Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

“You know what happened the last time I led a cell,” Mullen replied glumly. “No, they won’t risk it. And anyway, I don’t want that kind of responsibility again. But if you get a promotion, I hope there will be a place for me in your cell.”

“My first recruit,” she replied.

He looked into the back of the van. A tarpaulin was spread over the floor. He knew from the appendix attached to the directive that underneath the tarpaulin were two Czech Skorpion machine-pistols and two Colt .45 revolvers. He was about to lift the edge of the tarpaulin when Fiona grabbed his arm and indicated the wing mirror on her side of the van with a nod of her head. He checked in his wing mirror and a wave of fear surged through his body. Two policemen were approaching the van on foot. She dug the keys out of her pocket and handed them to Mullen. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and wound down the window as one of the policemen approached the driver’s door.

“Afternoon, officer,” Mullen said with a friendly smile.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the policeman replied. “Is this your vehicle?”

“I’m afraid it is,” Mullen replied sheepishly. “It may not be much to look at, but it gets us around.”

“May I see your driver’s license please, sir?”

Mullen took the license from his pocket and handed it to the policeman. The policeman studied it then looked up at Mullen. “Could you give me the registration number of your vehicle please, sir?”

Mullen, who had already memorized it at the station, repeated it for the policeman.

The policeman checked the plates then held up the driver’s license. “Would you excuse me a minute, sir?”

“There’s nothing wrong is there, officer?” Mullen asked anxiously.

“It’s just a routine check, sir.” The policeman unclipped his radio and turned away from the van as he spoke into it.

The second policeman rapped on the passenger window. Fiona wound it down. “Would you mind opening the back, sir?”

Mullen took the keys out of the ignition and climbed from the van. He walked around to the back and unlocked the doors.

“Is there anything under the tarpaulin, sir?”

“Nothing, officer,” Fiona called out from the passenger seat.

Mullen swallowed anxiously. What the hell was she doing? She knew what was underneath the tarpaulin. He noticed the jack on the floor by the door. He would have to use it. But why was Fiona acting so cool? It unnerved him. His fingers touched the jack as the policeman lifted the tarpaulin. Mullen had to check his surprise. There was nothing there. Satisfied, the policeman dropped the tarpaulin and told Mullen he could close the doors again.

Moments later the first policeman handed the driver’s license back to Mullen. “Sorry to have troubled you, sir.”

Mullen waited until the two policemen had disappeared from view before turning to Fiona. “I think you owe me an explanation. I was about to cosh that pig back there. Why didn’t you tell me that you’d already taken the weapons out of the van?”

“I was interested to see how you’d react under pressure.”

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” he snapped angrily.

“You did well,” she replied. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” Mullen asked after they had got back into the van. “The safe house?”

“No, the Thames. Scoby’s due to take a cruise on the river tomorrow afternoon. I want to take a closer look at the route the boat will be taking.”

“Come,” Palmer barked in response to the knock on the door.

Eastman opened the door. “Afternoon, sir. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, come in, Keith,” Palmer replied. “So you got my message all right? I hate those infernal answering machines.”

“Frances always makes a point of switching it on when she gets home from the library. Most of the calls are for her anyway. But then that’s what you get for being the secretary of the local amateur dramatics society.”

“How is your wife?”

“She’s fine, thank you, sir. Not that I’ve seen much of her these last few weeks. They’re putting on one of those Russian tragedies later this month. That seems to be keeping her busy.”

“I spoke to Whitlock earlier this afternoon. A good man to have on our side. He’s holding a briefing at the hotel before Scoby gets there. Have you been told about it?”

“Graham left a message for me on the answering machine.”

“I was hoping to be there as well but I’ve been summoned upstairs for a meeting with the Commissioner. God knows what time that will finish. I’ve already made my apologies to Whitlock but I wanted to see you before you went over there anyway.” Palmer helped himself to a cigarette from the pack on his desk and lit it. “Earlier this afternoon two officers were on a routine patrol in the St. Pancras area when they spotted what they regarded as a suspicious vehicle near Euston Station. It was an old red Toyota van. There were two occupants: a man and a woman. The man’s license was in the name of Daniel McKenna. The license and the plates checked out to an address in Belfast and the officers had to let them go. But both officers were suspicious and when they got back to the station they told their superior about the incident. He had them go through all known Irish villains on the computer and both positively identified Mullen as Daniel McKenna.”

“So it’s safe to assume that the woman must have been Fiona Gallagher?”

“It would have to be, wouldn’t it?” Palmer replied. “We’ve since checked on the real Daniel McKenna. His van’s been parked in his garage in Belfast for the last two days. So Mullen and Gallagher must be using false plates. They’re certainly canny, I’ll give them that.”

“They could both have been in custody by now,” Eastman said, shaking his head angrily to himself.

“There was nothing the officers could do. They had to let them go.”

“I’m not blaming them, sir,” Eastman was quick to point out. “On the contrary. If it hadn’t been for their vigilance, we wouldn’t have known they were back in the country. What about Kerrigan though? No sign of him?”

“None at all. There were only the two of them.”

“He’s probably lying low somewhere, given how distinctive he is in public.”

“But what worries me is why they’re here in London. Surely they’d want to get back to Ireland as soon as possible? They’d be much safer over there.”

“Unless they’re planning another operation here in London?”

“That seemed the most likely explanation to me as well.”

“Scoby?” Eastman said warily.

“It can’t be ruled out, Keith,” Palmer replied. “Well, you’d better leave now if you want to get to the hotel for six. You know what London traffic’s like at this time of the afternoon.” Palmer watched Eastman cross to the door. “Oh, and Keith? Keep me informed.”

“I will, sir,” Eastman replied as he left the room.

“Can we talk?”

Whitlock nodded and gestured for Graham to enter the room.

“I thought it best if I came by before the others got here,” Graham said. “I owe you an apology for my outburst earlier this afternoon. I was out of order.”

“You spoke your mind, Mike, and that’s something I’ve always liked about you.” Whitlock closed the door. “It’s often the best way. And what you said made a lot of sense once I’d sat down and thought about it.”

“I was still out of order.”

“Apology accepted, if that will make you feel any better,” Whitlock said. “I’ll talk to Sergei and the Secretary-General when I get back to New York. See what they have to say. That’s the easy part. Then I’ll have to sit down with Carmen and tell her how I feel about the situation. I can’t say I’m really looking forward to that.”