A brandy in hand, Frost was sitting on his own in a corner of the mess at Lisburn mulling over the magazines of weekly comment with which he prided himself he kept abreast. He made a point of working his way through the dog-eared Spectator, Economist and Statesman, and it had become sufficient of a ritual for other officers of equal rank to leave him to himself, when on any other evening they would have joined him.
The mess waiter came over and hesitated beside the chair, before plunging in.
‘Excuse me, sir. Sorry to trouble you. There’s a reporter from The Times on the phone. Says he needs to speak to you. Says it’s urgent. He said to say he was sorry to trouble you, but he thought you’d want to hear what he had to say.’
Frost nodded, pulled himself up and followed the waiter to the phone cubicle.
‘Hello, Frost here. Ah, yes, we’ve met. A leaving party, in the summer, right? What can I do for you?’
He listened without interruption as the reporter read over to him the story that was being prepared for Monday’s editions. The Provisional IRA had tipped off one of their favoured reporters in Belfast that they believed the British had infiltrated a new secret agent into the city on a mission so sensitive that only the GOC, General Fairbairn, had been told of it. The Provos were claiming that the operation had caused great anger among British army staff officers in HQ. On Monday the story would appear in Dublin papers as well as British ones, and the IRA would be calling for special vigilance from the people to seek out the spy. The Provos, Frost was told, were saying this was a special operation and one quite different from anything mounted before.
‘I’m not expecting you to comment on anything, Colonel. This is a private call, just to let you know what’s going on. Good night.’
The colonel mouthed his thanks.
He flicked the receiver’s buttons up and down till the operator came on the line.
‘Evening. Frost here. GOC at home, please.’ When he was connected he told the General he needed to see him immediately. There was no hint of an apology for disturbing the senior soldier in Northern Ireland at that time of night. That would not have been Frost’s style. His early-warning antennae were already jangling with the possibility of a major intelligence scandal.
The General and Frost talked for an hour, and agreed to have another meeting at eight on Sunday morning with the benefit of further information. They would then, they thought, get on to the MOD and demand Harry’s immediate recall before the awkward business became necessary of dragging him out of some hedgerow with an IRA bullet in the back of his head.
Across the city in Mrs Duncan’s boarding house Harry was asleep. He had been somewhat unnerved by the brutality with which his cover had been stripped aside by the girl. On his return he had lifted the carpets and floorboards at the place where the revolver was hidden. The Smith & Wesson, with its six chambers loaded, was now wrapped in a towel under his pillow, in the corner over by the wall. As a day it had been a fiasco. A shambles. Back in the reality of the city with the hardness of the gun near to him he felt lunatic at what had passed between him and the girl in the wind and rain on the hillside. Out of his tiny mind.
Chapter 14
Harry was up early again that Sunday morning, and out of the house well before eight to make his way down to the city centre and the phone that he could use to talk to Davidson. This time he took the revolver with him, in his coat pocket, with the roughness of its shape shielded by the length of the covering anorak. The decision to take the gun had been an instinctive one, but now that he had it, and out on the streets and loaded, the situation that he faced was all the more clear. For the first time since they had flown him in from Germany he felt uncertain. That was the girl. Up that mountain talking a load of slop when he should have been concentrating, then letting her go last night, back into the warren that she shared with his opposition. Madness, and it aggravated him. Perhaps also there was the knowledge that the trail that had seemed so warm a week ago had now chilled.
The Smith & Wesson jarred against him as he stepped out down the Falls to the phone and communication with Davidson. There were no eyes watching him after he left Delrosa: the orders of the Battalion intelligence officer were being strictly obeyed.
He dialled the number, four-seven-zero-four-six-eight-one. After several desultory clicks he heard it ringing at the other end. It was answered.
‘It’s Harry here. How are the family?’
Davidson was in early too, and hoping for the call. ‘Very well, they liked the postcards.’
‘I’ve got a bit of a problem.’ Pause. ‘I’ve been blown by this girl, the one that helped me with the business I gave you last week. What a cock-up that was.’ Pause. ‘But anyway, putting the finger on that bird has led this girl straight back to me. She knows what I am. Not who I am, but what we’re here for. I want you to take her out. Get her out of the scene for the duration. You can do that, can’t you? She tells me that the man we want was at the same dance that we were at, a fortnight ago. I half-felt I remembered him. But the face wasn’t quite right on the photokit. If it’s the man then the army pulled him in, but that looked routine. He was just one of the ones that were rounded up. He had a woman with him, presumably his wife, in a yellow trouser suit. Have you got all that?’
‘I’ve got it on tape, Harry. Anything else?’
‘Hell, what more do you want? No, that’s all I have at the moment. But look, I don’t want the living daylights bashed out of this girl. I just want her lifted out so she doesn’t get involved any more. She’s Josephine Laverty, lives with her mother in one of those little streets in Clonard, up off the Springfield on the right. You’ll find her, but get to her quick, there’s a good lad.’
‘We’ll work something out. Don’t worry.’
‘There’s not really much else. It’s a bit chill here at the moment but I think I’m settled in here OK. If you don’t wrap it up on what I’ve just given you then it’ll be a very long time. Do we have time for that?’
‘We’ve plenty, as long as you think it worth it, Harry. But we ought, as you say, to kill it this time. It was a hell of a balls-up over the other girl. There was a lot of praise at this end for what you got. Great satisfaction. You’re all right yourself, are you? No-one following you about, no awkward questioning? Our assessment is that they would be right up to you by now if they were about to blow you, and that you’d probably have been aware of something. That’s not just supposed to cheer you up, but if no-one is sniffing around you then it should mean you’re OK.’
‘No, there’s nothing like that,’ Harry said. ‘I’m working too. Job in a scrap yard in Andersonstown, and paying well. Back to the scene, then.’
‘Harry, look, you ought to know this. I got well and truly chewed up over your living arrangements, us not knowing. It’s not only unusual, it’s unprofessional as well. Very unprofessional.’
‘The whole thing’s unprofessional,’ Harry replied. ‘Nothing’s going to change. You’re not going to order me, are you? I don’t think it would help, and it’s my neck. Thanks very much for caring. Cheers, maestro.’
‘Bye, Harry, I understand. No-one else does. Take care, and listen to the news. As soon as you hear we’ve got him, come whistling out. Give me a call first if you can, but head on up to the airport like you’ve got a bomb up your backside. Take care.’