Heather’s confidence and co-operation. She sniffed and looked at him with red eyes.
‘What can we do, James?’
‘First we’re going to book into this hotel, just for the night. I’m not taking advantage of the situation, Heather, but we’ll have to book one room. One room, and I lie on a sofa pulled across the door. We are Mr and Mrs Boldman. I’m taking a double room only for your protection. All right?’
‘Whatever you say.’
‘Then do something with your face and we’ll go in looking like an ordinary English couple – or maybe an Irish couple, depending on what sort of voice I’m in.’
Inside, Bond managed a soft Dublin accent. He booked the room, commenting on the weather to the somewhat straitlaced girl at the reception desk.
The room was comfortable, but without frills; a one-night stopover place. Heather flopped on to the bed. She was no longer crying but looked tired and frightened.
Meanwhile, Bond had made some quick decisions. M had pushed him towards this job and underlined that he had no official status, but he had his own contacts, even here in the Republic of Ireland. As long as he did not cross lines with the Embassy, he saw no reason for not taking advantage of them.
‘We’ll get food shortly,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you freshen up in the bathroom while I make a couple of calls.’
Even if Smolin was after them, with the entire HVA, GRU and KGB backing him up, it was unlikely the telephones of the International Airport Hotel had an intercept on them. Dredging his memory, Bond dialled a local number and was answered after three rings by a woman who did not give the number.
‘Is Inspector Murray in?’ Bond asked, still using the Dublin accent.
‘Who wants him?’
‘One of his lads, tell him. He’ll be knowing when he speaks.’
She made no comment, and a few seconds later he heard the deep voice of Inspector Norman Murray of the Garda’s Special Branch.
‘Norman, Jacko B here.’
‘Oh? Jacko is it? And where are you, Jacko?’
‘Not over the water, Norman.’
‘Lord love you, what the hell are you doing here, then? Not mischief, I hope – and why didn’t I know you were in the country?’
‘Because I didn’t advertise. No, not mischief, Norman. How’s the charming Mrs Murray?’
‘Bonny. Rushing around all day and playing squash half the night. She’d be sending her love to you if she knew we’d talked.’
‘Don’t think she should know.’
‘Then you are on mischief. Official mischief?’
‘Not so you’d notice, if you follow me.’
‘I follow you.’
‘You owe me, Norman.’
‘That I know, Jacko. Only too well. What can I do for you?’ There was a slight pause. ‘Unofficially, of course.’
‘For starters, the Ashford Castle business.’
‘Oh Jasus, that’s not in our court, is it?’
‘Could be. Even then, it would be unofficial. Have they identified the girl yet?’
‘I can find out. Ring you back, shall I?’
‘I’ll call you, Norman. You’re there for the next hour or so?’
‘You’ll get me here. I’ll be home after midnight. I drew the late shift this week, but the wife’s out with her squash pals.’
‘You hope.’
‘Away with you, Jacko. Call me back in ten or fifteen minutes. Okay?’
‘Thanks.’ Bond quickly rang off, praying that Murray would not run a check with the Embassy. You could never be sure how Branch people would react, either side of the water. He dialled another number. This time a jaunty yet oddly guarded voice answered.
‘Mick?’ Bond asked.
‘Which Mick would you be wanting?’
‘Big Mick. Tell him it’s Jacko B.’
‘Jacko, you rogue,’ the voice roared at the other end of the line, ‘where are you then? I’ll bet you’ll be after sitting in some smart hotel with the prettiest girl any red-blooded man would fancy right there on your knee.’
‘Not on my knee, Mick. But there is a pretty girl.’ He glanced up as Heather came out of the bathroom, her face scrubbed. ‘A very pretty girl,’ he added for Heather’s benefit. She did not smile, but grabbed her handbag and retreated into the bathroom again.
‘There, what did I tell you?’ Big Mick’s voice gave a great guffaw. ‘And if there’s a woman in the picture, Jacko B, then there’s trouble, or I don’t know you at all.’
‘Could be, Mick. Just could be.’
‘What can I do for you, Jacko?’
‘Are you in work, Mick?’
He gave another hearty laugh. ‘Sort o’ in and out. This and that, if you know what I mean.’
Bond knew what he meant. He had known Big Mick Shean for the best part of fifteen years, and while the Irishman walked a slender tightrope as far as the law was concerned, Bond had a dozen reasons to trust him, and any one of his companions, with his life. Bond had trained him in certain crafts such as back-watching, on-the- ground surveillance and losing a tail.
‘Would you have any clean wheels, Mick?’ He knew that if Big Mick did not have a car he could soon get one.
‘I might have.’
‘You’ll need maybe three, with a couple of fellas to each.’
There was only a short pause, half-a-beat too long.
‘Six fellas and three sets of wheels. What’s in it?’
‘A couple of days’ work. Usual rates.’
‘Cash?’
‘Cash.’
‘And danger money?’
‘If there’s danger.’
‘With fellas like you there’s always danger, Jacko. What’s the deal?’
‘Straight and true as a dog’s hind leg. I might be needing you to look after me and the girl – at a distance.’
‘When?’
‘Probably in the morning. As I say, two days, maybe three.’
‘Give us a ring about midnight, Jacko. If it’s you, the cars have to be respectable . . .’
‘And reliable.’
‘I was just going to say that, so.’
‘We want a nice little country drive, that’s all.’
Big Mick appeared to hesitate again. His voice had dropped and was serious when he next spoke. ‘It’s not to go into the North at all, Jacko, is it?’
‘The opposite direction entirely, Mick. No worries on that score.’
‘Lord love you, Jacko. We don’t do politicals, if you follow me.’
‘I’ll call back around midnight.’
‘You do that.’
Bond cradled the telephone just as Heather came out of the bathroom again. She had repaired her face and her hair was now perfect. He smiled at her warmly.
‘What a pity, you look so good, Heather.’
