'Call Behavioral Sciences in on this one?' the junior agent, Frank Chatham, asked.
Sullivan nodded. 'Yeah, let's do that. I'll call Pat O'Connor about it. Next step here, I think we get some flyers printed up with the photo of Mary Bannister and start passing them out on the West Side. Mario, can you get us some cooperation from your people?'
'No problem,' d'Allessandro replied. 'If this is what it looks like, I want the fuck before he starts going for some sort of record. Not in my town, guys,' the detective concluded.
'Going to try the Interleukin again?' Barbara Archer asked.
'Yeah.' Killgore nodded. '-3a is supposed to enhance the immune system, but they're not sure how. I'm not either, but if it has any effect, we need to know about it.'
'What about lung complications?' One of the problems with Interleukin was that it attacked lung tissue, also for unknown reasons, and could be dangerous to smokers and others with respiratory problems.
Another nod. 'Yeah, I know, just like -2, but F4 isn't a smoker, and I want to make sure that -3a doesn't do anything to compromise Shiva. We can't take that chance. Barb.'
'Agreed,' Dr. Archer observed. Like Killgore, she didn't think that this new version of Interleukin was the least bit helpful, but that had to be confirmed. 'What about Interferon?'
'The French have been trying that on hemorrhagic fever for the last five years, but no results at all. We can hang that, too, but it's going to be a dry hole, Barb.'
'Let's try it on F4 anyway,' she suggested.
'Fair enough.' Killgore made a notation on the chart and left the room. A minute later he appeared on the TV monitor.
'Hi, Mary, how are we feeling this morning? Any better?'
'No.' She shook her head. 'Stomach still hurts pretty bad.'
'Oh, really? Let's see what we can do about that.' This case was proceeding rapidly. Killgore wondered if she had a genetic abnormality in her upper GI maybe some vulnerability to peptic ulcer disease?… If so, then the Shiva was going to rip her apart in a hurry. He increased the morphine dosage rate on the machine next to her bed. '- Okay, now we're going to give you a couple of new medications. These ought to fix you up in two or three days, Okay?'
'Are these the ones I signed up for?' F4 asked weakly.
'Yes, that's right,' Killgore replied, hanging the Interleukon and Interleukin-3a on the medication tree. 'These ought to make you feel a lot better,' he promised with a smile. It was so odd, talking to his lab rats. Well, as he'd told himself many times, a rat was a pig was a dog was a… girl, in this case. There wasn't really all that much of difference, was there? No, he told himself this afternoon. Her body relaxed with the increased morphine dose, and her eyes became unfocused. Well, that was one difference. wasn't it? They didn't give rats sedatives or narcotics to ease their pain. It wasn't that they didn't want to, just that there was no practical way to ease their discomfort. It had never pleased him to see those cute pink eyes change from bright to dull, reflecting the pain. Well, in this case, at least, the dullness mirrored a respite from the pain.
The information was very interesting, Henriksen thought, and this Russian was pretty good at developing it. He would have made a good agent for the Foreign Counterintelligence Division… but then, that's just what he had been, in a way, only working for the other side, of course. And with the information, he recalled his idea, from the Qantas flight.
'Dmitriy,' Bill asked, 'do you have contacts in Ireland?'
Popov nodded. 'Yes, several of them.'
Henriksen looked over at Dr. Brightling for approval and got a nod. 'How would they like to get even with the SAS?'
'That has been discussed many times, but it is not practical. It is like sending a bank robber into a guarded bank - no, that is not right. It is like sending a robber into the government agency which prints the money. There are too many defensive assets to make the mission practical.'
'But they actually wouldn't be going to Hereford, would they? What if we could draw them out into the open, and then stage our own little surprise for them?…' Henriksen explained on.
It was a very interesting idea, Popov thought. But: 'It is still a very dangerous mission.'
'Very well. What is the current condition of the IRA?'
Popov leaned back in his chair. 'They are badly split. There are now several factions. Some want peace. Some want the disorders to continue. The reasons are both ideological and personal to the faction members. Ideological insofar as they truly believe in their political objective of overturning both the British rule in Northern Ireland and the Republican government in Dublin, and establishing a `progressive socialist' government. As an objective, it's far too ambitious for a practical world, yet they believe in it and hold to it. They are committed Marxists-actually more Maoist than Marxist, but that is not important to us at the moment.'
'And the personal side?' Brightling asked.
'When one is a revolutionary, it is not merely a matter of belief, but also a matter of perception by the public. To many people a revolutionary is a romantic character, ii person who believes in a vision of the future and is willing to risk his life for it. From that comes his social status. Those who know such people often respect them. Therefore, to lose that status injures the former revolutionary. He must now work for a living, drive a truck or whatever he is capable of-'
'Like what happened to you when the KGB RIF'd you, in other words,' Henriksen offered. Popov had to nod at that. 'In a way, yes. As a field officer of State Security, I had status and importance enjoyed by few others in the Soviet Union, and losing that was more significant to me than the loss of my modest salary. It will be the same for these Irish Marxists. And so they have two reasons for wanting the disorders to continue: their political ideological beliefs, and their need for personal recognition as something more than ordinary worker-citizens.'
'Do you know such people?' Henriksen asked pointedly.
'Yes, I can probably identify some. I met many in the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon, where they trained with other 'progressive elements.' And I have traveled to Ireland on occasion to deliver messages and money to support their activities. Those operations tied up large segments of the British Army, you see, and were, therefore, worthy of Soviet support as a distraction to a large NATO enemy.' Popov ended his discourse, looking at the other two men in the room. 'What would you have them do?'
'It's not so much a question of what as of how,' Bill told the Russian. 'You know, when I was in the Bureau, we used to say that the IRA was composed of the best terrorists in the world, dedicated, smart, and utterly vicious.'
'I would agree with that assessment. They were superbly organized, ideologically sound, and willing to undertake nearly anything if it had a real political impact.'
'How would they view this mission?'
'What mission is that?' Dmitriy asked, and then Bill explained his basic mission concept. The Russian listened politely and thoughtfully before responding: 'That would appeal to them, but the scope and the dangers are very large.'
'What would they require to cooperate?'
'Money and other support, weapons, explosives, the things they need to carry on their operations. The current faction-fighting has probably had the effect of disrupting their logistical organization. That's doubtless how the peace faction is trying to control the continued-violence faction, simply by restricting their access to weapons. Without that, they cannot take physical action, and cannot therefore enhance their own prestige. So, if you offer them the wherewithal to conduct operations, they will listen seriously to your plan.'
'Money?'
'Money allows one to purchase things. The factions with which we would deal have probably been cut off from regular funding sources.'
'Which are?' Brightling asked.
'Drinking clubs, and what you call the 'protection racket,' yes?'
'That's right,' Henriksen confirmed with a nod. 'That's how they get their money, and that source is probably well controlled by the peace factions.'
'So, then, how much do you think, Dmitriy?' John Brightling asked.
'Several million dollars, I should say, at the least, that is.'
'You'll have to be very careful laundering it,' Bill warned their boss. 'I can help.'
