From the crest of the hill above Glendhu, Cussane and Morag crouched in the wet bracken and looked down. The track had petered out, but in any case, it had seemed politic to Cussane to leave the jeep up there out of sight. There was nothing like an ace in the hole if anything went sour. Better the Mungos didn't know about that.
'It doesn't look much,' Morag said.
Which was an understatement, for the farm presented an unlovely picture. One barn without its roof, tiles missing from the roof of the main building. There were potholes in the yard
filled with water, a truck minus its wheels, a decaying tractor, red with rust.
The girl shivered suddenly. 'I've got a bad feeling. I don't like that place.'
He stood up, picked up his bag, and took the Stechkin from his pocket. 'I've got this. There's no need to worry. Trust me.'
'Yes,' she said and there was a kind of passion in her voice. 'I do trust you.'
She took his arm and together they started down through the bracken towards the farm.
Hector Mungo had driven down to Larwick early that morning, mainly because he'd run out of cigarettes although come to think of it, they'd run out of almost everything. He purchased bacon, eggs, various canned foods, a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of Scotch and told the old lady who ran the general store, to put it on the bill, which she did because she was afraid of Mungo and his brother. Everyone was afraid of them. On his way out, Hector helped himself to a morning paper as an afterthought, got into the old van and drove away.
He was a hard-faced man of sixty-two, sullen and morose in an old flying jacket and tweed cap, a grey stubble covering his chin. He turned the van into the yard, pulled up and got out with the cardboard box filled with his purchases and ran for the door through the rain, kicking it open.
The kitchen he entered was indescribably filthy, the old stone sink piled high with dirty pots. His brother, Angus, sat at the table, head in hands, staring into space. He was younger than his brother, forty-five, with cropped hair and a coarse and brutal face that was rendered even more ugly by the old scar that bisected the right eye which had been left milky white.
'I thought you'd never come.' He reached in the box as his brother put it down and found the whisky, opening it and taking a long swallow. Then he found the cigarettes.
'You idle bastard,' Hector told him. 'You might have put the fire on.'
Angus ignored him, simply took another pull at the bottle, lit a cigarette and opened the newspaper. Hector moved across to the sink and found a match to light the Calor gas stove beside it. He paused, looking out into the yard as Cussane and Morag appeared and approached the house.
'We've got company,' he said.
Angus moved to join him. He stiffened. 'Just a minute.' He laid the newspaper down on the draining board. 'That looks damn like him right there on the front page to me.'
Hector examined the newspaper report quickly. 'Jesus, Angus, we've got a right one here. Real trouble.'
'Just another little Mick straight out of the bogs,' Angus said contemptuously. 'Plenty of room for him at the bottom of the well, just like the others.'
That's true.' Hector nodded solemnly.
'But not the girl.' Angus wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. 'I like the look of her. She's mine, you old bastard. Just remember that. Now let them in,' he added, as there came a knock at the door.
'You know the Mungo brothers then, Sergeant?' Fox asked Brodie.
They were in the guard's van at the back of the speeding train, the four of them: Devlin, Fox, Trent and the big sergeant.
'They're animals,' Brodie said. 'Everyone in the district is terrified of them. I don't know how they make a living up there. They've both done prison time, Hector for operating an illegal whisky still. He's been inside three times for that. Angus has a string of minor offences to his name and then he killed a man in a fist fight some time back. Sentenced to five years, but they let him out in three. And twice he's been accused of rapes and then the women concerned have dropped the charges. The suggestion that they operate a safe house
doesn't surprise me, but I've no knowledge of it and it certainly has never been mentioned in their files.'
'How close can we get to their farm without being spotted?' Trent asked.
'About a quarter of a mile. The road up Glendhu only goes to their place.'
'No other way out?' Fox asked.
'On foot, I suppose, up the glen, over the hill.'
Devlin said, 'We've got to allow for one important point. If Cussane did mean to stay with the Mungos, his plans were badly disrupted. Being taken by the Sergeant here, jumping from the train, that gypsy encampment, were not on the agenda. That could have changed his plans.'
'True,' Harry Fox said. 'And there's the girl too.'
Trent said, 'They could still be back there in the hills. On the other hand, they've got to pass through Larwick to get to the farm if they're still in that jeep. In a village that size, somebody must have seen it.'
'Let's hope so,' Devlin said and the express started to slow as they came into Dunhill.
'Danny Malone.' Hector Mungo poured strong tea into dirty mugs and added milk. 'A long time since we had Danny here, isn't it, Angus?'
'Aye, it is that.' Angus sat with a glass in his hand, ignoring the other two and staring at Morag who did her best to avoid his gaze.
Cussane was already aware that he had made a big mistake. The service the Mungo brothers had offered people like Danny years before must have been very different from what was available now. He ignored the tea and sat there, one hand on the butt of the Stechkin. He wasn't sure what his next move should be. The script seemed to be writing itself this time.
'Actually, we were reading about you just before you arrived.' Hector Mungo shoved the paper across. 'No mention of the girl, you see.'
Cussane ignored the paper. 'There wouldn't be.'
'So what can we do for you? You want to hole up here for a while?'
'Just for the day,' Cussane said. 'Then tonight, when it's dark, one of you can take us south in that old van of yours. Fill it up with stuff from around the farm, hide us in the back.'
Hector nodded gravely. 'I don't see why not. Where to? Dumfries?'
