“What are you getting at?” Eastman demanded.
“Well, if you didn’t tell any of your people we were coming out here, it only leaves us with two possible explanations. Either someone overheard me talking to Roche in the bar, which I doubt, or else your car’s been bugged.”
“That’s preposterous,” Eastman shot back. “Our cars are checked every morning by a team of specialists. It’s a security precaution.”
“And that includes debugging?”
“Everything,” Eastman retorted, holding Graham’s stare. “We’re a tightly knit team, Mr. Graham. We trust each other.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But it still doesn’t answer the question of how the IRA found out about this place within minutes of my telling you.”
“We’ll bring Roche in for questioning first thing tomorrow morning,” Eastman said at length.
“And have the car checked.”
“I’ll do it myself,” Eastman replied coldly then held out a hand toward Graham. “Or better still, we can have it checked out together. Would that satisfy you?”
“Mike’s not saying that any of your men are necessarily in league with the IRA,” Sabrina said, trying to defuse the sudden tension between the two men. “But let’s face it, it wouldn’t have been very difficult for the IRA to find out who was leading the murder investigation, would it? So if the car has been bugged, it’s more than likely that the transmitter was put in place after the car was checked this morning.”
“I’m not out to antagonize you, Inspector,” Graham assured him. “I’m just trying to look at the situation from a practical point of view.”
Eastman sighed deeply. “I know. I’m sorry if I got a bit edgy just now. I get very protective of my team. They’re a great bunch. And I know they’re all fiercely loyal to the unit.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Graham was quick to add.
“I’ll have the car put in the pound this evening. Nobody will be allowed near it until I get there in the morning.” Eastman crossed to the telephone again. “Well, I’d better ring for a car to take you over to your hotel. There isn’t much else either of you can do here tonight.”
Fiona Gallagher took a long hot shower after they returned to the boarding house in Cricklewood. Then, slipping on her robe, she wound the towel around her head and returned to her room. She closed the door behind her then sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed her hands slowly over her face. The Army Council, who were responsible for directing the IRA’s military operations, had put her in temporary charge of the unit while Farrell was in detention. They had put their trust in her. Their directive had been simple: silence McGuire. She wouldn’t let them down. And she knew she wouldn’t have any qualms about killing him either. He knew too much …
There was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Liam,” came the curt reply.
Kerrigan. The man revolted her. She sometimes wondered just how she’d managed to stand him for so long. “What is it? I’m about to get ready for bed.”
“I want to talk to you, Fiona,” Kerrigan called out loudly. She could hear from his voice that he’d been drinking. He was known to be a heavy drinker but the Army Council had never cautioned him about it. He could hold his tongue when he drank and that’s all they were worried about. She knew he wouldn’t go away until he’d spoken to her. She tied the robe tightly around her waist then crossed to the door and opened it.
He pushed past her into the room. He had a bottle of brandy in his hand. She found it strange that a fiercely patriotic Irishman like Kerrigan loathed the taste of whiskey. Farrell had given him some stick about it in the past. But he was the only one who could get away with it. Nobody else dared, at least not to his face.
“What do you want, Liam?” she demanded, closing the door behind him. “It’s late and I want to get some sleep.”
“You want a drink?” he asked, holding out the bottle toward her.
“Just say your piece then get out!” she snapped angrily.
“My piece?” Kerrigan said, then sat down on the wooden chair by the window. “Why didn’t you kill that bitch tonight?”
Fiona controlled her anger. Kerrigan was trying to bait her. But she was damned if she would bite.
“Because it wasn’t necessary,” she replied matter-of-factly. “We’ve been given a directive by the Army Council. Find McGuire before the authorities do. And that’s what we’re going to do. With the minimum amount of bloodshed in the process.”
“I always thought you were spineless. This proves it.”
“I’d mind my tongue if I were you, Liam. You’ve already disobeyed orders when you shot those two undercover cops last night. It wasn’t part of the operation. You can be sure that will be in my report to the Army Council. And you’d have killed that couple as well if I hadn’t stopped you. You’re psychopathic, Liam, do you know that? Why do you think the Army Council turned you down when you put in a request to lead the cell in Sean’s absence? Because they couldn’t trust you to carry out their orders objectively and with the minimum amount of bloodshed.”
“I know Sean wouldn’t have chickened out like you did. He’d have put a bullet in her back without a second thought.”
“I’m not Sean,” she said softly. “But I am in charge of his cell and until he gets back you’ll do exactly as you’re told or else you’ll find yourself up in front of the Army Council on a disciplinary charge. And I don’t have to tell you how the Army Council views mutiny in the ranks. Now get out of here.”
Kerrigan’s hands were trembling with rage as he slowly got to his feet. He stood directly in front of her. “You think you’ve got it made, don’t you? Cute face. University degree. Screwing the Army Council’s blue-eyed boy. You may have taken Sean in, but your kind doesn’t fool me. Not for one minute.”
“My kind?”
“What would you call someone who’s slept their way into favor with senior management? In my books that’s a whore.”
She suddenly brought her knee up savagely into his groin. As he buckled over, groaning in agony, she brought her elbow up sharply against the side of his face. He crashed into the chest of drawers and the bottle slipped from his fingers as he fell to the floor.
Mullen heard the noise from the adjoining room. He dashed out into the corridor, burst into the room, brushed past Fiona and crossed to where Kerrigan lay.
“He’s out cold,” he said, looking up at her. “What happened?”
She told him.
Mullen sat down slowly on a chair and bit his lip anxiously. “What are you going to do? Have him replaced?”
She shook her head. “You know the orders. We’re only to contact the Army Council in an emergency. I don’t think they’d be too pleased to hear about this, do you? No, I’ll ask to have him replaced once we’ve seen this through.”
There was a knock at the door.
Mullen’s eyes flickered nervously from Kerrigan to Fiona. She crossed to the door and opened it. It was the manager of the boarding house.
“What’s going on in here?” he demanded, trying to peer over her shoulder into the room. “We’ve received several complaints from other guests about a loud noise coming from this room.”
She gave him a sheepish smile then stepped aside and pointed to Kerrigan. “We were having a few drinks in the room to celebrate his birthday. He had a little too much and passed out. He fell against the chest of drawers. Don’t worry though, the party’s over. I’m sorry if we disturbed the other guests.”
“Will he be all right?” the manager asked, looking over at Kerrigan.
She nodded. “He’s got a head like a Challenger tank. He’ll be fine in the morning.”