And it had. After Palmer had called he’d immediately put his emergency plan into action. He’d hurriedly packed his suitcase then checked out of the hotel and taken a taxi to Heathrow where he’d used his diplomatic status to secure a seat on the next flight back to New York. He knew the anti-terrorist officers on duty at the hotel would tell their superiors that he’d gone. But he wasn’t worried about them. He was worried about Jorge Cabrera and Martin Navarro. It would only be a matter of time before they found out that he had returned to the States, but hopefully by then he’d have already collected the money and fled the country. Hopefully …
As was his custom every morning, Martin Navarro woke at six then spent half an hour working out in his mini-gymnasium before swimming a dozen lengths of his indoor pool.
A bodyguard handed him his towelling robe as he climbed out of the pool. He slipped it on as he walked through to the patio which overlooked the spacious gardens of his double-story mansion in Rhode Island. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a copy of the New York Times lay on the table in the center of the patio. He sat down and opened the paper.
“Excuse me, sir,” the butler said, appearing in the doorway behind him. “Mr. Varese’s in the lounge. He asked if he could have a word with you. He seems rather agitated.”
“Tony’s here at this time of the morning?” Navarro said with a frown. He folded the paper over again and tossed it back onto the table. “Show him in.”
The butler bowed and left. He returned moments later with Varese and ushered him into the patio. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Varese? Coffee? Orange juice?”
Varese shook his head.
Navarro dismissed the butler then looked up at Varese. “Well?”
“You haven’t heard, have you?” Varese said, pacing the floor anxiously.
“I don’t know unless you tell me what it is you’re talking about,” Navarro shot back.
“Scoby’s dead. It’s the lead story on every news bulletin. I know you only watch the news on your way to work. That’s why I came straight round when I heard about it.”
“Tell me what you know,” Navarro said, clasping his hands behind his head as he listened to Varese. “Well, at least the damage is minimal. Nobody else in the family knew about the deal we made with Scoby. And I intend to keep it that way.”
“What about Tillman?”
“I’d say that all depends on him. If he goes for a deal with the DA, he’s probably already under police protection. That’s going to make a hit that much more difficult. But if he tries to make a run for it, then we can find him. What’s the name of the hotel he’s staying at in London?”
“The Grosvenor House.”
Navarro pulled the telephone toward him, lifted the receiver, and asked the operator for the number of the hotel. He dialed the number in London, spoke briefly to the switchboard operator, then replaced the receiver. “He checked out of the hotel an hour ago.”
“He’s obviously panicked.”
Navarro allowed himself the luxury of a smile. “Good. And it’s my guess that he’s already on his way back here to pick up the money. It won’t take me long to find out which flight he’s on and when he’s due to touch down in New York. I want you to tail him from the airport.”
“When do you want me to make the hit?”
“When he’s led you to the money, of course. And no mistakes, Tony, or we’ll both be answerable to the family.”
“No mistakes,” Varese replied as he left the room.
Navarro sat impassively for some time as the anger slowly began to build up inside him. He’d told Brady to deal with the situation. And he’d blown it. And now with Scoby dead, his chance of pulling off a major coup against the Colombians had gone. It was back to square one again. He’d warned Brady what would happen if he failed him. Well, it was payback time. He’d see to that.
“Come,” Maurice Palmer called in response to the sharp rap on the door.
The door opened and Whitlock entered the room. “Is it a bad time?”
“It’s been a bad time ever since you called me from Ireland,” Palmer replied despondently. “Come in, C.W. Sit down.”
Whitlock closed the door behind him and sat down. “We got in to Heathrow an hour ago. I told Mike and Sabrina to wait for me downstairs.”
“The Commissioner’s agreed to let you question Keith first. Initially he wanted Special Branch in on it as well but I managed to talk him out of it. You’ve got an hour before Special Branch take over. I’ve given specific orders that none of my men are to go near Keith until we know whether any of them were in collusion with him as well. We can’t rule that out at present. And find out about John Marsh. If he is innocent, I want him back on the case as quickly as possible.”
“Sure, if Eastman agrees to talk to us.”
“He’ll talk,” Palmer replied confidently. “I spoke to him briefly after he was brought over here from the airport. He said then he was prepared to answer any questions. He actually seemed quite chirpy under the circumstances.”
“I’m not surprised he’s chirpy. Scoby’s dead. The IRA have achieved what they set out to do. And you can bet they’ll see to it that he’ll be looked after on the inside. They’ve beaten us, haven’t they?”
Palmer took a cigarette from the packet in front of him and lit it. “I want a transcript of the interrogation on my desk as soon as possible after you’re through so that I can brief the Commissioner.”
“I’ll see that you get one,” Whitlock replied as he got to his feet and left the office.
Eastman was ushered into the interview room by two Special Branch officers. How many times had he grilled villains in this very room? The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was led to the table in the middle of the room and told to sit down. On the table was a portable tape recorder and two microphones. He sat down and clasped his manacled hands in his lap. The two policemen remained in the room until Whitlock arrived.
“Tell them to take these cuffs off me,” Eastman said without looking around.
Whitlock stared at the back of Eastman’s head then nodded his consent. One of the policemen removed the handcuffs and gave them to Whitlock. Eastman was still massaging his chafed wrists when Graham and Sabrina entered the room and the two policemen withdrew, closing the door behind them.
Whitlock sat opposite Eastman and Graham and Sabrina took their places on either side of him. Eastman looked up slowly at them. His right eye was almost closed and a dark, discolored bruise had spread across the surrounding skin.
“I’m impressed,” Graham said, eyeing the bruise with evident satisfaction. “I never realized you encouraged that kind of initiative amongst your men.”
“Unfortunately the same can’t be said for UNACO, can it?” Eastman replied coldly, holding Graham’s stare. “You’ve all been blundering about in the dark like a bunch of headless chickens. It certainly made our task that much easier.”
Whitlock grabbed Graham’s arm as he was about to jump to his feet. “Let it go, Mike.” He turned back to Eastman. “You know the procedure. The questioning begins when I switch on the tape recorder.”
“Be my guest,” Eastman replied.
Whitlock positioned a microphone in front of Eastman then switched on the machine. “How long have you been working for the IRA?”