Free Eye of the Storm by Jack Higgins Page A

“About two hours ago the bodies of the Jobert brothers were found by a beat policeman in their car in a small square not far from Le Chat Noir. ”
    “Murdered, is that what you are saying?” Anne-Marie put in.
    “Oh, yes, mademoiselle,” he said. “Shot to death.”
    “Two each in the heart?” Brosnan said.
    “Why, yes, Professor, the pathologist was able to tell us that at the start of his examination. We didn’t stay for the rest. How did you know?”
    “Dillon, without a doubt. It’s a real pro’s trick, Colonel, you should know that. Never one shot, always two in case the other man manages to get one off at you as a reflex.”
    Hernu stirred his coffee. “Did you expect this, Professor?”
    “Oh, yes. He’d have come looking for them sooner or later. A strange man. He always keeps his word, never goes back on a contract, and he expects the same from those he deals with. What he calls a matter of honor. At least he did in the old days.”
    “Can I ask you something?” Savary said. “I’ve been on the street fifteen years. I’ve known killers in plenty and not just the gangsters who see it as part of the job, but the poor sod who’s killed his wife because she’s been unfaithful. Dillon seems something else. I mean, his father was killed by British soldiers so he joined the IRA. I can see that, but everything that’s happened since. Twenty years of it. All those hits and not even in his own country. Why?”
    “I’m not a psychiatrist,” Brosnan said. “They’d give you all the fancy names starting with psychopath and working down. I knew men like him in the army in Vietnam in Special Forces and good men, some of them, but once they started, the killing, I mean, it seemed to take over like a drug. They became driven men. The next stage was always to kill when it wasn’t necessary. To do it without emotion. Back there in Nam it was as if people had become, how can I put it, just things.”
    “And this, you think, happened to Dillon?” Hernu asked.
    “It happened to me, Colonel,” Martin Brosnan said bleakly.
    There was silence. Finally, Hernu said, “We must catch him, Professor.”
    “I know.”
    “Then you’ll join us in hunting him down?”
    Anne-Marie put a hand on his arm, dismay on her face, and she turned to the two men, a kind of desperate anger there. “That’s your job, not Martin’s.”
    “It’s all right,” Martin soothed her. “Don’t worry.” He said to Hernu, “Any advice I can give, any information that might help, but no personal involvement. I’m sorry, Colonel, that’s the way it has to be.”
    Savary said. “You told us he tried to kill you once. You and a friend.”
    “That was in seventy-four. He and I both worked for this friend of mine, a man named Devlin, Liam Devlin. He was what you might call an old-fashioned revolutionary. Thought you could still fight it out like the old days, an undercover army against the troops. A bit like the Resistance in France during the war. He didn’t like bombs, soft target bits, that kind of stuff.”
    “What happened?” the Inspector asked.
    “Dillon disobeyed orders and the bomb that was meant for the police patrol killed half a dozen children. Devlin and I went after him. He tried to take us out.”
    “Without success, obviously?”
    “Well, we weren’t exactly kids off the street.” His voice had changed in a subtle way. Harder, more cynical. “Left me with a groove in one shoulder and I gave him one in the arm himself. That was when he first dropped out of sight into Europe.”
    “And you didn’t see him again?”
    “I was in prison for over four years from nineteen seventy-five, Inspector. Belle Isle. You’re forgetting your history. He worked with a man called Frank Barry for a while, another refugee from the IRA who turned up on the European scene. A really bad one, Barry. Do you remember him?”
    “I do, indeed, Professor,” Hernu said. “As I recall, he tried to assassinate Lord Carrington,