Dead Halt

Chapter Thirteen

The Piper Seneca touched down on a deserted field on the outskirts of Warrenpoint and taxied to within a few feet of the white Rover parked at the end of the field.

When Palmer and Whitlock disembarked from the plane they were met by an RUC officer who introduced himself as Detective-Inspector Duncan Reeves. Although Palmer didn’t know him personally, he had been recommended by Eastman who had worked with him on several operations in the past.

“I heard about John Marsh,” Reeves said as they walked toward the unmarked police car. “He always seemed a very dependable sort. I was absolutely staggered when Keith told me he’d been arrested on suspicion of being an IRA mole.”

“A lot of us were staggered by the news,” Palmer replied as they reached the car.

“I thought it better if we dispensed with a driver,” Reeves said, opening the back door for them. “This way we can talk freely.”

“Good thinking,” Palmer said. “So tell us about the Stills Hotel.”

“It’s a dive, sir,” Reeves replied, starting the engine. “It’s owned by a Provo by the name of Joseph Meehan. He’s got a form as long as your arm. A particularly nasty piece of work.”

“Aren’t they all?” Palmer retorted, tight-lipped.

“He’s worse than most. He’s a heavy drinker who’ll go out of his way to pick a fight. And he knows how to handle himself even when he’s tanked up to the lip.”

“Sounds like he could liven up the evening,” Whitlock said.

Reeves turned the car out onto the main road into Warrenpoint. “I doubt you’ll come across him tonight. He’s usually out playing poker on a Saturday night.”

“Any sign of Brady?” Palmer asked.

“Nothing so far, sir. But that’s to be expected. He won’t make a move until he’s satisfied the area’s safe. Kane was seen entering the hotel earlier this evening and, as far as we know, he’s still there. He’s obviously going to be Brady’s point man at the rendezvous.”

It was another ten minutes before they reached the RUC roadblock which had been set up just inside the town. Reeves pulled up behind a police Land Rover and switched off the engine. The hotel was situated a couple of hundred yards further down the road.

Palmer asked Reeves for the car phone and dialed the number of the Stills Hotel. When it was answered he asked to speak to Pat Gorman. He was told there was nobody there by that name. Then he asked to speak to Kane. Silence. Several seconds elapsed before he was patched through to another connection.

The receiver was picked up at the other end. “Who is this?” a voice demanded.

“I want to speak to Brady.”

“You’ve got the wrong number.”

“I don’t think so. You tell him that if he hasn’t called me back in five minutes, the meeting’s off.” Palmer gave the number of the car phone then hung up.

The phone rang almost immediately. Palmer answered it.

“This is Gorman.”

Palmer was satisfied he was speaking to Brady. “Commander Palmer here. There’s been a change of plan. There will be two of us coming over to the hotel. I’ve got the head of the senator’s security team with me. I want him in on this as well.”

“No deal, Palmer. You come in alone.”

“Then no deal,” Palmer retorted and broke the connection. He had anticipated Brady’s reaction. Now he wanted to see just how desperate Brady was to meet with him. And if his plan backfired, he would have a lot of explaining to do to his superiors. They had only sanctioned the meeting after careful negotiations with both the RUC and the army to minimize the chances of anything happening to him while he was there. He looked from Whitlock to Reeves then back to the phone, willing it to ring again. Had he underestimated Brady? No, Brady had obviously wanted to meet with him otherwise he wouldn’t have taken such an enormous risk by calling Scotland Yard in the first place. So why wasn’t he calling back to renegotiate? He couldn’t afford any more setbacks after the disastrous events of the day. If he blew this, he’d better start contemplating life outside the force …

The phone rang.

He resisted the temptation to reach over and snatch up the receiver. No, he had to be seen to be the one calling the shots. He’d be damned if he’d dance to Brady’s tune. He let the phone ring for a few seconds then lifted the receiver.

“Palmer?”

“Yes,” Palmer replied.

“Scoby’s minder can come with you. Use the unmarked Rover. No driver. Both of you sit up front. Park outside the hotel. A space has been cordoned off for you. Go into the hotel and ask at the reception for Sammy Kane. We’ll take it from there.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve got it all worked out so well, Brady. If I didn’t know better, I’d be inclined to think you were running scared.”

There was a hesitant pause. “You just make sure those pigs stay behind their little roadblock. The area around the hotel is completely secured and my men have strict orders to open fire if any pig is stupid enough to venture within range. Make sure you pass that message on to Reeves.” The line went dead.

Palmer recounted Brady’s demands.

“We’re obviously under close surveillance,” Whitlock said.

“We have been ever since we got here,” Reeves told him. “The men have already spotted several Provos in prominent positions overlooking the hotel. They’re the ones we’re supposed to see. It’s the ones we can’t see that worry me. They’ll be the ones with the artillery.”

Palmer checked his watch. Seven forty-two. “I’d say it was time to go in.”

“He did say eight,” Reeves reminded him.

“If we’re playing by his rules,” Palmer replied. “And I have no intention of doing that.”

Whitlock nodded in agreement. “Commander Palmer’s right. We’ve got to take the initiative. The more we unsettle Brady, the better it’ll be for us when it comes to making any kind of deal with him.”

“Why do you think I waited until now to tell Brady that I’d be taking Mr. Whitlock in with me?” Palmer said. “This way we undermine his control of the situation. It gives us the edge. And that’s vital in these circumstances.”

Palmer and Whitlock moved to the front of the car and Reeves handed Palmer the keys through the driver’s window.

“You know the drill,” Palmer said to Reeves. “Stick to it and if something should go wrong, move in and get Brady.”

