drinking pints of the black stuff. These two had Budweisers by the neck and were watching soccer. Both had cigarettes and were smoking like ten men; if I'd been watching them in a bar in Derry, I'd have taken it as nervousness, but Aer Lingus has a no-smoking policy on its flights; it looked as if these boys were getting their big hit before boarding.
Both were looking very much the tourist, clean-shaven, clean hair, not overdressed as businessmen, not underdressed as slobs. Basically they were so nondescript you wouldn't give them a second glance, which indicated that they were quite switched on--and that was a problem for me. If they'd been looking like a bag of shit or at all nervous, I'd have known I was up against second or third-string players--easy job. But these boys were Major League, a long way from hanging around the docks on kneecapping duty.
There were kids everywhere, chasing and shouting, mothers screaming after two-year-olds who'd found their feet and were skimming across the terminal. For us, the more noise and activity the better. I sat down with the drinks. I wanted to get as much information as I could from Euan before they went through security.
On cue, he said, 'I picked McGear up from Deny. He went to the Sinn Fein office on Cable Street and presumably got briefed. Then to Belfast. The spooks tried to use the listening device but didn't have any luck. Nothing else to report, really.
They spent the night getting drunk, then came down here.
Been here about two hours. They booked the flight by credit card, using their cover names. Their cover's good. They've even got their Virgin luggage tags on; they don't want anything to go wrong.'
'Where are they staying?'
'I don't know. It's all very last-minute and Easter's a busy time. There're about ten Virgin-affiliated hotels in D.C.; it's probably one of them--we haven't had time to check.'
I didn't write anything down. If you write stuff down, you can lose it. I'd have to remember it.
'Is that all?' I asked.
'That's your lot. I don't know how they're going to transfer from the airport, but it looks like they're off to D.C.' big boy.'
Subject closed, as far as Euan was concerned. It was now time to talk shit.
'You still see a lot ofKev?'
I took a sip of coffee and nodded.
'Yeah, he's in Washington now, doing all right. The kids and Marsha are fine. I saw them about four months ago. He's been promoted, and they've just bought the biggest house in suburbia. It's what you'd call executive housing.' Euan grinned, looking like Santa Claus with white froth on his top lip. His own place was a stone-walled sheep farmer's cottage in the middle of nowhere in the Black Mountains of Wales. His nearest neighbor was two miles away on the other side of the valley.
I said, 'Marsha loves it in D.C.--no one trying to shoot holes in the car.'
Marsha, an American, was Kev's second wife. After leaving the Regiment he'd moved to the States with her and had joined the Drug Enforcement Administration. They had two young kids, Kelly and Aida.
'Is Slack Pat still over there?'
'I think so, but you know what he's like--one minute he's going to learn how to build houses, and the next minute he's going to take up tree hugging and crocheting. Fuck knows what he's doing now.'
Pat had had a job for two years looking after the family of an Arab diplomat in D.C. It worked out really well--he even got an apartment thrown in--but eventually the children he was minding grew too old to be looked after. They went back to Saudi, so he blew off his job and started bumming around.
The fact was, he'd made so much money during those two years he wasn't in a hurry.
We carried on chatting and joking, but all the time Euan's eyes flickered toward the targets.
The players ordered another drink, so it looked as if we were going to be sitting here for a while. We carried on spinning the social shit.
'How's year ten of the house building program?' I grinned.
'I'm still having problems with the boiler.'
He'd decided that he was going to put the central heating in himself, but it was a total screw up. He'd ended up spending twice as much money as he would have, had he paid someone to do it.
'Apart from that, it's all squared away. You should come down some time. I can't wait to finish this fucking tour; then I've got about two more years and that's it.'
'What are you going to do?'
'As long as it's not what you're doing, I don't care. I thought I'd become a garbageman. I don't give a fuck, really.' I laughed.
'You do! You'll be itching to stay in; you're a party man. You'll stay in forever. You moan about it all the time, but actually you love it.'
Euan checked the players, then looked back at me. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
I said, 'You're right. Don't do this job; it's shit.'
'What have you been up to since your Middle Eastern adventure?'
'I've been on holiday, got some downtime in, did a bit of work for a couple of the companies, but nothing much, and to tell you the truth it's great. Now I'm just waiting for the out come of the inquiry. I think I'm in deep shit unless this job gets me out.'
Euan's eyes moved again.
'It looks like you're off.'
The two boys must have started to sort themselves out at the bar.
I said, 'I'll call you after this is finished. When are you back in the UK?'
'I don't know. Maybe a few days.'
'I'll give you a call; we can arrange something. You got yourself a woman yet, or what?'
'You've got to be drunk! I was going out with someone from the London office for a while, but she wanted to make me all nice and fluffy. She was starting to do my washing and all sorts of shit. I really didn't get into it.'
'You mean she didn't iron a crease in the front of your jeans?'
Euan shrugged.
'She didn't do things my way.'
Nobody did. He was the sort of guy who folded his socks instead of putting them inside each other, and stacked his coins in their denominations. Since his divorce he'd become Mr. I'm-going-to-have-the-best-of- everything. People even started to call him Mr. Ikea--you name it, track lights, entertainment center, the whole nine yards. The inside of his house was like a showroom.
I could tell Euan was watching the two players pick up their gear and walk away from the bar.
I took my time; no need to get right up their ass. Euan would tell me when to move.
'Do a one-eighty,' he said.
'Look to the right, just approaching the newsstand.'
I casually got to my feet. It had been great to see him.
Maybe this job would turn out to be a waste of time, but at least I'd seen my closest friend. We shook hands, and I walked away. Then I turned, looked ninety degrees to the right, and spotted them, suit bags over their arms.
The departures lounge looked like an Irish craft fair. I was starting to feel out of place; I should have gotten myself a Guinness hat.
What was I going to do once I got to D.C.? I didn't know if somebody was going to pick them up, whether they were taking a cab or the bus, or, if they'd managed to get a hotel, whether transport was included. If they started moving around the city, that would be fun, too. I knew Washington a bit but not in any great detail.
They were still smoking like fiends. I sat in the lounge and picked up a paper from the seat. McGear started scrabbling about for change in his pocket as they talked to each other, standing at the bar. He was suddenly looking purposeful; he was either going to go to the slot machines or the telephone.
He got a note out and leaned over to the bartender; I could see him asking for change. I was sitting more or less directly behind them and about twenty feet back, so even if they turned their heads forty-five degrees to either side, I still wouldn't be in even their peripheral vision.
McGear walked toward the slot machines but continued on past. It must be the telephone.
I got up and wandered over to the newsstand, pretending to check the spinning rack of newspapers
