Lynch drove in silence for a while as tight-lipped young men in shirt sleeves whizzed by in company cars. ‘You were never a volunteer, were you?’ he asked eventually.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Why would I know?’ She shrugged, but still didn’t look at him. ‘Marie, the IRA isn’t a series of levels like a regular army. It used to be, but the organisation was too vulnerable to infiltration. Now it’s made up of small cells, usually just four people. Of those four, only one will have contact with another cell. The other three only know the members of their own cell. It’s much safer that way. If one of them is caught, it restricts the numbers they can inform on.’
‘Why would they talk?’
Lynch snorted softly. ‘Marie, love, sooner or later virtually everyone talks. Anyway, that’s not my point.’
‘I’m not a child, Dermott.’
‘I know you’re not a child. I’m just trying to explain why I don’t want to tell you how I know where Cramer went. If I tell you who told me, he becomes twice as vulnerable. When he gave me the information, he put himself at risk and I have to respect that. If I tell you, that risk is doubled. It doesn’t matter how much I trust you, it doesn’t matter how reliable you are, it’s just a matter of minimising risk.’
Marie nodded thoughtfully. She turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re right.’ She put her hand back on his leg. They drove in silence for a while. Occasionally Marie absent-mindedly scratched Lynch’s leg with a fingernail. ‘This cell system, is that still in operation?’ she asked.
‘One hundred per cent,’ said Lynch. ‘Same as it ever was.’
‘But I thought that after the ceasefire the IRA was winding down.’
Lynch snorted dismissively. ‘The ceasefire is temporary, never forget that,’ he said. ‘It lasts only for as long as Sinn Fein makes progress towards its political aims. The organisation is as well-organised and well-armed as it ever was. Don’t let the rhetoric fool you, love. The hard men on the Army Council would love to pick up their guns again.’
‘Do you think that will happen?’
Lynch nodded grimly. ‘Yeah, love. I’m afraid I do. I’m in a minority, but I believe that it’s only a matter of time before the violence starts again.’
Cramer was in his room, sitting on the bed and rereading Jackman’s report, when there was a timid knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, placing the thick plastic-bound file on the pillow.
It was Su-ming, carrying a tea tray. ‘Mrs Elliott said you didn’t eat lunch,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I wasn’t hungry.’
She put the tray down on the bed next to him. It contained a small bowl of white rice, and another bowl with thin strips of white flesh and bean sprouts. ‘It’s fish,’ she said. ‘Sea bass.’
‘Thanks.’ He picked up the chopsticks and held them as best he could. One of them spun out of his hand and she retrieved it from the floor. Cramer pulled a face. ‘It’s not as easy as it looks,’ he said.
‘It takes practice,’ she agreed. ‘But you’re getting better.’
Cramer smiled as he recalled Allan saying pretty much the same thing to him, albeit under different circumstances. He tried again, with more success this time. ‘So you can speak Russian, huh?’
‘Yes.’
‘What other languages can you speak?’
‘Mandarin Chinese. Cantonese. Thai. Vietnamese. French. German.’ She didn’t appear to take pride in the number of languages she spoke, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘That’s pretty impressive.’
She shrugged dismissively. ‘And English, of course.’
‘Of course. How did you learn so many languages?’
‘Some I learned as a child. Some I studied. Mr Vander Mayer said it would be useful if I spoke Russian. I attended a course in New York.’
‘And now you’re fluent?’
‘Almost.’
Su-ming sat down on a chair in front of the dressing table and watched him eat. ‘Why did they choose you?’ she asked.
Cramer swallowed a mouthful of beansprouts. They were crisp and fresh, with a hint of garlic and something he couldn’t quite identify. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because you don’t look anything like Mr Vander Mayer. He’s older, he’s not as tall as you, and his face isn’t as. .’ She groped for the right word. ‘Sharp,’ she said eventually.
‘Sharp?’ said Cramer, grinning.
She nodded. ‘Sharp. Like a hawk.’
‘It’s the nose,’ said Cramer, trying unsuccessfully to pick up some rice.
‘You’re never serious, are you? About anything?’
Cramer shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s better not to take things too seriously.’
‘No, it’s an act with you. You pretend not to care. .’
‘But you can see through me, is that it?’ Cramer finished for her. ‘Don’t try to read too much into me, Su- ming. I’m a soldier, that’s all. I obey orders.’
‘So you were ordered to do this? You were ordered to take Mr Vander Mayer’s place?’
Cramer’s mouth felt suddenly dry. There was a cup of green tea on the tray and he sipped it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t an order.’
‘Because you aren’t in the army any more. You’re not a soldier now, are you?’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Cramer. She’d obviously been asking about him. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or worried.
‘So why, Mike Cramer? Why are you doing this?’ Her dark brown eyes bored into his. Cramer met her gaze levelly. For several seconds they stared into each other’s eyes. Cramer looked away first.
‘A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do,’ he said lamely.
Su-ming stood up. ‘Why are you like this?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why won’t you ever be serious? Life is not a joke. What you’re doing isn’t funny.’ Cramer didn’t say anything. ‘You’re empty,’ she said. ‘You’re a hollow man. Something inside you died a long time ago.’
Cramer looked up at her. ‘Yeah? Is that a professional opinion?’
She walked out of the bedroom, her arms swinging backwards and forwards, like a small child being sent to bed. Cramer put down his chopsticks. He wasn’t hungry any more.
Lynch left the M4 at Bristol. Marie had fallen asleep and she was snoring softly, her chin against her chest. Lynch smiled as he looked across at her. She was a pretty girl and under other circumstances Lynch would have enjoyed spending time with her. The digital clock on the dashboard said it was just before two o’clock. ‘Marie?’ he said softly. There was no reaction so he switched on the radio and twisted the tuning dial until he found a news station. He kept the volume down low and he strained to hear the headlines. The Maida Vale shooting was the second item: four men, as yet unidentified, shot, three of them dead, a man reported running away from the scene. Lynch frowned as he wondered which of the IRA men had survived. He’d have put money on the fact that he’d killed all of them. Not that it mattered, it wasn’t as if the man would be helping the police with their enquiries. There was no description of the man the police were looking for, but Lynch knew that it wasn’t the police he’d have to worry about. The IRA wouldn’t need a description.
There was no mention of Foley, though Lynch was certain that the police would have opened the boot and discovered the body by now. Lynch cursed his own stupidity for the thousandth time. He should never have left the car parked on the street, he should have wiped the car clean of prints, he should have taken the second gun with him. He wondered how he could have been so careless. Marie sniffed and moved in her seat, turning so that her right cheek lay against her headrest. Her lips were slightly parted and he caught a glimpse of perfect white teeth. Lynch reached over and switched off the radio.
He drove into the city and made for a centrally located car park. Marie opened her eyes as he switched off the engine. ‘Are we there?’ she asked sleepily.
‘Bristol,’ answered Lynch.