“Yes sir,” Reeves replied.

Palmer started up the car and pulled out from behind the Land Rover. They drove in silence to the hotel. It was a drab gray building with the name illuminated in garish neon lights above the revolving doors. Not surprisingly, the road seemed totally deserted. They were in Provo territory. And the Provos had already cleared the area until the meeting was over. Palmer parked in front of the hotel and they made their way up the steps, through the revolving doors, and into the foyer. Reeves had been right. It was a dive. A teenage receptionist sat behind the desk watching a Colombo repeat on a black and white television set. She glanced up at them without interest as they approached the desk then reached back and knocked on the door behind her, immediately returning her attention to the screen. The door opened and two masked Provos appeared. They came around from behind the desk and frisked them. Satisfied that both men were unarmed one of the Provos picked up the telephone on the desk and called Kane.

“What have we got here?”

Whitlock and Palmer looked around simultaneously. Joseph Meehan, who had appeared from the deserted bar lounge behind them, was in his mid-fifties with an unshaven face and thinning, greasy black hair. The front of his shirt was stained and it hung untidily out of his trousers. He was obviously drunk. The masked Provos stood uncertainly by the desk, neither sure what to do.

“Are you telling me I had to close my hotel for these two?” he demanded of the two Provos.

“I think you should go back into the bar,” one of the Provos said to Meehan.

“This is my hotel and I’ll do what I bloody well like in it,” Meehan snarled back angrily. He levelled a finger at Palmer. “You, I don’t mind being here. But nobody said anything about any nigger coming here.”

Palmer stepped forward but Whitlock quickly put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Or perhaps you’re just here looking for work,” Meehan jibed at Whitlock. “Is that it? Are you here for a job?”

Whitlock stared back impassively at Meehan but said nothing.

“Nice suit,” Meehan said, reaching out to feel the cloth.

“Don’t touch me,” Whitlock hissed menacingly.

“Are you talking to me?” Meehan snapped. “Because if you are, you’d better call me ‘sir’.”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Palmer bristled indignantly.

“It’s OK,” Whitlock said soothingly. “Let it go.”

It was then that Meehan grabbed Whitlock’s lapel. Whitlock broke the grip and brought his elbow up viciously into the side of Meehan’s face. Meehan crashed backward against the wall and slid slowly to the floor, cradling his jaw in both hands. The two Provos made a move toward Whitlock.

“Leave him!” Kane snapped from the top of the stairs. “Get Meehan out of here. And sober him up. Mr. Brady will want to have a word with him about this later.”

The two Provos carried Meehan back into the bar as Kane gestured for Palmer and Whitlock to follow him. They climbed to the top of the stairs and Kane led them to an open door further down the passage. Palmer and Whitlock exchanged suspicious glances. If they were walking into a trap, it was too late to turn back now. They had to go on. Kane stepped aside to let them enter then closed the door behind them.

The room consisted of a single bed, a battered wardrobe and two high-back armchairs. One was facing the window.

“You’re early,” a voice said from behind a chair. Brady stood up slowly and turned to face them.

Whitlock eyed Brady contemptuously. Was this the man who had sanctioned the coldblooded murder of three of his UNACO colleagues? He felt a sudden anger surging through him but he was quick to check himself. This was neither the time nor the place to confront Brady. The time for retribution would come later …

“Let’s get something straight right from the start, Brady,” Palmer said. “Detective Inspector Reeves will be calling the hotel every five minutes to speak to me. If, for some reason, I’m not able to answer the phone, or if I should give him a code word which would imply that we were in some kind of trouble, his men will immediately storm the building. You would be their main target. Dead or alive.”

“When I want you dead, I’ll arrange to have it done on the mainland,” Brady replied. “Not on my own doorstep with the RUC only a few hundred yards away. So put your mind at rest, this isn’t a trap.”

“As long as we understand each other,” Palmer said.

Brady rang the reception desk and gave instructions that any calls for Palmer were to be put through to the room. He then crossed to the second armchair, which was facing into the room, and sat down. “Now, to business. The IRA has no quarrel with Senator Jack Scoby and neither do we have a contract out on him,” he announced, addressing himself to Whitlock. “The events of the last fourteen hours have been very damaging to our organization and it’s for that reason that I asked to meet with Commander Palmer.”

“Do you deny Fiona Gallagher is a member of the IRA?” Whitlock asked, sitting beside Palmer on the bed.

“We’ve never denied that. What we do deny is any involvement in her actions against Senator Scoby. The operation wasn’t sanctioned by the Revolutionary Army.”

“Get to the point, Brady,” Palmer snapped. “We’ve already heard all this rhetoric from your Press officer this afternoon. Why did you call this meeting?”

“It galls me to have to admit this, but right now we need each other. If the senator is assassinated in Dugaill tomorrow, our heads will be the first to roll.”

The telephone rang. Brady made no move to answer ii. Palmer reached over and picked up the receiver. It was Reeves. They spoke briefly then Palmer replaced the receiver.

“What are you suggesting?” Whitlock asked.

“That we mount a joint security operation in Dugaill tomorrow,” Brady replied impassively.

