Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

The Belfast man shook his head slowly. “I don’t like it. He’s one of us.”

“You tell that to Pat Taylor!” the man snarled.

“Sammy, for God’s sake, man. We were given strict instructions to execute anyone who tried to stop us from getting those tapes. I don’t want to have to give that order.”

“You kill me and you’ll never get the tapes,” Kane replied coldly, sensing he now had the edge.

“We know that package contained the tapes,” the man behind Kane announced. “It had to be. So they’re obviously somewhere in the house. Probably here in this room. So if I have to kill you, I will. It’ll just take longer for us to find them. It’s your move, Sammy!”

The radio in the holdall suddenly crackled into life. The third man, who had been watching the street from the window, was quick to answer it.

“I can hear police sirens in the distance,” the man in the car shouted over the radio. “And they’re headed this way. We’ve got to move out.”

“OK, Sammy. Decision time,” the Belfast voice told him. “Either you give us those tapes now or else we find them ourselves and leave the remains of your head on the wall for the constabulary to scrape off.”

“Bottom drawer of the desk,” Kane said sullenly.

The Belfast man jerked open the drawer and withdrew a sealed brown envelope. “What’s inside it?”

“The original and a copy of the edited version.”

“How many copies are being made?”

“We’ve got the tapes, now let’s go,” the man behind Kane hissed.

“How many copies did Brady want made?” the Belfast man repeated, his eyes riveted on Kane’s face.

“A dozen.” Kane’s eyes narrowed anxiously when he heard the approaching police sirens. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. There’s a secret tunnel in the cellar. We can use that.”

The Belfast man nodded to the man behind Kane, who cracked the butt of his shotgun against the side of Kane’s head. Kane was already unconscious before he slumped forward onto the carpet.

The look-out tossed the radio to the Belfast man and crossed to the telephone to dial out as the first of the police cars screeched to a halt outside the house. It was answered immediately at the other end.

He pulled off his balaclava and wiped his hand across his sweating face. “Detective-Inspector Reeves here, sir. Mr. Whitlock’s plan worked a treat.” He glanced across at the other two policemen who had already discarded their balaclavas, and grinned triumphantly. “We’ve got the tapes.”

Whitlock’s plan had worked solely on the premise that Brady had taped the meeting at the hotel. It would have been a very different story had he been wrong …

But he had never entertained that idea. It was the obvious ploy. Why else would Brady have dragged Palmer to Ireland knowing that he would never agree to his terms? Whitlock had decided on using the two Belfast policemen with Reeves as an added precaution. If the Army Council hadn’t known about the meeting they would have sent in a cell from out of town, knowing that they couldn’t trust the locals in case they tried to tip off Kane in advance. But he didn’t know whether the meeting had the Army Council’s approval. It obviously did. And he knew Brady would have dealt with that himself. So by casting doubt on Brady’s word, that would throw Kane off-guard.

Brady had been allowed to leave Warrenpoint, as Palmer had promised. But Kane had been tailed to the safe house on the outskirts of the city by the four policemen. They had orders to wait until the tapes were delivered to Kane. Whitlock had been positive that Brady would put the tapes in the care of the one man he knew he could trust. It had just been a question of when the tapes would arrive …

All three men had been wired when they went into the house so that both the “look-out” and the local RUC, who were parked a few hundred yards away from the house, would know exactly when to make their moves.

With Kane unconscious, the RUC could claim either not to have found the three masked men when they entered the house or else to have lost them in a subsequent chase. Whitlock had left that decision to the police. Kane would be none the wiser. And with Kane in custody, Brady would have lost his one real ally. It would isolate him even further. And when the Army Council found out that Kane had lost the original tape, the noose would tighten a little more around Brady’s neck …

The young constable flagged down the Mazda as it neared the RUC roadblock on the outskirts of Dugaill. “Morning,” he said politely, crouching down beside the open driver’s window. “I’m afraid this road won’t be opened again until early this afternoon. Where are you headed?”

“The church,” came the friendly reply. “My name’s Sabrina Carver. I’m with the senator’s security team.”

“Do you have any identification on you?”

She unclipped a laminated identity card from the pocket of her white blouse and handed it to him. He checked the seal. It was authentic. He returned it to her then consulted the clipboard in his hand. “I thought you were flying in with the senator?”

“That was the idea. But with so much at stake, I was sent on ahead to liaise with Inspector Eastman. My partners will be flying in with the senator later this morning. It was thought I’d be more use on the ground than up there with them. Any idea where I might find Inspector Eastman?”

The constable shrugged. “I don’t, I’m sorry. It’s best if you ask someone when you get to the church. The turn-off to the church is about a hundred yards further down the road. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

The constable signaled to his colleague and the boom gate was raised. She put the car into gear and drove through.

The constable grinned at his colleague. “She can protect me any time she wants.”

“She’s some looker, isn’t she?”

The constable nodded in agreement then turned his attention to the next car as it approached the boom gate.

She was stopped again on the slip road, but after showing her card was allowed to continue. She parked close to the cemetery. It was crawling with armed RUC officers. She got out of the car but instead of going into the cemetery she made her way across to the church. When she opened the front door she was immediately challenged by a uniformed police sergeant.

“I’m Sabrina Carver,” she told him, indicating the ID card clipped to her blouse. “I’m part of the senator’s security team. I’ve been sent ahead to take charge of the security here in the church.”

“Inspector Eastman didn’t say anything about it,” the sergeant replied.

“That’s because he doesn’t know I’m here. The decision to send me here ahead of the others was only taken earlier this morning. How many men do you have here in the church?”

“Two.”

“Only two of you?” she shot back.

“If you’ve got a problem with that then I suggest you take it up with the Inspector,” came the gruff reply. “He gives the orders around here, not me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a placating smile. “I’m just surprised that there isn’t a stronger security presence in here.”

“It’s not necessary. The church was searched thoroughly last night and then again this morning. Then it was sealed off. The doors are all guarded from the outside. Nobody’s going to get in here without being seen.”

“Where’s the second man?”

“Paul Reilly’s up in the belfry. It’s got a great view overlooking the cemetery. So if a sniper was going to use the belfry they would first have to get past the police cordon outside the church and then past the two of us in here. No chance. We’ve got the situation well under control here, Miss–”