Zero Option

Again, I had to make a big mental effort to go back to the start of the trouble.

'Kath was a Belfast girl,' I explained. 'She'd gone home to look after her mum, who'd had an operation.

She was killed by an IRA bomb that went off prematurely outside a supermarket.'

Bates nodded and gave a sympathetic grunt.

'Some weeks later I got posted to Northern Ireland, and I found out from the R.UC who'd been responsible for the explosion. It was one of the leading players in Belfast, a guy called Declan Farrell. Of course I wanted to top him, and I got a chance one night when he came to a weapons hide at a farm. But one of the group was the IUC's best informer, so the head-shed wouldn't let us fire.'

I stopped because I could see Mac's eyeballs rotating.

The things I was saying shouldn't have been heard by anyone outside the Regiment; not even the police should know what had gone on across the water.

'Where were you stationed?' Bates asked.

'Classified information!' snapped the ops officer. 'He can't tell you that.'

I looked from one to the other before going on.

'Anyway, Jhat was when I decided to go after Farrell on my own. I thought I could take him out single-handed.

I was going to shoot him at the place where he was living. Highly irregular, of course, but it seemed the only way. It turned out that some other security organisation already had him under surveillance, and they picked me up…'

'So?' the sergeant prompted.

'I came back to Hereford, never finished my tour.

But the Regiment were very good: they could have ITU'd me but they let me off with a caution. I tried to call it a day and forget the whole thing. But then it started again.'

I finished my tea and paused before continuing. 'In November a team of our lads went out from here to train the President of Colombia's bodyguard. I was in command. We were half-way through the course at a military camp down country, everything going well, when we travelled up to the capital one weekend for a bit of 12. and tL. And suddenly there the bastard was: Farrell, can you believe it, in a Colombian restaurant, with a couple of other Paddies and some natives.

'Obviously the PI1LA was into drug-running and arms-dealing, big time. Anyway, two of the embassy staff were stupid enough to go down to the restaurant to get a look at them. The next thing was, the pair was lifted, along with one of our ruperts who'd been doing liaison.'

'Ruperts?' Bates frowned.

'Officers. Well, that caused a big panic. We got clearance from DAS — the Colombian secret police — to bust the operation. We followed the kidnappers down into the Amazon jungle, and things ended up with a fire-fight at a coke-manufacturing plant miles from anywhere. Farrell got wounded and captured.'

'So you think this kidnap is a vendetta by Farrell?'

Bates asked.

'Not directly. It can't be, because he never knew who it was that had come after him. Before that last moment, when we picked him up, he'd never seen me, ' hadn't a clue who I was. For all he knew I might have been Colombian. He couldn't have equated me with any problem he'd had in Ulster, and in the jungle he was just shot by some strange soldier and taken into custody. Someone else in the PI1LA must have ordered the lift — somebody at this end, when news came back that Farrell had been nicked.'

'Unless he's already escaped,' the sergeant suggested.

Jimmy, the int officer, suddenly came to. 'No. No, he's still inside.' Blinking through his spectacles, he turned back to the most recent sheet of paper in his file and said, 'At least, he was yesterday evening. The British and Colombian governments are negotiating about his extradition.'

'In that case,' the sergeant persisted, 'how did the IRA know who to come after?'

'My fault,' I admitted. 'I blew it. After Christmas I took local leave in Ulster. I told my people in the Regiment I'd gone back to the mainland, but in fact I stayed put. I got Tracy across and we took a holiday cottage on the north coast. I'd been told it was a safe area, used by tourists, so one night I went to the pub in the village and got talking to a local about fishing. That was all, but it was enough to give them a line on me.'

'This guy Farrell,' said the ops officer. 'What is he in the PII:&?'

Jimmy flicked through his file. 'At the time of the supermarket bomb incident he was adjutant of the Belfast Brigade. But since then we believe he's taken charge of what they call “international liaison”. That means drug-running, arms-dealing — anything that raises funds and weapons from abroad.'

The detective sergeant rubbed his chin, his fingers scratching on the early-morning bristles. 'What sort of a person is he?'

'If that man fell into a pit of shit,' I said bitterly, 'he'd come out smelling like roses. He's got a charmed life. I mean, I ought to have topped him two or three times already, and look what's happened now. He may be in the nick, but that hasn't stopped him.'

Suddenly I remembered the presence of the female constable, scribbling in the background, and felt the color rise in my cheeks as I turned to her and said, 'Sorry…'

Still writing, she gave a quick grin and raised her left. hand, and I felt myself warming to her.

'The thing is, he's a well-educated guy,' I blundered on. 'He's got a university degree. He's big, dark, good- looking, he's a bit of a wine buff… I don't know what it is that makes him tick.'

A telephone rang. The ops officer swung round, picked up the receiver and listened. After a few seconds he said, 'That's fine. We'll expect you then,' and hung up. Turning back to us he said, 'That was Special Branch. Because of the nature of the incident there's a standby team coming down from London. They'll be here in three hours' time. Geordie, you're looking knackered — you'd better get your head down. Is there anything else, Sergeant?'

'Nothing immediate. We'll want to look at the house first thing in the morning. And Geordie, you'll come with us.'

'Fair enough.'

'I'll take that photo with me. Once Forensic have been over it I'll have it copied, so that we can circulate prints. Then no doubt SB'll want it. By the way…' He looked back at Mac. 'No press release of any kind. The last thing we want is for this to get into the papers.'

'Don't worry,' Mac assured him. 'I will personally throttle anyone who talks.'

'All fight, then.' Bates turned back to me. 'Seven o'clock at the guardroom?'

'I'll be there.'

TWO

I spent the rest of that night in the sergeants' mess, in the room I shared with a mate, Pat Newman. He, being married, lived at home, and normally neither of us slept there, using the place as a store for some of our kit. It was a small, bare room, with little more than a bed, a wardrobe and a washbasin as furnishings. The bed was piled with our gear — bergens, para bags and webbing — so I heavet the lot off into a corner. There was a sheet in the cupboard, I knew, but I couldn't be bothered to make the bed at that stage, so I just kicked off my shoes and got under the top blanket. I felt.jaded and filthy.

Normally I would at least have washed my face and cleaned my teeth, but such a wave of exhaustion had swamped me that all I wanted was to lie down and pass out.

The next thing I knew I was wide awake. For a few seconds I couldn't think where the hell I was: strange room, narrow bed, unfamiliar window already allowing in the grey dawn light, birds singing outside. Then back it all came with a bang.

My watch said 5.35. Jesus! Special Branch would be here any moment. I jumped up, dug out my sponge-bag and went along to the washroom, where a shave and a shower brought me back to reality. My biological time- clock might have been all to blazes, but the combination of hot water over my face and alarm at my family's predicament soon cleared my brain.

By six o'clock I was back at the guardroom, and the Special Branch Rover rolled down to the barrier a few minutes later. The guard commander had been told to take the party to the ops room, so I volunteered to show them the way. The boss figure was Commander John Fraser, a slender, lightly-built guy in his forties with a thin face, sandy hair and a slightly harassed expression: not physically impressive, but with a reassuring manner that quickly inspired confidence. I noticed he had taken trouble over his appearance. He had a slight Cockney accent, but his voice, like his presence, was unobtrusive and comfortable.