“Out of the question!” Palmer shot back indignantly. “My God, imagine what the Press would make of it. Our security forces working in league with the IRA? They would crucify us. And rightly so. It would be a betrayal of all those innocent people the IRA have butchered since the conflict in Ireland began.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Commander, I’m not suggesting that masked freedom fighters should stand side by side with the security forces. That would be a betrayal of our principles as well. No, the church and village would be patrolled by the security forces and we would operate in the woodland situated directly behind the church. The area could be cordoned off for security reasons so the Press would never need to know we were there. Don’t forget, we have people who know those woods like the back of their hands. They know all the places where Fiona could hide while she awaited Scoby’s arrival at the church. Granted, the security forces will find most of them. But not all of them. And you can be sure that if Fiona does use the woods, she’ll have done her homework. They won’t find her.”

“You seem very sure that she will use the woods,” Whitlock said suspiciously.

“I would if I were in her shoes. It’s the one area where she could hide without being detected.” Brady turned his attention back to Palmer. “The IRA are just as concerned as you are about the senator’s safety. His death would seriously damage our reputation abroad. That’s why we’re prepared to work with you under these unique circumstances.”

“And what a propaganda coup that would be for the IRA if you were instrumental in thwarting Gallagher before she could get to Scoby,” Palmer said disdainfully. “It’s very transparent, Brady. And I’ll have nothing to do with it. I have every confidence in the security forces. We don’t need your help.”

“You’re overlooking one important point here, Commander Palmer. None of your people knows what Fiona looks like, do they? I do. So would the people I’d use to search the woods. We’d be able to spot her straight away.”

“If you were serious about helping us, you’d let us have a photograph of her to circulate amongst the men,” Whitlock told him.

“I can’t let you have something I haven’t got,” Brady replied.

“You expect us to believe that the IRA don’t have any photographs of her?” Palmer retorted indignantly. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“You believe what you want, Commander. I can assure you that we don’t have any photographs of her. The only known picture of her was taken at Dominic Lynch’s wedding. And even then she insisted on keeping it. She’s always been obsessively camera-shy.”

“Did she kill the Lynches?” Whitlock asked.

“I believe so. But right now I don’t know why. Or why she killed Kerrigan and Mullen for that matter. We want those questions answered just as much as you do. Probably more so. That’s why we’re prepared to compromise on this one occasion and help you find her.”

“Why, so that you can silence her before she can say anything to us?” Palmer retorted.

“You still believe we’re behind this, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe she’s working alone. She’s had far too much assistance along the way. And not just from John Marsh.”

“I’ve heard about this John Marsh from a source of ours at Scotland Yard. He’s supposed to be working for us, isn’t he? It’s an interesting theory, but not one I have the time or inclination to pursue right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Palmer said. “It must have come as quite a shock to you when you heard your man had been busted.”

“It was more of a shock when I heard he was supposed to have been working for us. But then, it doesn’t bother me one way or the other what happens to him. He’s only a cop.”

The telephone rang again. Palmer answered it, spoke to Reeves, then replaced the handset.

“I was hoping we could have come to some arrangement about the security for Senator Scoby’s visit to Dugaill tomorrow. Obviously I was wrong.”

“Obviously,” Palmer retorted. “And let me tell you this, Brady, if we find any of your Provos near Dugaill tomorrow they’ll find themselves behind bars so quickly they won’t have time to draw breath. See that you pass the message on to the Army Council.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Brady said as he got to his feet and crossed to the door. He called Kane into the room. “Sammy will show you back to your car. You’ll be given safe passage out of here. I only hope your faith in the security forces is justified, Commander. Because if Scoby is assassinated in Dugaill tomorrow, you’ll only have yourself to blame. We held out the olive branch. You refused it. Remember that.”

Palmer left the room without a word. Whitlock stared at Brady as if he were branding the face into his memory. When it came to finding out who was behind the hit on his colleagues, he knew which face would first come to mind. He followed Kane and Palmer back to the foyer.

“Mr. Brady has agreed to give you safe passage back to the roadblock. We would hope you will reciprocate the gesture and pull your men out of the area before we leave. The cease-fire will last for exactly ten minutes after you’ve reached safety but if your men haven’t withdrawn by then, then we’ll open fire. As you can imagine, our soldiers are heavily armed. Your people wouldn’t stand a chance. And by the time you’d called in for reinforcements, we’d be gone. We don’t want any bloodshed. I would hope you feel the same.”

“He’ll be free to leave,” Palmer replied. “You have my word on that.”

Kane waited until the Rover had pulled away from the front of the hotel before he called Brady to let him know they had gone.

When Brady came downstairs into the foyer Kane told him about the incident with Whitlock and Meehan. As usual, Brady listened impassively before asking to see Meehan. Kane led him into the bar where one of the Provos, his balaclava now discarded on the counter, was plying Meehan with black coffee.

Meehan looked up slowly at Brady and managed a weak smile. “Good evening, Mr. Brady. Have you finished your meeting? Can I open the hotel again?”

“Are you sober yet?” Brady asked.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” Meehan replied obsequiously.

“I hear you insulted one of my guests tonight. That’s something I will not tolerate.”

“I … I got what I deserved, Mr. Brady,” Meehan said, touching his bruised chin gingerly. “I’ve nothing against black people. It was just the drink talking.”

“You drink too much, Meehan.”

“I … I enjoy a drink, Mr. Brady.”

“Not anymore. You’re on the wagon as of now. But obviously you’ll need some kind of incentive to stop drinking. Something to take your mind off it.” Brady nodded to Kane. “Break the fingers on his right hand.”

“Mr. Brady, please–” Meehan screamed in terror as Kane moved toward him. “I’ll never drink again. Honestly. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Consider this your first and last warning, Meehan,” Brady told him. “If I ever hear that you’ve been drinking again, you’ll end up in some alley with the back of your head blown away. Sammy, I’ll see you back at the house. I’ve got some business to attend to first.”

