Harding smiled. ‘Mine too.’
After a few more moments Harding said, ‘That all seems to be in order, Mr Radford.’
Connor turned and nodded to Romanov, who strolled over and extracted a thick bundle of notes from an inside pocket. He spent some time ostentatiously peeling off hundred-dollar bills, counting out 210 of them before passing them across to Harding. What Connor had hoped would appear no more than a casual purchase, the Russian was fast turning into a pantomime. The sidekicks might as well have stood out on the street and sold tickets for the performance.
Harding wrote out a receipt for the cash and handed it to Connor, who left without another word. One of the hoodlums grabbed the rifle and ran out of the shop onto the sidewalk as if he had just robbed a bank. Connor climbed into the back of the BMW and wondered if it was possible to attract any more attention to themselves. The car screeched away from the kerb and cut into the fast-moving traffic, setting off a cacophony of horns. Yes, Connor thought, they obviously could. He remained speechless as the driver broke the speed limit all the way back to the airport. Even Romanov began to look a little apprehensive. Connor was quickly discovering that the new Mafia in the States were still amateurish compared with their cousins from Italy. But it wouldn’t be long before they caught up, and when they did, God help the FBI.
Fifteen minutes later, the BMW drew up outside the entrance to the airport. Connor stepped out and began walking towards the revolving door as Romanov gave instructions to the two men in the car, finally peeling off several more hundred-dollar bills and handing them over. When he joined Connor at the check-in counter, he whispered confidently, ‘The rifle will be in Washington within forty-eight hours.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Connor as they headed towards the departure lounge.
‘You know the whole of Yeats off by heart?’ asked Stuart in disbelief.
‘Um, most of it,’ admitted Maggie. ‘But then, I do reread a few poems almost every night before going to bed.’
‘Darling Stuart, you’ve still got so much to learn about the Irish,’ said Tara. ‘Now, try to remember some more of the words.’
Stuart thought for a moment. ‘“Hollow”!’ he said triumphantly.
‘“Through hollow lands and hilly lands”?’ asked Maggie.
‘That’s it.’
‘So it can’t be Holland we’re headed for,’ said Tara.
‘Stop being facetious,’ said Stuart.
‘Then try to remember some more words,’ said Tara.
Stuart began to concentrate once again. ‘“Friend”,’ he said eventually.
‘“Always we’d have the new friend meet the old”,’ said Maggie.
‘So we’re about to meet a new friend in a new country,’ said Tara.
‘But who? And where?’ said Maggie, as the plane continued its journey through the night.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Within moments of reading the priority message, Gutenburg was dialling the number in Dallas. When Harding came on the line, the Deputy Director of the CIA simply said, ‘Describe him.’
‘Six foot, possibly six one. He was wearing a hat, so I couldn’t see his hair colour.’
‘Age?’
‘Fifty. Could be a year or two either way.’
‘Eyes?’
‘Blue.’
‘Dress?’
‘Sports jacket, khaki pants, blue shirt, penny loafers, no tie. Smart but casual. I assumed he was one of ours, until I noticed that he was accompanied by a couple of well-known local hoodlums, who he tried to pretend weren’t with him. There was also a tall young man who never once opened his mouth, but he was the one who paid for the gun — in cash.’
‘And the first man made it clear he wanted those particular modifications?’
‘Yes. I’m pretty sure he knew exactly what he was looking for.’
‘Right — hold on to the cash. We may be able to identify a fingerprint from one of the bills.’
‘You won’t find any of his prints on them,’ said Harding. ‘The young man paid, and one of the hoodlums carried the gun out of the shop.’
‘Whoever it was obviously wasn’t willing to risk taking it through airport security,’ said Gutenburg. ‘The two thugs must simply have been couriers. What name did he sign the forms in?’
‘Gregory Peck Radford.’
‘Identification?’
‘Virginia driver’s licence. The address and date of birth all tied in with the correct Social Security number.’
‘I’ll have an agent with you in under an hour. He can start by e-mailing me any details you have on the two hoodlums, and I’ll need a police artist’s computerised sketch of the main suspect.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Harding.
‘Why not?’
‘Because the whole transaction was recorded on video.’ Gutenburg couldn’t see Harding’s smile of satisfaction as he added, ‘Even you wouldn’t have spotted the security camera.’
Stuart continued to concentrate. ‘“Find out”!’ he said suddenly.
‘“I will find out where she has gone”,’ said Maggie with a smile.
‘We’re going to meet a new friend in a new country, and he’ll find us,’ said Tara. ‘Can you remember anything else, Stuart?’
‘“All things fall...”’
‘“...and are built again”,’ Maggie whispered as the man who had snatched the book out of Stuart’s hands reappeared by their side.
‘Now listen, and listen carefully,’ he said, looking down at them. ‘If you hope to survive — and I don’t give a damn either way — you will follow my instructions to the letter. Is that understood?’ Stuart stared into the man’s eyes and didn’t doubt that he looked upon the three of them as just another job. He nodded.
‘Right,’ the man continued. ‘When the plane lands, you will go directly to the baggage area, pick up your luggage and pass through customs without attracting any attention to yourselves. You will not, I repeat not, use the rest rooms. Once you’re through customs and in the arrivals area, you will be met by two of my men who will accompany you to the house where you’ll be staying for the foreseeable future. I will meet up with you again later this evening. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Stuart firmly on behalf of the three of them.
‘If any of you is stupid enough to make a run for it, or tries to enlist any help, Mrs Fitzgerald will be killed immediately. And if she’s not available for any reason, I get to choose between you two.’ He looked at Tara and Stuart. ‘Those were the terms Mr Fitzgerald agreed.’
‘That’s not possible,’ began Maggie. ‘Connor would never...’
‘I think it might be wise, Mrs Fitzgerald, to allow Mr Farnham to speak on behalf of all of you in future,’ said the man. Maggie would have corrected him if Tara hadn’t quickly kicked her leg. ‘You’ll need these,’ he said, handing over three passports to Stuart. He checked them and passed one to Maggie and another to Tara, as the man returned to the cockpit.
Stuart looked down at the remaining passport, which like the other two bore the American eagle on its cover. When he flicked it open he found his own photograph above the name ‘Daniel Farnham’. Profession: University law professor. Address: 75 Marina Boulevard, San Francisco, California. He passed it across to Tara, who looked puzzled.
‘I do like dealing with professionals,’ said Stuart. ‘And I’m beginning to realise that your father is one of the best.’
‘Are you sure you can’t remember any more words?’ asked Maggie.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Stuart. ‘No, wait a moment — “anarchy”.’