"Is that so, now? I have convinced the Special Branch crowd and even my superiors, who are all waiting to talk to you, that I can get you to help us. Now I don't mind telling you that they think I'm cracked. I don't even want to tell you that they are in a fierce hurry to talk to you. Pressure, you see. We're all under pressure. So I'm here to pass on some pressure to you."
Loftus' bemused look had changed to one of curiosity.
"Everyone seems to believe that systems can be designed to rule out human weakness. Perversity, maybe I should call it. I mean nothing is ever watertight. People don't behave according to plan. Isn't that really banal, Captain?"
"You're putting it mildly."
"The best-laid plans and all that. You think you can depend on people. Especially if you control their motivations. I mean, young people are called cynical the way they scorn the carrots dangling in front of them-the job, the car, that stuff. What happens when the incentive isn't there though?"
"You're nearly as entertaining as the programme I'm missing at home," Loftus said.
"Weakness, though. Some people can live with it and some can't. Some despise weakness, don't they? They fall in love with efficiency, action. Any action if it comes to that. Looking for to be heroes of some description."
Loftus drew in a breath and expelled it noisily through his nose.
"Or was it Captain Loftus, the great nationalist, who has all the ready solutions at hand…?"
Loftus' eyes glittered with contempt but he said nothing.
"… If I had to place my bet, though, I'd not put money on your brand of patriotism, Loftus. Not even your love affair with the problem-solving know-how that you learned off the Yanks when you were there… Oh no, I see the dark horse as the one for this course. You're a good, upright lad who probably still goes to Mass and visits his mother, are you? But every day in the college you rub up against what's left of the Anglo Irish. And you find that you're not really their equal, no matter what the job description says… You're just not a college boy, are you? A Catholic lad, up from Cork, you have your wits about you, but you find it's not quite enough to be ace-"
Minogue saw Loftus' nostrils flare. Loftus leaned forward in the chair.
"Easy does it now, like a good man, Loftus. There are men outside here who have had friends killed by the types of people you favour with your politics. Do you follow the gist of what I'm saying?"
What would have been a sneer had Loftus not controlled it eased into a strained grimace of a smile. He sat back stiffly in the chair.
"I'm getting tired of this ramble, Minogue. I've been patient. I have an idea how things work for security organisations. The more you talk, the bigger a stink I'm going to make about this. I'm not your common or garden-variety citizen who has to put up with this. I maintain enough links through the college with people who can have you on the carpet-"
"So Murphy's Law of Damage is true again," Minogue continued.
"What?"
"You know. If there's a one percent chance of something going wrong, it'll go wrong ninety-nine percent of the time and cause one hundred percent damage."
"That's rich all right. I'll remember that. Now-"
"Now we'll talk about Allen, Captain."
"Who?" asked Loftus.
"Allen, the one who's putting the finger on you. You don't have a lever on him anymore. Something else came up. Didn't you know? I'm sure you did. Agnes McGuire? Well she was in the car with him, but he didn't make it this time. Someone tipped off the Brits. They were waiting for him. Yes. Allen tried to make a run for it, but they shot up the car. Yes. Don't know if she'll live or not."
Minogue stood up and crossed his arms. He began to stroll slowly around the room, watching Loftus out of the corner of his eye. Minogue felt the day would never end. He had an ache like a kick in his belly. The tea would be burned by now and he'd reneged on one of his resolutions. Kathleen would be worried. As he paced the room, he recalled the blades beating the air as he bent to walk to the cockpit of the helicopter. Rust-coloured blood on Allen's face and shirt, but not Allen's blood. He stopped and sat on the desktop.
"He has nothing to lose now, you see," Minogue murmured.
Inspector Colm Quigley arrived at a run from the car which had raced through Dun Laoghaire. Even before he stepped from the car, he had been breathing heavily. The drizzle came as a relief to him. Somehow the smell of the sea calmed him. He reminded himself to be more regular with his exercise as he approached the van.
Other policemen were jealous of what they thought was glamorous stuff that Quigky's Emergency Response Team did: hostages, shoot-outs, surveillance. Often arriving unannounced, Quigley walked heavily on many toes. His teams were called cowboys. At meetings, Quigley spent a lot of time returning the gazes of senior uniformed Gardai whose looks indicted his forty-three years as well as the paramilitary operations he reported on.
Three other cars stood next to the van, their engines running. He tapped on the window of the van. A face behind the drops widened in recognition.
"They're ninety percent sure," the driver of the van said, rolling down the window. "Come in outa the rain, sir," Sergeant O'Rourke added.
Quigley declined.
"He was in the crowd getting on," O'Rourke said.
"And how did it get this far?"
"Came out on the train, sir. We don't have anyone actually on the train."
"Are the two detectives down there armed?" O'Rourke asked quickly, nodding toward the ferry lights, half hidden in the trees which lay below the carpark on Marine Road.
"No, sir. A fair crowd on the boat tonight," O'Rourke said.
Quigley recognised the tact and he privately admonished himself.
"Right. How many are we?" Quigley said.
"Gibbons, Maher and meself here, sir. There's eight more in the cars outside. All the stuff is here."
Quigley thought for a minute. This could be buggered up very easily. If it was the fella, then there might be shooting. There were a lot of confined spaces on the boat. Too many places to cover as well. The drizzle was soaking down his hair now, settling, cool.
"Anybody told the Gardai yet?" Quigley asked.
O'Rourke shook his head.
More trouble, thought Quigley. He'd have to tell them sooner or later. Maybe this fella was standing up on a deck looking around for police. Imagine a crowd of yahoos tearing down here with the lights flashing…
The ferry was due to leave at a quarter to nine. They had twenty minutes before having to ask for a delay and arouse the man's suspicions. Now: if they could coax the fella out on a deck alone. No one would be out in this weather.
Quigley could see the beginnings of the pier's lights below. The rest of it hid behind the trees, curling around to meet the East Pier at the mouth of the harbour. Behind him he could hear music coming from the lounges in the seafront hotels. The idling engines reminded him that time was running out fast.
"O'Rourke, listen. This fella may have the same gun on him. It's a 45 Calibre, an automatic, so it'll put out a lot in a hurry. Under no circumstances are you or any of these lads to challenge him if there is another party present. Bystanders and it's out, completely. That doesn't leave us much leverage. No one is to take submachine guns on board."
O'Rourke raised his eyebrows, then he nodded twice, slowly. "Moloney, you get a call through to the bridge for the captain or first officer only. TeR, them we're coming on board. Don't tell them why. Tell him I'll go directly to him so have someone meet me and tell any crew at the entrance."
O'Rourke paused. He was aware of a slight tremor in his voice.
"Then you'll wait for ten minutes and you'll radio in for Garda assistance. If there's any questions asked of you later, you'll refer them to me, and me only. Gibbons, I want a vest. You and O'Rourke and myself are going to go ahead, one by one at a half minute apiece. I'll go first. The two lads at the gangplank say he might be with a crowd of navvies, but I don't get it. He has a red outdoor jacket, like an anorak, like something for climbing mountains. One bag. When you get on, just disperse, move around. We don't have much time. He'll be suspicious if the boat is late. If you spot him and there's none of us near, then use the radio. If he's clearly on his own and you've got the space, well and good. Assume he is armed so follow procedures. I repeat: assume he is armed." ^