Brady left the bar. Seconds later an agonized scream came from behind the closed doors. The receptionist looked around from the television set, her eyes wide and uncertain.

“I’d start looking for a new job if I were you,” Brady said to her. “I’ve got a feeling that Mr. Meehan won’t be running this hotel for very much longer.”

The receptionist swallowed nervously but said nothing. Brady pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket then disappeared through the revolving doors and out into the night.

“The men are in position, sir,” Reeves said as Palmer pulled up behind the Land Rover. “Do you want me to give the order for them to move in?”

“No,” Palmer replied, switching off the engine. “Brady’s to be allowed to leave of his own accord.”

“But sir, we’ve got them–”

“I gave my word,” Palmer cut in angrily. “And I intend to keep it.”

“Yes, sir, of course,” Reeves said, immediately regretting his sudden outburst. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to question your authority. It’s just that … he’s been responsible for the deaths of five of my colleagues over the last eight months. And now that we’ve got a chance to nail him, we have to stand by and watch him drive away.”

“I understand your frustration,” Palmer replied, getting out of the car. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better than to give the order to grab him the moment he leaves the hotel. But we can’t. It’s not just that I gave my word. The whole area’s crawling with Provos. And God knows what kind of artillery they’ve got with them. If you move in, they’ve threatened to open fire. We’ve lost more than enough young men in this conflict as it is without adding any more to the list. I want you to give the order for all patrols to pull out of the area.” He looked at his watch. “They’ve got eight minutes left in which to do it. And I mean every patrol. I don’t want any of our boys in the area for the next few hours. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly understood, sir.” Reeves saluted then hurried off to carry out Palmer’s orders.

“He’s a good copper, that one,” Palmer said as he watched Reeves give the order to his men to pull out.

“Sure,” Whitlock replied thoughtfully. “I know just how he feels though. As you know, we lost three men when the cell first tried to take out McGuire in London. I’m just glad I wasn’t armed when I went into that hotel room tonight. I’d gladly have put a bullet in him.”

Palmer took the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. It was the first cigarette he’d had since getting off the plane and he inhaled deeply, savoring it.

Whitlock rested his arm on the roof of the car and stared thoughtfully at the hotel in the distance. “Something just doesn’t ring true about Brady’s motives tonight.”

“He was obviously out for personal glory. Some way to worm his way back into favor with the Army Council. And it would have been a major propaganda coup if he’d managed to bring the IRA in on the security operation tomorrow.” Palmer noticed the consternation on Whitlock’s face as he continued to stare at the hotel. “You’re not convinced, are you?”

“Not about bringing the IRA in on the security operation. I can’t believe he would have taken these kinds of risks to lay something like that on you. He would have known you’d never have gone along with it. So why did he bring you here?”

“You mean apart from trying to ingratiate himself with me?” Palmer said with a half-smile. “When we spoke earlier on the phone it was Palmer. Then, to my face, it suddenly became Commander this, Commander that. The way he was addressing me–”

“Of course,” Whitlock cut in and banged his fist angrily on the roof. “Now it all makes sense. The son-of-a-bitch.”

“Well, spit it out, man,” Palmer demanded.

“Think back to the points he raised tonight. The IRA have never had a contract out on Senator Scoby. They’re just as concerned for his safety as we are. They want to stop Gallagher to save themselves any further embarrassment. But we don’t know what she looks like. They do. And they’re prepared to go out on a limb to help us track her down before she can get to the senator. But he knows you’d never go for it. And you don’t. In fact, you turned him down flat.”

“So?” Palmer said, frowning.

“What if everything we said in there tonight was recorded onto tape so that if the senator is assassinated in Dugaill tomorrow, Brady can produce a copy of the meeting and give it to the Press? But it won’t be the original tape. It’ll be an edited version of the original. A version designed to highlight the fact that although the IRA were our last chance of finding Gallagher you refused even to consider working with them. In other words, he’d be trying to shift the blame for the senator’s death on to the anti-terrorist squad.”

“The public would see through it straight away,” Palmer said.

“But with the maximum amount of embarrassment to Scotland Yard. They would demand to know why the head of the anti-terrorist squad was meeting secretly with the Chief-of-Staff of the IRA’s Army Council. A man who’s been responsible for an intensive bombing campaign on the British mainland over the last year which has cost the lives of innocent women and children. Were you trying to make a deal with him? If not, what were you doing talking to him in the first place? And by making the edited version public in the US he’ll also be allaying the fears of many of their Noraid supporters who’ll naturally be worried that the IRA have gone back on their word never to target foreigners.

“He’s anticipated the worst possible scenario and this is his contingency plan not only to discredit Scotland Yard but also to minimize the damage abroad. Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. That’s why he was being so ingratiating to you tonight. It’s going to sound really good on tape, isn’t it?”

“I see now why Sergei Kolchinsky talks so highly of you,” Palmer said after a long, thoughtful silence.

“It’s only a theory,” Whitlock was quick to point out. “And that’s all it can be until we know for sure.”

“Well if you’re right about this and that tape does reach the Press, we’re going to be crucified. We’ll be lucky to keep our pensions. We have to stop him before he leaves the hotel.”

“No,” Whitlock said, putting a restraining hand on Palmer’s arm. “Let him go.”

“What are you talking about? We have to stop him before he can get the tape edited.”

“Trust me,” was all Whitlock would say.

The Land Rover started up in front of them and drew away from the curb, disappearing up an adjoining street.

Reeves crossed to where Palmer and Whitlock were standing. “I’ve pulled all the men out, sir.”

