‘I’ve got something for you,’ said a hoarse, Ulster voice that he didn’t recognise. It sounded middle aged, certainly not young.
‘Who’s this?’ asked Dave, his pulse quickening.
‘You don’t know me, but I’ve got something for you.’
‘What sort of thing?’ Dave pressed the button that activated the recorder.
‘Information. I’m not saying any more. I need to meet.’
‘You’ll have to tell me a bit more before I can do that. What’s the information about?’
‘It’s about what’s going on now.’
‘What do you mean, going on? Going on where?’
‘I’m not saying any more over the phone. I’ll only talk if I can see you.’
‘Just give me a steer. What are we talking about here?’
‘I was a Provo volunteer. We’re supposed to be on ceasefire. But there’s things happening. I know what’s going on and who’s doing it.’
‘You mean the breakaway groups? How do you know about them? Have you spoken to the police?’ Dave was desperately trying to keep him on the line.
‘It’s just for you, not the police. You can’t trust them. I’ll ring again at twelve o’clock and you can give me the meeting place.’
The phone clicked and the light on Dave’s handset went out.
Hooray, thought Dave, picking up the photographs from the floor and grabbing some tissues from his desk drawer to mop up the spilled coffee. This was what he liked. Action.
He turned on his computer screen and pulled up the list of available operational premises – safe houses suitable for meeting a source.
Liz Carlyle was examining the surveillance photographs taken by the A4 team outside Fraternal Holdings. It was a cold, sparkling morning and the sun was glancing through the window onto the prints on her desk. The new offices were well heated, almost overheated. She was feeling hot in the thick polo-neck sweater she had put on when she saw the frost glittering like snow in the children’s playground outside her bedroom window. She was just contemplating removing the sweater, wondering whether the T-shirt she had on underneath was decent enough to reveal, when Dave walked into her office.
‘You look very bushy tailed,’ she said, observing his flushed cheeks. ‘What were you up to last night? Do I detect the effect of lovely Lucy?’
‘No, I haven’t seen Lucy for weeks. It’s strictly work,’ Dave replied with a wide grin. ‘I’ve had a phone call.’
‘Lucky you! Sit down and tell me more. Who from?’
‘That’s the interesting part. I don’t know. But I’m going to find out pretty soon.’ And he gave Liz the gist of the message from the anonymous caller. ‘Call came from a phone box, of course. He’s calling back in…’ Dave looked at his watch – ‘two and a half hours.’
‘What are you going to say to him?’
‘I’m going to meet him in Blue Lagoon,’ Dave replied, giving the code name of one of the safe houses.
‘Which one’s that? I haven’t seen what we’ve got in the way of operational properties.’
As Dave described the location of Blue Lagoon, Liz’s mind was turning over the situation. She was not used to being Dave’s boss and she hesitated to start throwing her weight about at this early stage, but she felt uneasy at Dave’s breezy approach.
‘How did he get your number?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. But it’s a number I’ve used for some time and it’s known to the police. Frankly, he was pretty cagey over the phone. He said he’ll only talk in person – he claims it isn’t safe any other way.’
‘He’s probably right there,’ said Liz. ‘Though face to face isn’t any guarantee of safety either – his or yours. I can’t say I like the sound of this.’
Dave shrugged. ‘Come on, Liz; we’ve got nothing to lose.’
‘What back-up are you planning?’
‘I don’t need back-up for this. It sounds straightforward. There is a ceasefire on, you know.’
Liz hesitated for a moment. She was unwilling to have a confrontation with him. After all, she was a new arrival and Dave, who’d been here longer, must have a better feel for the situation. But, though she rated Dave very highly, she knew that he had one flaw as an agent runner – impetuosity. He was never reckless, but when action competed with caution, action would usually win. This didn’t feel right to her; it could easily be a set up.
So she said, ‘There may be an IRA ceasefire, but he’s offering information on the breakaways. And they’re certainly not on ceasefire. He’s already said there’s stuff going on. I think you should have full anti-surveillance back-up for this meeting and that means meeting him out in the open, outside the city, and definitely not in a safe house.’
‘He’ll be looking for surveillance. I don’t want to scare him off.’
‘You’re not going to. You know how good A4 is. He’ll never see them. You should meet him somewhere he’s got to make a bit of a journey to get to, so we can watch him – make sure he hasn’t got anybody else with him. If he’s any good, it will reassure him that we’re looking after him too.’
Dave looked at her unhappily. ‘That will take a lot of resources, Liz. I’m not sure Binding will agree to it. I don’t want to lose this guy because we’re being over-cautious.’
‘I don’t want to lose you because we’ve been under- cautious, either. Leave Binding to me; I’ll go and see him straight away. You line up A4 and I’ll meet you in the Briefing Room in half an hour.’
‘OK,’ said Dave unhappily. ‘You’re the boss. But I hope we don’t blow this.’
I hope not too, thought Liz. If this didn’t go right, her reputation as head of the agent runners would be mud, and mud that would stick for a good long time.
15
Liz had not yet been to Bangor, up the coast of Northern Ireland from Belfast, but thanks to Google Maps she was beginning to feel she knew it pretty well, at least the layout of the streets in the centre of the town, which she and Dave had pored over with A4 the day before.
Now she was in the A4 Control Room, a smaller affair than its equivalent in Thames House, though the equipment was just as comprehensive. Unlike in Thames House though, the whole set-up was sparkling clean. It looked almost unused and Liz thought she could detect a faint smell of fresh paint still hanging around. There was only one blot on the newness and that was the old saggy-bottomed armchair that was parked by the door. Liz assumed this was the small brother of the ancient leather sofa in Thames House, kept for case officers to sit on when an operation was in progress.
The Control Room was the domain of Reggie Purvis, the operational controller. Liz was one of the few whom Reggie would allow near him when an operation was in progress. He liked Liz; she kept calm whatever happened and would only intervene when asked. Now she stood carefully positioned where she could see all the monitors, but well out of Reggie’s way.
Michael Binding had proved surprisingly amenable when Liz had asked for approval for the resources for this operation. Indeed he’d been so interested in this new source and what he might have to say that for a moment Liz had worried he would insist on taking over the whole operation. Fortunately he’d been called to a meeting in Thames House, but as he’d left for the airport he’d told Liz to make sure to keep him closely informed.
Little squirms of tension were chasing each other in Liz’s stomach. Reggie’s jaws were moving rhythmically as he chomped on a wad of chewing gum. Each of the monitors in the bank in front of him was flickering like a television set tuned to a channel that has closed down for the night. Everything was ready for Operation Brown Fox to begin.