Liam embraced Daniel and followed him to his cabin, where the bag was passed over. "What the hell's been going on? This radio message to Malik? 'Two men lost overboard but proceeding'?"
"I had trouble with the crew, but I made my point early."
"You mean the two over the side had a bullet in them?"
"I do. Anyway, I don't feel disposed to the return passage."
"That's fine, we can send you back by air. I don't know what happened here, Daniel, but Malik is straight as a die."
"Then he should take more care about who he hires in future. Can I stay, Liam? Is there anything active I can do?"
"Not in Ireland. We invented the term 'informer,' and, sooner or later, most things surface. If what you did at the Bagley Ironworks that night ever came out, there are those on the other side who'd hunt you down if it was the last thing they ever did. In any case, the army is bringing in the SAS more and more, and we're feeling the effects, good men being killed or ending up in Maze Prison."
"You've trained me to be a soldier, remember that."
"Yes, and a hard man you can be, we know, but you've a top brain in that skull, especially in the ways of business, finance, and the like. You can serve us in other ways. There are people like us all over the world with aspirations in their own country. I want you to go into partnership with Hamid Malik. He's got a genuine business, and one that makes money, but with something else underneath, as you know. You're too valuable to be a foot soldier."
"And what will Malik think about the idea?"
"I think you'll find he'll discover it impossible to resist."
They walked out on deck, Liam carrying the bag, and found one trawler sailing away, the other still alongside. Someone shouted, "Are you coming or not, Liam? We're loaded."
"We're on our way." Liam crossed to the other deck, and Daniel glanced at Omar, standing at the bridge rail. "Look for me in Algiers, you bastard, and behave yourself."
As Liam had said, Hamid Malik agreed to the idea at once, and Daniel proved his worth very quickly, reorganizing the administrative side of the shipping business, introducing modern methods, technology, and computers. It meant a growth in the company's legitimate side that Malik had never anticipated. There were plenty of old-fashioned freighters available-rust buckets, perhaps, but improved at small cost-and they were perfect for the trade that Daniel expanded, working every port in the Mediterranean.
Underneath, with much assistance from Libyan sources, they supplied more arms to the PIRA, to ETA in Spain, and, on one memorable occasion, dealt with a contract brokered by Liam for a weapons expert to go to South America on behalf of the Colombian terrorist organization, FARC.
Daniel had gone himself, invoking Liam's wrath. He had ended up on the run in deep jungle, engaged in one firefight after another with pursuing Colombian special forces, and finally managed to escape across the Peruvian border.
Back in Algiers, it was business as usual, the rise of Islam inexorable. Pushed by their contacts in Libya, the firm had to concentrate on supplying the demands of people like the PLO and Fatah, and Ireland was less and less important. Besides, the SAS special forces of the British Army had affected the PIRA so much that seventy to eighty percent of the latter's planned operations had to be aborted.
The First Gulf War came and went in 1991, and, in February of that year, an attempt to fire rockets on Downing Street from a parked van narrowly failed. Daniel read about it, then phoned Liam on the same old number. It was an hour before he called back.
Daniel said, "The Downing Street business. Is it one of yours? It looks like a typical PIRA hit." Over the years, their calls had been sparing.
"Absolutely not. We've no bloody idea whose it is. How're things at your end?"
"How do you think? The death business has been booming in the Middle East, haven't you noticed?"
"I've been thinking we might have to consider taking the fight to the British mainland again. The SAS are bleeding us dry. We may have to try something else."
"Such as?"
"Hitting at the British economy. I've got sleepers in London, Daniel, people who have ordinary jobs, ordinary lives, who just wait."
"For what?"
"To be needed. Over the years, many of them have attained a reasonable level of expertise in weaponry and the handling of explosives, by spending what we call a holiday at one of our training camps in the remote part of the west of Ireland."
"And you have lists?"
"I have indeed. The thing is, if there was ever a special job, when we needed to call some of them to action, would you be interested in being their controller?"
Daniel answered without hesitation. "Of course. When would it be?"
"Perhaps never. I just wanted to know what you thought. Have they got those newfangled mobile phones in Algiers yet?"
"Not that I've seen."
"Well, we've got them here, and they'll change your life. Stay well. I'll be in touch."
But it was November 1995 when he heard from Liam again. "A long time since you called," Daniel told him.
"I've been banged up in Maze Prison for four years, missed out on the City of London bombing, but they gave me a compassionate early release. Lung cancer."
"Dammit, Liam, you should have told me. What are you up to?"
"The usual thing, organizing trouble for the enemy. We're going ahead with the idea we talked about before, a campaign in London next year that will shock the world. There's a courier package on its way to you."
"It was just delivered. I haven't had a chance to open it."
"Years ago, I organized my sleepers in cells of seven. There's one in particular, a woman and six men. I last activated them four years ago. Twelve small explosions rocked the West End of London for a two-week period. They got away with it, and I closed them down. The effect was incredible. People were walking on tiptoe for months. They all live in the Kilburn area of London. The package gives you their names and last-known addresses. I want you to go to London, speak to the woman in charge, and activate the cell. At this stage, I can't give them details of what they are required to do."
"Just hold themselves ready?"
"That's right. The whole purpose of the cell system is to maintain absolute security. I share no information about my sleepers with anyone on the Army Council, even the chief of staff."
"How do I persuade this woman I am from the right people?"
"She knows my name. What you say is: 'Liam Coogan sends you his blessing and says hold yourself ready.'"
"And that's all?"
"Tell her that when the time comes to strike, the word will be:
'The day of reckoning is here.' I'll call you and you will pass it on." He had a fit of coughing. "Jesus, I should give up the smoking. Do this for me, son."
"Of course I will, Liam."
"Take care."
Daniel thought about it for a while, then phoned the airport and booked a flight, trying to open the package with one hand as he did so.
It was Saturday, and Caitlin Daly was in the kitchen at the presbytery, enjoying a cup of tea with her mother, when the phone rang. She answered, and the voice with the slightest touch of a Yorkshire accent said, "Caitlin Daly?"
"Yes, who am I speaking to?"
"Liam Coogan sends you his blessing and says hold yourself ready."
The shock was immense, and she put a hand on the table to steady herself. "Who are you?"
"Just call me Daniel. I'm Liam's cousin."
"You don't sound Irish."
"My mother was from Crossmaglen. I'm sitting in a rear pew in the Church of the Holy Name. It's very peaceful, and not a soul here. Can I see you? My time is limited. I have a plane to catch to Algiers."
"Five minutes." She put down the phone, and her mother said, "Who was that, dear?"
"Business," Caitlin told her. "I've just got to go round to the hospital." She reached for her coat and put it on. "I shan't be long."