Palmer glanced anxiously at Whitlock but Whitlock just shook his head. “Has the plane been refuelled, Reeves?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, sir, I would think so.”

“Good,” Whitlock replied, clapping his hands together. “Then we can get back to London.”

“What about Brady?” Palmer demanded. “Are you just going to let him walk?”

“Yes,” Whitlock replied bluntly.

“Look, if you’re right–”

“Trust me,” Whitlock said with a reassuring smile. “Now, shall we get back to the plane?”

The complement of Marines on duty that evening at Winfield House, the official residence of the American ambassador in Regent’s Park, were under the direct command of a second lieutenant called Kowalski. Kowalski, who had only recently graduated from the Officers’ Training College at Quantico, Virginia, had made no attempt to hide his contempt for Graham and Sabrina when they arrived at the embassy with the Scoby party. Sabrina had taken an immediate dislike to him, finding him both arrogant and condescending. Graham had been more tolerant. As an ex-soldier he knew that the young officer felt his authority was being undermined by a couple of outsiders. He would have reacted similarly had it happened to him at Delta. Kowalski had shown them around the grounds and made the point several times that security at the embassy was always on full alert. And it would be no different that night. Graham and Sabrina certainly couldn’t find fault with what they had seen. Which meant there wouldn’t be much for them to do other than keep an eye on the Scobys inside the embassy building.

Sabrina had made it plain to Graham from the outset that she thought it best if he shadowed the senator whilst she stayed with Melissa Scoby. It was obvious that she still harbored the bizarre belief that Melissa Scoby fancied him and that, by keeping them apart, she was acting in his best interests. He knew it was ridiculous and although as head of Strike Force Three he could technically overrule her, he wasn’t about to start making waves. It wasn’t worth the aggravation. He went along with it, if only to keep the peace.

Scoby had mingled freely with the guests, establishing as many new contacts as possible. Ambassadors, charges d’affaires, businessmen. Anyone he felt could be useful to him at some point in his future.

Graham was quick to pick up on Scoby’s thought pattern. The more important the contact, the more quality time he would spend talking to them. Those who had nothing to offer him were rewarded with a cursory smile and a handshake before he set off to weed out another potential target. Scoby’s cunning intrigued Graham. He was a scheming bastard. But also a clever one.

At dinner Graham, now the senior UNACO representative there, found himself sandwiched between the wives of two senior European ambassadors and he spent much of the meal tactfully fending off a barrage of questions about both UNACO and the events on the Thames earlier in the day. The secret had been to keep visualizing the poster Whitlock had had on his bedsit wall when he was at Oxford. Diplomacy is telling someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip …

The end of the meal couldn’t come quickly enough for him. He caught up with Sabrina as she was leaving the room with one of the European ambassadors and, grabbing her arm, he gave the ambassador a conciliatory smile before propelling her out into the corridor.

“You looked like you were having fun in there,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Yeah, sure,” he retorted. “And talking of fun, it’s your turn to check in with Kowalski.”

“I went the last time,” she complained.

“Nice try. Now go on.”

She pulled a face. “Keep an eye on Melissa Scoby for me. The last I saw of her she was with the American ambassador. I shouldn’t be long.”

Graham went through to the lounge but there was no sign of either Jack or Melissa Scoby. He was about to double back and check the dining room again when Melissa Scoby appeared from a doorway further down the hall. The door closed behind her.

Graham crossed to where she was standing. “Where’s the senator?”

“He’s in there with Ray and the ambassador,” she replied, gesturing to the door behind her. “It’s the first chance he’s had all night to have a word with the ambassador in private. Where’s Sabrina?”

“She’s just gone to have a word with the duty officer. She’ll be back shortly.”

“Good,” Melissa Scoby said, then slipped her hand under his arm. “Now you can tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all evening.”

“I haven’t been–” He trailed off when he noticed her teasing smile.

“I could do with a breath of fresh air,” she announced. “Come, walk with me, Mike.”

“Will you be warm enough?” Graham asked as they walked toward the patio.

“I’ll be fine. It’s mild out tonight.” She smiled at a couple sipping liqueurs on the patio then led him down the steps and out into the spacious garden. “I had a long talk with Sabrina earlier this evening. I know that she and I didn’t exactly hit it off from the start. But I realize now that I’ve misjudged her. You’ve got a very smart partner there, Mike. And a very loyal one too.”

“Yeah, I know,” came the hesitant reply.

“She knew straight away that I was flirting with you yesterday. I know Jack didn’t notice. He never does.” Melissa Scoby smiled at Graham’s surprised look. “Sabrina said you hadn’t noticed either.”

“No, I hadn’t,” Graham replied uncertainly.

“I’ve always been a bit of a flirt. It’s all a game to me. But completely harmless as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never cheated on Jack and I never would. It’s Jack’s ambition to reach the White House some day. And when he does eventually decide to run for President, the last thing I want to do is give the Democrats any ammunition to use against him. And infidelity is a serious crime in the eyes of the American electorate. There’re enough discredited politicians around to testify to that. I realized afterwards that it could have been a bit awkward for you and when I saw that you were going to stick with Jack tonight I thought you’d decided purposely to stay out of my way to avoid any further embarrassment. But it turns out it was Sabrina’s idea all the time.”

“She can be very maternal at times,” Graham replied.

Sabrina and Scoby emerged from the house and crossed to where they were standing.

“Have you finished talking to the ambassador?” Melissa Scoby asked her husband.

