“Yes, Minister.”
They exited the stairwell onto a carpeted corridor, numbered doors along the hallway. Haughey approached one set apart from the others. He knocked.
The door opened, swallowed Haughey, leaving Ryan alone in the corridor.
He leaned his back against the wall, not thinking of what waited inside the room. Instead, Ryan pictured the woman, remembered her scent, warm and sweet. Time passed, forgotten.
Haughey opened the door, stepped aside to allow two suited men to leave. They eyed Ryan as they passed. Once they had gone, the minister said, “Come on.”
CHAPTER TEN
As Ryan entered the suite, Skorzeny stood up from the leather-upholstered armchair, seeming to fill the room, the breadth and the height of him, the line of his shoulders stretching his pale suit like an oak beam. The scar traced a route from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, and onward to his chin, his moustache neat, his gaze bright. His thick greying hair swept back from his forehead.
Haughey stood between them, seemed smaller than he had a few minutes ago, the hawk gone from his eyes.
“Colonel, this is Lieutenant Albert Ryan, G2, Directorate of Intelligence.”
Skorzeny stepped forward, extended a hand so large it swallowed Ryan’s whole. Ryan imagined the hard fingers could have crushed his own had the Austrian felt so inclined.
“Lieutenant,” Skorzeny said, the accent sharp and angular, releasing his grip. “The minister tells me you’re the best he has. Is this so?”
Ryan’s hand tingled deep between the bones. “I don’t think I can answer that, sir.”
“No? Who knows you better than yourself?”
While Ryan searched for a reply, Skorzeny filled two glasses with rich brown liquid from a decanter. He gave one to Haughey, sipped from the other, offered nothing to Ryan.
“Please sit,” he said.
Haughey took the other armchair, leaving Ryan the couch.
“The minister tells me you fought for the British during the war.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
“Why so?”
“I wanted out of my home town,” Ryan said, opting for honesty. He sensed a lie would not be entertained. “I knew it was the only way I’d ever get out of Ireland. I didn’t want the life my father had. So I crossed the border into the North and joined up.”
“Which regiment?”
“The Royal Ulster Rifles.”
“So you were part of Operation Mallard?”
“Yes, sir.”
Skorzeny took a cigarette case from his pocket, white enamel with the Reichsadler, the Nazi eagle perched atop an oak-wreathed swastika, embossed in gold. He opened the case, extended it to Haughey. The minister declined. Skorzeny lit a cigarette for himself. Smoke plumed from his lips and nostrils as he sat down.
“And Unternehmen Wacht am Rhein?” he asked.
Haughey looked from one man to the other. “And what?”
“Operation Watch on the Rhein,” Ryan said. “The Allies called it the Battle of the Bulge. I was involved to a lesser extent.”
“And after the war?”
“When I came home, I attended Trinity College, studying English.”
Skorzeny smiled. “Ah, Trinity. So you fenced?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will come to my home so we can duel.”
“Sir?”
“To Martinstown House. I have fenced since my youth. I earned my Schmiss in a university match.” He indicated the scar, his eyes cold and glittery like marbles. “But I haven’t found a reasonable opponent in this country. Perhaps that is you. So tell me, how did you apply this education you received?”
“I didn’t. I re-enlisted in the Ulster Rifles and served in Korea as part of the 29th Independent Infantry Brigade. I was selected for special training there.”
“What was this training?”
“Commando tactics,” Ryan said. “Your tactics.”
Skorzeny gave a slight nod in thanks for the acknowledgement.
“Under control of 3 Commando Brigade, I led small units in raids on enemy positions. We slept in the trenches during daylight and worked at night.”
Skorzeny drew long and deep on his cigarette. “How many men did you kill?”
Ryan returned the Austrian’s stare. “I don’t know,” he said. “How many did you kill?”
Skorzeny smiled and stood. “We are soldiers. Only murderers keep count.”
He lifted the decanter and poured a third glass, crossed the room, and placed the drink in Ryan’s hand.
“So what do you know of these scoundrels who use dead men for messengers?”
Ryan took a shallow sip of brandy, smoother on his tongue and in his throat than the drink he’d ordered at the bar. “Very little, sir.”
Skorzeny retook his seat, crossed his long legs. “Well, a little is more than nothing. Go on.”
“They are efficient, careful, skilled. They left no traces at the guesthouse in Salthill. I wasn’t able to visit the scenes of the previous killings, but I can only assume they were as clean.”
Haughey spoke up. “I’ve seen the Garda reports. They found nothing useful.” He turned to Ryan. “What about the Jewish angle?”
“There’s nothing to suggest involvement by any group from the Jewish community.”
Haughey sat forward. “Nothing to suggest it? For Christ’s sake, man, there’s everything to suggest it.”
“There are no known organised Jewish groups within Ireland,” Ryan said. “We have only a very small Jewish population. It’s extremely unlikely that such a group exists. Even if it did, it’s less likely that it would have the capability of carrying out such actions.”
“Lieutenant Ryan is correct,” Skorzeny said. “These killings were done by professionals. Trained men.”
“The Israelis, then,” Haughey said. “The Mossad. Or that Wiesenthal fella, the one who got your friend Eichmann executed last year.”
Skorzeny looked hard at Haughey for a moment, then turned his eyes to Ryan. “Speculation aside, you are no closer to finding these men than you were forty-eight hours ago.”
Ryan said, “No, sir.”
“Then what do you suggest we do next? Simply wait for them to kill again? Or come for me?”
“I suggest interviewing everyone who was present at the funeral in Galway. The notes said only the priest who gave the mass was spoken to by the Guards. He said he knew none of the people who attended, didn’t speak to any of them, apart from one local man who made the arrangements. And that man has yet to be located.”
“You mean to interrogate the priest?”
“No,” Ryan said. “I suspect that you know at least some of the people who attended the funeral. You and Johan Hambro must have had mutual acquaintances. Tell me where I can find them, and I will interview them.”
Skorzeny shook his head. “Out of the question. My friends value their privacy. Even if I could tell you where to find these people, I cannot compel them to talk with you. They would simply refuse.”
“They may have seen something, someone, that could help us,” Ryan said. “It’s the only route I can see.”
“Then you will find another.”
Ryan stood, placed the glass on the coffee table.
“There is no other,” he said. “I’ll study the case notes, review my findings, and write up a report. Without your cooperation, that’s all I can do. Good evening.”
Ryan left the suite, closed the door behind him, walked to the stairs. He was halfway down the first flight when Haughey called to him from above.
“Wait there, big fella.”
Ryan stopped, turned.
Haughey descended the steps, thunder on his face.