The door to the Command Center opened. Sabrina and Paluzzi emerged into the office and the door slid shut behind them again.
Paluzzi shook Graham’s hand. “So how was last night?”
“The jazz was great,” Graham retorted sharply and gave Sabrina a dirty look.
“I think I’ll have that coffee you offered me earlier,” Sabrina said quickly to Sarah. She held up her hand when Sarah made to stand up. “Don’t get up. I’ll make it myself. You want one?”
“No thanks,” Sarah replied.
“Fabio? Mike?”
“Not for me, thank you,” Paluzzi said, shaking his head. “I only drink freshly ground coffee. That stuff’s liquid mud.”
“On a good day,” Sabrina said with a wry grin. She looked at Graham. “Mike?”
Graham shook his head then crossed to where she was standing at the dispenser. “Did you have to announce to the whole world that we’d been to Sweet Basil’s last night?” he hissed under his breath.
“I’d hardly call Sarah and Fabio the whole world, would you?” she replied tersely.
“Why did you have to tell them?”
“I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. We went to a jazz club together. That doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
Graham glanced across at Sarah and Paluzzi who were talking together. He turned back to Sabrina. “These kind of situations can be misinterpreted. That’s how rumors start.”
“Don’t worry, Mike, I promise you it won’t happen again. Because from now on we’ll only see each other at work. That way there can be no misinterpretation. Satisfied?”
Before he could reply Whitlock entered the office. He greeted them both warmly then activated the miniature transmitter which operated the sliding door to the Director’s sanctum.
“Sit down,” Whitlock said, gesturing to the two black leather sofas against the wall. He moved around behind Kolchinsky’s desk and sat down, then used the transmitter to close the door again.
Sabrina sat beside Paluzzi. The gesture wasn’t lost on Graham. She smiled at Whitlock. “I still can’t get used to seeing you behind that desk, C.W. I’m so used to having you sitting here with us.”
“Well, you’d better get used to it,” Whitlock shot back. He held up his hand in apology. “I’m sorry, Sabrina. It’s been a long night. I only got in from London an hour ago.”
“Where’s Sergei?” Graham asked.
“With the Secretary-General. And he’ll be with him for the rest of the day. And probably tomorrow and the next day as well. We’re facing one of the most serious crises in UNACO’s history. Perhaps the most serious.”
“The Code Red assignment we’ve been assigned to cover?” Graham asked.
Whitlock nodded. “Strike Force Three was chosen because you and Sabrina are the best field operatives we have at UNACO. And you’re going to need all your wits about you to crack this one.” His eyes flickered toward Paluzzi. “It’s going to be a tough baptism of fire for you, Fabio, but I’m confident you can handle it.”
“I’m used to being thrown in at the deep end,” Paluzzi replied with a shrug.
Whitlock opened the folder on the desk. “What I’m about to tell you hasn’t been released to any of the other Strike Force teams as yet. I’ve asked those not on assignment to come in this afternoon for a special briefing. Those on assignment will be told in due course.” He stared at the page in front of him for a moment then looked up at them. “Strike Force Seven were ambushed while on assignment in London last night. Dave Swain and Jason Geddis were both dead on arrival at the hospital. Alain Mosser died in hospital in the early hours of this morning.”
“We lost a whole team?” Graham said numbly, breaking the lingering silence.
Whitlock nodded grimly. “We’ve lost individual field operatives in the past but never an entire team. This is exactly the kind of ammunition our critics need to pressurize the Secretary-General into disbanding UNACO.”
“And it couldn’t have come at a worse time,” Sabrina said, shaking her head. “Colonel Philpott’s hardly cleared out his desk and this happens.”
“Sergei and I are going to take a lot of flak over this,” Whitlock replied. “But that’s not your concern. You’ve got enough to worry about as it is. Not only do you have to take over Strike Force Seven’s assignment, you now also have to bring their killers to book.”
“Bring them to book?” Graham said angrily. “They gunned down three of our colleagues in cold blood–”
“I’m just as gutted as you are about what happened last night, Mike,” Whitlock cut in sharply.“They were a good, reliable team but more importantly they were also our friends. We can’t allow that to cloud our judgment though. This isn’t a vendetta. Remember that. We’re here to uphold the law, we’re not vigilantes out to settle a score. And you can be sure that the Secretary-General will be monitoring every move we make in this case. If you can bring them in alive then it’s going to put us in a better light when it comes to answering our critics.”
“What have we got to go on?” Sabrina asked.
“Strike Force Seven had been on a case for the past three months,” Whitlock replied, sifting through the papers in front of him. “They’ve left a lot for you to go on.”
“Such as?” Graham asked.
“Well, we’re pretty confident we know the identities of their killers,” Whitlock replied, holding up his hand before Graham could speak. “We’re jumping the gun here, Mike. Let’s put the case in perspective first, shall we?”
Graham nodded and sat back, his arms folded across his chest.
“The case they were working on involved a senior IRA cell commander. His name’s Sean Farrell.”
“Farrell?” Paluzzi retorted, spitting out the name.
“Do you know him?” Whitlock asked.
“Of him. I first came across the name about eighteen months ago when the NOCS were investigating the possible links between the Red Brigades and the IRA. I even heard it said that he was being groomed as a future IRA leader.”
“Not if we can help it,” Whitlock replied tersely. “He was arrested two days ago by Scotland Yard’s anti-terrorist squad when he returned to Britain from the continent. I made the arrangements to have him arrested because Dave Swain had assured me he had an informer who could put Farrell away for life.”
“Not McGuire?” Sabrina said suspiciously.
Whitlock nodded. “Yes, and Strike Force Seven were ambushed when they went to meet him. But there was no sign of McGuire when the police got there.”
“Who is this McGuire?” Paluzzi asked.
“Gerard McGuire is a top UNACO informer,” Whitlock told him. “He knows everything there is to know about the IRA. But there was a snag. He would only deal with Dave Swain. Nobody else.”
“Which means Strike Force Seven’s killers must know that McGuire was an informer,” Paluzzi deduced.
“We have to assume that, yes,” Whitlock agreed.
“He won’t talk to us, C.W., you know that,” Sabrina said. “Especially now that Dave’s dead.”
“If McGuire’s still alive, that is,” Paluzzi reminded her.
“That’s what you’ve got to find out. And if you do find him, you make sure he does talk. Because without his testimony Farrell will be free by the weekend. But that’s not the only reason why we need to find him before the IRA do.” Whitlock took another sheet of paper from the folder and put it on the desk. “I managed to speak to Alain last night when he first arrived at the hospital. He was able to give me a very sketchy account of what happened at the rendezvous before he lapsed into a coma. I’m not going to read it out to you. There’s a copy included in your dossiers. There is, however, one significant point that needs to be addressed now. Although he wasn’t able to hear what McGuire was saying to Dave, he was positive that he heard Dave say the name ‘Jack Scoby’.”