Free A Devil Is Waiting by Jack Higgins

man’s voice answered. Owen listened, then said, “Sorry, wrong number.” He spoke into his mobile: “Are you still there, Jack?”
     
    “Yes, what the hell are we going to do?”
     
    “Revisit your glory days. You used to be the pride of the IRA—now you’re going to take on Ferguson yourself. I’ll provide you with money if you need to hire three or four foot soldiers. All you need is a plan.”
     
    “And where would that come from?”
     
    “Henri Legrande, of course. He survived the Legion, the Casbah, the Battle of Algiers. If he can’t sort your problem, nobody can.”
     
    “But I don’t know if he’s still around,” Kelly said. “We haven’t spoken in years.”
     
    “I just phoned him three minutes ago. When he answered, I said sorry, wrong number. What I suggest is you phone him, tell him you’ll be in London later today and thought you’d look him up.”
     
    “But what do I say to him?”
     
    “Stick with the truth. After all, your IRA past is no surprise to him. Stress that all you’re seeking is his expertise on the best way to handle Ferguson, and that you’re not expecting him to carry a gun for you or anything like that. Don’t offer him money—the kind of man he is would be offended, and I suspect he’s got more than he knows what to do with.”
     
    Kelly said, “Owen, you’re a genius.”
     
    “I’m not going to argue with that. Now, get moving.”
     
    “Right,” Kelly said. “I’ll phone Henri, then I’ll get the Beech Baron to pick me up from Drumgoole. I’ll cover my back by phoning the finance director at Talbot International and telling him I need to discuss the estate’s books. What are you up to?”
     
    “I’m taking Jean out to dinner tonight.”
     
    “You seem to be seeing a lot of her these days.”
     
    “Don’t get ideas. I’m just a substitute for her son. You once told me he apologized to her in front of you for not having told her he’d served in the SAS and that he’d killed many members of the Provisional IRA.”
     
    “That’s true.”
     
    “And you really think she wasn’t aware of his involvement with Al Qaeda?”
     
    “I’m sure of it, Owen,” Kelly said. “I was as close to him as anyone, and he didn’t tell me about it until the last couple of months of his life. Why do you ask?”
     
    “I like Jean very much, but I also feel a certain amount of guilt where she is concerned.”
     
    “Why is that?” Kelly asked.
     
    “She adored her son, she makes that very obvious, and yet the blunt truth is that he lied to her about his life and what he’d been doing.”
     
    “So what are you saying?”
     
    “I’m doing the same to her, and I don’t like it.”
     
    “Explain that,” Kelly told him.
     
    “It concerns Rubat and an old railway that Talbot International owns. Al Qaeda would like to see it extended for their own reasons.” He gave Kelly chapter and verse and ended by saying, “But just as her son did, I’m feeding her Al Qaeda lies. What the hell can I do?”
     
    “Nothing,” Kelly told him. “And don’t go beating yourself up. Poor wild Justin suffered at the hands of Al Qaeda, and you and I are caught in the same web—there isn’t a thing we can do about it. I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. The Saudis, backed by America and the UN, will never allow the Bacu extension. It would be madness.”
     
    “Let’s hope you’re right.”
     
    “Well, sometimes I am.” Kelly laughed. “You know something, Owen? I’m feeling better already, so let’s just play the hand the Good Lord’s given us for the moment and see whereit leads. You take Jean out tonight and give her a good time, but drop the idea of being the son substitute. It doesn’t suit you.”
     
    He rang off, and Owen crossed to the window and opened it to the terrace. The morning traffic was nose-to-tail and he stood there, smoking a cigarette and thinking about what Kelly had said. One thing was certain. The advent of