Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

She folded her arms and moved away from the whiteboard. 'Whoever they are, the two men in the van aren't working alone. So what are the possibilities? We think it unlikely it's the IRA, or anyone else in the Republican movement. Let me rephrase that. We think it unlikely that they're acting for the Republican movement. If it was in any way official, there'd be no need for the kidnapping. In fact, there'd be no need for them to use Andrea Sheridan. Her expertise is a decade out of date. What we believe is happening is that someone wants it to appear that there is an IRA involvement. Now, that leads to two lines of enquiry. First, someone within the IRA must have offered up Andrea Sheridan. Her role as a bombmaker was known to less than a dozen people. Only one man within RUC Special Branch knew what her position was. Chief Inspector Liam Denham. Ex-Chief Inspector. He's working with us on this. Chief Inspector Denham is hoping to obtain a list of those members of the IRA who knew of Andrea Sheridan. We have some names already. She was recruited while still at university by one Denis Fisher. Fisher was killed in London in 1992.'

There were five photographs underneath the surveillance shot of the van. All head-and-shoulder pictures that had been blown up. Patsy waved at them. 'These are the five members of her active service unit during the time she was active.' She tapped the photographs one by one.

'James Nolan. The late James Nolan. Scored an own goal in Hammersmith in '93 and blew himself out of a third-floor bedsit in a couple of dozen pieces.'

Several of the agents laughed, but they stopped when she gave them a frosty look. 'Thomas Kennedy. Last heard of in Kilburn, north London. Michael and Gordon, he's yours.' Michael Jenner and Gordon Harris, who were sitting at the far end of the table in almost identical dark blue suits, nodded in acknowledgment.

'Eugene Walsh. Managed to win the green card lottery a couple of years back and is now working for a diving company in the Florida Keys. Our Miami office is looking for him.'

The fourth face was the youngest of the group, still in his twenties. Patsy pointed at it. 'Shay Purcell. The ASU's runner. He was barely eighteen when he was active. He's in Mountjoy Prison in Dublin, midway through a life sentence. Killed his girlfriend with a bread knife so he's not regarded as political and won't be getting early release. We'll be speaking to him there.'

She tapped the final picture. 'Brendan Tighe. Still in Belfast. He turned informer about four years back. He's still in the IRA, deep cover, and we know he's sound.'

She turned back to the whiteboard and with a blue marker pen wrote the word 'TREVOR' in capital letters.

'Her code-name within Special Branch was Trevor. As of now, that's how she's to be referred to. I don't want to hear the names Andrea Sheridan or Andrea Hayes referred to outside this room. Once we have the list, we'll be bringing them in, one and all.'

She put the cap back on her marker. 'So, who is behind this if it's not the IRA?' She held up her hand and raised her index finger. 'One. A Protestant group wanting to implicate the IRA in a terrorist outrage.' She counted off a second finger. 'Two. A terrorist group within the United Kingdom. Muslims. Right-wing groups. Animal activists. You name it.' She held up a third finger. 'Three. A terrorist group from outside the United Kingdom. Iraq. Iran. Libya. You know the possibilities as well as I do.' Several of the agents nodded. Patsy held up a fourth finger. 'Four. Some other group. Some other reason. If anyone here has any thoughts, I'd like to hear them.'

No one in the room had any suggestions. Patsy hadn't expected any, not at such an early stage in the investigation. 'So, we trawl through all the intelligence we have, looking for possibilities. Anyone who isn't where they should be. Anyone recently arrived in this country who might be behind something like this. Anyone who's suddenly gone underground. Speak to all your contacts. But tactfully. We don't want to make waves.'

One of the men by the door raised a hand. It was Tim Fanning, a relatively recent recruit from a City stockbroking firm where he'd worked as an analyst. 'Yes, Tim?'

'What about the Americans?'

'I'll be contacting the CIA officially for details of American terrorist activity,' said Patsy.

'I meant as possible targets,' said Fanning. 'Their embassies have been hit worldwide.' He grinned. 'They're even blowing up Planet Hollywood outlets these days.'

'Good point, and one that brings us to the question of where. Tim's right – the target could be an American institution here in the UK. Or it could be any one of a hundred targets. Downing Street. The City. The Houses of Parliament. It doesn't even have to be in London. It could, quite literally, be anywhere. So, how do we narrow down the location?' She tapped the photograph of the van. 'First, we chase down this vehicle. Parking tickets. Police reports. CCTVs. Has it been to Ireland? Been involved in any accidents? It's four years old, so who used to own it?' She pointed to three women sitting at the far end of the table. 'Lisa, Anna, Julia, that's your priority. You know Peter Elfman?' All three nodded. 'He's checking up on the landscaping company. Liaise with him.'

Patsy nodded at the oldest man in the room, David Bingham. He was in his mid-forties but his hair had gone prematurely grey while at university and his skin was weathered and peppered with broken veins from years pursuing his love of dinghy sailing. He had worked in Dublin for eighteen months prior to the 1994 IRA ceasefire, and had only just returned to Thames House after a two-year posting to MI5's Belfast office, where he'd been Patsy's number two. He was hard-working and totally trustworthy, and more than once she'd been grateful for his safe pair of hands. He also did the best impersonation of Gerry Adams that she'd ever heard.

'David, if and when we locate the men in the van, we're going to want to know where they've been. I'd like you and Jonathan to handle that. Keep on top of the technical boys.' David nodded at her and then flashed a smile across at Jonathan Clare. Clare was ten years younger than Bingham, but they'd worked together briefly in Belfast. 'I'd also like the two of you to liaise with Chief Inspector Denham when he gets back from Northern Ireland. If he does manage to obtain a list of IRA members who knew about Trevor's role as a bombmaker, other than those names we already have, it has to be our first priority. Any resources you need, you only have to ask.'

There was a stack of folders on a table against the window, and at Patsy's signal Lisa Davies and Anna Wallace began distributing them. 'The folders contain full briefing notes and copies of the photographs. They're not to leave this room. There's to be no contact with the police, at any level, without prior clearance from me. No phone calls to pals in Special Branch or Anti-Terrorism. I don't want to see this on the front page of the Daily Mail, okay?'

Nodding heads responded.

'Good. That's the state of play. This room is our operations centre. If I'm not here I'll be in Jason Hetherington's office down the corridor. Tim, would you come with me? You too, Barbara.'

Fanning opened the door for her and walked with her to Hetherington's office. Behind them followed Barbara Carter, a twenty-six-year-old psychology graduate who Patsy knew was originally from Dublin. Patsy closed the office door behind them and waved them over to the two armchairs in front of her desk. 'I've got something special for the two of you,' she said, sitting down. 'Martin Hayes is going to need his hand held through this, and I'm not going to be able to be with him all the time. Until this is resolved I want one of you to be with him at all times, and ideally I'd like you both there for as much of the time as is humanly possible. No going home, no popping into the gym. If one of you wants to use the loo, the other sticks with Hayes. When he sleeps, one of you stays in the room with him. Every minute of every hour of every day.'