Dark Justice

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2004

Copyright © Harry Patterson 2004

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Harry Patterson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008124939

Ebook Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9780007369409

Version: 2015-07-20

To Neil Nyren, editor extraordinaire, with grateful thanks

‘One sword is worth ten thousand words’

The Koran

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

NEW YORK

Chapter 1

WASHINGTON

Chapter 2

LONDON

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

IN THE BEGINNING JOSEF BELOV

Chapter 6

IRELAND NANTUCKET

Chapter 7

IRAQ

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

LONDON

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

LONDON IRELAND

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

About the Author

ALSO BY JACK HIGGINS

Further Reading

About the Publisher

Manhattan on a dark November evening around eight o’clock was bleak and uninviting, an east wind driving heavy rain before it, as Henry Morgan turned the corner of a side street into Park Avenue.

He was a small man wearing a dark blue uniform and cap with the legend ‘Icon Security’ emblazoned on each shoulder; in one hand was a black leather bag and the other held an umbrella over his head.

Park Avenue was hardly deserted at that hour, cars swishing by, although there were few pedestrians because of the rain. He turned into a convenient doorway for a moment and looked each way. It was a mixture of offices and residences, mostly impressive townhouses, lights at the windows. He’d always loved cities by night and felt a sudden nostalgia, emotional of course, and he took a deep breath. After all, he’d come a long way for this, a long way, and here he was at the final end of things. Time to get on with it. He picked up the bag and stepped out.

A hundred yards further on he came to an office building no more than four storeys high, a building of some distinction to it, older than the adjacent buildings. There was discreet lighting on the ground floor, obviously for security. A sign in gold leaf on one of the windows said ‘Gould & Company, Bank Depository’ and indicated business hours from nine until four in the afternoon. He stepped into the arched entrance, peering through the armoured plate-glass door into the lighted foyer and pressed the buzzer for Chesney, only Chesney didn’t come. Instead, a large black man wearing the same dark-blue uniform appeared and opened the door.

‘Hey, you’re late. Morgan, isn’t it? The English guy? Chesney told me about you.’

Morgan stepped inside. The door closed noiselessly behind him. A bad start, but he’d have to make the best of it.

‘I’m sorry. I always get Chesney coffee and sandwiches from a place round the corner.’ He followed the other man through to the reception area. ‘Where is he?’

‘The way I heard it, his gall bladder’s playing up again, so they rushed me over from South Street.’

‘What do I call you?’

‘Smith will do.’ He sat behind the desk, took out a pack of Marlboros and lit one. ‘A busy night out there, but at least there are a couple of good movies on TV. So you’re from London, they tell me?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So what are you doing over here?’

‘Oh, pastures new, you know how it is.’

‘Lucky you got a green card.’

‘Well, I’d been doing this kind of thing over there. It helped.’

Smith nodded. ‘Anyway, let’s see what you’ve got in that bag.’ Morgan’s stomach turned hollow and he hesitated. Smith reached for the bag. ‘I’m starving, and what with them rushing me over here last minute, I had no chance to get anything.’

Morgan hurriedly pulled the bag up, put it on the desk, opened it, produced coffee and sandwiches and passed them over.

‘What about you?’ Smith asked.

‘I’ll have mine later. I’ll do the rounds first.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Smith started to unwrap a sandwich.

‘I’ll get started then. I’ll just drop my bag in the restroom.’

He moved to the other end of the foyer and did just that, then called to Smith, ‘See you later.’