Dillon 12 - Dark Justice by Jack Higgins

Author:Jack Higgins [Higgins, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Suspense Fiction, Thrillers, Suspense, Fiction, Espionage, Intelligence Officers, Dillon; Sean (Fictitious Character), Terrorism - Prevention, Spy Stories, London (England)
ISBN: 9780425205082
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 1980-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Sharif, the old intelligence hand, decided to brave Greta Novikova face-to-face, and knocked on the door of Cottage Seven. She opened it, dressed in a bathrobe, a towel around her head.

“I’ve seen them,” he said.

“You’d better come in and tell me everything.”

Which he did, or his version of everything. “He’s a hard one, this Dillon.”

“More than you’ll ever know. But the important thing is you’ve made it clear that Selim won’t be there until tomorrow.”

“Absolutely. He’d no reason not to believe me.”

“And any news from Ramalla?”

“As I said, definitely later tonight. I’m going to check my sources now. I have police contacts in the area. A matter of some delicacy.”

“Then get on with it. I have Zorin and Makeev turning up soon.” She opened the door for him. “What is Dillon doing now?”

“He told me they were going to the bar.”

“I’m sure he would.”

She let him out, stood there frowning for a moment, then went into the bedroom and started to dress.

The bar and restaurant area was hardly busy, with no more than a couple of dozen people scattered around the tables, three or four on bar stools. The fans stirred on the flaking ceiling, the ornate mirrors at the back of the bar were cracked in places, and here and there the wall was pockmarked with bullet holes, but the two barmen wore white jackets, the headwaiter a tuxedo. They were all trying. The war, after all, was over.

Billy had two cameras slung around his neck and snapped away with genuine enthusiasm, going out through the open French windows to the terrace and the floodlit pool area. He returned.

“Great, Dillon, just great. We could make a movie.”

Dillon had discovered an acceptable bar champagne and toasted him. “Just your thing, Billy. You’d look great in a white tuxedo. We’ll get Harry to put up the money.”

And then Greta Novikova walked into the bar, elegant in a very simple black silk dress that was short, but not too short, set off by gold high-heel shoes, with her hair tied back.

“I was wondering where you’d got to,” Dillon said. “But it was worth the wait, girl. You look grand.”

“You’re a cheeky bastard, Dillon, I’ll say that for you. I’ll have champagne on the terrace.”

She walked out, heads turning, and selected a table and Dillon ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon from the headwaiter.

“Ferguson is obviously extremely generous when he allows you to order stuff like that,” Greta said.

Billy was seated on the balustrade, snapping away. “Oh, Dillon’s the man for you. He’s got plenty stacked away.”

As the headwaiter uncorked the bottle and a waiter brought three glasses, Dillon said, “That’s a great lie, or part of a one. Billy here and his uncle Harry have millions in property development by the Thames, but he’s a boy of simple tastes. Prefers being a photographer.”

“Photographer, my ass,” she said to Dillon in Russian.

“And what was that all about?” Billy asked.

“I couldn’t bear to tell you,” Dillon said. “But it was rude.” He turned to the headwaiter.

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