Johnson shook his head. “You know something, Alice, I think it’s time for another cigarette, and get me Brigadier Ferguson anyway.” FERGUSON SAT WITH THE PHONE IN HIS HAND and Dillon and Hannah waited. The Brigadier nodded.
;’Thank you, Superintendent.” He put down the phone. “That was Costello of Garda Special Branch.
The Gulfstream landed, disgorged four passengers, refuelled, and left.”
“Anything els.”
“Yes, one bit of luck. An airport security officer, a retired Detective Sergeunt in Special Branch, noticed them at the main entrance getting into a large shooting brake. He noticed them because Jack Barry was at the Wheel and he recognized him.”
“So we know where we are,” Dillon said. “The Russos in cahoots with the Provisional IRA. I wonder how Michael Ryan likes that7”
“Not much, I suspect,” Hannah Bemstein said.
“On the other hand, it’s totally obvious that the Russo family got him out and now he has to pay.”
“One thing is certain,” Dillon said. “No point in
raiding Barry’s home or rubbish like that. He’ll have a safe house somewhere.”
They sat there thinking about it and suddenly Charles Ferguson laughed. “I know who we need, the greatest expert on the IRA in existence–Liam Devlin.”
He opened a drawer in his desk, took out a small black book, and.leafed through it. Hannah Bernstein said, “Liam Devlin?”
“Scholar, poet, once a professor at Trinity College, gunman for the IRA who probably killed more men than I did. Living legend of the IRA,” Dillon told her.
Ferguson was talking. “Is that you, Devlin, you old rogue?” IN THE PARLOUR OF HIS COTTAGE IN THE VILlage of Kilrea outside Dublin, Liam Devlin listened as Ferguson talked. When he w finished, Devlin laughed…-
“Jesus, but you’ve got a ton of trouble on this one, Brigadier.”
“It’s important, Devlin, you must see that.”
“Oh, I do. I mean, we’re all big for the cause of peace. Send Dillon and that Chief Inspector of yours to see me, only tell him not.to try and shoot me this time.” – FERGUSON PUT DOWN THE PHONE. “HE’LL SEE you two and, believe me, if anyone can help, it’s Devlin. He knows more about the IRA than anyone,
so order the Lear jet, pack your bags, and get moving.”
“Sir.” Hannah moved to the door and Dillon went after her.
Ferguson called, “And, Dillon?”
“Brigadier.”
“He’d be obliged if you wouldn’t try to shoot him this time.”
Hannah looked shocked, but Dillon smiled. “Now do I look like the sort of fella that would do a thing like that, Brigadier?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE LEAR JET LIFTED OFF AT GATWICK AND climbed to irty thousand feet. Dillon sat across the aisle from Hannah Bemstein.
“Devlin–Liam Devlin,” Hannah said. “I always thought it was just a fairy story, the German attempt to kidnap Winston Churchill.” “True enough. November nineteen forty-three. A strange one, Liam. He was born in Ulster. His father was executed by the English during the AngloIrish War in nineteen twenty-one. A brilliant scholar. He took. first honors in English Literature at Trinity College.
He carried a gun for the IRA during the thirties, went to the Spanish Civil War and served with the International Brigade. The Italians took him prisoner and gave him to German Intelligence, what was called the Abwehr. They did what they could with him, but the trouble was he was very antifascist.” “What happened?”
“After an abortive trip by parachute to liaise with the IRA in Ireland, he managed to get back to Germany and spent his time lecturing at Berlin University in English.”
“Then what?”
“Oh, the ‘ultimate commando job. A crack force of German paratroopers dropped into Norfolk in November nineteen forty-three to kidnap Winston Churchill.
Devlin went on ahead as a kind of middle man.”
“But I thought you said he was antifascist?” “Well, they paid him well–funds for the IRA–and I suspect that if someone on the Allied side had asked im to snatch Hitler out of Berchtesgaden he’d
have tried that, too.”
“I see.”
“He told me once that the greatest question in life is to ask, ‘Am I playing the game or is ‘the game playing me?'” He smiled ruefully. “I know what he