A Season in Hell, page 22
Behind him the butler crossed the lawn with the trailer phone. “A call, sir, from London.”
“Who is it?” Sir Leland demanded.
“A Mr. Smith, sir.”
Sir Leland handed him the shotgun. “Hold that.” He took the phone and walked across to the wall above the moat and leaned on it. “Barry here.”
“We could have trouble,” Smith said.
“Tell me.”
Smith covered the situation in a few brief sentences. When he was finished Barry said, “There’s no problem. If this chap Egan and the woman turn up they’ll be dealt with.”
“And the Security forces?” Smith asked.
“My dear chap,” Sir Leland said patiently, “the Security forces pose no threat to me. Quite the reverse, in fact, so don’t worry. You can safely leave things in my hands.”
He went back to the butler, gave him the phone and reclaimed his shotgun. He reloaded and nodded to the gamekeeper. This time, when he fired, both clays disintegrated very satisfactorily into a cloud of dust.
Ferguson turned from the window, cup and saucer in his hand, and drank a little tea. Villiers was standing in front of the fire, Sarah and Egan sitting opposite each other.
“A remarkable man, Jago,” Ferguson said. “On top of everything else, it would seem he’s turned himself into the man with a thousand faces.” He emptied his cup. “Of course, there is one interesting point.”
“What would that be, sir?” Egan asked.
“He does seem to have an uncanny ability to follow you around.” He handed his cup to Sarah. “I think I’ll have a refill.” He turned to Egan. “As for you, your Boys Own Magazine exploits don’t particularly impress me. We’ve spent enough money over the years in training you, God knows, but there is the much more serious matter of how you accessed our computer system.”
Egan said, “You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?”
“Come off it, Sean,” Villiers cut in. “There’s only one person with the ability to access that system, and we all know who it is. Alan Crowther.”
“A bad business.” Ferguson sipped his fresh cup of tea. “Particularly for Alan. A very serious breach of the Official Secrets Act, amongst other things.”
“But this is nonsense,” Sarah cut in. “At their offices on Cannon Street, our associates have one of the most sophisticated computer systems in London. Naturally they’ve afforded me full facilities while I’m over here. I accessed your system, Brigadier.”
“Really, Mrs. Talbot?” he said.
“I wouldn’t last long in Wall Street financial circles these days without an expert knowledge of computers. I’d be happy to demonstrate,” she added.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Villiers said.
“Oh, come now, Tony,” Ferguson said, “would you doubt the lady?” He turned to her. “Irrelevant now, my dear. Much more interesting to know what, if anything, you came up with in Sicily.”
She glanced at Sean Egan. He said, “I think we should speak up. It’s too important to hold back now, for many reasons.”
She took a deep breath. “All right. What we knew before we went was that the moving force behind everything is this man Smith, identity a mystery, Jago, his right-hand man.”
“And the Frasconis?” Ferguson asked. “Where do they come in?”
“Smith and the Frasconis have been heavily involved together in the drug business, but more than that, there was an Irish connection,” Sarah said, “which would appear to link directly with the deaths of those four IRA gunmen by a Protestant extremist group.”
Ferguson said calmly, “Are you saying you know who they are?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “A man originally employed by the Frasconis as a courier to Ulster went over to the Barbera side of things. He told Don Rafael everything.”
“And?”
“It was the Sons of Ulster,” Egan put in.
“Really?” Ferguson turned to Villiers. “We know all about them, don’t we?”
“I don’t think they’ve been very active recently,” Villiers said.
Ferguson nodded. “Anything else?”
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said. “The man in charge.”
Ferguson frowned. “Of the Sons of Ulster?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Sir Leland Barry. He operates from a house called Rosemount outside a village on the coast named Ballycubbin.”
There was silence. Ferguson and Villiers glanced at each other, then the brigadier went to his desk and sat down. “That’s very interesting.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?” Sarah demanded.
Ferguson looked at Villiers. “Try and explain the intricacies of Ulster politics to her. She might listen to you.”
“Sir Leland Barry represents one of the oldest families in Ulster,” Villiers said. “He’s the fifth baronet. During the Second World War he served with considerable distinction as an officer in the Ulster Rifles. In later years, he had an even more distinguished career as a barrister in London, as well as Ireland. At one time he was a member of Parliament at Stormont.”
“As an Ulster Unionist, I presume?” Egan said.
“He could hardly be anything else,” Ferguson replied. “He is, after all, a Protestant.”
“So were Wolfe Tone, Charles Stewart Parnell and Erskine Childers,” Egan pointed out. “They were also Irish nationalists in their day.”
Villiers said, “Be that as it may, Sir Leland Barry is a considerable defender of the Protestant cause. He was a judge for many years, and as such, very much an IRA target. In March 1982, they attempted to kill him. A roadside bomb as his car was passing in Fermanagh. He escaped serious injury himself, but his wife was killed.”
There was silence. Ferguson said, “He retired from the bench three years ago. Since then he has been elevated to the position of a Grand Master in the Orange Lodge. He is on excellent terms with the government, and his help to the Security Services on a number of occasions has been incalculable.”
