‘With respect, sir, I understand tourism has already suffered badly, and a limited army presence can’t be worse than terrorists exploding bombs successfully.’
‘I’m not sure the Prime Minister and my colleagues will altogether agree with you. It’ll refocus attention on the whole Northern Ireland problem at a time when we’re anxious to keep it out of the limelight.’
‘It’s your decision, sir, but I think the bombings are already doing that.’
The minister gave one of his enigmatic little smiles before turning to Pritchard. ‘And what is the Section’s view?’
‘Such a move plays into the terrorists’ hands in my opinion. It isn’t the first time the Provos have tried to get us to overreact. We’re coping well enough.’
‘But are we, Mr Pritchard? You forget I get full reports on these bombings and it seems that you’ve had a fair degree of luck with the flyover bombs and Major Harrison’s timely intervention in the Haymarket two nights ago.’
Pritchard wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s still the army on the London streets, Minister.’
Harrison said: ‘We can spray our trucks white and wear civilian clothes — it needn’t be obvious to the casual observer.’
The Home Secretary nodded thoughtfully, obviously recognising the advantages of the suggestion, before he addressed Maitland. ‘Chief Superintendent, you’ve been listening patiently. Your Section has one view and Major Harrison another, what do you think?’
Maitland was ever the diplomat. He said: ‘I think, Minister, that London remains in acute peril and as yet we are not close to detecting this particular active service unit. Until we are, it might be expedient to take up Major Harrison’s proposals, at least for a trial period, then review it as necessary. It is no less an extraordinary measure than those my commander wishes to take.’ ‘And they are?’
‘To recall half of all previously serving Branch officers from the regions and deploy a massive covert force on the streets of central London as we did in the seventies. That, combined with vehicle spot checks with armed backup on all major routes into the capital.’
The minister frowned. ‘To be honest, I think that more likely to alarm the public than army bomb-disposal teams on the streets. And, anyway, wouldn’t such checkpoints be more cosmetic than effective?’
Maitland disagreed. ‘You might be surprised, Minister, to know how few main arterial routes there really are into London. These can be monitored with relatively little manpower and checkpoints can be very effective if not publicly announced. We can also target the types of vehicles the terrorists are likely to be using for the transport of materials or for use as mobile bombs. In particular unmarked vans or trucks and stolen vehicles in general. Also, it has to be remembered that the amounts of home-made explosive required to be effective are quite enormous and an overloaded suspension is a big giveaway. That means we are putting the terrorists under great pressure. It might sound like hunting for a needle in a haystack, but we know the IRA will be coming into London regularly and we only need one lucky break. And that doesn’t even have to mean an immediate arrest — a well-placed roadblock can be sufficient to persuade the terrorists to abandon a vehicle bomb and that’s enough. There’s little chance they’d return to a vehicle because the explosive’s effective shelf life is little more than two weeks in total.’
To the Home Secretary it all made a horribly necessary kind of sense. ‘I’ll be having a meeting with the Prime Minister and the inner Cabinet tonight. If I get a general sanction then it’ll get passed down officially through COBRA.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you so much, gentlemen, for sharing your thoughts.’
Brief handshakes followed as the Home Secretary led them to the door. ‘Would you mind waiting one moment, Major?’
Harrison turned, catching the scowl on Pritchard’s face. His eyes said it all. Traitor, I told you so.
The door closed leaving the SATO alone with the minister. ‘First, Major, I should like to thank you for your brave and selfless act the other night.’
For one perverse moment before he realised what the Home Secretary meant, the vision of Casey Mullins naked on the dustsheet in her new flat flashed into his mind. Of course, Haymarket. ‘It was just good fortune I was there.’
Again the familiar raised eyebrow. ‘In your position, I think I’d have considered it most unfortunate. Sitting on top of a bomb wouldn’t be my idea of fun.’
‘It’s my job, sir.’
The minister looked at him closely. ‘What is it with you people? The adrenalin fix, the challenge?’
Harrison felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny; he’d asked himself those questions a million times and still did not know the answer. It was a job he both loved and hated. One thing was certain, the longer you were in it the more profound your fear became. Felix. The deft cat with nine lives, and as you approached the next surprise package you had to wonder just how many you’d already used up?
The Home Secretary appeared to recognise suddenly that it had been an impudent question to ask. A sympathetic smile jerked at one corner of his mouth. ‘Thank you anyway, Major.’ He hesitated for a moment, as though uncertain how to proceed. ‘The other reason I wanted a word was this business about the article in the Evening Standard. Suggesting that the bombers are clever, but not clever enough. That you’re on top of the situation because, as I told Mr Pritchard, I know that is not the case. A bit provocative, don’t you think? Might it not persuade the terrorists to try for even more treacherous devices?’
Harrison said: ‘I think that was the idea.’
The minister looked puzzled. ‘You think} It was you who briefed the journalist, I believe.’
‘Yes, on orders issued through MI5 and, I assumed, COBRA itself.’
‘I see.’ The calm eyes blinked behind the spectacles. ‘Well, in fact, COBRA isn’t always briefed on the minutiae of the antiterrorist tactics used by the security agencies. My concern is that the more advanced technology the bombers use, then the more difficult it will be to counter the threat.’
It was difficult ground for Harrison to defend; he wasn’t at all sure that he supported MI5’s ploy. ‘I believe the idea is to make the bombers get too clever for their own good.’
That eyebrow again. ‘Own goals, is that it?’
‘That’s what’s hoped. The policy has been used with some success in the past and it might give the police the leads they need to round up the AID AN gang.’
The Home Secretary understood. ‘But a dangerous gamble, don’t you think? Whether or not it pays off, the bombs could become even more dangerous than they already are, isn’t that so?’
‘It’s certainly possible.’
‘So that was one of the reasons behind your recommendation for army help from Belfast.’ There was no need for Harrison to answer; the Home Secretary fully understood the risk involved.
Pat McGirl left the basement flat safe house in Slough and walked the half-mile to the lock-up garage where the stolen duplicate Sierra was kept.
Satisfied that he hadn’t been followed, he drove towards the rented house near the Henley-on-Thames farm. After a circuitous route, he pulled in at a roadside telephone kiosk and rang to warn of his arrival in an hour’s time. Five minutes later he passed the house, driving slowly round the surrounding streets looking for anything out of place. Only then did he park in a lay-by from where he could observe the driveway.
During the following forty minutes he could detect nothing that suggested the house was under surveillance. Starting the engine, he drove back down the high-hedged residential road and turned into the gravel forecourt. By the time he reached the integral garage, the up-and-over door was already rising, allowing him to drive straight in. As he emerged from the car, the door was already lowering again, shutting out the daylight.