When they rode into the bawn seconds later, they were met by the sight of Christian de Guevain, a Paris-based merchant banker who shared Fitzduane's interest in medieval weaponry — de Guevain's specialty being the longbow — getting out of a taxi festooned with fishing rods and other impedimenta.
He gave a shout of greeting when he saw them, and then his expression changed as he saw Fitzduane's face.
"But you invited me," he said anxiously, "and I wrote to you. Is there a problem?"
Fitzduane smiled. He had forgotten completely about his invitation to his friend.
"No problem," he said. "Or at least you're not it."
He looked at de Guevain's tweed hat and jacket, which were covered with hand-tied flies in profusion. Their brightly colored feathers gave the impression that the Frenchman was covered with miniature tropical birds.
* * * * *
An embassy's grounds and building are considered by the host country to be the territory of the country concerned. Translated into security arrangements, that meant Kilmara's Rangers had to confine their activities to he U.S. Embassy's external perimeter. Internal security remained the responsibility of the U.S. Marines and of State Department security personnel.
Kilmara and his CIA counterpart, the cultural attaché, disliked this artificial division in the deployment of their forces — especially in view of the vulnerability of the location — but neither the U.S. ambassador nor the Irish Department of Foreign Affairs was of a mind to waive the protocols of the Treaty of Vienna governing such arrangements.
The initial breakthrough came when one of the rental agents — previously primed by the police at Kilmara's request — notified them that one of the apartments overlooking the embassy had been let for a short period to four Japanese who were going to be in Ireland for a limited time while looking for a suitable site for an electronics factory. They would like to move in immediately. The substantial advance payment requested by the agent proved to be no problem. References were given to be taken up at a later date.
All the empty apartments overlooking the embassy, and quite a few of the occupied locations, had been bugged in anticipation of some action of this nature. A relay station was set up in the embassy, but the actual monitoring was carried out from Ranger headquarters in Shrewsbury Road.
The acoustic monitoring equipment was state-of-the-art, and the quality of the transmission excellent. Unfortunately, although there were a number of linguists in the Rangers who spoke among them some eighteen foreign languages — including Arabic and Hebrew, both much in demand since Ireland's involvement with the UN force in Lebanon — none of them spoke Japanese.
Then Günther remembered that one of the Marine guards he had been chatting with was a Nisei. It didn't follow, of course, that he spoke Japanese — but he might.
He did.
Listening to the translation, Kilmara started to wonder if maybe he hadn't been too hasty in assuming the whole embassy thing was a blind; it looked as if something were going to happen there after all. Then the link was made with a convention of travel agents booked into the nearby Jury's Hotel for the following day. The travel agents were coming from the Middle East, and there were seventy-two in the party.
Backup units were alerted. Ranger leave was canceled. The next question was when to move in. It looked as if he might have thrown a scare into Fitzduane for nothing. Still, better scared than dead.
Kilmara decided that maybe he was doing too much reacting to events and not enough thinking. He tilted his chair back and set to work on some serious analysis. After half an hour he was glad he had. He called up the rosters on his computer and began to do some juggling.
* * * * *
In the afternoon the skies abandoned any attempt at neutrality and proceeded to dump a goodly portion of the Atlantic Ocean on the west coast of Ireland.
Etan and Oona went to work out who would sleep where and with whom, and Fitzduane closeted himself in his study to plow his way through a two-month backlog of mail.
There were several communications from Bern of no particular significance except that one correspondence had included a tourist brochure on current and future events in the city. He flipped through it idly, feeling surprisingly nostalgic about the place, when one small item caught his eye. It would normally have interested him about as much as a dissertation on yak hair, but his increasing feeling of unease linked with his current thoughts about the Hangman focused his mind.
The item said that Wednesday, May 20, was Geranium Day — the day chosen that year for all the good people of Bern to festoon their city with that particular flower. A sudden display of crimson.
The timing was too convenient for it to be merely a coincidence, and it fit precisely the Hangman's macabre sense of humor.
He unpacked the radio and called Kilmara. Sound quality was good, but the colonel wasn't available. Fitzduane decided that a message about geraniums passed through an intermediary would only serve to convince Kilmara that he had temporarily gone round the bend.
"Ask him to call me most urgent," he said. "Over and out."
"Affirmative," said Ranger headquarters.
Fitzduane went to help with the bed making. The Bear had phoned from the airport. He had brought his nurse with him — he hoped Fitzduane wouldn't mind — and Andreas von Graffenlaub had an Israeli girlfriend in tow. They were waiting for Henssen and overnighting in Dublin, then planned to leave early and arrive on the island in time for lunch.
Fitzduane wondered if he had explained that his castle — as castles go — was really quite a small affair. The next unexpected guest was going to have to sleep with the horses.
* * * * *
The evening was going splendidly, but try as he might, Fitzduane couldn’t get into the right frame of mind to enjoy himself.
He smiled and laughed at the appropriate times, and even made a speech welcoming his guests that was received well enough, but Etan wasn't fooled. His reply was that he was probably suffering from some kind of reaction to the whole Swiss affair didn't entirely satisfy her either, but she had Murrough's guest, Harry Noble, on her right to distract her and de Guevain flirting outrageously across the table, so Fitzduane was allowed to sit peacefully for a time, alone with his thoughts.
When dinner had reached the liqueur stage — by which time the fishing tales were growing ever more incredible — Fitzduane excused himself and retired to his study to try Kilmara again. This time he was patched through immediately. He was not reassured by the conversation that followed.
He was still staring into the fire when Etan came in. She sat on the floor in front of the fire and looked up at him.
"Tell me about it," she said.
He did, and this time he held nothing back. Her face was strained and silent when he finished.
* * * * *
Fitzduane slept fitfully and rose at dawn.
He rode for several hours around the island, trying to see if the landscape itself would yield some clue to the Hangman's intentions. A picture of idyllic peace and harmony greeted his eyes and made him doubt for a time the now-overwhelming feeling of foreboding.