“Yes. There wasn’t much to discuss. Just a few minor points.” Scoby looked at his watch. “I want to get back to the hotel. Ray and I have still got a lot of documents to sift through tonight. You stay on here if you want. Mike or Sabrina can take you back to the hotel later.”

“No, it’s been quite a day already,” she replied. “I’m ready for an early night.”

“Then we’d better make our apologies to the ambassador and his wife,” Scoby said.

“I’ll have the cars brought round to the front of the house for you,” Graham said to Scoby. “Sabrina will call the anti-terrorist squad and let them know we’re on our way back to the hotel. The last thing you need is a foyer full of reporters to deal with when we arrive there.”

“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Scoby said, escorting his wife back to the house.

Graham and Sabrina followed discreetly behind them.

Cross and Johnstone, two of the anti-terrorist squad detectives on duty at the hotel that night, hurried over to the first of the two black Mercedes as it drew up in front of the hotel. Inside were Jack and Melissa Scoby. Ray Tillman was in the second car. The passenger door of the lead car swung open and Graham jumped out. He looked around him quickly. To his right was the usual circus of Press photographers jostling amongst themselves for the best vantage points to catch Scoby on film as he exited the car. To his left were a small group of about a dozen anti-American protesters. Most of them carried placards denouncing American foreign policy in Central America. They were penned in behind a police cordon which was being marshaled by five uniformed officers. Sabrina got out of the second car and crossed to where Graham was standing. Graham nodded to Cross who then opened the back door. The flashlights popped incessantly as Scoby got out of the car. He waved in the general direction of the photographers then offered his hand to his wife as she climbed out after him.

A movement caught Graham’s eye as he turned to usher the Scobys into the hotel. A young woman, dressed in a pair of jeans and an army flak jacket, broke through the police cordon and ran toward the car. Sabrina was still closing in on her when she hurled an egg in the direction of the first car. A cheer went up from the protesters as it splattered against the windscreen. Sabrina took the woman’s legs from underneath her then reached down and twisted her arm savagely behind her back. The woman screamed abuse as she struggled to break free from Sabrina’s viselike grip. Two uniformed policemen quickly intervened and hauled the woman to her feet. She was immediately handcuffed and dragged off toward a waiting panda car.

“Are you all right, sir?” Graham asked Scoby after they had reached the safety of the foyer.

“Yes,” Scoby replied brusquely. He glared at the protesters who had now turned their anger on the departing panda car. “It’s the same old story, isn’t it? Students and welfare junkies who think they can change the world with their outmoded brand of socialism. Look at them. A bunch of pseudo-commies and pinkos. What the hell do they know anyway?”

Graham eyed Scoby warily. It was like listening to “Hawk” Walsh all over again. But the difference was Jack Scoby was destined to reach the White House one day …

Tillman grabbed Graham’s arm, interrupting his thoughts. “Why was that protester allowed to get so close to the senator? What if that had been a grenade instead of an egg?”

“Then we’d all be dead, wouldn’t we?” Graham replied, easing his arm from Tillman’s grasp.

“Now you listen–”

“Ray, that’s enough,” Scoby hissed under his breath. “We can discuss this further in the morning. But right now we’ve still got a lot of work to get through before either one of us can get any sleep. So the sooner it’s done, the sooner we can go to bed.”

Tillman said nothing as he followed Jack and Melissa Scoby to the lift. Graham glanced over his shoulder. The flashlights were still popping furiously outside the hotel. Again the security had been wanting. Another embarrassment for UNACO. But he was only too well aware that it could have been much worse …

“I’m sure glad that’s over,” Graham said after they had seen the Scobys safely back to their suite. “I don’t know how much more I could have taken at the ambassador’s house.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Sabrina replied as they walked toward the lift.

“You would say that, you grew up in that environment.” Graham loosened his bow tie and opened the top button of his shirt. “Your father must have thrown hundreds of dinner parties like that.”

“Sure,” Sabrina agreed, pressing the button for the lift. “But that doesn’t mean I went to any of them. I was only a kid at the time. In fact, I wasn’t invited to my first embassy party until after I’d left the Sorbonne.”

“The point is, that it’s your crowd, not mine.”

“No, it’s not my crowd,” she shot back indignantly, falling suddenly silent as the lift doors opened onto an elderly couple. She smiled politely at them as she stepped into the lift and didn’t speak again until they alighted on their floor. “You’ve always had the preconception of me being this poor little rich girl who spends all her leisure time mixing with New York’s rich and famous. I don’t deny I enjoy the occasional glitzy party, but, believe it or not, I’m much more at home in a pair of jeans and a sweater at a smoke-filled jazz club than I am in an expensive designer dress at some swanky nightclub. I only wish I could make you understand that.”

“Be that as it may, you’re still more at ease with a bunch of politicians than I am.”

“I’m more at ease with most people than you are,” she replied with a half-smile. She paused outside her room. “Fancy a nightcap?”

“Yeah, OK,” came the indifferent reply.

“Are you sure you can spare the enthusiasm?” she said, opening the door to her room. “You know where the drinks are. I’ll have a diet Coke.”

“Where are you going?”

“To change out of this,” she replied, indicating her evening dress. “I’ve felt uncomfortable in it all night.”

“You’re still smarting because C.W. wouldn’t let you buy a new dress for tonight, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like hiring clothes, that’s all. It’s gross. I don’t know who’s worn this before me.” She shuddered at the thought then disappeared into the bathroom.

Graham took a diet Coke and a Perrier water from the mini-bar then noticed the red light flashing on the telephone. “There’s a message for you at reception,” he called through the bathroom door.

“Ring down and get it for me, will you?” she replied.

