Harrison froze, dropping the card as though the thing itself was capable of inflicting injury, and glared down at the book on the dressing table.
AIDAN. If it was AIDAN, then he couldn’t take anything for granted. Nothing was as it seemed.
Suddenly he made his decision. Picking up the X-ray machine, he took a second, cross-section, shot from the side and waited anxiously for the processor to deliver up its verdict.
The seconds dragged by. Then, grudgingly, the print was ejected. And there it was. Another component beneath the small explosive slab and the batteries. It had been missed when viewed solely from the top. He cursed himself for almost being tempted to take short cuts, for making assumptions. Familiarity bred complacency and complacency with IEDs could eventually have only one consequence. Sometimes, he thought perversely, it was better not to have experience in this game, better to be suspicious of absolutely everything.
He stared hard at the print, then took another X-ray from a different angle. Neither picture was clear, something obstructing the camera’s view of the small component beneath the explosive. Some sort of container, maybe five-and-a-half by three inches. Half-an-inch deep. A cigar tin?
Although he was confident that no wires connected it to the slab of explosive, it clearly had to have some purpose. And he didn’t intend lifting out the Semtex to find out what it was.
A microswitch or pressure plate perhaps? Triggered when the weight of the explosive was lifted? He returned to the X-rays, but could detect no clue. Now he really was annoyed with himself for agreeing to Trenchard’s request. If he’d dealt with it in the street, using a simple cutting charge, it would all have been over by now. As it was, with the device half dismantled, it was dangerous even to touch it.
After considering for a moment, he hunted in the toolbag for a hook-and-line, rigging the small pulley to the overhead central light. Then, keeping finger pressure on the explosive in the book, he attached one end of the line to the stiff clayish substance using a drawing pin.
He retreated to the door and picked up the other end of the line. A deep breath. One, two, three… He gave a quick tug on the line. The slab of Semtex was whipped into the air. Instantaneously there was a short, sharp crack and a flash as the book disintegrated on the dressing table. The mirror glass shattered and burning pages fluttered unhurriedly down to the carpet. In the middle of the room the Semtex swayed harmlessly to and fro from the overhead lampshade.
Quickly he stepped forward and stamped on the smouldering paper before kneeling to examine the pieces. A wafer layer of lead solder had been glued to the cigar box lid to defeat the Xray machine. Assuming the device to have been rendered safe, any bomb-disposal expert could be expected to lift the explosive and expose… he picked up the shattered remnants of a photoelectric cell. As soon as light fell on the mechanism, the little device would have been ignited. Probably just a charge of a few grams, but sufficient to have taken off his fingers.
Heads the bomber won and killed Senator Abe Powers, or tails he injured the expert sent to defuse it. And either way AIDAN’s jokey little invitation would be found afterwards on the floor.
Quite ingenious, Harrison had to admit, a perfectly contained little minibomb.
There was a movement behind him and he turned to see three anxious faces in the doorway.
‘It’s all over,’ he assured, and picked up the invitation card from the dressing table before crossing to the American senator.
‘What’s this?’ Powers asked, ashen-faced.
‘An invitation from your friends in the Provisional IRA,’ Harrison replied. ‘Maybe they don’t like you quite as much as you thought.’
8
‘Not a very auspicious start, was it?’ Al Pritchard challenged. ‘Getting that journalist woman in to the funeral. ^Then giving her all this personal stuff.’
It was the following morning and Detective Chief Superintendent Jim Maitland had only just left the office of the Explosive Section’s chief having formally introduced Major Harrison to his special attachment.
Harrison could see that’the Sexpo was on edge, his eyes sunken and his face haggard through lack of sleep. While he had no desire to exacerbate Pritchard’s understandable tetchiness after the events of the previous day, it was not his intention to give him the upper hand at their very first meeting.
‘I hardly gave away any state secrets, Al. It’s all harmless, anecdotal stuff. Besides which, I think we’ve more important things to concern ourselves with this morning, don’t you?’
Midgely and Appleyard, who were on the sofa nursing mugs of coffee, exchanged glances. It was indeed no more of an inauspicious start than they had anticipated.
The Yorkshireman said: ‘With respect, Al, both Les and I also met the lass. Neither of us quite realised who she was either-and we’d read her articles.’
Pritchard snatched up.a copy of the previous night’s Standard final edition and aimed it accurately at his wastebin. Then he glared back across his desk top. ‘Let me make it perfectly clear and remind you all of my long-standing rule. Unless specifically ordered to do so, we don’t talk to the press. Ever, period.’
Appleyard nodded his agreement. ‘But at least her funeral coverage was sympathetic, unlike that other rag…’
‘Mawkish crap,’ Pritchard snapped back. ‘I guess we can be thankful she didn’t name all the members of this squad.’
Harrison remembered the conversations they had had in her car, her easy laugh and quick-fire humour. He felt an overwhelming urge to defend her. ‘I think she’s more responsible than that, Al, and she had a genuine personal reason to attend the funeral. Besides which, it was she who gave me a lift to Dukes Hotel.’
The hooded lids half closed over Pritchard’s eyes. ‘And don’t remind me about that, Tom. Midgely’s already had a bollocking. Just how would it have looked if they’d scraped you — a bloody army officer — off the bloody ceiling, had you missed that secondary?’
Harrison stood his ground. ‘I found it because I’ve had more experience of this AIDAN character’s handiwork than anyone else. That’s why I’m here.’
The Sexpo saw his opportunity and pounced. ‘Wrong, Tom, you’re not here to defuse our devices. That’s what we’re paid to do. You can observe, advise, liaise and write reports until you’re blue in the face, but you are not operational. You are a soldier, not a civil servant or a police officer. This is owrpatch. Remember that and we’ll get on fine.’ He took a deep breath, reached for the jar of indigestion tablets on his desk and began munching on one of them as he continued: ‘Thankfully it’s been decided from above that the letter-bomb incident never occurred, so I won’t have to justify your presence. MI5 wants it all kept hushed. Don’t want to alarm the Americans into thinking we can’t protect their diplomats over here.’
Harrison frowned. ‘But Senator Powers was there, Al, he knew what happened. So I don’t really understand that reasoning.’
Pritchard stared for a moment, then allowed himself a sour smile, traces of white chalk at the corners of his mouth. ‘God you’re in an argumentative mood this morning. We don’t have to understand, we just defuse bombs and leave the politics to those who think they know what they’re doing.’ Believing that he had succeeded in crushing all rebellion, he sat more easily behind his desk. ‘After yesterday’s events in London, the commander of the AntiTerrorist Branch is holding a press conference at eleven this morning. Mostly it’s to show the flag and assure the dear general public and the tabloids that we’re on top of things and that there’s no need to panic’
‘Can you bring me up to date with what happened?’ Harrison asked. ‘Yesterday Midge said there were four identical van bombs and incendiaries in Oxford Street. This morning’s papers talk about a store fire and just one van bomb going off.’