Solo - Jack Higgins [61]
Tim Pat Keogh had watched him approach from behind the kitchen curtain. Tully sat at the table by the fire eating bacon and eggs.
Tim Pat was holding a Sterling submachine-gun. He said, 'It's Keegan and he doesn't look too good. Shall I take him out?'
'Not yet,' Tully said. 'Let's see what he wants.'
Tim Pat opened the door. Seumas Keegan stood there, his face under the tweed cap pale and drawn, the old belted trenchcoat saturated by the heavy rain.
'Christ Jesus, but you look like a corpse walking.' Tim Pat said.
'Could I see Mr Tully?' Seumas asked.
Tim Pat pulled him into the kitchen and ran his hands over him expertly. He found a Colt automatic in the left-hand pocket of the trenchcoat and placed it on the table.
Tully kept on eating, looking the boy over at the same time. 'What do you want?'
'You said you could always use a good man, Mr Tully.'
Tully poured himself another cup of tea. 'What's wrong with your arm?'
Seumas glanced down at the sling. 'Broken, Mr Tully.'
'Now there's a thing,' Tully said. 'I mean, with a gun in your right hand, you were the best there was, O'Hagan always swore to that. But with your left, he said you couldn't hit a barn door.'
'A month or two, I'll be as good as new, Mr Tully, if you'd give me the chance.'
There was desperation on the boy's ravaged face now. Tully picked his teeth with a match. 'I don't think so, Seumas. To be honest with you, I'd say you could do with a long rest. Wouldn't you agree, Tim Pat?'
'I would indeed, Mr Tully.' Tim Pat smiled and cocked the Sterling.
Seumas stood there, shoulders hunched, head down for a moment, but when he looked up he was actually smiling.
'Somehow, that's what I thought you'd say, Mr Tully.'
He fired the Luger he was holding inside the sling, killing Tim Pat instantly.
As the big man's body was hurled back against the dresser, crockery cascading to the floor, Tully pulled at the drawer in the table, frantically reaching for the gun inside. Keegan's next shot took him in the left shoulder spinning him round, knocking him off the chair.
He crouched there for a moment, crying aloud in agony as he tried to get up. Keegan fired again, the bullet smashing into the base of Tully's skull, driving him head-first into the open hearth to sprawl across the burning logs.
There was a sudden spurt of flame as his jacket caught fire. Seumas stood there looking down at him for a moment, then turned and let himself out.
Morgan had tried going to bed but had slept only fitfully. Just after six, he gave up and went into the kitchen. He was making coffee when the phone rang. He could tell it was a public call box by the tone. There was the rattle of coins and then the ummistakable Ulster accent.
'Is that you, Colonel? This is Keegan - Seumas Keegan.'
'Where are you?'
'Not far from Ballymena. I thought you'd like to know I've just taken care of Tully and Tim Pat Keogh.'
'Permanently?'
'As the coffin lid closing.'
There was a silence. Morgan said, 'Now what?'
'I'll go down South for a rest.'
'And then?'
'What do you think, Colonel? Once in, never out. That's what we say in the IRA, you know that. You're a good man, but you're on the wrong side entirely.'
'I'll try to remember that next time we meet.'
'I hope for both our sakes that never happens.'
The phone went dead. Morgan stood there for a moment then replaced the receiver.
'Up the Republic, Seumas Keegan,' he said softly, then turned and went back into the kitchen.
He sat by the window, drinking his coffee, over-tired and depressed and not because he'd killed a man. There had been too many over the years for that. And he had no regrets. Ford was, after all, a murderer by profession.
'And so are you, old son,' Morgan said softly to himself in Welsh. 'Or, at least, that's what some people might argue.'
He thought of Kate Riley then and of what she had said. She'd been right. He was no further forward. He'd had two possible