“Several years ago he headed a government inquiry into allegations of misconduct against certain officers of the Royal Ulster Constabulary,” Villiers said. “His findings gave them a very clean bill of health indeed.”
“Whiter than white,” Ferguson added. “I need hardly say it has made him rather popular in RUC circles.”
Sarah stared at them in bewilderment. “I don’t think I understand what you’re saying to me, or perhaps I just don’t want to.”
It was Egan who gave her the answer. “It’s really very simple. What they’re trying to get across to you is that for security reasons, he gets away with it. The fact that he’s also, according to our information, a terrorist, is simply an inconvenience.”
“You’re out of order, Sergeant,” Ferguson told him sharply.
“Why? Because he’s telling the truth?” Sarah shook her head and her voice rose. “I can’t believe this.”
Villiers interrupted. “I’m sorry, Sarah, there’s a lot more to it than you realize.”
“You’ll just have to trust us, Mrs. Talbot,” Ferguson added.
Sarah put her cup down carefully and stood up. “You’re not going to do anything, are you?”
Ferguson said bleakly, “Mrs. Talbot, it ends here. From now on this is a matter for the Security Services, not you. Under the powers vested in me I could have you deported to the United States. That is not a road I wish to follow. However, I formally warn you against any attempt to leave this country for Ulster.” He turned to Villiers. “You will see that Mrs. Talbot’s name is posted on the blacklist at all departure points for Ireland, both sea and air.”
“Certainly, sir,” Villiers said.
“And you’d better include this young fool.” Ferguson turned to Egan. “As you well know, you are still subject to military discipline. I could have you court-martialed, but I’d hate to do that. You’re a fine soldier, Egan, and I’m old-fashioned enough to believe that should still count for something. You’ve served the Crown well.”
“Dear God,” Sarah Talbot said in disgust. “Just let me out of here.” And she walked stiffly to the door.
Villiers said, “Go with her, Sean. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
“You mean you really intend to put in an appearance after this?” Egan shook his head. “You’ve got nerve, Colonel, I’ll give you that,” and he went out.
Villiers said to Ferguson, “My God, Leland Barry running the Sons of Ulster. Do you think it’s true?”
“I see no reason to doubt it. I never did like the man. Of course the problem is, what can one do about it? There are rather special circumstances there, Tony.”
“I know, sir.”
“So.” Ferguson got up and came round the desk. “Don’t be too downhearted. There’s always a way. First, we’ll go round to Curzon Street and you can dig out everything we have on the Sons of Ulster. That should fill the time nicely until the funeral.”
“You’re going to go, sir?”
“Oh, yes, Tony.” Ferguson nodded as he crossed to the door. “Not, I regret to say, for the usual reasons of decency and compassion, but because I’ll need to speak to Mrs. Talbot again, or, to put it more neatly, I suspect she’ll need to speak to me.”
Egan left Sarah at Lord North Street and drove to The Bargee. Ida and the barman were just getting ready to open for the lunchtime trade. When Egan looked in, she came over to him at once.
“You all right, Sean? Where have you been?”
“I had business to attend to,” he told her.
“I’ll get you something to eat. We won’t be busy for a while.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “I’ve got to change. I’m going to a funeral.”
He went upstairs, took a dark-blue worsted suit, white shirt, dark tie from the wardrobe. He showered and changed, and when he went down she was still in the kitchen.
“You look very nice,” she said and adjusted his tie. “Have you been in touch with Jack?”
“I haven’t had a chance since yesterday.”
“He phoned me around breakfast time from that nursing home. Didn’t sound too good.”
“I’ll check on it.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I have to go, Ida.”
She stood at the door, watched him drive away, then closed it and walked slowly back into the bar.
Sarah was wearing her black velvet suit when she came downstairs. Egan was on the phone to the clinic in St. John’s Wood. He put the receiver down as she came into the room.
“How are things?” she asked.
“They could be worse. Apparently he developed a temperature during the night. Aziz found there was a minor infection of the wound. He’s had him in surgery, opened it up again and restitched him.”
“Did you speak to your uncle?”
“No, he’s back in bed under sedation.” She walked to the window and looked out. Egan said, “It’s time we were off.”
She said, without looking around, “They’re not going to do anything, are they?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I think there’s more to it than they’re telling us. More to Sir Leland Barry.”
“Yes,” she said, “that was my impression.” She turned and smiled tightly. “Now, let’s get going.” And she crossed the room quickly and led the way out.
As they followed the coffin out of the old Norman church, it started to rain. The churchwarden produced several umbrellas, obviously kept against such a contingency. Villiers put one up and held it over Sarah.
“It always rains at funerals,” Sarah said in a dull voice. “Why is that?”
Villiers had an arm about her shoulders. “Not long now.”
Behind them, Ferguson and Egan shared an umbrella. The housekeeper from Stokeley Hall and three servants followed, and a handful of villagers brought up the rear.
Sarah turned to look at Villiers with another tight smile. “We’ll have to start calling you Sir Anthony, won’t we? Sir Tony doesn’t sound quite right.”
