.
'You bastard!'
'It's been said before, but let's get back to business. The source of the Mausers. Any information you can give me and I'm off your back for good.'
Arnold was listening on the desk speaker. He opened his mouth and Jago motioned him to silence.
'Okay, friend, you win. The character who handles that end of my business interests is called Goldman. Hymie Goldman. I'll get in touch with him and ring you back.'
'Is that a promise?' There was a certain irony in Morgan's voice.
Jago glanced at his watch. 'No later than one o'clock.'
He put down the receiver and went and poured himself a Scotch. He drank it slowly, reflectively, without saying a word and Arnold groaned inside for he had seen the expression before. Knew what it meant.
'All right, Arnold, this is what you do. Get Andy - Andy Ford. Then you go round to Douro Place and pick up Morgan's bird. We'll all meet up together at Wapping.' He glanced at his watch. 'I'll give you an hour.'
'Harvey, this could be real trouble. Why not tell him what he wants to know. Get him off our backs.'
'I could say because I've had it out with Hymie Goldman and there's