Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

It was another ten minutes before they reached the RUC roadblock which had been set up just inside the town. Reeves pulled up behind a police Land Rover and switched off the engine. The hotel was situated a couple of hundred yards further down the road.

Palmer asked Reeves for the car phone and dialed the number of the Stills Hotel. When it was answered he asked to speak to Pat Gorman. He was told there was nobody there by that name. Then he asked to speak to Kane. Silence. Several seconds elapsed before he was patched through to another connection.

The receiver was picked up at the other end. “Who is this?” a voice demanded.

“I want to speak to Brady.”

“You’ve got the wrong number.”

“I don’t think so. You tell him that if he hasn’t called me back in five minutes, the meeting’s off.” Palmer gave the number of the car phone then hung up.

The phone rang almost immediately. Palmer answered it.

“This is Gorman.”

Palmer was satisfied he was speaking to Brady. “Commander Palmer here. There’s been a change of plan. There will be two of us coming over to the hotel. I’ve got the head of the senator’s security team with me. I want him in on this as well.”

“No deal, Palmer. You come in alone.”

“Then no deal,” Palmer retorted and broke the connection. He had anticipated Brady’s reaction. Now he wanted to see just how desperate Brady was to meet with him. And if his plan backfired, he would have a lot of explaining to do to his superiors. They had only sanctioned the meeting after careful negotiations with both the RUC and the army to minimize the chances of anything happening to him while he was there. He looked from Whitlock to Reeves then back to the phone, willing it to ring again. Had he underestimated Brady? No, Brady had obviously wanted to meet with him otherwise he wouldn’t have taken such an enormous risk by calling Scotland Yard in the first place. So why wasn’t he calling back to renegotiate? He couldn’t afford any more setbacks after the disastrous events of the day. If he blew this, he’d better start contemplating life outside the force …

The phone rang.

He resisted the temptation to reach over and snatch up the receiver. No, he had to be seen to be the one calling the shots. He’d be damned if he’d dance to Brady’s tune. He let the phone ring for a few seconds then lifted the receiver.

“Palmer?”

“Yes,” Palmer replied.

“Scoby’s minder can come with you. Use the unmarked Rover. No driver. Both of you sit up front. Park outside the hotel. A space has been cordoned off for you. Go into the hotel and ask at the reception for Sammy Kane. We’ll take it from there.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve got it all worked out so well, Brady. If I didn’t know better, I’d be inclined to think you were running scared.”

There was a hesitant pause. “You just make sure those pigs stay behind their little roadblock. The area around the hotel is completely secured and my men have strict orders to open fire if any pig is stupid enough to venture within range. Make sure you pass that message on to Reeves.” The line went dead.

Palmer recounted Brady’s demands.

“We’re obviously under close surveillance,” Whitlock said.

“We have been ever since we got here,” Reeves told him. “The men have already spotted several Provos in prominent positions overlooking the hotel. They’re the ones we’re supposed to see. It’s the ones we can’t see that worry me. They’ll be the ones with the artillery.”

Palmer checked his watch. Seven forty-two. “I’d say it was time to go in.”

“He did say eight,” Reeves reminded him.

“If we’re playing by his rules,” Palmer replied. “And I have no intention of doing that.”

Whitlock nodded in agreement. “Commander Palmer’s right. We’ve got to take the initiative. The more we unsettle Brady, the better it’ll be for us when it comes to making any kind of deal with him.”

“Why do you think I waited until now to tell Brady that I’d be taking Mr. Whitlock in with me?” Palmer said. “This way we undermine his control of the situation. It gives us the edge. And that’s vital in these circumstances.”

Palmer and Whitlock moved to the front of the car and Reeves handed Palmer the keys through the driver’s window.

“You know the drill,” Palmer said to Reeves. “Stick to it and if something should go wrong, move in and get Brady.”

“Yes sir,” Reeves replied.

Palmer started up the car and pulled out from behind the Land Rover. They drove in silence to the hotel. It was a drab gray building with the name illuminated in garish neon lights above the revolving doors. Not surprisingly, the road seemed totally deserted. They were in Provo territory. And the Provos had already cleared the area until the meeting was over. Palmer parked in front of the hotel and they made their way up the steps, through the revolving doors, and into the foyer. Reeves had been right. It was a dive. A teenage receptionist sat behind the desk watching a Colombo repeat on a black and white television set. She glanced up at them without interest as they approached the desk then reached back and knocked on the door behind her, immediately returning her attention to the screen. The door opened and two masked Provos appeared. They came around from behind the desk and frisked them. Satisfied that both men were unarmed one of the Provos picked up the telephone on the desk and called Kane.

“What have we got here?”

Whitlock and Palmer looked around simultaneously. Joseph Meehan, who had appeared from the deserted bar lounge behind them, was in his mid-fifties with an unshaven face and thinning, greasy black hair. The front of his shirt was stained and it hung untidily out of his trousers. He was obviously drunk. The masked Provos stood uncertainly by the desk, neither sure what to do.

“Are you telling me I had to close my hotel for these two?” he demanded of the two Provos.

“I think you should go back into the bar,” one of the Provos said to Meehan.

“This is my hotel and I’ll do what I bloody well like in it,” Meehan snarled back angrily. He levelled a finger at Palmer. “You, I don’t mind being here. But nobody said anything about any nigger coming here.”

Palmer stepped forward but Whitlock quickly put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Or perhaps you’re just here looking for work,” Meehan jibed at Whitlock. “Is that it? Are you here for a job?”

Whitlock stared back impassively at Meehan but said nothing.

“Nice suit,” Meehan said, reaching out to feel the cloth.

“Don’t touch me,” Whitlock hissed menacingly.

“Are you talking to me?” Meehan snapped. “Because if you are, you’d better call me ‘sir’.”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Palmer bristled indignantly.

“It’s OK,” Whitlock said soothingly. “Let it go.”

It was then that Meehan grabbed Whitlock’s lapel. Whitlock broke the grip and brought his elbow up viciously into the side of Meehan’s face. Meehan crashed backward against the wall and slid slowly to the floor, cradling his jaw in both hands. The two Provos made a move toward Whitlock.

“Leave him!” Kane snapped from the top of the stairs. “Get Meehan out of here. And sober him up. Mr. Brady will want to have a word with him about this later.”

The two Provos carried Meehan back into the bar as Kane gestured for Palmer and Whitlock to follow him. They climbed to the top of the stairs and Kane led them to an open door further down the passage. Palmer and Whitlock exchanged suspicious glances. If they were walking into a trap, it was too late to turn back now. They had to go on. Kane stepped aside to let them enter then closed the door behind them.