Victor O'Reilly - Rules of The Hunt

It crossed his mind that Fitzduane, though now lucid and apparently recovering, was still a very sick man. He hesitated by the door. It then occurred to him that his friend could be a very dead man if they didn’t come up with something pretty soon.

Fitzduane was propped up in his amazing new bed, eyes closed, looking disconcertingly pale. He had looked much better before his recent visit by the medical team. His bed, on the other hand, was beautifully made. The corners were a joy to contemplate. The sheets were crisp and smelled of starch. The blankets – taut, tucked, and without blemish – would have made a marine drill instructor's lip tremble.

Fitzduane opened his eyes. He no longer looked dead, which was reassuring. "Anything new?"

"We've had more intel in," said Kilmara. He hesitated.

"Want to tell me about it?" said Fitzduane.

"I'm not overburdened with good news," said Kilmara. "You stand a good chance of being cut off in your bullet-ridden prime."

"As in killed?" said Fitzduane with a faint smile. "These people are obsessive."

"I would guess that to be the intention," said Kilmara. "I'd like to move you, but where?"

"Tell all," said Fitzduane, and there was no humor in his voice."

"We heard a rumor a day or so ago that the IRAP were in the area. No big deal, though these are nasty people. Early this morning the guards picked up two of their local sympathizers with a scanner. They haven't talked yet, but a list of keywords was found on them – and you feature. Add to that, there is Kathleen. It's a standard ploy to suborn someone from the inside – the IRA have been doing it for years – so I arranged for all staff who entered this zone to ring in with a keyword when they went home and before they came back on duty. And Kathleen didn't ring this morning."

"You didn't tell me about this," said Fitzduane.

"You were supposed to be kept free of hassle," said Kilmara. "It was a procedure, nothing more. I didn't want you worrying about things you could do fuck-all about."

"Kathleen could have forgotten," said Fitzduane.

"People don't forget these things," said Kilmara. "This is life-and-death stuff, and I know how to get their attention. And they are reminded every time they go off duty. Anyway, we made a check call. She was very subdued – and no keyword."

"So that's how you knew," said Fitzduane.

Kilmara nodded. "Well, we still don't know. Strong suspicion is the phrase."

"Shit," said Fitzduane.

"The IRAP don't have anything against you?" said Kilmara.

"Not that I know," said Fitzduane. "I have never run across them before in any shape or form, and I steer well clear of the North."

Kilmara slid a piece of fax paper across to Fitzduane. "I faxed Dublin an hour ago and this came back." The paper showed a Japanese getting into a taxi outside a familiar-looking Dublin hotel.

"You're losing me," said Fitzduane.

"This is a small country and an island," said Kilmara, "with a small homogenous population and a terrorist problem right on our doorstep. Accordingly, the security services can – and do – watch the comings and goings of our visitors fairly closely, and we keep a particularly keen eye on the big hotels."

Fitzduane nodded. Terrorism was normally associated with ideology, but it was surprising how often money entered the picture. Many terrorists liked to live well, arguing that since they put their lives on the line they deserved a good standard of living. A further justification for frequenting large expensive hotels was their supposed anonymity. In point of fact, these patterns of behavior allowed the security forces to focus closely on such well-frequented habitats.

Luxury hotels were particularly easy to monitor. They wanted to keep on the right side of the authorities. Rooms could be bugged, the telephone system could be tapped, and television cameras could be emplaced with relative ease. Finally, the reception staff were easy to reach an accommodation with. And hotel staff notice things. They are trained to. That is how they respond immediately to a guest's needs and it is how they ensure that they are well-tipped. And the security services tipped even better for the right information.

"A man with a Northern accent inquired at the Burlington reception for one of their guests, a Japanese. The accent rang bells and the combination was sufficiently unusual to get security to photograph the Asian. The Northerner was subsequently identified as Paddy McGonigal, the leader of the IRAP. The Japanese is a guy calling himself Sasada. He is actually a member of – guess who? Our old friends, Yaibo."

Fitzduane was silent, trying to absorb these latest developments. The thought of Kathleen's plight made him feel helpless and guilty. Physically, he felt weaker than normal. The doctor had lectured him on taking it easier and had not been happy with his self-imposed work routine. He spoke again to Kilmara. "Any news of the Bear?" he said.

"Nothing," said Kilmara. "And he's out of radio contact, thanks to these hills. He's got one armed detective with him and two unarmed uniformed cops. He'll do a reconnaissance. If it's a hostage situation, he won't be able to do much more except contain the situation until reinforcements arrive. Unfortunately, that's not going to be for some time."

"How long?" said Fitzduane.

"Two to three hours at least," said Kilmara, "possibly longer. And then only after we're sure they are needed. The problem is, the serious crime boys have a major operation on and the nearest army unit is tied-up with a search on the border. There was a shooting there last night. We're not high on the list of priorities. We've got suspicion. They are dealing with ongoing operations."

Resources were a constant problem for the Irish security services. The mainly unarmed police and army together totaled not much more than twenty thousand, and only a small percentage of these were equipped to deal with heavily armed terrorists. Not unnaturally, they were concentrated in centers of population and likely trouble spots, like the border. The poor quality of the road system hindered fast vehicle deployment. Helicopters, the obvious solution, were in chronically short supply. And to further exacerbate the helicopter shortage, they were often monopolized by politicians visiting their constituencies. In the real world, chasing votes got a higher priority than hunting down terrorists.

"If they've got Kathleen," said Fitzduane, "they are going to make her talk. That means they'll know where to hit, location and number of guards, weaponry – basically everything they need."

"They'll know everything Kathleen has seen," said Kilmara, "which is not quite the same thing. There are quite a few other precautions in place a layperson wouldn't notice."

"They'll know the essentials," said Fitzduane, who was thinking furiously, "and they'll do it quickly. And my guess is that they will blast their way in. This isn't a job for a rocket through the window. They will want to make sure, and heavy firepower is the IRAP style."

Kilmara was somewhat taken aback. The normal style in the North was to seize a hostage half a day or so ahead of the operation, and he had been thinking in terms of this pattern.

He now realized that Fitzduane could well be right. Allowing for time to make Kathleen talk and to put together a plan based on her information, travel, and reconnaissance, the hit could happen any minute. But they would almost certainly wait until doctors' rounds were over. On the other hand, if this was going to be an assault – a quick in-and-out – they wouldn’t want a clutter of visitors getting in the way, so it would happen before visiting hours.

They probably had an hour to prepare – at the most.

Kilmara picked Fitzduane's brain for a few more minutes and then briefed his small force. Certain changes were made. Fitzduane himself was moved from Room Number 2 on the left-hand side of the corridor to Room Number 4, the corner room on the right.