When she re-emerged from the bathroom she was wearing a white towelling robe. “Who was it from?”

“C.W.,” Graham replied, pouring the diet Coke into a glass and handing it to her. “He doesn’t know when he’ll get back to the hotel tonight. We’re not to wait up for him.”

“I didn’t know we were expected to,” she replied, sitting on the bed.

“Well now it’s official.” Graham sat down. He turned the bottle around slowly in his hands then looked across at her. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” she replied, suddenly intrigued. It wasn’t often Mike Graham admitted he was wrong.

“I spoke to Melissa Scoby tonight.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You were right, she did have the scope on me. And I didn’t believe you. But then I guess you know more about these things than I do.”

“Gee thanks, Mike,” came the bemused reply.

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” He frowned at her. “Was it really that obvious?”

“It was to me. I could hear it in her voice and in the way she kept glancing in your direction. Why do you think she took such an instant dislike to me when we were first introduced? Because she knew I’d seen through her. And that worried her.”

“You could hear it in her voice? And in the way she kept looking at me? You’re way ahead of me here, Sabrina.” Graham stared disconsolately at the bottle in his hand. “And I didn’t notice a damn thing.”

“And neither did Scoby.”

“Isn’t it great? A woman flirts with you and you don’t even know she’s doing it.” Graham managed a wry smile. “I guess I’ve been out of circulation too long.”

“She isn’t your type anyway.”

“Damn right.” He noticed a faint smile touch the corners of her mouth. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking.”

Graham waited for her to continue and when she didn’t asked, “Is that it? You were just thinking?”

“It was something Fabio said when I went to see him at the hospital this afternoon. He reckons you and I would make a good couple.”

“I think he’s been overdoing the tranquilizers. We work well together as a team. But that’s purely on a professional level.”

“And it’s only been in the last few months that we’ve actually clicked as a team. I can remember the days when we used to be at each other’s throats over every little thing.”

“Banging heads at every turn. We were too independent for our own good in those days.”

“You were,” she corrected him.

“You weren’t exactly blameless yourself.” He took a sip of the Perrier water. “What gets me is this idea that a man and a woman can’t work together without there being some sexual stigma attached to it.”

“I know,” she replied with a shrug.

“It’s not even as if we’ve got anything in common.”

“Apart from a love of jazz,” she was quick to point out.

“Well, yeah,” he conceded.

“I had a great time at Sweet Basil’s the other night.”

“Me too. The band was great. Perhaps we can do it again sometime?”

“I’d like that,” she said softly.

“But just as long as you don’t go shouting your mouth off again to everyone at work like you did the last time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sarah and Fabio hardly constitute everyone.”

“It’s sure to get around.”

“Why does that worry you so much, Mike?”

“It doesn’t worry me. I just don’t like to fuel any rumors. Especially amongst the other Strike Force teams. They’d have a field day if they thought for a moment that there was something going on between us.” He quaffed the last of the Perrier water then stood up and put the empty bottle on the table beside him. “Well, I’d better be off.”

“Before you fuel any more rumors?” she said with a smile, then got to her feet and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Night, Mike.”

He reached out and brushed a strand of loose hair back over her shoulder. She tried to read something, anything, in his eyes as he held her gaze. But she couldn’t. She had never known anyone capable of masking their emotions better than Mike Graham. Then the moment was gone.

“See you in the morning,” he said softly.

She stared at the door for some time after he’d gone. “Don’t even think it, girl,” she suddenly snapped to herself then went through to the bathroom to run herself a bath.

It had just gone midnight when the motorbike pulled up outside the house on the outskirts of Warrenpoint. The rider, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket, switched off the engine and hurried to the front door. The door opened before he could press the bell. Sammy Kane held out his hand. The man removed a package from inside his jacket and gave it to Kane. The door closed again and the man returned to his bike. He kick-started it and drove off into the night.

Neither he nor Kane had noticed the Mercedes which had been parked beside a tangle of undergrowth thirty yards away from the house for the past two hours. All four men inside the car were dressed in black. Three of them climbed out of the car, disappeared into the undergrowth and came out at the back of the house. Their faces were now hidden under black balaclavas. They paused to survey the house. A single light came from behind the drawn curtains in the lounge. They knew Kane was alone.

One of the men was carrying a holdall. He opened it and three sawed-off shotguns were produced. He then ghosted around to the back of the house to disable the security system. When he returned a few minutes later the job was done. A glass-cutter was used to remove one of the panes and a hand snaked through the hole and unlatched the window. They clambered silently into the house, closed the window again behind them, then made for the lounge.

The door was kicked open with such force that the bottom hinges were torn from the frame. Kane made a desperate grab for the automatic in the desk drawer in front of him.

“Don’t even think it, Sammy!” one of the men commanded in a strong Belfast accent, the shotgun aimed at Kane’s head.

Kane’s eyes flickered to the other two shotguns aimed at him then he slowly brought both hands up into view.

“Move away from the desk!” the Belfast voice snapped.

“Who the hell are you?” Kane demanded. “And why–”

“I said move away from the desk!”

Kane did as he was told.

The Belfast man approached Kane and slammed the butt of the shotgun viciously into his midriff. “The Army Council send their regards.”

Kane crumpled to the floor, his hands clutched over his stomach in agony. When he finally managed to get up on his knees one of the men moved behind him and pressed the shotgun against the back of his head.

“My God, what’s all … this about?” Kane stammered, still struggling to catch his breath.

“It’s about a meeting you and Brady had with Commander Maurice Palmer of Scotland Yard’s anti-terrorist squad earlier this evening,” the Belfast voice told him.

