“I’m sure you’ve already put a trace on this call so I’ll get straight to the point. We want to find Fiona Gallagher as much as you do.”
“So your Press officer said in his statement to the media,” Palmer replied contemptuously. “But frankly I don’t buy it for one minute.”
“If you want to talk about it further I’ll be in Warrenpoint tonight. It’s a town close to the border with Southern Ireland. The Stills Hotel. Eight o’clock. Ask at the desk for Pat Gorman. Come alone. And unarmed. And don’t waste your time by sending in any of your strong-arm boys because I won’t be there until I know the area’s been declared safe. The ball’s in your court, Palmer.”
Palmer slowly replaced the receiver. Moments later the telephone rang again. The call had been traced to Keady in County Armagh, but there hadn’t been time to pinpoint its exact location.
Palmer stubbed out the cigarette then lit another one. There was no doubt in his mind now that he had been speaking to Kevin Brady. Michael Nelson had been one of the anti-terrorist squad’s top undercover operatives in Belfast in the late eighties. He had disappeared suddenly and a week later his body had been found in an alley in west Belfast. He had been tortured then shot in the back of the head. His murder had never been solved. Nelson was his undercover name. It had never been revealed to the Press that his real name was Patrick Gorman …
He dialed the Grosvenor House Hotel and asked the switchboard operator to put him through to Whitlock’s room. It was urgent.
Half an hour later, Whitlock was sitting in Palmer’s office.
“It could be a trap,” Whitlock said when Palmer had finished telling him about Brady’s call.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Palmer replied. “But what if he’s on the level? What if he’s genuinely as much in the dark about this as we are? More importantly, what if he knows something that could lead us to her?”
“And what if you’re wrong?”
“I know I’m an IRA target. It goes with the job. But I’ve got a feeling about this. It goes against everything I’ve learnt in this business, but I think he’s on the level.”
“Was there anything in his voice to suggest that?”
Palmer managed a rare smile. “You obviously don’t know Kevin Brady. He never shows any emotion, either on his face or in his voice. It’s uncanny. You’ll see.”
“I’ll see?” Whitlock retorted suspiciously.
“I’d like you to fly to Warrenpoint with me later this afternoon. I know you’re supposed to be attending the banquet at Winfield House tonight but I’m sure your operatives can cover for you. If, as I believe, Fiona Gallagher is the last remaining member of this cell still alive, then it’s hardly likely that she will try anything at the ambassador’s house tonight. No, it’s my bet that she’ll try and take the senator out at the church tomorrow.” Palmer tapped the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. “Of course the decision’s entirely up to you whether you accompany me or not.”
“It’s a long shot but I guess right now we should be grabbing at anything that comes our way. OK, I’ll make the necessary excuses to the senator and the American ambassador. Are we taking a backup team in with us?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you?”
“We could take Keith Eastman.”
“He’s flying out to Dugaill tonight. I want the area around the church secured by the time the senator’s helicopter arrives tomorrow morning. We can’t afford any more slip-ups.”
“What time will we leave for Warrenpoint?”
“I can have a light plane ready for take-off in an hour. Do you need to go back to the hotel for anything?”
“No, I can arrange things with Mike over the phone.”
“Help yourself,” Palmer said, pushing the white telephone toward Whitlock. “I’ll have a word with Keith. Then I’ll have to clear it with the Commissioner. I’m not quite sure how he’s going to react to the idea of us holding a clandestine meeting with Britain’s most wanted criminal, but right now I don’t see that we’ve got much choice.”
Sabrina knocked on the door of Paluzzi’s private ward. He immediately folded over the copy of the London Evening Standard he had been reading and beckoned her into the room.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as she pulled up a chair and sat down.
“My ribs still hurt like hell but at least the headache’s gone. That was driving me mad.” Paluzzi eyed the magazines in her hand. “Are they for me?”
She handed them to him. “I picked them up on the way over here. I know how boring it can get stuck in a hospital bed.”
“These are great. Thanks.” He put them on the bedside table. “You were laid up in hospital a few years ago, weren’t you?”
“Don’t remind me,” she replied, pulling a face. “I spent four months at the American Hospital of Paris.”
“What happened exactly?”
“I was involved in an accident at Le Mans.” She nodded when she saw the surprise on his face. “I was very rebellious in those days. I’d do anything to spite my parents. So when they told me not to enter the race I naturally went and did the exact opposite. I lost control of the car and ended up in hospital. I got off lightly. A punctured lung and multiple fractures. The car was a complete write-off. But it was just the sort of jolt I needed to bring me to my senses. I decided it was time to grow up and do something constructive with my life. So I joined the Feds–” She trailed off with a sheepish grin. “I haven’t been here two minutes and I’m already boring you to death with my life history.”
“Hardly boring,” Paluzzi replied.
“Well, enough of me. I hear congratulations are in order. Mike told me you’re going back to Italy to head the NOCS. We’ll be sorry to lose you.”
“I’m sorry to be going. But it’s for the best in the long term.”
“Have you told Claudine yet?”
“I phoned her earlier this afternoon. She’s thrilled to be going back home again.”
“What did she say when you told her you were in hospital?”
“You know what–”
“Women are like?” Sabrina finished with a smile. “There’s a maternal instinct in all of us. Mike’s on at me about it all the time.”
“I guess it’s just a woman’s way of showing that she cares,” Paluzzi said, watching her closely for any reaction.
“I guess,” she replied with a quick shrug. “Is Claudine coming over?”
“Yes. And she’s bringing Dario with her. The flight’s due in at Heathrow around eleven tonight. So I’ll probably get to see them in the morning.”
“I bet you’re really looking forward to seeing them again.”
“Of course. Especially little Dario. He’s changed my life. Kids, they’re really fantastic.”
“I know,” she replied with a smile.
“Have you ever thought about having kids of your own one day?”
“My parents keep hinting that I should find a husband and settle down. I know my mother would kill for a grandchild. But it would mean leaving UNACO, especially if 1 did decide to have kids. And I’m not ready for that. I sometimes wonder if I’m ever going to be ready for it. They say you’ll know when the right person comes along. Well, he hasn’t shown yet.”
“Hasn’t he?” Paluzzi said, casting a questioning look in her direction.
“Mike?” She shook her head. “He’s great as a friend. But that’s as far as it goes.”
“As far as who’s concerned?”
“As far as we’re both concerned. And even if I did want to take it further, which I don’t, I know he wouldn’t be interested. There will only ever be one woman for Mike. And that’s Carrie. He was absolutely crazy about her.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, if you’ve quite finished playing matchmaker, I’d better be getting back to the hotel. I’ve still got to get ready for this do tonight.”