nicely.”
Howard ignored Joker’s baiting. “What did she want to know?”
“What are you after, Agent Howard?” said Joker.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re obviously not here because of what happened to me. You’re after Hennessy and Bailey, right?” Howard nodded, almost imperceptibly. “So we’re on the same side here.”
Howard shook his head. “I’m not the one who’s been leaving a trail of corpses,” he said.
Joker sneered. “One was a girl who was going to kill me while I was strung up by the arms, the other was a guy who came at me with a gun. There isn’t a court in the country who wouldn’t see either as self-defence.”
Howard raised one eyebrow. “And what about the two men you killed in New York. They were bound and gagged when you shot them in the back of the head.”
“What?” said Joker, confused. “What the hell are you talking about? They were alive when I left them.”
“So what are you saying, that someone else slipped in and finished them off for you?”
Joker frowned and rubbed his temples with the ends of his fingers like a mind-reader trying to guess a playing card. It could have only been the men from MI5. They wanted him free and clear on Hennessy’s trail, but Joker had no idea that they’d gone as far as to commit murder. He looked up. “I took their gun, the P228. If they were shot, it wasn’t from that gun.”
“But who’s to say you didn’t have two guns?” asked Howard. “You shot them with your own weapon and then dumped it, keeping theirs. That’s what I’d do. What about you, Don?”
The agent by the door nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. “Thing of it is, though, is that the gun they found on him wasn’t a P228. It was a Smith amp; Wesson model 411.”
“That was her gun,” said Joker. “I don’t know what they did with the P228. I never saw it again once they took it off me.” A thought suddenly struck him. “The gun that the MI5 agent had. Compare that with the bullets in New York. You might get a match there.”
“We might,” agreed Howard. “So, what did Mary Hennessy want from you?”
“She wanted to know how I’d managed to find her.”
“And you told her what?”
“That I’d traced Bailey from New York. Found him in Maryland and he led me to their house.”
“Anything else?”
The FBI agent was persistent, and Joker knew that his first instinct had been right, it was the IRA activists that they were interested in, not him. If he played his cards right, he might be able to extract himself from his present predicament. But handling the FBI men would be every bit as dangerous and demanding as dealing with Mary Hennessy. The chain was digging into the small of his back. “She wanted to know if I knew what she was doing.”
“And do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did she believe you?”
“Eventually.”
“So why didn’t she kill you?”
“She tried. Or rather, she sent down that other girl to finish me off. Do you know who she is?”
Howard shook his head. “And identification is going to be difficult after what you did to her face,” said the FBI agent.
Joker had the feeling that Howard wasn’t being totally honest, and that he did know who the girl was.
“Why were you following Hennessy and Bailey?” Howard asked.
Joker had expected the question, but it wasn’t until Howard asked it that he decided how to reply. He’d realised that there was no way he could expect any help from the Colonel or from his old Regiment, they would presumably deny all knowledge of his involvement in any official operation. Joker opened his gown and indicated the old scar on his stomach. “She did this to me in Ireland three years ago.” At the door, Clutesi whistled softly through clenched teeth. Howard stood up for a closer look. “I was a sergeant in the SAS.” When Howard didn’t react, Joker added: “The equivalent of your Special Forces.”
Howard raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard of the SAS,” he said. “I’m waiting for you to get to the point.”
“I was part of an undercover operation in the Border Country. Our cover was blown, she killed the guy I was with, and she started on me. An Army patrol found us and she escaped, but before she left she ripped open my guts. She said she wanted me to die slowly, so that I could think about her as I bled to death. Her timing was lousy and the Army got me to a hospital in time.”
Howard nodded and Clutesi took notes. “Three years ago, you say?” said Howard. “Why now? Why did you come after her now?”
“Another SAS officer was killed near Washington some weeks ago,” said Joker. “He’d been tortured. And it was Hennessy’s signature.”
Howard was tapping the envelope against his legs again and Joker knew it wouldn’t be long before the FBI agent showed him the contents. “You said you traced Bailey to Maryland. You followed him here from New York?”
Joker shook his head. “I was told that he was down here.”
“So you were told about the house while you were in New York?”
“No. I heard that Bailey had been meeting with a guy who owns an aviation company here.”
“What was his name?”
“Patrick Farrell. His company is Farrell Aviation.”
“So what happened? You staked out the airfield?”
“That’s right.”
“And you saw Bailey there? And followed him to the house?”
Joker nodded. “You’ve got it.”
Howard frowned and rubbed his chin. “So, this MI5 agent, where does he come into the picture? He was working with you?”
Joker snorted. “Hardly. The first time I saw him was when he came at me in the house with a gun.”
“So he was following you? Without you knowing?” There was a look of surprise on his face.
“I guess so.”
Howard rubbed his chin again, giving Joker the impression that he didn’t believe him. “Did you see anyone else at the house?”
“Two Americans. They caught me in the car. And another guy, looked like he was from the Middle East.”
Howard and Clutesi looked at each other, the amazement evident in their faces. Howard stood up and opened the envelope. He took out a stack of glossy colour photographs and began handing them to Joker one at a time. “Do you recognise these people?” he asked.
The first photograph was of Hennessy, an old one, before she’d dyed her hair. Joker held it up. “Mary Hennessy. You know she’s blonde now?” Howard nodded. “She looks as if she’s lost weight, too,” Joker added. The next photograph was of the Middle Eastern type with the receding hairline and thick moustache. Joker took a quick look at the back, hoping that there would be some sort of caption there. There wasn’t. “Yeah, this guy was there.”
“Did it look as if he was in charge?”
Joker shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, noncommittally. He went through the rest of the photographs. Bailey was there, and so were the two Americans. There was also a picture of the girl Joker had killed in the basement. “Yeah,” he said. “They were all in the house.”
Howard took the photographs back and put them into the envelope. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” Howard asked.
“I was the one being tortured,” said Joker, “they weren’t exactly letting me in on their plans, you know?”
Howard and Clutesi looked at each other and Joker had the feeling that it was because they weren’t sure what to do next, not because they were playing some sort of psychological game. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Joker asked eventually.
