'Are you still there?' Murray said.
'What?' asked Moore.
'You had a look at the material, did you?' Murray said again.
'Yes, yes. But look, I don't want to go into detail here now-' he began.
'I told you, the line's clean,' Murray broke in angrily. Moore held his breath again, feeling the pounding begin at the base of his skull. Tell Murray?
'Are you still there, Moore? How did you locate the material?'
'Self-addressed envelope,' Moore managed to say. 'Thirty-five mil negatives, black-and-white, and photographic prints. The numbers match, but I can't read the negatives…'
'Prints of what?'
'Seems like the original was handwritten notes. Twenty-eight pages, I estimate.'
'And you read the prints?'
'Yes. But — '
'Anything or anybody local in jeopardy?' Murray cut in.
Moore hesitated. He'd have to tell Murray about the pursuit.
'There are allegations about an embassy man.'
'Who?'
'Mervyn Ball, the one who was assass-'
'Only party identified?'
'There's mention of another person, somebody working with Ball. Unnamed.'
'Have you made contact with your firm about this yet?' Murray asked.
'No. That's partly why I'm calling you. I'm in a phone-booth here in the south suburbs… I think I had some company.'
'Had? Repeat that,' Murray said.
'At least one car. There may have been more on foot.' r
'The local law?'
'Something special, I think,' said Moore. 'Plain clothes.'
'But you shook them for certain?'
Moore thought again of Minogue's grave clown's face.
'I'm pretty sure. But I don't like my chances for too long. I'm still out in the open here. There's no way I'm going back to the hotel-'
'Don't even consider it, no,' Murray interrupted.
'There was a tail on me yesterday,' Moore added. 'They were fishing, general observation. They might even put out an All Points to pick me up… I mean, if they knew I had this material…'
Then Moore heard the savage undertone which Murray didn't try to suppress.
'What do you mean, 'if they knew'? Have you been set up, Moore?'
Moore recalled a moment in Minogue's office when he had looked up from his briefcase to find Minogue staring under his eyebrows at him.
'I'd be out of commission by now, if I had.'
'We need an RDV,' Murray said after several seconds' silence.
'You don't think I could-' Moore began.
'Listen for a moment, Moore. You've had your instructions on this. We need that material. Forget your guesswork here. Your job is to get out of the area and to clear anything you have with me.'
'But I haven't even had a chance to let my superiors know… In a matter this serious-'
'Don't put a foot wrong now. Don't let these people make you jittery. You can't stay out in the open and you know that. We're all on the same side here, remember. I can get your material out, understood? Now, where are you, and how long can you maintain that position securely?'
'There's a suburban train station. Bootstown-no, wait, Booterstown. South suburbs, on the coast.'
'Booterstown?'
'Yes. There's a carpark next to some wasteland, right by the sea. It's down off the main road. You can't see me from the road.'
'Wait a minute while I locate…'
Moore heard pages turning at Murray's end.
'Okay. I have you. You're out the coast road, Merrion Road. You're quite close.'
'I'm not going to take the chance of getting on a main road again.'
'I'm well aware of contingencies,' Murray snapped. 'Can you hold there for ten, fifteen minutes? Pass the material to me there. It'll be in London by five this evening.'
Moore hesitated.
'I'll have a dip. car,' Murray continued. 'The law won't touch me even if they have a nose for me.'
Moore knew that he couldn't hold onto the envelope and expect to get on the plane with it. He felt a mounting anger at Murray's tone, his insinuations, his rudeness. No wonder Kenyon had been curt on the subject of Murray taking charge. He wondered about trying to place a call to Kenyon, direct.
'I can get to you inside fifteen minutes,' Murray was saying. 'Then you're on your way, clean. Understood?'
He had shaken off the coppers too: the need to do something right away with the dossier had receded. Murray had to see the material anyway. He might as well wait for him here.
'O.K.,' said Moore finally.
'Fine. Think about afterwards, after I have this material. Head back into the city. Go about your business as if everything's just so.'
'I'll be bumping into the law one way or the other. There's this copper, I don't quite know what to make of him, Minogue-'
'The worst they can do to you is pick you up and ask you a few questions. They may give you the once-over on some pretext but, just remember, they can't press you on anything. If they get stroppy, I can let them know here. You're covered all ways, just remember that. These are bluffers here, these coppers. Amateurs. Take my word for it.'
Moore thought again of how easily he had jettisoned the surveillance. Textbook simple-with the help of a chaotic and crowded road system.
'All right,' said Moore in a flat tone.
'A carpark, you say?'
'A yellow Mini Metro. You'll have to drive right around to the far end of the carpark to see me. Just find a red lorry, I'm tucked in next to it.'
Moore hung up. A train drummed and squealed into the station. He walked back to the car and got in. Two schoolgirls in uniform walked out of the station carrying heavy sports bags. Moore let down the window and checked his watch. The smells of low tide swept in from the strand, displacing some of the stench of stale cigar smoke from the Mini's interior.
Another train rattled into Booterstown station. More schoolchildren came out and walked up toward the coast road. Moore checked his watch. Murray would be here within minutes.
He wondered if he should move out from behind the lorry so that Murray could spot him quicker. He abruptly realised that this made no sense. He must be getting rattled. If Murray could spot him easier, so could the law. He felt claustrophobic next to the lorry. If it fell over…? Spooked: no, of course it couldn't move. Moore listened to the hum of traffic from the coast road some two hundred yards beyond where he sat. He looked down at the envelope again, wanting to open it and read more.
A witch-hunt, he thought, and Kenyon hadn't hinted one iota about what Ball had been running right here in Dublin. Did that mean that Kenyon was in on the scheme? Was Kenyon part and parcel of a joint assassination squad worked by his own Service and MI6? The boss that Combs alluded to?
Moore visualised a debriefing with Kenyon. A wry smile from the otherwise dry Kenyon, a caution about need-to-know. A well-rehearsed homily on the duties of field-officers, with a few bromides about the Defence of the Realm… But Combs' plainly sincere disgust at the Costello killing, that he was sure Ball had actually taken part in the killing personally. Surely…
