O’Farrell took the opening. “To be absolutely safe I needed it.”
“You’ve got all the routes and timings?”
“Yes.”
“Check them thoroughly, every morning and night,” Petty instructed. “Those schedules can screw up.”
“Of course,” O’Farrell said.
“You got the job,” Petty said.
The announcement was so abrupt and O’FarreH’s mind so occupied elsewhere that initially he did not comprehend what he was being told. “What?”
“Your promotion here, to join Erickson and me. It’s been confirmed.”
“That’s wonderful news,” O’Farrell managed, his throat working up and down. How could it be! There was no moral difference between initiating a killing in the comfort of a Washington office and carrying it out in some backstreet part of the world. One thing at a time, he told himself; concentrate upon evading this assignment before worrying about anything else.
“Congratulations,” Petty said. “We’re looking forward to your joining us. You take care now, you hear?”
Practically an invitation for what he intended to do! O’Farrell thought He said, “You know I will.”
“All luck.”
“Thanks.”
O’Farrell left the embassy, still promising to drink sometime with Lewis, deciding he might as well occupy the afternoon renting the car. He ignored the big agencies, as he had in London. On the outskirts of the city, on the road toward Las Rozas, he rented a Seat from a broken-toothed garage owner grateful for the cash transaction, and considered himself lucky to make it back to central Madrid. The drinking that night was quite different from before. It was for pleasure, relaxation, and not for oblivion, and although he had a bottle of wine with dinner and brandy afterward, O’Farrell went to bed feeling quite sober.
The following day, the last before the conference began, O’Farrell repeated his earlier surveillance and climbed the incline toward the embassy, knowing that the brief moment of Rivera’s car slowing upon entry and departure really would have been the only opportunity had he intended going through with it. It would, of course, be necessary to continue making it appear that he was: monitor the daily movements, as Petty advised, and create the bomb and park the Seat in the street he had selected. There was always the possibility of a watch squad that he hadn’t bothered this time to locate, and they would have to support his account that he’d done everything possible before aborting the attempt because his own detection and seizure would have been inevitable. The taking care that Petty had insisted upon.
O’Farrell hid himself among a small crowd watching Rivera’s departure that first morning and, afterward, in his hotel room, watched the television coverage of the formal opening, although he couldn’t understand the commentary. He saw Rivera on three occasions, each time enclosed by security men. He checked the man in and out of the embassy during the luncheon adjournment, saw more television coverage in the afternoon, and was standing on the pavement again in the evening when Rivera returned. It was interesting, O’Farrell reflected, that the scheduled timings had been remarkably accurate, the only difference being in the evening, and that by Rivera being just two minutes late.
The sealed, eyes-only package containing the Semtex and the timer would be at the embassy by now. It would be wrong if he didn’t collect them sometime the following day. He’d do it after seeing Rivera away. It would mean his carrying a bomb around a city on full security alert, but by itself Semtex looked like gray cement, and he could leave it in the trunk. The timer he would keep in his room, a rather elaborate alarm clock to anything but the closest of examinations.
O’Farrell was awake early, once more without any discomfort from .the previous night’s intake, setting out in good time for what was becoming routine. He was attracted by a perfume shop on the opposite side of the road and crossed, spending several minutes looking at the window selection, trying to decide upon a present for Jill. Definitely perfume, because she enjoyed perfume. And something for Ellen, too. Her birthday, he remembered; the birthday for which Billy had been saving. They could say it was from both of them.
The window-shopping had delayed him and the crowd had already formed ahead as he approached. He was still about thirty yards away when the gates of the embassy opened and the diplomatic vehicles began emerging. The timing’s off today, thought O’Farrell. Rivera’s car was just clear of the entrance when the explosion came, a window-shattering eruption with an immediate after-punch blast of air that knocked him heavily into the bordering wall. Rivera’s limousine disintegrated in front of his eyes: O’Farrell was just able, to its left, to see the other car that had formed the bomb, its cratered and burning shell visible through the debris and dust.
O’Farrell’s training automatically took over. He rebounded off the wall, already turning to get away from a scene of violence. What the hell! What or who in the name of Christ had—
It was as far as O’Farrell’s bewilderment ever got. The shot was perfect, absolutely professional, a spread-on-impact, high-velocity shell that caught him midchest, gouging the life from him. It was too quick for there to be the slightest pain. He was dead before his body landed, half on the pavement, half on the road. But his face was frozen by shock. His eyes were wide open, staring, an expression of astonishment.
THIRTY-FOUR
IT WAS the first bad day of a Washington autumn, gray and sullen with a spiteful wind strong enough to howl through the larger catafalques and burial vaults. There was a lot of security because of the Secretary of State’s attendance, secret servicemen with their walkie-talkies and earpieces standing point around the entire grave area. The official cars had been allowed to pull very close, a further precaution, but McCarthy’s vehicle, a long stretch limousine to accommodate all the people, had been allowed to park on a promontory separate from the rest. Against the smoke-glassed windshield were attached sufficient passes and official clearances to allow it to go anywhere it wanted.
There were five men in the vehicle. All were dressed solemnly, although just short of funeral black. The elevation of the vehicle enabled them to see everything.
“There’s the family,” Petty said as a group got from one of the huddled cars and slowly led the way to the grave edge. “Billy’s the one to the right.”
The boy was in fact holding his mother’s hand and weeping bitterly. Ellen was walking with difficulty, trying to support her head-bowed, sobbing mother on her other arm. John was helping on the other side, and Beth was holding tightly to their son. Mother and son were crying, too.
“You put the fix in, with Chicago?” McCarthy asked.
Petty nodded. “Patrick’s payments are being computer-monitored. There’s no chance of his falling behind.”
“That’s good,” the Plans director said absently.
There was a flurry of movement from cameramen as the Secretary of State and his party came into shot with the family.
“We can’t go down there. We could be photographed too easily,” Sneider said from behind the wheel. He was driving because of the need for absolute security within the vehicle.
“I’m still not sure that O’Farrell had cracked completely, that he would have fouled up some way,” Petty said. “He’d made all the right moves.”
“He would have cracked,” Lambert said, with quiet, expert insistence. “My guess is that he wouldn’t have fouled up; he was still too good for that. My guess is that in the end he wouldn’t have gone through with it.”
“We owe a lot to you, doctor,” McCarthy said, the architect of everything that had happened. “If it hadn’t been for you, O’Farrell would have stayed a basket case after London, and none of the rest would have been possible. Not so perfectly as it has turned out.”