‘What is this, Don?’
‘I owe you. Nothing was published in the Standard about that King Billy fiasco. I appreciate that. Or the bombers that Tierney named.’
‘Tom advised me not to. Besides, my paper could hardly accuse people on the uncorroborated word of a dead man.’
He gave one of his charmer’s smiles, but it seemed to lack its usual confidence. ‘Grateful anyway. I was rude, angry, at the time.’
‘You had a right to be. I’d got in out of my depth.’
Trenchard waved a dismissive hand. ‘Anyway, I’ve a little scoop for you. But it’ll have to make the first edition or else all the other papers will be running with it.’ He saw her glance at her watch. ‘Is there time?’
‘Just — if I’m quick.’
He slipped the photograph from beneath his fedora and pushed it across the table to her.
‘Who’s this?’
A plumpish smiling face stared up at her, a pretty teenager with a black fringe and beautiful sad eyes. The sweatshirt she wore was emblazoned University of Ulster.
‘This is strictly unattributable, right?’
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Come hell or high water? And that must include Tom.’
‘Don!’ Both exasperated and intrigued. ‘I promise you my lips are sealed.’
‘Everything Killy Tierney said was true.’
‘And the photograph? Who is she?’
‘That’s the only picture in existence. She’s with the AIDAN bombers. Here, now. Seven Dials, the flyovers, the Blackwall Tunnel…’
Casey’s eyes widened.
‘That is Clodagh Dougan.’
As Trenchard had anticipated, by the time he returned to Thames House representatives from the AntiTerrorist Branch, the Home Office, Special Branch and the Director of Special Forces were already gathering for the emergency meeting that John Nash had called.
The Director General was in the chair, indicating the significance of the meeting, but Clarissa Royston-Jones left Nash to outline the latest developments.
‘So there we have it,’ he concluded, ‘all this leads us to believe that the active service unit calling itself AID AN is, in fact, headed up by Hughie Dougan. Patrick McGirl, PIRA’s northern commander is involved, either in overall control or in a liaison capacity, I should think. Four other names have been mentioned: Moira Lock, Leo Muldoon, Liam Doran and a Londoner called Joe Houlihan. All with no previous and all except Houlihan coming from Ulster, but living in Ireland. Lock was almost certainly the female killed in the Deptford “own goal”, along with one of the men, all of whom could be classed as ordinary IRA foot soldiers.
‘The most interesting development of all is the involvement of Dougan’s eldest daughter, Clodagh. She had no real form except a mild flirtation with the Cumainn na n Ban in her early teens. Went on to study microelectronics and until recently held a good technical post at a Belfast components firm. I hardly need
| to spell out the relevance of that. Just before the latest campaign began she took up a job in Canada. We have since learned that this was completely bogus and that she was using the name Deborah Mayo, backed up with an apparently legitimate passport. My supposition is that she’s working with her father on the manufacturing side, probably updating him on technology, some of which he may only know in theory. The others, under
I McGirl, would do the planning and carry out the assignments.’
The Special Branch officer raised his hand. ‘In the hour I had before this meeting I have been able to check with Immigration. I can confirm that an American subject by the name of Mrs Deborah Mayo entered this country by ferry from Norway on May 30. If she has left since, it wasn’t on that passport.’
Clarissa Royston-Jones took over. ‘I cannot overemphasise the importance of catching this team. The lull in their activities shouldn’t make us complacent. As soon as the Trafalgar House talks don’t go the way PIRA wants, we can expect AID AN to be back with a vengeance.’
At that moment Jim Maitland of the AntiTerrorist Branch entered the room. He waited patiently at the door, listening as the Director General continued: ‘But now we have a strong lead. Not only the team’s identity, but also a possible indication of the general area they may be working from. The poste restante post office that Clodagh Dougan has been using regularly is in the town of Marlow on the Thames. This district would make logistical sense as it is relatively close to the M4 and M40 motorways to London and just a little farther for the M3, all of which link in with the M25 orbital city motorway, giving them access to London from any direction they choose. Now perhaps, gentlemen, you’d care to update me on your anticipated response to this new information.’ She wagged a warning finger. ‘But whatever is planned, discretion is paramount. Nothing must alert these people that we are onto them.’
‘I’m afraid it may be too late for that.’
It was Jim Maitland who spoke. All heads turned as he held up a copy of the Evening Standard. The headline leapt at them: BOMBER RETURNS FROM DEAD TO BLITZ LONDON. Beneath it was a picture of Clodagh Dougan.
‘Christ!’ Trenchard said.
Clarissa Royston-Jones shut her eyes. She really didn’t want to believe this.
‘Not much substance,’ Maitland said, indicating the small column of copy set in largish type to fill the available space. ‘But there’s enough. Quotes reliable intelligence sources and names the suspected AID AN team. All spot on.’
‘Where on earth did they get that picture? I haven’t even seen that one.’
‘I think I can guess,’ Trenchard interrupted. ‘One of their reporters — the Mullins woman — has been over in the Province digging around. Our people were alerted and she was put under low-level surveillance. Visited King Billy’s headquarters, then visited the village in Sligo where Dougan was supposedly buried. She also called on Clodagh’s kid sister. My guess is that is where the photograph came from.’
‘It’s a bit academic now,’ Nash said quickly before the conversation turned to how Casey Mullins had heard the names from Tom Harrison after Trenchard’s indiscretion. The brown stuff was hitting the fan and it was all likely to end up in his lap.
‘I agree,’ the Director General said. ‘It just means we’ll all have to act that much faster.’
Trenchard relaxed back in his chair. ‘Oh, for the freedom of the press,’ he muttered beneath his breath.
By the time the meeting broke up an hour later, the hunt to find the AID AN bombers was already in full cry.
AntiTerrorist Branch detectives had earlier paid a discreet visit to Marlow post office where one letter awaited collection by Deborah Mayo. A plain-clothes officer was stationed behind the counter and a surveillance car placed nearby with a technical expert from SO7 on hand who would attempt to place a magnetic signal beacon on any vehicle used by Clodagh Dougan.
Inquiries were now concentrated between the M40 in the north and the M3 in the south, the area’s eastern boundary formed by the M25 and, in the west, by a line drawn north and south of Reading. In time those boundaries would expand as necessary.
Although the process of examining all possible bomb factories had begun some weeks before, the effort increased a hundredfold with detectives from the AT Branch reserves drafted in from other areas. As large bombs had been used, then similarly large premises would have been required to conceal the carrying vehicles, in particular the Blackwall Tunnel dumper truck. However, the task remained enormous. There were literally thousands of possible warehouses and storage depots and hundreds of industrial estates in the region as well as out-of-the-way open sites like car breakers, farmyards and quarries.