The two Americans recognized them at once as typical of the kind of thugs that most intelligence organizations keep in their closets for special operations where ruthlessness is the main characteristic needed. Even Grabowski, for all his attempted bonhomie, didn’t look entirely at home with the two Britishers. Finally Grabowski gave up on the broken-backed pleasantries and suggested that they sit around the table.
“Our friends here have asked if we could assist them, and Langley have agreed. It’s more consultation than assistance but …” Grabowski shrugged his shoulders and waved a hand dismissively “… on the other hand we’re aware that there has to be some actual participation. So it’s … let’s say … a wide brief.” He turned to Maclaren. “You give an outline of what you want, Mac.”
The Scot raised his eyebrows as if more was being asked of him than he could be expected to deliver.
“We heard you’ve got one of your zombies here we could use.”
The two Americans didn’t respond and Grabowski leaped into his role of honest broker.
“These guys have been shown the routine records so they’ve got the basic background. We haven’t discussed what use we might or might not have made of your existing client but they know the … what do you call it … the potential.”
It was Symons who answered. “She wouldn’t respond to anyone but me. That was the whole point of the programme.”
Grabowski nodded. “I know that. They want you to operate her for us just like you did over the other side.”
Symons reached in his pocket for his cigarettes, lit one slowly, and only after he exhaled did he turn to look at Grabowski.
“I told you, Ziggy, she’s going to come apart at the seams if she’s put under pressure for too long.”
Maclaren interrupted as Grabowski leaned forward to reply.
“We need her right now, Symons. So let’s cut out the bullshit. Either you can do it or you can’t. Which is it?”
Symons deliberately avoided looking at Maclaren, as if he had no significance.
“What kind of mission did you have in mind, Ziggy?”
“They … we want to use her in Northern Ireland against the IRA.”
“To do what?”
Grabowski nodded to Maclaren who could barely keep the anger from his voice.
“To wipe out certain IRA men. And one or two other bad friends.”
Symons raised his eyebrows. “Can’t you just shoot them?”
“If that was the answer we’d have done it, sunshine. There are a lot of reasons why we need to do it this way.”
“Don’t call me sunshine, mister. I’m not impressed. What are the reasons?”
“That’s our business not yours.”
Symons nodded, and for a moment Maclaren thought it was in agreement, until Symons spoke.
“In that case, Mr. Maclaren, I suggest you get yourself back to London and get on with it.”
There were flecks of saliva on Maclaren’s lips as the words burst out. He meant to wag his finger to emphasize his words but it ended up as a shaking fist.
“You stupid bastard. We can put you in the nick inside an hour on what we know about you. We can finish the bloody CIA for good and we can …”
“Maclaren!” Grabowski’s voice was loud and angry. “Cool it, Maclaren, or I’ll phone Nick Carter right now and get him to fly up. You’re not here to give orders or to lay down the law. If anyone’s going to do that it’s me. That’s the arrangement Carter and I have made. If you want cooperation you’d better calm down right now.”
Maclaren shrugged and leaned back in his chair, his eyes hard with anger.
“You tell them, then. You know the scenario.”
Grabowski stood up. “Let’s have a drink and leave the planning for tomorrow.” He looked at Petersen. “You got some liquor stashed away someplace, Pete?”
They had a few drinks and at least the surface antagonism faded, but the tensions were all too obviously still there when the two SIS men opted for bed and Petersen showed them to their rooms. When he came back to their workroom the three Americans sat in silence for several minutes before Grabowski started mending the fences.
“Why did you provoke him, Tony? It was deliberate. I watched you doing it. It’s crazy.”
Symons lit another cigarette. “I tell you what, Ziggy. That sonofabitch is dangerous. He’s a psychopath. Straight out of a text-book. So’s his little red-haired pal, sitting there all silent, clenching his fists and grinding his jaws. Where the hell did you find them?”
“I didn’t. They found you. They were carrying out the surveillance of Deeming’s house and they found the files on you two. Nick Carter, their boss, gave me the option. We cooperate or they blow you two and the whole CIA sky high.”
Symons shrugged. “So get some of our guys over to knock ’em off.”
Grabowski sighed, his hand cupping his chin as he slowly shook his head. “Sometimes you guys make me feel very old.” He was a shrewd operator and he knew he had won when Symons laughed softly.
“Have they told you what they want us to do?”
“Not in detail. And I don’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got enough trouble trying to keep the lid on what happened back home. More, I don’t need.”
“Who’s making trouble there?”
“Congressional committeemen, judges, half a dozen independent committees, the media, you name it. It’s the most popular bloodsport Washington ever had … and you don’t even need to go out in the rain. Fifty assassination theories, and every one a winner.”
Petersen stretched out his long legs. “Tell us what the two Brits want us to do.”
“There are two key IRA leaders … one in Belfast and the other in Dublin. They want to use the girl to eliminate them both.”
“Why don’t they shoot them themselves?”
“There’s several reasons. The most important is that Dublin and London have been talking for months to try and solve their problems in Northern Ireland. It’s an almost impossible
