Liz said, ‘He said he’s been working for Fraternal Holdings. Given the pictures we have of him at their offices, that’s pretty clearly true. They must pay well.’
‘I’d like to know exactly what for,’ said Judith. ‘He’s certainly had a lot of cash for doing something in the last two years.’
‘Do we know anything more about this man Piggott who runs the show?’ asked Liz. ‘According to Brown Fox – O’Reilly – he’s the one we’ve got to worry about.’
‘Not much,’ said Judith, with a puzzled shake to her head. ‘He owns a flat here in Belfast, and that farmhouse in County Down. He’s got a local driver’s licence he applied for three years ago. The Audi we’ve seen him in on the camera at the National Trust gatehouse is registered to Fraternal Holdings. That’s it.’
‘O’Reilly said he’s a Yank, Boston Irish, a university type who designed missiles that didn’t work,’ Dave remarked. ‘Though all that may be just sour grapes. O’Reilly’s obviously got a big grudge against him.’
‘I’d better start looking there then. Did he have any other information?’
‘Not much. But it’s all in my contact note. Our Mr Big seems to be a bit of an enigma.’
‘I’ll speak to Thames House and get Peggy to work her magic. She can see what’s in the files and perhaps get onto the Americans. If all that stuff’s true – about designing missiles for the IRA – then there’s sure to be loads of stuff in the back files.’
Liz nodded. ‘If there’s anything to find, Peggy’ll find it.’
A shadow fell across the open door. Liz looked up and saw Michael Binding standing there, his face pale and strained. He was still wearing his long overcoat.
‘You’ve heard about the shooting?’ he said.
Liz nodded and asked, ‘Do we know who it was?’
‘Yeah. Some chap who was supposed to be at my meeting in Stormont. He’s an old RUC officer, semi-retired. His name’s Fergus – Jimmy Fergus.’
‘Oh no, not Jimmy,’ said Liz. ‘I know him. Dave and I went to see him last week – he’s helped me before.’
‘Do they know what happened?’ asked Dave.
‘He was just setting off for work, backing out of his gate when the gunmen attacked – two of them. A neighbour said they were in a laundry van. They must have had him under surveillance because the van’s been seen before in the street. Fergus managed to fire back: he hit one of them – well, we think he did. There was blood where the van had been parked.’
‘Is he very badly hurt?’ Liz could hear her voice shaking as she asked the question.
‘He took a bullet in the chest.’ Binding’s voice softened almost imperceptibly. ‘That’s all I know. I’ll keep you posted.’ He gave a little bow of the head and left.
‘I wonder why they chose Fergus, if he’s semi-retired?’ asked Judith. She sounded shaken too. ‘Do you think it’s someone settling an old score?’
Dave stood up and walked to the window. ‘God knows,’ he said.
There was silence in the room. Dave went on standing by the window, shifting from foot to foot, looking agitated. Judith was obviously stunned. Liz stayed sitting at her desk. She felt as if all her energy had suddenly gone.
She found herself remembering when her first boyfriend, Freddy Simmons, had been involved in a car crash, and the news had reached her at home. There had been several hours without even knowing how badly injured he was; there was nothing she could do to help, just sit and wait for news, all the time expecting the worst. As it turned out Freddy had been all right (a broken collarbone was the extent of the damage), but she remembered how her father had made her go out and help him with a bonfire in the garden to take her mind off it.
Judith broke the silence. ‘I’ll come back later, Liz, if you like.’ She stood up and started to gather up papers. The movement triggered something in Liz and she felt a great surge of anger.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t leave, Judith. We’re going to find out who’s behind this and what it’s all about. So let’s get on with what we were doing. This makes it all the more urgent.’
‘I just thought you might want to be alone. I know you were close to Fergus.’
‘No,’ Liz corrected her. ‘I wasn’t close to him. But I was very fond of him.’ Then she realised what she was saying. ‘I am fond of him.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s nothing we can do to help Jimmy Fergus right now, so let’s just try and stop thinking about it.’
She turned to Judith. ‘We were talking about the number plate enquiries. You’ve mentioned O’Reilly. Now what about the other car? The one with the foreign-looking bloke?’
‘We traced the car. It’s rented from Davis Hire at City Airport.’
‘When I first came here I picked up the keys to the pool car at their office.’
‘Yes. The manager’s a long-standing agent. He’s been on the RUC’s books for years and he’s given us a lot of useful stuff too,’ broke in Dave. ‘I’ll get onto him and see what he knows.’
‘Is that the car that had the blowout?’ asked Judith.
Liz nodded and Dermot O’Reilly’s words came back to her: What he really wants to do is kill policemen – and he wants to kill one of your lot, too. She shuddered.
Pulling herself together she said, ‘What do we know about this guy? O’Reilly said he’s French.’
‘He is. Antoine Milraud. He flew in from Paris the day before yesterday. I checked with Interpol but they’ve got nothing on him. So to cover all the bases, I rang the DCRI. You know, it’s the new French internal service. They’ve just had a reorganisation. I thought it might be difficult to find the right person to speak to so I wasn’t expecting anything—’
‘But?’
Judith pursed her lips, musing for a moment. ‘Well, I got through to a senior officer called Florian. Her reaction was a bit strange, I must say. Her English was even worse than my French, but she managed to get across that they knew Milraud, or knew of him anyway. But she wouldn’t tell me anything. When I pushed a bit she said they did have information about him, but someone would have to go and talk to them about it. I think what she was saying was that it was complicated and she wasn’t going to tell us anything until she knew why we wanted to know. Shall I ask the MI6 station in Paris to go and talk to her?’
‘Why the secrecy?’ wondered Liz aloud.
‘Do you know what that sounds like?’ said Dave. ‘It sounds as if he’s a source of theirs. That’s just how we’d respond if someone asked us about a source.’
‘This is getting really complicated,’ said Liz frowning. ‘Who’s at the MI6 Paris station, Judith? Do you know?’
‘I don’t know who the head of station is, but the deputy is Bruno Mackay.’
Dave looked at Liz.
‘Oh no. Not him.’
‘Your favourite old Harrovian, Liz,’ said Dave with a grin.
‘Speaks fluent French as well as Arabic, I’ll be bound.’
‘He may speak fluent French, but he’s the last person to put into a delicate situation,’ responded Liz crossly. ‘I’ll go myself.’
19
Danny Ryan wished Sean would shut up.
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Sean was saying, again and again, in between great shuddering racks of sobs. Danny couldn’t concentrate. He was trying not to drive too fast, or do anything to call attention to the white laundry van he was driving.
More than one policeman was going to be looking for them soon enough. He needed to get off the road fast, before the call went out across the radio bands with a description of the van. The number plates were false, but that wouldn’t help them if someone on that street had noted them down. And even though no one had been around, they must have been seen, especially after the gun had been fired.