Martin McGuiness was watching the news on television. Murphy stood by the window. Like the man in the bar, he now wore a rather conservative suit, in his case, of navy-blue worsted material.
McGuiness switched off the television. ‘Ah, there you are. Did you try the Duck a 1’Orange? It’s not bad here.’
The tray on the table with the tea things on it carried two cups. ‘Shall I pour, Mr McGuiness?’ Ryan asked.
‘No, we can manage.’ McGuiness reached for the teapot and said to Fox as Ryan withdrew, ‘Old Patrick, as you can see, is one of our own. You can wait outside, Michael,’ he added.
Murphy went out without a word. ‘They tell me no gentleman would pour his milk in first, but then I suppose no real gentleman would bother about rubbish like that. Isn’t that what they teach you at Eton?’
‘Something like that.’ Fox took the proffered cup. ‘I didn’t expect to see you quite so soon.’
‘A lot to do and not much time to do it in.’ McGuiness drank some tea and sighed with pleasure. ‘That’s good. Right, I’ve seen the Chief of Staff and he believes, with me, that you and your computer have stumbled on something that might very well be worth pursuing.’
Together?’
That depends. In the first place, he’s decided not to discuss it with the Army Council, certainly not at this stage, so it stays with just me and himself.’
That seems sensible.’
‘Another thing, we don’t want the Dublin police in on this, so keep Special Branch out of it and no military intelligence involvement either.’
‘I’m sure Brigadier Ferguson will agree.’
‘He’ll bloody well have to, just as he’ll have to accept that there’s no way we’re going to pass across general information about IRA members, past or present. The kind of stuff you could use in other ways.’
‘All right,’ Fox said, ‘I can see that, but it could be a tricky one. How do we co-operate if we don’t pool resources?’
‘There is a way.’ McGuiness poured himself another cup of tea. ‘I’ve discussed it with the Chief of Staff and he’s agreeable if you are. We use a middle-man.’
‘A middle-man?’ Fox frowned. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘Someone acceptable to both sides. Equally trusted, if you know what I mean.’
Fox laughed. ‘There’s no such animal.’
‘Oh, yes there is,’ McGuiness said. ‘Liam Devlin, and don’t tell me you don’t know whohe is.’
Harry Fox said slowly, ‘I know Liam Devlin very well.’
‘And why wouldn’t you. Didn’t you and Faulkner have him kidnapped by the SAS back in seventy-nine to help you break Martin Brosnan out of that French prison to hunt down that mad dog, Frank Barry.’
‘You’re extremely well informed.’
‘Yes, well Liam’s here in Dublin now, a professor at Trinity College. He has a cottage in a village called Kilrea, about an hour’s drive out of town. You go and see him. If he agrees to help, then we’ll discuss it further.’
‘When?’
Til let you know, or maybe I’ll just turn up unexpected, like. The one way I kept ahead of the British Army all those years up north.’ He stood up. ‘There’s a lad at the bar downstairs. Maybe you noticed?’
‘The cab driver.’
‘Billy White. Left or right hand, he can still shoot a fly off the wall. He’s yours while you’re here.’
‘Not necessary.’
‘Oh, but it is.’ McGuiness got up and pulled on his coat. ‘Number one, I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you, and number two, it’s a convenience to know where you are.’ He opened the door, and beyond him, Fox saw Murphy waiting. Til be in touch, Captain.’ McGuiness saluted mockingly, the door closed behind him.
Ferguson said, ‘It makes sense, I suppose, but I’m not sure Devlin will work for us again, not after that Frank Barry affair. He felt we’d used him and Brosnan rather badly.’
‘As I recall, we did, sir,’ Fox said. ‘Very badly indeed.’
‘All right, Harry, no need to make a meal of it. Phone and see if he’s at home. If he is, go and see him.’
‘Now, sir?’
‘Why not? It’s only nine-thirty. If he is in, let me know and I’ll speak to him myself. Here’s his phone number, by the way. Take it down.’