The Judas Gate by Jack Higgins Page A

some years ago. Ferguson saved him from a firing squad and the payment was that Dillon had to join him.’
    ‘And Holley?’
    ‘Half-English. His mother was a Coogan from Crossmaglen. He’s highly regarded by that family. His cousin, Rosaleen, was raped and murdered by four Protestant scumbags. He shot the lot of them.’ He shook his head. ‘He and Dillon are serious business.’
    ‘Yes, but they don’t know who I am; I’m just a name.’
    ‘Not to the Taliban who fight with you, and don’t tell me you wear a turban and pull your robes about and wrap a scarf around your face. Some of those men will have seen you.’
    ‘No Taliban I know would sell me out,’ Talbot told him. ‘If anyone did, they’d hunt him down and feed him to the dogs.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s a bugger.’
    ‘One of your own making,’ Kelly said.
    ‘I suppose so. Maybe I have a death wish. Anyway, I suppose I’d better get up to the Place and see what’s what. I mustn’t forget your mail, though.’
    He opened his flight bag and took out a stack of letters held together by a rubber band. Kelly took it and said, ‘The ladies will welcome them. They can all call up Peshawar on their mobiles, but everyone loves a letter. The money is just pouring in for them. Some of them don’t know what to do with it.’
    ‘I’m sure they’ll think of something. How’s Hannah? My mother tells me that the old bastard is worse than he ever was.’
    ‘We all do our best. I’m sorry for your mother, Justin.’
    ‘Aren’t we all …? But I’d better be off.’
    ‘I’ll give you a lift.’
    ‘No, thanks. I could do with the walk. My legs are a bit stiff after the flight.’ He smiled cheerfully, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘I’ll see you later,’ and he picked up his flight bag and walked away.
    He had not gone very far, was climbing over a stile, when his mobile sounded. It was the Preacher. ‘Have you arrived?’
    ‘Yes, I’m just walking up to the house. What is it?’
    ‘Just keeping you informed. I thought you’d like to know that Ferguson and Miller are now on their way to Peshawar. But don’t worry. I have a very reliable asset in Peshawar. He can be trusted to handle the matter.’
    ‘Anybody I know?’
    ‘None of your business. All you need to know is: they may be going there, but I doubt they’ll be coming back. Have a good holiday. You need the rest.’
    He switched off and Talbot stood there, thinking for a moment, then continued walking briskly through the estate, past the prized herd of Jersey cows and a particularly fine herd of sheep. He approached the rear courtyard, came to the stables and looked in. It was well-kept, neat and tidy, the stalls swept. He didn’t see a horse. Then there was a clatter of hooves outside and his mother appeared by the open door on a black gelding and dismounted. She was wearing jeans and a sweater.
    ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Is everything all right?’
    ‘Oh, fine, I saw Jack and delivered the mail.’
    She started on the saddle and Andy, the stable boy, came out of the kitchen and hurried across. ‘I’ll do that for you, missus, I was just having my tea.’
    ‘Good man,’ Talbot told him. ‘Give him a rubdown.’ He followed his mother across the yard.
    The kitchen was huge and suitably old-fashioned. Hannah Kelly, sorting vegetables by the sink, wiped her hands and came to kiss him.
    ‘God save us, Justin, you look like an Arab.’
    ‘I’d rather not,’ he told her. ‘It’s only tan. With the Ulster rain five times a week, it will soon wear off.’
    A young girl named Jane was peeling the potatoes and Emily, the cook, was busy at the stove. ‘Hello to everybody,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Why does it always smell so good in here?’ He put an arm around his mother’s waist. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with.’
    They went out into the panelled dining room and through to what was called the Great Hall, where an old-fashioned lift