He came out of the lift into the penthouse, followed by Donner, holding a cheap fibre suitcase in one hand that was bound together by a cheap leather strap. Meehan went to meet him, hand extended, and Ellerman put the suitcase down.
“Great to see you, Harvey,” Meehan said. “Hope you’ll be able to help. Did Frank explain what I’m after?”
“He did, Mr.. Meehan, in a manner of speaking.” Ellerman hesitated. “You won’t want me personally on this thing, Mr.. Meehan? There’s no question of that?”
“Of course not,” Meehan told him.
Ellerman looked relieved. It’s just that I’ve retired from active participation in anything, Mr.. Meehan,” he said. “You know how it is?”
“Too true, I do, Harvey. You were too bloody good for them.” He picked up Ellerman’s suitcase and put it down on the table. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Ellerman unfastened the strap and opened the suitcase. It contained a varied assortment of explosives carefully packed in tins, a selection of fuses and detonators, neat coils of wire and a rack of tools.
“Frank told me you wanted something similar to the sort of thing the IRA have been using in Ireland.”
“Not just similar, Harvey. I want it to be exactly the same. When tie forensic boys get to examine what’s left of this bomb I don’t want there to be the slightest doubt in their minds where it’s come from.”
“All right, Mr.. Meehan,” Ellerman said in his flat, colourless voice. “Just as you say.” He produced a tin from the case. “We’ll use this, then. A Waverley biscuit tin. Made in Belfast. Packed with plastic gelignite. Say twenty pounds. That should do the trick.”
“What about a ruse?”
Ellerman held up a long, slim, dark pencil. “They’ve been using a lot of these things lately. Chemical ruse of Russian manufacture. Virtually foolproof. Once you break the cap seal you’ve got twenty minutes.”
“Just the job,” Meehan rubbed his hands together. You’d better get started, then.”
He turned and walked across to the window, whistling happily.
14 Grimsdyke
Fallon came awake to find Jenny shaking him by the shoulder. “Wake up!” she kept saying insistently. “Wake up!”
There was a slight persistent throbbing ache behind his right eye, but otherwise he felt strangely light-headed. He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor, and ran his hands over his stubbled chin.
“What time is it?” he asked her.
“About four. Your friend, Father da Costa, was on the phone. He wants to see you.”
Fallon straightened slowly and looked at her, a. slight, puzzled frown on his face. “When was this?”
“About ten minutes ago. I wanted to come and get you, but he said there wasn’t time.”
“And where does he want to see me? At Holy Name?”
She shook her head. “No, he said he was taking his niece into the country. He thought it would be safer for her. A little place called Grimsdyke. It’s about twenty miles from here in the marshes. He wants you to meet him there as soon as possible.”
“I see,” Fallon said. T)o you know where this place is?”
She nodded. “I used to go there for picnics when I was a kid. I’ve never been to this place he’s going to, Mill House, he called it, but he told me how to get there.”
Fallon nodded slowly. “And you’d take me?”
“If you like. We could go in my car. It wouldn’t take much more than half an hour.”
He stared at her, the eyes very dark, no expression there at all. She glanced away nervously, unable to meet his gaze, and
“I68
flushed angrily. “Look, it’s no skin of my nose. Do you want to go or don’t you?”
He knew she was lying, yet it didn’t seem to matter because for some strange reason he knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she was leading him in the right direction.
“All right,” he said. “Fine. Just give me a couple of minutes to get cleaned up. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
As soon as she had gone he took the Ceska from his jacket pocket, ejected the magazine, reloaded carefully with eight rounds and slipped it into the right-hand pocket of his trench coat.