Minogue eased back in his seat and looked up at Two Rock Mountain while the roadside hedges skimmed by. They drew into Stepaside and slowed for the bends which marked the centre of the Village.
'— In sight, four cars ahead. Over,' said the Kerry accent.
Moore seemed to be taking the same route back into the city. Corrigan's car stayed ahead until Dundrum. Corrigan told Dunne to pull over into a petrol station. The three policemen watched Moore's yellow Mini pass and, five cars back, the first of the pursuit cars, a blue Nissan.
'The hotel, five to four on,' Corrigan murmured. 'Just the way he went out. Like a yo-yo.'
Dunne leaned an elbow on the door, waiting for a direction. The three policemen watched the second pursuit car go by, less than a minute behind the first.
'Away, so,' Corrigan said.
'What's with the bloody traffic this heavy now?' Dunne muttered as he worked through the gears.
Moore had not noticed the blue car until after he had gone through a half-dozen bends. The second time he spotted it, he felt his stomach tighten. He heard his breath whistle in his nostrils. The cars snaking and turning behind him always had the blue Nissan at least three cars back. Coincidence? He had caught a glimpse of the silhouettes of two men. The Nissan let in cars twice to fill any changing tally between itself and his Mini. He recognised the villages which he had passed on the way out. The roads were too narrow for the traffic at any time of the day. Cars and lorries had overrun the streets and clogged them. These suburbs, with their once-separate villages now fused into a monotonous alley for motoring commuters, were little different from the tawdry outer suburbs of London. Moore began to look for the junction he'd need if he had to make a move, a crossroads with heavy traffic and traffic-lights.
He found what he required just beyond a sprawl which bore the sign 'Dundrum Shopping Centre.' The phone-box was on the far side of the crossroads. Moore did not signal until the last minute. As he waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic, he saw the Nissan drift by, carried along on the inside lane of city-bound traffic. When he turned the wheel at last, he was suddenly aware that his jaws were clenched tight.
He parked, blocking two cars which had themselves taken over the footpath next to the phone. Inside the phone-box, Moore felt the tug of doubt drawing at his stomach again. Minogue: that odd mixture of irony and indulgence in his manner.
'— He's stopping,' came the Kerry accent on the radio.
'Stopped. Crossroads with Taney Road. Just beyond the Shopping Centre. Oh-oh…'
'— What's up there?' Corrigan said.
The three heard the roar of a bus passing close to the detectives at the other end.
'— We're through the… we had to go through with the lights… Pulling in on the city side. Over.'
'— All right, all right. One. Give him lots of room. Chestnut Two, are you copying this?' Corrigan said.
'— We are. In sight of the crossroads now. We have visual with Chestnut One.'
Corrigan frowned. The first car was badly placed if Moore decided to double back, but the second should be able to take over easily. Corrigan's own car was within a mile of the junction, he guessed. He told Dunne to hurry it up. Minogue watched Corrigan's pulse tick in his neck as he waited for the transmission to resume.
'— May be checking for a tail. Over.'
The words had rushed out before the abrupt click of the transmission out. Corrigan waited, his thumb wavering over the button. The two in the car might have to go by Moore.
'— Still in the car. Over.'
Still Corrigan said nothing. Dunne had edged himself sideways in his seat. He was looking from Corrigan to Minogue.
'— He's out of the car. Heading for a telephone-box. I'm getting out, hold on-'
'— Making a call, by the looks of things…'
The Kerry accent sounded winded. Minogue guessed he had run through the traffic to keep Moore in sight.
Corrigan nodded to Dunne.
'Move it, Dunner. Quick, man. What's the go-slow here?' spacebarthing
Moore placed two ten-penny pieces on the chute and dialled. The insistent beeping told him that he had guessed right, a non-existent telephone number. He began talking into the receiver and nodded his head several times for effect.
He let his gaze drift over the crowded intersection. He couldn't see any blue Nissan now. When Moore caught sight of the man looking into a shop window some hundred feet down from the booth, a tremor burst abruptly in his chest and parachuted slowly into his belly. He felt the air leaving his lungs. One car for sure, a voice said within. He gripped the phone tighter, while his thoughts raced uncontrolled for several moments.
He watched the traffic-lights and began counting. If the timing was right, he could do it handily enough. Thirty-seven seconds on full green, no right-turn lights either. It was cut-and-dried; all he had to do was time himself. Each time the lights for the city-bound traffic changed to red, the heavy traffic bottle-necked almost immediately. Count five, say, into their red light and any back-up car on the other side of the junction would be blocked for a count of thirty.
He searched for the name of the road which led uphill to his left. Taney Road. Moore thumbed the index and fingered open the page. He could not stop his whole hand from shaking. He followed through the map on the next page, tracing a route from Goatstown through to the university and toward Ballsbridge, close by the embassy. If they lost him, they might wait for him to try an entry there, though, Moore reflected.
His heart was hammering now. He swallowed and looked out over the traffic again. The streets on the map didn't allow parallel pursuits, so he could take the first turnoff on the city side and just boot it, running laterally from the pursuit. But for now, stay to the speed limit, move promptly. If the traffic stayed thick, he had a better than even chance of losing them. He put down the phone and checked the map again. The window-shopper was now interested in electrical appliances, closer to the phone-booth. Moore was startled to realise then that he wasn't frightened now. He was excited.
Again he considered a drop for the envelope. Textbook, but he'd have to pick one on the hoof while he was driving and hope to find something secure enough until Murray sent out someone to get it. Under a hedge somewhere, wrapped in plastic in a ditch? Messy. An embassy man groping about in some laneway, trying to find them. Moore bit his lip. He could try losing them long enough to destroy the material. Give an oral report on it. He'd have to read it again, though, go through it for essential details, and hope to hell his short-term memory held up long enough to get it all. Either that or read it out over the damned phone?
Moore searched his pocket for more change. He would have to contact Murray anyway, no matter what he decided he had to do with the envelope. Slip the surveillance and he'd have options, time-and so would Murray. Murray could take it off his hands. Kenyon might piss and moan, but it wasn't Kenyon who had to make decisions here and now. Moore pocketed the map, open on the page he had chosen for his route.
CHAPTER 14
Corrigan turned to Minogue.
'Smart enough not to touch the phone back at the house.'
Minogue managed a smile. Corrigan had the face of a man whose horse had unexpectedly gained ground toward the end of the race. His eyes glittered.
'Well, he'll find us when we want him to, the little shite,' Corrigan whispered with a weak smile starting below his nostrils.
'— Talking into the phone… looking around,' said the Kerry accent.
Dunne piloted the car around a curve in the road. Minogue saw the Shopping Centre ahead.
'— Get clear for to take up any slack, Car Two,' Corrigan barked.
'— Will do, Control. Just need a minute to…'
'Pull over here,' Corrigan muttered. 'Yeah, here. I'm not entirely sure I like the look of this.'
The warning torie in Corrigan's voice registered on Minogue. He, too, began straining to see across the junction ahead. A double-decker bus slowed to a stop in the traffic-lane next to the car.
