'What about Ball, Pat?'
'Well, what about him?'
'Was he really doing intelligence work here?'
Corrigan was watching each passer-by's face until they passed beyond Minogue. Then he'd shift his scrutiny to a new face so he'd not collide with Minogue's limpid stare.
'Yes, he was. We think. I just hope to God it wasn't a leak from one of ours that cost Ball his life.'
Corrigan gathered cheeks full of air and then released them slowly. He looked suddenly resigned, gentle.
'Are you going back to John's Road?' he asked.
Minogue replied that he was.
'Hop in and we'll go that way with you.'
Corrigan's driver was a detective, Dunne. He had a head shaped like an egg, pointy end up, upon which the divinity that shaped rural Irish people's ends had pasted elephantine ears. He stopped the car next to Kingsbridge Station. It was five minutes' walk to Minogue's office from here.
Corrigan was jittery. Minogue did not know what to do. Corrigan had explained to him that Ball had merely been the devil they knew. Why raise a fuss when they knew Ball was a tricks man, only to have him transferred and the Gardai track a new man in the job? Someone had to do it… No, they had no way of knowing whether Ball had been in touch with Combs recently. When the guileless Minogue asked why, Corrigan had slapped his knee lightly in an unconvincing gesture of mirth.
'Man dear,' Corrigan began, as though explaining venial sin to a child, 'sure don't they have the best electronic detection and security in the business? Bar none, the Yanks included. Listen in on their phones, is it? Sure we bought most of our bells and whistles off the British firms. You can be damn sure that they wouldn't be sending the equipment to us if they thought we could be using the stuff on their embassy here without them knowing about it?'
'Uh,' Minogue grunted.
'I'm not saying we don't do any of it, but they have a cast-iron system. They have bigger fish than us to worry about.'
'How much work did Ball actually do, Pat?'
Corrigan made no reply but looked vacantly up at the sky as if to sight gamebirds for his rifle. Minogue noticed the slice of jug-eared driver's face in the mirror. He was studying Minogue.
'All right, Pat. One more thing though.'
Corrigan leaned his head against the glass of the car door, looking down his nose at Minogue. He had a genuine, rueful smile now, as though he knew a cat was out of the bag.
'Plough ahead.'
'Did that Costello fella ever spend time here in Dublin? When he was on the run from the North, I mean.'
Corrigan's frown returned instantly.
'I don't remember exactly, Matt.'
'Can you find out-quicker than myself, I mean-if Costello spent time in south County Dublin?'
Corrigan's panther eyes widened momentarily before narrowing.
'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'
'I suppose I am. Whatever that is.'
'Like Costello is somehow linked with your fella? But sure Costello was done in years ago. His own crowd popped him, did a terrible job on him. He was a bad egg anyway, was Costello.'
Corrigan bit his lower lip for several seconds, gazing out at the grey stone walls of the train station. Minogue looked to the mirror again. The driver was pretending to be deaf. Minogue yanked at the doorhandle and pushed at the door with his knee.
'Look it, Matt,' Corrigan said.
Minogue was taken aback at the tone of solicitude he heard in Corrigan's voice now. He sounded more puzzled than dismissive.
'On the off chance, on the wildest off chance, I'll poke through the files. Maybe not today, but I'll get around to it. Will that do you?'
CHAPTER 11
As soon as he saw the light on the phone, Kenyon knew it would be Moore. It was eleven o'clock. The ache had found its way up his neck to the back of his head. His head pulsed as he reached for the receiver. He paused to squeeze his eyes. The light on the phone flashed again. Kenyon imagined an anonymous listener at Government Communications HQ sitting up, adjusting his headphones. Would they do that to him? He knew that GCHQ could monitor every phone line in the Irish Republic, even the new uplinks to the satellite. It wouldn't be Robertson who'd patch a tap on him for this. It was more likely a casual feature of C's bullish grip on the Service.
'Glover here,' said into the phone. His palm was moist.
'Mr Glover? Edward Moore from Dublin. Returning your call.'
The bugger sounded almost friendly, Kenyon thought.
'Yes, Edward,' Kenyon said. How did a senior partner in a law firm talk to one of the staff?
'I wondered if perhaps you were trying to get in touch with me,' Moore said with unmistakable irony.
'Yes. We heard about that incident there. It's all over the papers here. Not affecting your work, I trust.' He was remembering Moore's remote manner.
'Not yet, Mr Glover.'
Moore wasn't having any of it, evidently.
'How do things look on the ground?'
'I have no reliable way of knowing,' replied Moore, the edge of irony still keen. 'My appointments still stand. I'll be following up on them. I wondered if perhaps there was something in the works that I mightn't be aware of here.'
Kenyon's headache had found its way precipitously to his forehead.
'There's been a change of plans here that you'll need to know about and follow. If you locate the material we discussed, I mean.'
Kenyon looked down at his notepad, the doodles which he was drawing heavily and repetitively. He had begun by writing INLA and a question mark. He had tried to obliterate the letters with scribbles. The rest was a jumble of triangles and sharp edges.
'Because of the situation here?' asked Moore airily.
Kenyon squirmed in the chair.
'Partially, yes. You must be ready to pull out at a moment's notice. We haven't been asked to close down your visit yet, but it may be so decided.'
Moore seemed to be considering Kenyon's choice of the passive form.
'And if you do find anything, you must arrange to show the material to somebody in Dublin before you come back here.''
Moore said nothing.
'A Mr Murray. He has an interest in what we are working on, you'll remember from our discussion. It may have a bearing on recent events in Dublin. Murray is already in Dublin to take charge of the situation there.'
'He's doing some work for our firm?' asked Moore.
Kenyon wanted to let loose with his anger.
'He's in one of our partner offices,' Kenyon replied with effort. 'But he has priority at the moment. It's rather important, I'm afraid.'
Kenyon wondered if Moore could read the leaden tone.
'Mr Murray then,' said Moore slowly, as though puzzled. 'And I have his number?'
'Yes, the one I gave you. Remember, you may be called back at any time if it is decided the situation warrants it.'
