appears to be the most ruthless sectarian killing for some time.’
Doyle sat a moment longer then jumped to his feet. He crossed to his phone and punched out the numbers.
‘Come on.’
When the receiver was picked up, he barely gave the voice at the other end the chance to speak.
‘Good morning, this—’
‘Listen, I need to speak to Jonathan Parker,’ Doyle said.
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr Parker is—’
‘I’ve got clearance.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Doyle. Sean Doyle. 23958.’
There was a moment’s silence at the other end.
‘I have no record of clearance for that name or that code,’ the voice told him.
‘Let me speak to Parker now.’
‘I repeat, there is no clearance for—’
‘Just fucking tell him it’s Doyle,’ snapped the former counter terrorist.
‘He’ll speak to me.’
‘Mr Parker is in a meeting.’
‘Bollocks. Get him to call me back. He’s got the number.’
‘That won’t be possible.’
Doyle slammed the receiver down.
‘Cunt,’ he snarled and headed for the hall where he pulled on his leather jacket. He snatched his car keys
from the small table by the front door and strode out of his flat.
This couldn’t wait.
Doyle left the Astra outside the building in Hill Street. He fed a handful of coins to the meter then stalked across to the front door of the CTU
headquarters and pressed his thumb on the buzzer.
‘Identification, please,’ said the voice from inside.
‘Doyle,’ he said curtly, ‘23958.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Could you repeat that, please?’
He did.
‘Access denied,’ the voice said finally.
Doyle sucked in a furious breath and pressed the buzzer again.
‘Doyle, 23958. I need to speak to Jonathan Parker now. Open the fucking door’
Silence.
He struck the oak door with one fist.
‘Access has been denied,’ the voice on the intercom said. ‘Please step away from the door.’
Doyle hit the buzzer once more and kept his finger there.
Open the fucking door, you bastards. You can’t get rid of me that easily.
The sound of the buzzer reverberated around the quiet street. An elderly woman passed by on the other side of the thoroughfare and looked over at Doyle.
‘Move away from the door,’ said the voice from inside the building. ‘Access has been denied. If you do not move, I’ll call security.’
‘Do it,’ snarled Doyle.‘Call who you fucking like. I’m staying here until Parker speaks to me.’ He leant on the buzzer once more.
The door opened and two men stepped out on to the pavement. Both were dressed casually. Both were a good ten years younger than Doyle himself. He assumed they were counter terrorist agents.
As he had once been.
‘Just do one will you, Doyle?’ said the first.
‘Fuck you.’
‘We don’t want any trouble,’ the second assured him.
‘Then get out of the way and let me talk to Parker.’
No one moved. The men remained motionless, but their eyes travelled up and down him. Watching. Trying to detect the first hint of aggression. Doyle knew they had been trained as meticulously as he had been. He also had no doubt that they were armed.
‘Five minutes,’ Doyle said. That’s all I want.’
The first man shook his head. ‘We can’t let you in,’ he said. ‘You don’t belong here any more.’
Doyle’s expression did not change.
Never let your opponent see what you’re thinking. Never let your feelings show on your face. Retain eye contact If you look away, they’ll know you’re going to make a move on them.
‘Let him in.’
Doyle recognised the voice.
Jonathan Parker stood just inside the reception area.
For long moments the two agents blocking Doyle’s path remained where they were, then, as Doyle stepped forward, they moved aside and allowed him safe passage.
‘You asked for five minutes,’ said Parker.‘That’s what you’ve got.’
Make it quick, Doyle,’ Parker said, closing his office door behind him. ‘This could cost me my job, just having you on the premises.’
‘Worried in case your fucking politician friend finds out I was here?’ Doyle spat.
‘Sir Anthony Pressman is no friend of mine, I can assure you. As you know, if I’d have had a choice you’d still be a part of this organisation.’
‘You could have told him to fuck himself.’
‘No I couldn’t, Doyle.’
‘Couldn’t or wouldn’t?’
‘If you came here to discuss the merits or otherwise of your removal from this unit then you may as well leave now.’
‘I came here to discuss what happened in Northern Ireland this morning. Five newly released IRA men ambushed and slaughtered on their way home.’
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that or any other matter with you, Doyle. Not any longer.’
‘Who do you think killed them?’
‘I can’t discuss it with you.’
‘One of the murdered men was Vincent Leary.’
Parker said nothing.
‘He was due for release from Maghaberry, I know that. Obviously so did someone else. Someone who wanted him and four of his friends dead. My money’s on the UVF.’
Parker crossed to the large window that looked out on to Hill Street, clasped his hands behind his back and stared off into the distance. He could see the green expanse of Berkeley Square from where he stood.
‘If it was the UVF then you’ve got a problem,’ Doyle continued.‘This so-called peace in Ireland is on a knife edge anyway. If both sides start hitting each other again, then you can kiss the whole fucking lot goodbye.’
‘I can’t discuss this with you, Doyle,’ Parker repeated again.
‘I didn’t come here for a fucking discussion. I came here to teil you what’s going to happen. Declan Leary’s brother was one of those IRA men killed. Now if I know Leary he’s not going to sit still for that. He’s going to go after whoever did it. He’s been in hiding ever since that business in Belfast.
This’ll bring him out, for sure. And when he sticks his head up over the parapet, someone should be there to put a fucking bullet in it.’
