Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

“What about Tillman?”

“I’d say that all depends on him. If he goes for a deal with the DA, he’s probably already under police protection. That’s going to make a hit that much more difficult. But if he tries to make a run for it, then we can find him. What’s the name of the hotel he’s staying at in London?”

“The Grosvenor House.”

Navarro pulled the telephone toward him, lifted the receiver, and asked the operator for the number of the hotel. He dialed the number in London, spoke briefly to the switchboard operator, then replaced the receiver. “He checked out of the hotel an hour ago.”

“He’s obviously panicked.”

Navarro allowed himself the luxury of a smile. “Good. And it’s my guess that he’s already on his way back here to pick up the money. It won’t take me long to find out which flight he’s on and when he’s due to touch down in New York. I want you to tail him from the airport.”

“When do you want me to make the hit?”

“When he’s led you to the money, of course. And no mistakes, Tony, or we’ll both be answerable to the family.”

“No mistakes,” Varese replied as he left the room.

Navarro sat impassively for some time as the anger slowly began to build up inside him. He’d told Brady to deal with the situation. And he’d blown it. And now with Scoby dead, his chance of pulling off a major coup against the Colombians had gone. It was back to square one again. He’d warned Brady what would happen if he failed him. Well, it was payback time. He’d see to that.

“Come,” Maurice Palmer called in response to the sharp rap on the door.

The door opened and Whitlock entered the room. “Is it a bad time?”

“It’s been a bad time ever since you called me from Ireland,” Palmer replied despondently. “Come in, C.W. Sit down.”

Whitlock closed the door behind him and sat down. “We got in to Heathrow an hour ago. I told Mike and Sabrina to wait for me downstairs.”

“The Commissioner’s agreed to let you question Keith first. Initially he wanted Special Branch in on it as well but I managed to talk him out of it. You’ve got an hour before Special Branch take over. I’ve given specific orders that none of my men are to go near Keith until we know whether any of them were in collusion with him as well. We can’t rule that out at present. And find out about John Marsh. If he is innocent, I want him back on the case as quickly as possible.”

“Sure, if Eastman agrees to talk to us.”

“He’ll talk,” Palmer replied confidently. “I spoke to him briefly after he was brought over here from the airport. He said then he was prepared to answer any questions. He actually seemed quite chirpy under the circumstances.”

“I’m not surprised he’s chirpy. Scoby’s dead. The IRA have achieved what they set out to do. And you can bet they’ll see to it that he’ll be looked after on the inside. They’ve beaten us, haven’t they?”

Palmer took a cigarette from the packet in front of him and lit it. “I want a transcript of the interrogation on my desk as soon as possible after you’re through so that I can brief the Commissioner.”

“I’ll see that you get one,” Whitlock replied as he got to his feet and left the office.

Eastman was ushered into the interview room by two Special Branch officers. How many times had he grilled villains in this very room? The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was led to the table in the middle of the room and told to sit down. On the table was a portable tape recorder and two microphones. He sat down and clasped his manacled hands in his lap. The two policemen remained in the room until Whitlock arrived.

“Tell them to take these cuffs off me,” Eastman said without looking around.

Whitlock stared at the back of Eastman’s head then nodded his consent. One of the policemen removed the handcuffs and gave them to Whitlock. Eastman was still massaging his chafed wrists when Graham and Sabrina entered the room and the two policemen withdrew, closing the door behind them.

Whitlock sat opposite Eastman and Graham and Sabrina took their places on either side of him. Eastman looked up slowly at them. His right eye was almost closed and a dark, discolored bruise had spread across the surrounding skin.

“I’m impressed,” Graham said, eyeing the bruise with evident satisfaction. “I never realized you encouraged that kind of initiative amongst your men.”

“Unfortunately the same can’t be said for UNACO, can it?” Eastman replied coldly, holding Graham’s stare. “You’ve all been blundering about in the dark like a bunch of headless chickens. It certainly made our task that much easier.”

Whitlock grabbed Graham’s arm as he was about to jump to his feet. “Let it go, Mike.” He turned back to Eastman. “You know the procedure. The questioning begins when I switch on the tape recorder.”

“Be my guest,” Eastman replied.

Whitlock positioned a microphone in front of Eastman then switched on the machine. “How long have you been working for the IRA?”

Eastman sat back in the chair. “There you go again, blundering about in the dark.”

“Then perhaps you’d care to enlighten us?” Whitlock said.

“I have never worked for the IRA.”

“Then let me rephrase the question,” Whitlock said. “How long has the IRA been paying you to pass information on to them?”

“I have never worked for, passed any information on to, or ever received any money from, the IRA. This whole operation was set up to discredit the IRA, not assist them.”

“So who exactly was behind this operation?” Whitlock asked.

“There were three of us. Patrick Gorman, Fiona Gallagher and myself.”

“Gorman, the undercover cop who was murdered in Belfast last year?” Sabrina asked.

“The same. The plan has always been to discredit the IRA. At the time we didn’t have a particular target in mind. Pat was murdered before we could finalize the details. That meant Fiona and I had to rethink our strategy. We decided to put the operation on ice until we found the right target. And when Scoby announced that he was coming over to the UK we knew we’d found it.”

“Gallagher’s still the mystery figure in this case,” Whitlock said. “Commander Palmer claims she’d never been a member of the anti-terrorist squad and yet she obviously worked closely with the two of you, both senior officers in the unit. Where exactly did she fit into all this?”

“Palmer’s right. She’d been a Provo since Mullen recruited her at Bristol University. But after a few years she became disillusioned with the movement. That’s when Pat turned her. When I first met her I suggested she take up with Farrell because he was then the blue-eyed boy of the movement. She reeled him in perfectly. He was absolutely besotted with her. And all the time she was with him she was passing info back to us. Then Pat was killed. She took it badly. Not that she ever showed it in front of Farrell or any of his cronies. She was every inch the professional. The best.”

“Did Marsh know about her?” Whitlock asked.

“Only Pat and I knew about her. It was vital for her own protection.”

“So where does Marsh come into it?” Graham asked.

“John?” Eastman managed a faint smile. “John was what you Americans would call a patsy.”

“So you set him up?” Whitlock said.

“It wasn’t very difficult. Fiona managed to get Brady’s thumb print on a tenner when she last saw him. And I got the combination to John’s safe when I went over to his house a couple of weeks ago on the pretext of borrowing one of his disks. Not the one that was used to trap him, mind. That would have been too obvious. I planted the evidence a couple of days before he was arrested.”