“You mean I now have rank over you in the field?” Graham said with obvious delight.
“As long as I’m a part of your team, yes.” Whitlock paused at the entrance and wagged a finger of warning at him. “But don’t push it or I’ll have your arse the moment we get back to New York.”
Yeah, you probably would, Graham thought to himself as he hurried after Whitlock, who was already making his way back to the car.
When Fiona left the safe house for the last time she was wearing a plain black skirt, a baggy red sweater and the familiar black trilby which was tugged down firmly over her spiky blonde hair. She took the tube to Heathrow Airport and was told that the Belfast flight was scheduled to leave on time. After checking in she bought a copy of the Independent then went through to the cafeteria and treated herself to a coffee and a sandwich. She found a seat by the window then opened her overnight bag and withdrew the envelope containing the third plan for the assassination of Scoby: the letter “C” was inscribed on its cover. She didn’t bother opening it. Instead she put it down on the table then turned her attention to the front page of the Independent.
She was on her second coffee when her flight was announced over the loudspeaker. She picked up her overnight bag and made her way to the departure lounge, leaving the unopened envelope on the table.
The envelope was discovered by a cleaner after the flight had taken off. She handed it in to her supervisor who opened it, hoping to discover an address so he could forward it on to the owner. He looked inside. It was obviously some prank: it was empty. He tossed the envelope into the bin at the side of his desk and went back to his paperwork.
Chapter Twelve
The rain pummeled the Mercedes as it hurtled along a deserted road in County Armagh. Inside were three men. The driver, Hagen, and McAuley, who sat beside him, had both served time for their part in an IRA bombing campaign on the British mainland in the early eighties. McAuley was armed. The third man, who was seated in the back of the car, was in his late thirties with thinning brown hair and a pale, cadaverous face. Kevin Brady was the Chief-of-Staff of the IRA’s military wing, the Army Council. He was a cold, dispassionate man who had an unnerving habit of speaking in an unvarying monotone. Quick to reward initiative and even quicker to punish failure, he had been known to order the execution of entire families simply by a nod of his head or a snap of his fingers if he thought it would prove a point. The majority of those on the Army Council were prepared to overlook his faults because of his tactical successes in the field, but there were a small number who were fiercely opposed to his brutal methods, especially those relating to internal discipline, and who felt that the only way to displace him would be to have him killed …
The Mercedes turned off the main road and sped through an open gate onto a dirt road. An armed Provo, his face hidden under a black balaclava, ghosted out from behind a bush and closed the gate behind the car. They continued along the dirt road for another three hundred yards until they reached a farmhouse. Hagen brought the car to a halt. Two masked Provos stood outside, both armed with ArmaLite rifles. Jumping out of the car, McAuley opened the back door for Brady while one of the armed Provos knocked on the farmhouse door. Brady was ushered inside and led to a room at the end of the corridor. His escort rapped twice on the door then gestured for Brady to enter.
The three men sitting behind a table at the far end of the room were all senior members of the Army Counciclass="underline" Pat Taylor, an Enniskillen businessman and a former Army Council Chief-of-Staff; Michael Kelly, once a leading Sinn Fein councillor; and Kieran O’Connell, the former editor of the official IRA newspaper, An Phoblacht.
Taylor pointed to the wooden chair in the middle of the room. “Sit down.”
Brady crossed to the chair and sat down.
“You know why you’ve been called here, don’t you?” Taylor said as he tamped a wad of tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.
“Yes.”
“Did you issue a directive to Fiona Gallagher to assassinate Senator Jack Scoby?” O’Connell asked.
Brady’s lifeless eyes locked onto O’Connell’s face. “No.”
“Then who issued the directive?” O’Connell demanded.
“You tell me,” Brady replied in his deadpan voice. “Now you listen to me–”
“Kieran,” Taylor cut in quickly. “We aren’t going to get anywhere by squabbling amongst ourselves like this.” He looked across at Brady. “An order like that would have had to come from the Chief-of-Staff or one of his senior officers.”
“I didn’t give the order and neither did any of my senior officers,” Brady told him.
Kelly got to his feet and crossed to the window. “There’s been a rumor going around these last few weeks that Dominic Lynch intended to come back from Switzerland to try and oust you, not only as Chief-of-Staff, but also from the Army Council as well.”
“I’ve also heard that rumor,” Brady replied.
Kelly looked around at Brady. “Lynch and Farrell were close friends, weren’t they?”
“And you think they planned this to discredit me?” Brady sat forward and stared at the wooden floor. His face remained expressionless. “It’s possible. But then who killed Lynch?”
“Gallagher, probably,” Kelly said after a thoughtful pause. “That way it would leave the door open for Farrell to challenge you instead. She kills Kerrigan and Mullen because they know too much and all the time the finger’s pointing at you because he’d already given the order to silence McGuire.”
“That’s pure fantasy and you know it,” O’Connell said, coming to Farrell’s defense. “Sean and Dom were inseparable. It’s inconceivable that Sean would allow Fiona to murder his best friend. I just don’t buy it.”
Taylor’s worst fears were being realized. It was fast becoming a conflict of personalities. O’Connell, the moderate who would certainly have backed Lynch had he returned to challenge Brady; and Kelly, the hard-liner who was Brady’s most vociferous supporter in the Army Council. He had to steer the issue back on course. “Who gave the order is irrelevant right now. What we have to do is stop Gallagher before she does manage to take Scoby out.”
“Can you find her?” Kelly asked Brady.
“I don’t think he should be in on this,” O’Connell said before Brady could answer. “What if he really is the mastermind behind this whole conspiracy? He’d be able to make sure she was always one step ahead of us.”
“You’re out of line, Kieran,” Kelly snapped. “What proof do you have to substantiate these allegations?”
“That’s enough,” Taylor cut in, glaring at both men. “We’ve got enough problems as it is without you two bickering like this.” He turned back to Brady. “I want her stopped. And if you can’t do it, we’ll find someone who can. Do I make myself understood?”
“Perfectly.” Brady stood up. “And I can employ any methods I see fit to find her?”
“Yes,” Taylor replied bluntly. “But just make sure you bring her in alive.”
“That may not be possible–”
“Alive,” Taylor interceded sharply. “She’s our one chance of getting to the bottom of this.”
Brady left the room without another word. Moments later they heard the Mercedes drive off.
“You don’t honestly think he’ll bring her in alive, do you?” O’Connell said contemptuously, breaking the lingering silence. “He’ll put a bullet in her the first opportunity he gets. It’s the only way he’ll be sure of silencing her.”
“You’re sailing close to the wind, Kieran,” Kelly said, levelling a finger at him. “You’ve been on Kevin’s back ever since this story broke this afternoon.”