“The Army Council knew about that,” Kane blurted out. “Kevin cleared it with them before he made the arrangements with Palmer.”

“Brady never informed the Army Council about any meeting tonight.”

“That’s absurd,” Kane retorted. “He told me that he’d cleared it all with them and that they had sanctioned the meeting. He would never have done it behind their backs.”

“The Army Council only found out about the meeting from one of their touts inside the RUC. They also heard a rumor from the same source that Brady taped the whole meeting. Is that true?”

Kane swallowed nervously as he felt the barrel of the shotgun press harder against the back of his head. He said nothing.

“Your loyalty to Brady’s very misguided, Sammy,” the Belfast voice said disdainfully. “The Army Council are well pissed off with him right now. And if he is relieved of his command because of what happened tonight, you can be sure they’ll be very critical of those around him as well. And as you virtually live in his shadow, you’d be the first to go down with him. Think about it, Sammy.”

Kane used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Yes, he taped the meeting. But how would the RUC know about that?”

“Because Brady’s lost his touch. He used to be innovative. Now he’s just predictable. And it seems that the RUC are very interested in hearing those tapes.”

“Tapes?” Kane said hesitantly.

“Don’t piss us about, Sammy. It’s obvious that Brady intended to send an edited version of the tape to the Press just so that he could save his own miserable skin. As I said, he’s become very predictable. Why else would he have taped the meeting? And if those tapes do fall into the hands of the RUC the Army Council are going to have a hell of a job explaining the deception to our supporters abroad. You received a delivery not five minutes ago from a courier on a motorbike. And it wasn’t a bloody pizza. So where are the tapes?”

“How do I even know the Army Council sent you? I don’t recognize your voices. You won’t even show your faces. You could be from the RUC for all I know.”

“We’ve got our orders,” the man behind Kane said to the Belfast man.

The Belfast man shook his head slowly. “I don’t like it. He’s one of us.”

“You tell that to Pat Taylor!” the man snarled.

“Sammy, for God’s sake, man. We were given strict instructions to execute anyone who tried to stop us from getting those tapes. I don’t want to have to give that order.”

“You kill me and you’ll never get the tapes,” Kane replied coldly, sensing he now had the edge.

“We know that package contained the tapes,” the man behind Kane announced. “It had to be. So they’re obviously somewhere in the house. Probably here in this room. So if I have to kill you, I will. It’ll just take longer for us to find them. It’s your move, Sammy!”

The radio in the holdall suddenly crackled into life. The third man, who had been watching the street from the window, was quick to answer it.

“I can hear police sirens in the distance,” the man in the car shouted over the radio. “And they’re headed this way. We’ve got to move out.”

“OK, Sammy. Decision time,” the Belfast voice told him. “Either you give us those tapes now or else we find them ourselves and leave the remains of your head on the wall for the constabulary to scrape off.”

“Bottom drawer of the desk,” Kane said sullenly.

The Belfast man jerked open the drawer and withdrew a sealed brown envelope. “What’s inside it?”

“The original and a copy of the edited version.”

“How many copies are being made?”

“We’ve got the tapes, now let’s go,” the man behind Kane hissed.

“How many copies did Brady want made?” the Belfast man repeated, his eyes riveted on Kane’s face.

“A dozen.” Kane’s eyes narrowed anxiously when he heard the approaching police sirens. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. There’s a secret tunnel in the cellar. We can use that.”

The Belfast man nodded to the man behind Kane, who cracked the butt of his shotgun against the side of Kane’s head. Kane was already unconscious before he slumped forward onto the carpet.

The look-out tossed the radio to the Belfast man and crossed to the telephone to dial out as the first of the police cars screeched to a halt outside the house. It was answered immediately at the other end.

He pulled off his balaclava and wiped his hand across his sweating face. “Detective-Inspector Reeves here, sir. Mr. Whitlock’s plan worked a treat.” He glanced across at the other two policemen who had already discarded their balaclavas, and grinned triumphantly. “We’ve got the tapes.”

Whitlock’s plan had worked solely on the premise that Brady had taped the meeting at the hotel. It would have been a very different story had he been wrong …

But he had never entertained that idea. It was the obvious ploy. Why else would Brady have dragged Palmer to Ireland knowing that he would never agree to his terms? Whitlock had decided on using the two Belfast policemen with Reeves as an added precaution. If the Army Council hadn’t known about the meeting they would have sent in a cell from out of town, knowing that they couldn’t trust the locals in case they tried to tip off Kane in advance. But he didn’t know whether the meeting had the Army Council’s approval. It obviously did. And he knew Brady would have dealt with that himself. So by casting doubt on Brady’s word, that would throw Kane off-guard.

Brady had been allowed to leave Warrenpoint, as Palmer had promised. But Kane had been tailed to the safe house on the outskirts of the city by the four policemen. They had orders to wait until the tapes were delivered to Kane. Whitlock had been positive that Brady would put the tapes in the care of the one man he knew he could trust. It had just been a question of when the tapes would arrive …

All three men had been wired when they went into the house so that both the “look-out” and the local RUC, who were parked a few hundred yards away from the house, would know exactly when to make their moves.

With Kane unconscious, the RUC could claim either not to have found the three masked men when they entered the house or else to have lost them in a subsequent chase. Whitlock had left that decision to the police. Kane would be none the wiser. And with Kane in custody, Brady would have lost his one real ally. It would isolate him even further. And when the Army Council found out that Kane had lost the original tape, the noose would tighten a little more around Brady’s neck …