Алистер Маклин: Dead Halt

“Jack Scoby, who’s just been elected the new senator for New York State?” Sabrina asked.

“We have to assume that’s who he meant,” Whitlock replied. “I spoke to his office earlier this morning and found out that he’s due to fly to London at the end of the week for a short, unofficial visit to the United Kingdom. Included in the agenda is a trip to Ireland where his grandparents are buried.”

“And you think the IRA are planning something against him?” Sabrina asked.

“Find McGuire and you’ll have the answer,” Whitlock replied. “But until then we can only assume the worst. I’ve got an appointment to see Scoby later today. I’ll try and talk him into postponing his visit until we’re satisfied his life’s no longer in danger, though I don’t hold out too much hope on that score. He can be very stubborn when he wants to be as I’m sure you all know from the television interviews he gave during his recent election campaign.”

“Why would the IRA be planning something against an American senator?” Graham said at length. “Especially one as popular as Scoby. It would do irreparable harm to their image outside the United Kingdom. And it would certainly affect the flow of money they receive from their sympathizers over here. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“This is all just conjecture at the moment,” Whitlock replied. “McGuire holds the key to this whole affair. Find him and you’ve solved half the case.”

“And the other half?” Graham said, his eyes suddenly riveted on Whitlock. “Strike Force Seven’s killers? You said earlier that you’re pretty confident you know their identities.”

“Two eyewitnesses arrived on the scene moments after the attack on Strike Force Seven,” Whitlock told him. “There were two assassins, both were wearing balaclavas and baggy clothes. One was a woman.”

“And?” Graham prompted.

“We think it could be Fiona Gallagher. She’s Farrell’s lover as well as his deputy cell commander. They’re inseparable and rumor has it that she’s taken his arrest very badly. She’s prepared to go to any lengths to get him released.”

“Sounds like a nice girl,” Paluzzi muttered.

“Make no mistake, Fabio, she’s every inch a professional. And she won’t stop until she’s found McGuire and silenced him.”

“What about the other one?” Graham asked.

“We’re positive the second man is Liam Kerrigan. The couple described him as being over six foot with a limp on his right leg. Kerrigan is six-three and was shot in the right leg at a loyalist rally eight years ago. There had to be a wheelman and we think that would have been Hugh Mullen. He recruited Gallagher for the IRA when they were both at Bristol University. She now regards him almost as an older brother. And both men work in Farrell’s cell. It’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be his team.”

Whitlock took three manila envelopes from the drawer. Inside were details of the assignment, to be destroyed after reading; airline tickets; maps of their ultimate destination; written confirmation of their hotel accommodation; character sketches of any contacts as well as a sum of money in the currency of the country where they would be based. All field operatives also carried two major credit cards in case of emergencies. There was no limit to the amount of money they could use during an assignment, but it all had to be accounted for on their return to New York. He handed an envelope each to Graham and Sabrina. “Inside are mugshots of Kerrigan and Mullen. But there are no known photographs of Fiona Gallagher on file. You’ll be working with Scotland Yard’s anti-terrorist squad on this one. Your contacts in London will be Inspector Keith Eastman and his deputy, Sergeant John Marsh. They’ve been on the case from the start.”

“Where do I come in?” Paluzzi asked, pointing to the third envelope still lying on the table.

“You’ll be approaching the case from a different angle,” Whitlock said. “Ideally I’d have liked to have paired you off with either Mike or Sabrina as this is your first assignment with Strike Force Three, but under the circumstances it won’t be possible. At least not for the time being. Mike and Sabrina work well as a team and for that reason I don’t want to break up the partnership with such a lot at stake.”

“I understand,” Paluzzi said. “So what exactly is this ‘different angle’?”

“Two nights ago a schooner sank in a storm off Nantucket Island. It’s an island about two hundred miles northeast of here,” Whitlock added, noticing Paluzzi’s frown. “There were no survivors but some of the wreckage was washed ashore. It included a box of brand-new ArmaLite rifles. We don’t know the size of the cache, and I doubt we ever will, but what we do know is that the schooner was bound for Ireland. Sligo Bay to be precise. From there the arms would have been smuggled over the border into Northern Ireland. Normally we wouldn’t get involved in something like this. It’s an FBI matter. But this particular cache was being minded by a man called Rory Milne, a New Yorker with strong ties to Noraid, the American organization sympathetic to the IRA cause. He also happened to be Sean Farrell’s main contact here in America. He wasn’t listed as being on board the Ventura . We only found out through an FBI informer within the Noraid organization. So far we’ve managed to keep both the fact that Milne was on board and the arms find out of the newspapers. But we won’t be able to keep it out indefinitely. What we need to know is who was behind the shipment. If we can tie Farrell in directly with either the shipment or the seller then it will strengthen the case against him when it does go to court.” Whitlock handed the third manila envelope to Paluzzi. “The schooner came from Milford, a port sixty miles south of here. I’d suggest you start there. One of our cars is parked outside for you to use. Sarah has the keys.”

“I’m on my way,” Paluzzi said, getting to his feet.

“What time’s our flight to London?” Sabrina asked.

“The twelve o’clock flight from JFK,” Whitlock replied.

Sabrina glanced at her watch then looked at Graham. “We’d better get moving as well.”

“Yeah,” Graham muttered and stood up.

“I want regular reports on your progress,” Whitlock told them.

“What do you call regular?” Graham asked.

“I want you to report in at least three times a day. That way we can keep the Secretary-General updated.” Whitlock picked up the sonic transmitter then looked at each of them in turn. “Sergei and I stuck our necks out this morning when we assured the Secretary-General that you were the best team in the organization. It’s now up to you to prove us right. Because if you can’t, and we don’t find this IRA cell, there’s every chance UNACO will cease to exist. It’s a pretty sobering thought, isn’t it?”

Paluzzi and Sabrina left the room. Graham paused at the door and looked around at Whitlock. “We’ll crack it, C.W. You can count on it.”

Whitlock held Graham’s stare but said nothing. As Graham disappeared into the outer office, Whitlock closed the door after him and replaced the transmitter on the desk. He only hoped Graham was right. Because if he wasn’t …

Jack Scoby’s New York offices were located on the top floor of the Melrose Building, one of the many towering skyscrapers in the heart of the city’s financial district. Having run the gauntlet of the strict security measures in force in the building, Whitlock sat in the reception area awaiting the senator’s appearance. He looked slowly around the room. The walls were lined with framed posters from Scoby’s election campaign. He recalled having seen many of the posters splashed across the city in the run-up to the election. He also recalled how Scoby’s tough, hard-hitting campaign speeches had so enthralled a New York population ready and eager for change. Scoby had constantly criticized the lenient sentences handed out to criminals across the country, especially those involved in drug-related crimes, and although this had brought him into conflict with the liberal element who saw therapy, rather than punishment, as the answer to the problem, he had been swept to victory with what turned out to be the biggest majority ever recorded in an election in the state of New York. The sheer size of his victory had catapulted him into the political limelight and he had quickly become a hero for the far right of the party. There was already talk on Capitol Hill of him standing for the Presidency at the next election.