Solo - Jack Higgins [59]
'Oh, God,' Arnold said.
'But that isn't enough. I mean, what he did to the booze plant was bad, but it's more than that, Arnold. He threatened me - me! Now we can't have that, can we?' He patted his brother on the cheek. 'Get moving, sweetheart, we haven't got all night.'
It was perhaps forty minutes later that Morgan's phone rang. 'All right, Colonel, you win. Farmer's Wharf, Wapping. You'll find a warehouse on the dock called Century Export Company. I'll be there in half an hour with the guy who handled the transaction you're interested in.'
'That's nice,' Morgan said. 'What will it cost me?'
'The original extra grand we agreed on. I don't see why I shouldn't have that.' Jago tried to sound injured. 'Afterwards, just stay off my back. I don't want police trouble. It costs time and money and I'm a capitalist all the way through.'
Morgan put down the phone, opened the right-hand drawer of the desk and took out first a Walther PPK, then a Carswell silencer, which he fitted over the muzzle of the Walther, whistling tunelessly. Then he removed the magazine from the butt, emptied it and started to reload carefully, taking his time.
The warehouse was old with heavy stone walls and dated from the great days of Victorian sailing ships when Britain's merchant navy had reigned supreme.
The place was full of packing cases and Jago sat in the rear of his Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow beside Kate Riley, drinking brandy from the portable bar.
'You sure you won't have one, sweetheart?'
'You go to hell,' she said.
'Now that isn't nice.'
Arnold was by the door and Ford, a little, dark, dangerous-looking Scot in a green parka of the kind issued to American forces for winter use, was sitting on a packing case. He was nursing a sawn-off shotgun.
'Get that bloody thing out of sight,' Harvey said, tossing him a car rug, and checked his watch. 'He should be here any minute.'
High above them on the fire escape catwalk, Morgan peered down, carefully noting every detail of the situation. Ford and the shotgun, Arnold by the door, Jago in the rear of the Rolls with Kate.
Very quietly, he went back down the fire escape, then hurried along to the end of the street where he'd left the Porsche. He'd expected trouble, of course. Was prepared for it. Now, because of Kate, he was angry. As he got behind the wheel, his hands were shaking slightly.
Arnold said, 'He's coming, I can hear him.'
There was the roaring of the Porsche's V6 engine outside, then silence as it was switched off. The judas gate opened and Morgan stepped through. His military trenchcoat hung open, his hands were pushed deep into the pockets.
Kate grabbed for the door handle, got it open and was out and stumbling towards him.
'It's a trap, Asa!' she cried. 'They've been waiting for you.'
Morgan got an arm around her. Harvey Jago laughed and got out of the Rolls holding the brandy flask in one hand, a silver cup in the other.
'No need for that,' he said delightedly. 'I mean, we're all friends here, isn't that so, Colonel?'
Morgan smiled down at her, the coldest smile she'd ever seen and she saw for the first time that there were strange gold flecks in his eyes.
'Did they hurt you?'
'No.'
'That's all right then.'
He pushed her behind him and turned to Jago. 'I don't think your friend remembered to cock that shotgun when he put it under the rug.'
'Andy!' Jago cried.
Ford was already tossing the car rug aside, his thumbs reaching for the hammer. Morgan's hand appeared through the front of the trenchcoat, holding the Walther. He fired twice and the shotgun flew into the air as the little Scot tumbled backwards over the packing case.
Kate gave a sudden moan and Morgan was aware of her fingers digging into his shoulder. 'Outside, girl,' he said. 'Wait for me in the car.'
'Asa - this has gone far enough.'
'In the car, girl.'
She went. The judas closed softly behind her. Jago and his brother waited together by the Rolls.
'Tell him, Harvey. For Christ's sake tell him the truth.'
'All right,' Jago said. 'So I made a mistake. You can't blame