He couldn’t think of a thing to say to that, and they continued through the graveyard to the Talbot family plot enclosed by railings. The grave stood open and ready, two gravediggers waiting at a respectful distance, sheltering under the trees.
There was no stone for her husband, for he was buried, according to British Army custom, in the Falklands where he had fallen. No stone for Eric, only ashes now. She stood there, every sense numbed as the coffin was lowered.
The churchwarden held an umbrella over the rector to protect his vestments from the rain, but the words that were said were a meaningless jumble, nothing sinking in. And then she was at the graveside, bending to pick up a little wet earth. As it thudded on the coffin, it was as if a mist cleared in her head.
This is real, she thought, and I can’t do anything about it, just as I couldn’t do anything about Edward. But not Eric. Eric is different.
She knew then that she couldn’t let it go, not then or later. Mechanically, she shook hands with the rector, accepted his condolences and walked away toward the car, Villiers hurrying after her.
Ferguson said, “Oh, dear, trouble, I fear.”
“What in the hell did you expect?” Egan asked as they went after them.
Villiers was trying to talk to her as they arrived. She ignored him and turned to Ferguson, face flushed, eyes glittering. “I’m going to ask you once more, Brigadier. Do you intend to do anything about Sir Leland Barry?”
“I think I’ve covered that business more than adequately,” he said gravely.
“Fine.” She turned to Egan. “Let’s go.”
She got into the Mini Cooper and Egan slipped behind the wheel. As he started the engine, Ferguson leaned down to the window and said to her, “Don’t do anything foolish, Mrs. Talbot. You will find it impossible to leave this country for Ulster, believe me.”
Egan drove away, and Villiers said softly, “Damn it, Brigadier, I hate to see that.”
“Make sure you have a good man on her,” Ferguson told him as he walked to the Daimler.
They got in and it moved away. Villiers said, “Isn’t there anything we can do about Barry?”
“You know the position there, Tony, the difficulties. He’s too entrenched.” Ferguson shrugged. “No, we couldn’t do a thing. I have every faith that she will, of course.”
“How can she?” Villiers said. “Blocked at every airport, all the ferries denied to her?”
“Oh, young Sean will find a way. You know how resourceful that boy is. That’s why I want him working for me.”
Villiers said, “You wanted it this way. That’s why you talked to her the way you did.”
“Anger, that’s what she needed, and now she’s very angry indeed.” Villiers turned away, unable to speak. “It’ll be all right, Tony. With your man keeping tabs on her, we’ll be in business the moment she makes a move. It’s up to you to follow in close pursuit.” He added impatiently, “Don’t you see? This way we get at least some sort of chance at Barry, and that’s better than no chance at all.”
“My God!” Villiers said. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Tony, be your age. In this business you have to dirty your hands sometimes to get results. We both know that, so let’s have no more nonsense.” And he leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Look—” Egan began as he turned onto the main road, but she put up a hand to stop him.
“No talk, Sean, just drive.”
She wound down the window, left it open in spite of the rain, and smoked one cigarette after the other all the way back to London, as Egan worked his way through the rush-hour traffic until they reached Lord North Street.
He switched off the engine. “Do you want me to come in?”
“Very much so.” She went up the steps, unlocked the door, and he followed her into the sitting room. She turned to face him. “Maybe you’re used to the mad ways of your Secret Service, but I’m not.” She was furious. “Your uncle was a gangster for years, a villain, isn’t that what you call it?”
“That’s right.”
“He’s done more for me, given me more help, risked his life even …”
“I know,” Egan interrupted. “Now calm down.”
“Calm down? Sean, they’ve put us on the blacklist, proscribed from traveling to Ulster, and Barry gets away with everything.” She was shaking with rage. “Well, I’ll get to Ireland if I have to swim.”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” he said calmly.
She was stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him. “You mean you’ll help me?”
“It’s getting to be a habit. Too late to break it now,” Egan said. “Change your clothes and then we’ll go and see what Alan Crowther can come up with.”
Alan Crowther sat back from the computer screen and shook his head. “No wonder they can’t touch him. Over the years he’s had connections up to Downing Street level, the support of the Orange Lodge and the adoration of the RUC.”
“There’s got to be more,” Egan said.
“Yes, there’s a limited-access secondary,” Crowther told him. “Give me a minute.” He tapped away, then nodded. “Would you look at that?”
“What is it?” Sarah asked, leaning forward.
“Well let’s try and reduce it to simple terms. He’s a double-crossing old swine who hasn’t scrupled to nail his own people when necessary.”
“But I don’t understand,” she said.
“The Protestants are split into factions as much as the Republican movement,” Egan told her. “Ulster Defence Association, UVF, extremist groups such as the Red Hand of Ulster and Barry’s own outfit, the Sons of Ulster. There’s always been a power struggle.”
“According to this, he’s turned in other Protestant extremists whenever it’s suited him,” Crowther said.
“He’s even betrayed his own people to the IRA,” Egan added.
“On several occasions, and just look at the killings he’s been involved in, the dirty tricks.” Crowther shook his head. “No wonder he’s protected. They wouldn’t dare put him on trial in an open court.”
“And Ferguson and Tony know about this?” Sarah asked.
