Free Day of Reckoning by Jack Higgins Page A

Dillon, Blake, and Roper in his wheelchair. At the door, Dillon turned and waved to Fox.
'Hey, there you are, old buddy. Have a good night!'
They went out. Fox turned to Falcone. 'I want to know where they go. There must be a couple of young punks available. Not Rossi or Comeci.'
Russo said, 'There's Borsalino and Salvatore in the kitchen.' 'Get them now. I know who most of them are, but not the one in the wheelchair. Then follow him to hell.'

They took Roper from his wheelchair, eased him into the Daimler, and then followed him, after folding his wheel chair.
'Now what?' Blake asked.
'We wait for Fox to react,' Dillon said.
'Shall we eat?' Ferguson asked.
'Not me, Brigadier,' Roper told him. 'I want to check out the computer again. Take me home, then you lot go and enjoy yourselves.'
But already following the Daimler was a very ordinary Ford car driven by a young man named Paolo Borsalino, with his friend, Alex Salvatore, sitting beside him. In Sicilian terms, they were Piccioti, youngsters gaining respect, doing the odd killing, climbing up the ladder. Borsalino had acted as executioner three times, and Salvatore twice, and they were eager to do more.
The Daimler stopped in Regency Square, and Dillon got out, set up Roper's wheelchair and helped him into it. They all got out and Dillon took Roper's key and opened his door.
Ferguson said, 'We'll speak tomorrow. Excellent job, Captain.'
'We aim to please, Brigadier.'
Dillon pushed Roper up the ramp into the hall. 'You're a hell of a fella, Roper.'
'Well, considering your background, I take that as a compliment.'
Dillon closed the door and went back to the others. 'Now what?'
'Fredo's – it's round the corner from Cavendish Square. A nice Italian restaurant,' Ferguson said. 'We can have a look at what's next.'
The Daimler drove away, and Borsalino and Salvatore, parked at the end of the square, watched them go. Salvatore said, 'Now what?'
'You watch the car,' Borsalino said. 'I'll be back.'
He walked to the other side of the square and found a corner shop, the kind that stayed open until midnight. The man behind the counter was Indian. Borsalino asked for two packs of Marlboros.
'You know, I saw this guy earlier getting out of a taxi in the square in a wheelchair. I thought I knew him, but I'm not sure.'
'That would be Mr Roper,' the Indian said. 'He was a captain in the Royal Engineers. Blown up in Ireland.'
'Oh, well, I've got it wrong. Thanks, anyway.'
Borsalino returned to the Ford, called Fox on the mobile, and relayed the information, also telling him where they were.
Fox said, 'Stay there. I'll be back.'
At that point, he was still in Mori's office at the casino. He picked up the telephone and called Maud Jackson in New York. It was late afternoon there and she was enjoying a pot of tea and cookies.
Fox said, 'Maud, I'm having serious problems here in London with Ferguson and company. There's a wild card, a British Royal Engineers captain in a wheelchair, blown up in Ireland, name of Roper. I'd like to know who he is right away.'
'Where are you?'
'I'm going back to the Dorchester. We had problems at the Colosseum.'
'Sounds like a bad night. Give me an hour.'
At the Dorchester, in the Oliver Messel Suite, Fox drank Krug champagne and looked across the wonderful London view by night from the terrace. Russo was down in the suite he and Falcone were sharing, but Falcone was standing by, as usual.
'More trouble, Signore?'
'We'll see, Aldo.'
The phone rang and he answered it. Maud Jackson said, 'Boy, do I have a good one for you. This Roper was blown up by the IRA, all right, and now he's a legend – in com puters. Jack, if he's into your affairs, you've got serious trouble.'
'Thanks, Maud, you're an angel.'
'Yeah, well, don't forget to send a cheque.'
Fox put down the phone and said to Falcone, 'Take him out.'
'Me personally, Signore?'
'Of course not. Get over to Regency Square. See Borsalino and Salvatore. Give them their