Whitlock rested his arm on the roof of the car and stared thoughtfully at the hotel in the distance. “Something just doesn’t ring true about Brady’s motives tonight.”
“He was obviously out for personal glory. Some way to worm his way back into favor with the Army Council. And it would have been a major propaganda coup if he’d managed to bring the IRA in on the security operation tomorrow.” Palmer noticed the consternation on Whitlock’s face as he continued to stare at the hotel. “You’re not convinced, are you?”
“Not about bringing the IRA in on the security operation. I can’t believe he would have taken these kinds of risks to lay something like that on you. He would have known you’d never have gone along with it. So why did he bring you here?”
“You mean apart from trying to ingratiate himself with me?” Palmer said with a half-smile. “When we spoke earlier on the phone it was Palmer. Then, to my face, it suddenly became Commander this, Commander that. The way he was addressing me–”
“Of course,” Whitlock cut in and banged his fist angrily on the roof. “Now it all makes sense. The son-of-a-bitch.”
“Well, spit it out, man,” Palmer demanded.
“Think back to the points he raised tonight. The IRA have never had a contract out on Senator Scoby. They’re just as concerned for his safety as we are. They want to stop Gallagher to save themselves any further embarrassment. But we don’t know what she looks like. They do. And they’re prepared to go out on a limb to help us track her down before she can get to the senator. But he knows you’d never go for it. And you don’t. In fact, you turned him down flat.”
“So?” Palmer said, frowning.
“What if everything we said in there tonight was recorded onto tape so that if the senator is assassinated in Dugaill tomorrow, Brady can produce a copy of the meeting and give it to the Press? But it won’t be the original tape. It’ll be an edited version of the original. A version designed to highlight the fact that although the IRA were our last chance of finding Gallagher you refused even to consider working with them. In other words, he’d be trying to shift the blame for the senator’s death on to the anti-terrorist squad.”
“The public would see through it straight away,” Palmer said.
“But with the maximum amount of embarrassment to Scotland Yard. They would demand to know why the head of the anti-terrorist squad was meeting secretly with the Chief-of-Staff of the IRA’s Army Council. A man who’s been responsible for an intensive bombing campaign on the British mainland over the last year which has cost the lives of innocent women and children. Were you trying to make a deal with him? If not, what were you doing talking to him in the first place? And by making the edited version public in the US he’ll also be allaying the fears of many of their Noraid supporters who’ll naturally be worried that the IRA have gone back on their word never to target foreigners.
“He’s anticipated the worst possible scenario and this is his contingency plan not only to discredit Scotland Yard but also to minimize the damage abroad. Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. That’s why he was being so ingratiating to you tonight. It’s going to sound really good on tape, isn’t it?”
“I see now why Sergei Kolchinsky talks so highly of you,” Palmer said after a long, thoughtful silence.
“It’s only a theory,” Whitlock was quick to point out. “And that’s all it can be until we know for sure.”
“Well if you’re right about this and that tape does reach the Press, we’re going to be crucified. We’ll be lucky to keep our pensions. We have to stop him before he leaves the hotel.”
“No,” Whitlock said, putting a restraining hand on Palmer’s arm. “Let him go.”
“What are you talking about? We have to stop him before he can get the tape edited.”
“Trust me,” was all Whitlock would say.
The Land Rover started up in front of them and drew away from the curb, disappearing up an adjoining street.
Reeves crossed to where Palmer and Whitlock were standing. “I’ve pulled all the men out, sir.”
Palmer glanced anxiously at Whitlock but Whitlock just shook his head. “Has the plane been refuelled, Reeves?” he asked calmly.
“Yes, sir, I would think so.”
“Good,” Whitlock replied, clapping his hands together. “Then we can get back to London.”
“What about Brady?” Palmer demanded. “Are you just going to let him walk?”
“Yes,” Whitlock replied bluntly.
“Look, if you’re right–”
“Trust me,” Whitlock said with a reassuring smile. “Now, shall we get back to the plane?”
The complement of Marines on duty that evening at Winfield House, the official residence of the American ambassador in Regent’s Park, were under the direct command of a second lieutenant called Kowalski. Kowalski, who had only recently graduated from the Officers’ Training College at Quantico, Virginia, had made no attempt to hide his contempt for Graham and Sabrina when they arrived at the embassy with the Scoby party. Sabrina had taken an immediate dislike to him, finding him both arrogant and condescending. Graham had been more tolerant. As an ex-soldier he knew that the young officer felt his authority was being undermined by a couple of outsiders. He would have reacted similarly had it happened to him at Delta. Kowalski had shown them around the grounds and made the point several times that security at the embassy was always on full alert. And it would be no different that night. Graham and Sabrina certainly couldn’t find fault with what they had seen. Which meant there wouldn’t be much for them to do other than keep an eye on the Scobys inside the embassy building.
Sabrina had made it plain to Graham from the outset that she thought it best if he shadowed the senator whilst she stayed with Melissa Scoby. It was obvious that she still harbored the bizarre belief that Melissa Scoby fancied him and that, by keeping them apart, she was acting in his best interests. He knew it was ridiculous and although as head of Strike Force Three he could technically overrule her, he wasn’t about to start making waves. It wasn’t worth the aggravation. He went along with it, if only to keep the peace.
Scoby had mingled freely with the guests, establishing as many new contacts as possible. Ambassadors, charges d’affaires, businessmen. Anyone he felt could be useful to him at some point in his future.
Graham was quick to pick up on Scoby’s thought pattern. The more important the contact, the more quality time he would spend talking to them. Those who had nothing to offer him were rewarded with a cursory smile and a handshake before he set off to weed out another potential target. Scoby’s cunning intrigued Graham. He was a scheming bastard. But also a clever one.
At dinner Graham, now the senior UNACO representative there, found himself sandwiched between the wives of two senior European ambassadors and he spent much of the meal tactfully fending off a barrage of questions about both UNACO and the events on the Thames earlier in the day. The secret had been to keep visualizing the poster Whitlock had had on his bedsit wall when he was at Oxford. Diplomacy is telling someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip …
The end of the meal couldn’t come quickly enough for him. He caught up with Sabrina as she was leaving the room with one of the European ambassadors and, grabbing her arm, he gave the ambassador a conciliatory smile before propelling her out into the corridor.
“You looked like you were having fun in there,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Yeah, sure,” he retorted. “And talking of fun, it’s your turn to check in with Kowalski.”
“I went the last time,” she complained.