Drink With the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mary was packed, men standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar as they drank. It was a cheerful enough scene and very noisy as Tully peered in through one of the windows.
    He decided to take his chances round the back and followed a narrow alley that brought him to a high wall, a gate opening into a yard. There was a chink of light showing at a window, curtains partly drawn. He approached cautiously and peered inside.
    Ryan, Bell, and Kathleen sat at a table, a map unfolded before them. Keogh stood by the fire. Ryan laughed as Bell said something to him, but Tully couldn’t hear what it was. It was then that he noticed the back door in the shadows. He tried the handle gingerly and the door opened to his touch.
    He found himself in a narrow corridor. There was no light on and he groped his way forward, aware of coats hanging from a peg rack. At that moment a door opened, light flooding out, and Bell appeared. Tully froze, trying to bury himself in the hanging coats, and Bell called, “I’ll only be a minute.”
    He went down the corridor, opened a door, and went inside. A few moments later there was the sound of a toilet flushing. He returned, went into the backroom, and closed the door. Tully went forward and put his ear to the door and was instantly aware of everything being said inside.
     
     
    “R IGHT , THEN , CARDS on the table,” Ryan said. “It’s time you knew what the rest of us do, Martin.”
    “I’m all in favor of that,” Keogh told him.
    “I put this job together a year or so ago. Hugh here helped with the planning of the English end of things. Unfortunately, the Army Council turned it down flat, thought the whole thing too risky.”
    “Bunch of old women,” Bell said.
    “So what’s it all about?” Keogh demanded. “What’s on the meat transporter?”
    It was Kathleen who answered. “Gold, Martin. Gold bullion. Fifty million pounds.”
    “God save us.” Keogh managed to look astonished. “And why would it be transported in such a way?”
    “Let me explain,” Ryan said. “Bullion used to be landed at London Docks on the Thames, but over the past twenty-five years the waterfront has been in decline. Shippers prefer Amsterdam. However, bullion deliveries were rerouted to Glasgow.”
    “How long has this been going on?”
    “Five years. Ever since they built a new smelter at Barrow-in-Furness. See it there on the map right at the bottom of the Lake District? Mainly shipbuilding there. The latest atomic submarine came out of their yards.”
    “So what’s the smelter got to do with things?”
    “They melt the gold down and reprocess it into smaller ingots. The banks prefer it that way. Gold is heavy stuff.”
    “I see,” Keogh said.
    Ryan continued. “The transporter travels from Glasgow to Carlisle, then cuts across to Maryport on the coast and follows the coast road down to Barrow.”
    “And we hit it somewhere on that road?”
    “Exactly. This coming Friday.”
    “But how do we stop it and, what’s more to the point, how do we get in?”
    It was Bell who answered. “It’s no ordinary truck. There’s a driver and two armed security guards in the cabin behind him. The truck looks standard, but it’s reinforced in every possible way, and there’s a battery of electronic security devices, a first-class radio system.”
    “And how do you handle that?” Keogh asked.
    Bell opened a drawer in the table and took out a black hand-held computer with several rows of buttons and a read-out screen.
    “I know this looks as if you use it to turn your television on and off, but it’s a bit of pure genius called a Howler. You see, privileged information again, we know the code for the security system of the truck. The Howler has already selected it. You press the red button three times and the entire security system in the truck, electronic door locks, radio, the lot, is neutralized. That means the doors are open.”
    “And where in the hell did you get that?” Keogh asked.
    “Oh, a