He ignored her rambling..‘Archie — my son. And my wife. You agreed they were to be released as soon as I arrived. Well, I’m here. You can let them go now.’
‘You’re not giving orders here, Major,’ McGirl sneered.
Clodagh appeared not to have heard either of them. ‘You don’t look much really,’ she was saying. ‘Quite ordinary really. Not the sort to deliberately lure an old man to his death. That was a pretty sick trick.’
Harrison glared back at her. ‘What are you talking about?’ He glanced around, searching for the face now so familiar from the file. ‘Presumably your father’s here?’
Her laugh was brittle. ‘Hardly likely, Harrison. His remains were spread over half of Deptford.’
That shook him; everyone had assumed the unidentified terrorist had been one of PIRA’s expendable footsoldiers. Nash’s ploy had worked more effectively than any of them could have hoped, and they didn’t even know. He said: ‘That’s an occupational hazard.’
‘Funny man,’ she sneered.
‘I’ve faced the same occupational hazard every time I’ve had to tackle one of your father’s bombs. He’s killed several of my colleagues over the years. So don’t expect my sympathy vote.’
She wore an expression of contempt. ‘None of that would have been necessary if you bastard Brits had got out of Ireland.’
It was difficult to believe that this was the sister of Caitlin. The timid mouselike mother and housewife who wanted nothing more than to be left in peace, yet dreaded either Provo or Orange gunmen at her door because she’d married a Protestant.
Harrison said: ‘I’m not political. My job is to save life and property and that’s what I do.’
‘Very noble, I’m sure.’
‘Not really, I get paid for it,’ he answered back sharply. ‘Now, can I see my wife and son?’
For a moment she paused, unsure whether to give him another verbal lashing, then changed her mind. ‘Take him in.’
McGirl shoved him unceremoniously sideways towards the second door, Clodagh following with the lamp. The door was unbolted and pushed open, a feeble light illuminating the bare room with its crumbling plaster and a heavy blanket covering the window.
Pippa was jolted awake by the sudden entry and looked up from the floor where she’d been dozing with her back to the radiator and Archie’s head in her lap. Harrison had never seen her look so small and weak. A frightened animal, her hair dishevelled and falling over her face, her tights laddered and skirt torn.
She shielded her eyes against the influx of light. ‘Tom?’
He went to her, knelt down, feeling anger and humiliation because he couldn’t even hold and comfort her. ‘Pippa — are you all right?’
Her free hand reached out, round his neck, and drew his face to hers. She didn’t speak, couldn’t. Her throat was choked with emotion, tears drenching her face.
‘Dad, is it you?’
‘Hello, son.’ Tears were in his own eyes now, but the hot tears of anger that they could have done this. He forced out his words in an effort to comfort the boy. ‘Been looking after Mummy?’
Archie nodded, sniffing hard, and stretched his unclasped arm round the necks of both his parents.
Glodagh remained at the door, McGirl by her side. ‘Very touching,’ he said.
Then Harrison turned towards them, climbed awkwardly to his feet, unbalanced by the bound hands behind his back. ‘Where will you take them? I’d like them picked up as soon as possible.’
McGirl looked at Clodagh. ‘I was thinking,’ he said quietly, ‘we’ve got no real need to release them now that we’ve got Harrison.’
‘It’s what we agreed, Pat.’
‘That hardly matters, c’mon now. It’s possible they know more than we think. They’ll have a description of the inside of this place. It’ll make it easier for the police to locate and then it’ll have all been for nothing.’
Clodagh hesitated.
Harrison said: ‘They’re harmless, innocent. You can’t keep a, young boy and his mother like this. It’s inhuman.’
‘Shut up,’ Clodagh snapped. ‘You’ve still got your son. My father lost his children for nearly twenty years while he was inside. Do you think he wanted that?’
‘He didn’t have to do the things he did.’
Clodagh glared. ‘Oh, yes, he did, Harrison. That’s what you Brits have never understood. He had to do it, just like you’d fight anyone who invaded your country, occupied your towns and cities.’
‘Don’t waste your time on him,’ McGirl said. ‘Let’s at least keep them for a few days. Maybe by then the Trafalgar House talks will have reached a conclusion.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Harrison protested.
McGirl reached into the room for the handle of the door and, without a further word, slammed it shut.
The bolts went home.
21
When he went to bed in his room at Trafalgar House that night, Sir Ralph Maynard thought the day couldn’t have bbeen any worse. He was wrong.
As the Secretary for Northern Ireland shut his eyes and tried to sleep, the events of the day stubbornly refused to leave his mind.
It had begun with the Democratic Unionists walking out of the talks and holding an impromptu press conference with reporters who were camped out in the village of Downton at the edge of the sealed-off security area. The plans for an Independent Ulster were in tatters, they said, and blamed the collapse on a hardening of Catholic attitudes since Bishop McLaverty’s arrival on the scene and rumours about Washington pushing for a United Ireland solution.
The disaster was all over the midday television news programmes.
In the afternoon had come the call from Number Ten. The US President had telephoned the Prime Minister suggesting that, in view of the breakdown of the talks, the possibility of a new All Ireland initiative be explored. The American Ambassador to the United Nations had accordingly been ordered to raise the matter., It had been an embarrassing and acrimonious conversation.
Now, just as sleep began to creep up on him, Sir Ralph’s aide knocked on the door. ‘Sorry to trouble you, sir.’
Trenchard was by the man’s side. ‘We’ve received a call from Dublin, Sir Ralph. Codeword AIDAN.’
The minister’s eyes were still bleary and unfocused. ‘God, not more bombings.’
‘No. They’ve kidnapped Major Tom Harrison and his family.’
‘Harrison? Who the hell’s Harrison?’
Casey was still unsure. ‘I just hope it’s the right decision. If the place is assaulted, they could all get killed.’
Mercs nodded grimly. ‘But I’m afraid it’s a risk we’re going to have to take.’
Casey dug the mobile from her pocket and consulted her diary. Apart from Trenchard’s flat number, which she knew, Harrison had given her several others where his friend might be reached.
He answered on her third try.
‘Don, it’s Casey.’
‘Hallo, sweetheart, I thought you’d stopped speaking to me.’
‘Don, this is serious. The IRA have got Tom.’
There was a tense pause. ‘I know.’
‘What?’
‘There was a call to Trafalgar House last night. But how did you find out? Never mind, look, this has got to be kept under wraps. If you — if anyone — publishes anything, then it could be curtains for Tom and his family. They’ve told us the hiding place is packed with explosives. So you can imagine the danger they’re in.’
‘Don, listen…’
But he steamrollered on. ‘We’re desperately searching for clues to his whereabouts. Every copper in the south of England is on the lookout for him, COBRA’s in session and the SAS are on standby…’