Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 2: Angel of Death, Drink With the Devil, The President’s Daughter. Jack Higgins

       1

      A cold wind blew in from Belfast Lough, driving rain across the city. Sean Dillon moved along a narrow street between tall warehouses, relics of the Victorian era, mostly boarded up now. He stood on the corner, a small man, no more than five feet five, wearing a trenchcoat and an old rain hat.

      He was on the waterfront now. There were ships out there at anchor, their riding lights moving up and down for there was a heavy swell driving into the docks. There was a sound of gunfire in the distance. He glanced in the general direction, lit a cigarette in cupped hands and moved on.

      There was an air of desolation to the whole area. Examples of the devastation caused by twenty-five years of war everywhere and his feet crunched over broken glass. He found what he was looking for five minutes later, a warehouse with a peeling sign on the wall that said Murphy & Son – Import & Export. There were large double doors with a small Judas gate for easy access. It opened with a slight creak and he stepped inside.

      It was a place of shadows, empty except for an old Ford van and a jumble of packing cases. There was an office at the far end with glass walls, one or two panes broken, and a dim light shone there. Dillon removed his rain hat and ran a hand nervously over his hair which he’d dyed

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