Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

He had taken an instant liking to both Whitlock and Sabrina when he had met them earlier that morning. They had been honest with him from the very beginning and that was a characteristic he had always admired in people. At eleven-thirty the mayor and his entourage arrived at the pier with Jack and Melissa Scoby. The paparazzi had a field day. They had even hired a pleasure boat of their own, hoping to keep close to the Merry Dancer in case a second attempt on Scoby’s life was more successful than the first. The cameras were primed and ready …

Moody smiled at Sabrina when she appeared at the wheelhouse door. “Ready when you are, luv.”

“We’re ready,” she replied then gestured to the saloon directly beneath them. “Not that I think any of them would know whether the boat was in motion or not. They’re all tucking in to the buffet.”

Moody guffawed, then leaned out of the wheelhouse window and shouted at a teenage youth to cast off the ropes.

“I’d better get back to keep an eye on the senator,” Sabrina announced, then descended the stairs and entered the saloon where the food had been laid out on three trestle tables in the center of the room.

Scoby approached her. “I’d like a word if you’ve got a minute. In private.” He gestured to the stairs. “Could we go on deck?”

“You know you’re not to take any unnecessary risks,” she reminded him. “You were told that even before you got here. If the IRA do have an assassin somewhere out there–”

“OK, we’ll stay down here,” Scoby replied with a dismissive shrug, taking her arm and leading her across the room until they were out of earshot of the others. “Are you happy at UNACO?”

“Sure. Why?”

“I’d like to offer you a job. Head of my security team.”

“I didn’t realize you could choose your own security team,” she replied with a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Scoby smiled. “I’ve got contacts in the right places. In fact I could get you transferred to the Secret Service on the same day as you tendered your resignation to UNACO. What do you say?”

She could see through his scheme straight away. He wasn’t interested in her talent but rather in the fact that she was a woman. What better way to win over more of the female vote than by having a woman as head of his security team? But she doubted women would go for it anyway. It was too transparent for someone like him. She smiled to herself – would he have been so quick to offer Whitlock a position on his security team? It might win him a few more liberal votes but she doubted the Ku Klux Klan would be too pleased about it. Then again, to be fair to Scoby, there had never been any proof of his involvement with the Klan and his lawyers had already issued a writ against the newspaper which had published the article suggesting there was.

“You find my offer amusing?” Scoby said.

“No, I’m flattered that you asked but I think I’ll stick with UNACO.”

“And what happens if UNACO’s disbanded? It’s certainly a possibility after the events of the last few days. What will you do then?”

“The only way UNACO would be disbanded is if we slipped up and let the IRA get to you. That’s why we’re living in your shadow until you’re returned to the protection of the Secret Service back home. So it wouldn’t really be in your interests if that were to happen, would it?”

Scoby eyed her intently then the familiar smile creased his face. “Well then, let’s hope UNACO isn’t disbanded. At least not until I get home.”

Melissa Scoby approached them. She shot Sabrina a disdainful look then addressed her husband. “Darling, the mayor’s already making noises about your absence from the table. Can we humor him, please?”

Scoby kissed his wife on the cheek then looked at Sabrina. “What would I do without her? The voice of my conscience. And always there when I need her.”

“Jack,” she hissed.

Scoby followed his wife back to the table. Sabrina went up on deck and leaned her arms on the railing. They were passing the Jubilee Gardens. She looked at the second boat tagging along in the wake of the Merry Dancer . The Press. Vultures, waiting for the kill. The River Police had forbidden them to travel beside the Merry Dancer because two of the police’s own launches would be flanking it for the duration of its journey on the river. She looked up at the white helicopter twenty yards ahead of the boat. Paluzzi and Graham. She couldn’t see either of them in the cockpit. As she turned back to the stairs she noticed Moody in the wheelhouse. Moody smiled and gave her a wave. She returned the wave and went below again.

Eastman saw Palmer’s car from the window of the mobile police van and went out to meet it.

“Morning, sir,” Eastman said.

Palmer looked at his watch. “Actually, it’s afternoon, Keith.”

Eastman acknowledged his mistake with a forced smile. It was barely ten minutes into the afternoon. But he knew better than to say anything. The old bastard was obviously in one of his moods.

“I was hoping to get over here before the boat left but unfortunately I was held up at the Yard. The Commissioner wanted to see me. And when he gets talking, there’s no stopping him.” Palmer fumbled in his overcoat pocket for his cigarettes. “Cigarette?”

“Thank you, sir,” Eastman replied then took out his lighter and lit both cigarettes.

“Did the boat get off on time?” Palmer asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the security arrangements? Is everything going according to plan?”

“It’s all under control, sir,” Eastman replied. “I’m in constant touch with Whitlock. I’ve also deployed our men at regular intervals along the route so if something should happen I can bring them into play at a moment’s notice.”

“And who’s running the helicopters?”

“I am, sir. I’ve got three police choppers up there and UNACO have an unmarked chopper sticking close to the boat. And on top of that, there are two police launches flanking the boat and another five patrolling the route. The IRA won’t be able to make a move without it being spotted either from the air or from the water.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Palmer took a long drag on his cigarette then looked up as a police helicopter swooped low overhead, heading toward Lambeth Bridge. “Dave Thompson rang me this morning.”

“Dave Thompson of the Guardian ?”

“Yes. He received a call earlier today from Kevin Brady.”

“So the IRA have accepted responsibility for the attempt on Scoby’s life this morning?”

“On the contrary, Brady was quite insistent that the IRA had nothing whatsoever to do with it. He claims the IRA don’t have a contract out on Scoby.”

“And I suppose he’s just as insistent that Gallagher, Mullen and Kerrigan aren’t members of the IRA.”

“Kerrigan’s dead,” Palmer said.

“Did Brady say that?”

“No, I received word of it this morning from the Swiss authorities. The helicopter that they used in Switzerland was found abandoned near a chalet about ten miles outside Lucerne. Kerrigan’s body was found in the chalet. He’d been shot.”

“First Lynch and now Kerrigan,” Eastman said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “What do you make of it, sir?”

“I don’t know. Not yet.”

“You don’t think there could be some kind of internal power struggle going on within the IRA, do you, sir? It’s no secret that Brady and Lynch never got on. That was one of the main reasons why Lynch chose to settle in Switzerland when he got married. And Kerrigan was always close to Lynch. What if Lynch was planning to return to Ireland to launch a campaign to oust Brady as Chief-of-Staff of the Army Council?”