'How far to Carlisle where the motorway begins?'
'Sixty miles. It'll cost you though.'
'How much?'
Hector glanced at Angus and licked dry lips nervously. 'A thousand. You're hot, my friend. Very hot.'
Cussane opened his case, took out the wad of banknotes and peeled ten off. He laid them on the table. 'Five hundred.'
'Well, I don't know,' Hector began.
'Don't be stupid,' Angus said. 'That's more money in one piece than you've seen at any time during the past six months.' He turned to Cussane. 'I'll drive you to Carlisle myself.'
'That's settled then.' Cussane got up. 'You've got a room we can use, I suppose.'
'No problem.' Hector was all eagerness. 'One to spare for the young lady, too.'
'One will do just fine,' Cussane said as they followed him out into the stone-flagged corridor and up the rickety stairs.
He opened the first door on the landing and led the way into a large bedroom. There was a murky, unpleasant smell and the flowered wallpaper was stained with damp. There was an old brass double bed with a mattress that had seen better days, army surplus blankets stacked on top of it.
'There's a lavatory next door,' Hector said. 'I'll leave you to it then.'
He went out, closing the door. They heard him go back down stairs. There was an old rusting bolt on the door. Cussane rammed it home. There was another door on the opposite side of the room with a key in the lock. He opened
it and looked out on a stone staircase against the side of the house going down to the yard. He closed the door and locked it again.
He turned to the girl. 'All right?'
The one with the bad eye.' She shuddered, 'He's worse than Murray.' She hesitated. 'Can I call you Harry?'
'Why not?'
He quickly unfolded the blankets and spread them on the mattress. 'What are we going to do?' she asked.
'Rest,' he said. 'Get a little sleep. No one can get in. Not at the moment.'
'Do you think they'll take us to Carlisle?'
'No, but I don't think they'll try anything until it's dark and we're ready to leave.'
'How can you be sure they will try?'
'Because that's the kind of men they are. Now lie down and try and get some sleep.'
He got on the bed without taking off his coat, the Stechkin in his right hand. She lay down on the other side of the bed. For a while, she stayed there and then she rolled over and cuddled against him.
'I'm frightened.'
'Hush.' His arm went around her. 'Be still now. I am here. Nothing will touch you in this place.'
Her breathing became slow and heavy. He lay there holding her, thinking about things. She was already a liability and how long he could sustain that, he wasn't sure. On the other hand, he owed her. There was a moral debt in that, surely. He looked down at the purity of the young face, still untouched by life. Something good in a bad world. He closed his eyes, thinking of that, and finally slept.
'Did you see all that cash?' Hector asked.
'Yes,' Angus said. 'I saw it.'
'He's locked the door. I heard him.'
'Of course he has. He's no fool. Not that it matters. He's got to come out sooner or later. We'll take him then.'
'Good,' Hector said.
His brother poured another whisky. 'And don't forget. I get the girl.'
Devlin, Fox, Trent and Brodie drove up to Larwick from Dunhill in an old blue Ford van which the police sergeant had borrowed from a local garage. He parked it outside the general store in the village and went in while the others waited. He returned five minutes later and got behind the wheel of the Ford.
'Hector Mungo was in earlier for groceries. The old girl in there runs the saloon bar at the pub in the evenings. She says both of them are around, but no strangers, and they'd stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.'
Devlin looked out of one of the rear windows in the van doors. There was really only one street, a row of granite cottages, a pub, the store and the hills lifting steeply above. 'I see what you mean.'
Brodie started the engine and drove away, following a narrow road between grey stone walls. 'The only road and the farm at the end of it.' A few minutes later he said, 'Right, this is about as far as we can go without being seen.'
He pulled in under some trees and they all got out. 'How far?' Trent asked.
'Less than a quarter of a mile. I'll show you.'
He led the way up through the trees at the side of the road, scrambling up through ferns and bracken and paused cautiously on the ridge line. 'There you are.'
The farm was below in the hollow a few hundred yards away. 'Cannery Row,' Devlin murmured.
'Yes, it does look a bit like that,' Fox replied. 'No sign of life.'
'What's more important, no sign of the jeep,' Devlin said. 'Maybe I was wrong after all.'
At that moment, both the Mungo brothers came out of the kitchen door and crossed the yard. That's them presumably.'
Fox took a small pair of Zeiss fieldglasses from his pocket and focused them. 'Nasty looking couple,' he added, as they went into the barn.
A moment later Morag Finlay came into view.
Trent said excitedly, 'It's the girl. Has to be. Reefer coat, Tarn O'Shanter. Fits the description exactly.'
'Jesus, Mary and Joseph,' Devlin said softly. 'I was right. Harry must be in the house.'
Trent said, 'How are we going to handle this?'
'You've both got personal radios?' Fox asked.
'Sure.'
'Right, give me one of them. Devlin and I will go in from the rear of the farm. With any kind of luck, we'll take them by surprise. You go back and wait in the van. The moment I give you the good word, you come up that road like an express train.'
'Fine.'
Trent and Brodie went back towards the road. Devlin took a Walther PPK from his pocket and cocked it. Fox did the same.
The Irishman smiled. 'Just remember one thing. Harry Cussane isn't the kind of man to give any kind of a chance to.'
'Don't worry,' Fox said grimly. 'I shan't.' He started down the slope through the wet bracken and Devlin followed.
