Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 1: Eye of the Storm, Thunder Point, On Dangerous Ground

The report and a file copy were on her desk. ‘All done,’ Gordon Brown said, ‘and I’ve requested a messenger.’

She managed a light smile. ‘I’ll get them signed.’

‘Right, I’m just going down to the canteen. I’ll see you later.’

Alice went along the corridor, knocked on Ferguson’s door and went in. He was at his desk writing and looked up. ‘Oh, good. I’ll sign those and you can get the PM’s copy off to Downing Street straight away.’ She was trembling now and he frowned. ‘My dear Mrs Johnson, what is it?’

So she told him.

He sat there, grim-faced and as she finished, reached for the telephone. ‘Special Branch, Detective Inspector Lane for Brigadier Ferguson, Group Four. Top Priority, no delay. My office now.’

He put the phone down. ‘Now this is what you do. Go back to the office and behave as if nothing has happened.’

‘But he isn’t there, Brigadier, he went to the canteen.’

‘Really?’ Ferguson said. ‘Now why would he do that?’

When Tania heard Gordon Brown’s voice she was immediately angry. ‘I’ve told you about this, Gordon.’

‘Yes, but it’s urgent.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In the canteen at the Ministry. I’ve got another report.’

‘Is it important?’

‘Very.’

‘Read it to me.’

‘No, I’ll bring it round after I come off shift at ten.’

‘I’ll see you at your place, Gordon, I promise, but I want to know what you’ve got now and if you refuse, then don’t bother to call again.’

‘No, that’s all right, I’ll read it.’

Which he did and when he was finished she said, ‘Good boy, Gordon, I’ll see you later.’

He put the phone down and turned, folding the copy of the report. The door to the phone box was jerked open and Ferguson plucked the report from his fingers.

10

Dillon was in his room at the hotel when Tania called him. ‘I’ve got rather hot news,’ she said. ‘The hunt for a lead on you is moving to Belfast.’

‘Tell me,’ he said.

Which she did. When she was finished, she said, ‘Does any of this make any sense?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The McGuire fella was a big name with the Provos in those days.’

‘And he’s dead, is he, or is he still around?’

‘Devlin’s right about that. His death was reported, supposedly because of in-fighting in the movement, but it was just a ruse to help him drop out of sight.’

‘If they found him, could it give you problems?’

‘Maybe, but not if I found him first.’

‘And how could you do that?’

‘I know his half-brother, a fella called Macey. He would know where he is.’

‘But that would mean a trip to Belfast yourself.’

‘That would be no big deal. An hour and a quarter by British Airways. I don’t know what time the last plane tonight gets in, I’d have to check.’

‘Just a minute, I’ve got a BA Worldwide Timetable here.’ she said and opened her desk drawer. She found it and looked at the Belfast schedule. ‘The last plane is eight-thirty. You’ll never make it. It’s quarter to seven now. It’s murder getting out to Heathrow in the evening traffic and this weather will make it worse. Probably at least an hour or maybe an hour and a half.’

‘I know,’ Dillon said. ‘What about the morning?’

‘Same time, eight-thirty.’

‘I’ll just have to get up early.’

‘Is it wise?’

‘Is anything in this life? I’ll handle it, don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.’

He put the phone down, thought about it for a while then called British Airways and booked a seat on the morning flight with an open return. He lit a cigarette and walked to the window. Was it wise, she’d said, and he tried to remember what Tommy McGuire had known about him in eighty-one. Nothing about Danny Fahy, that was certain because Fahy wasn’t supposed to be involved that time. That had been personal. But Jack Harvey was another matter. After all, it had been McGuire who’d put him on to Harvey as an arms supplier in the first place.

He pulled on his jacket, got his trenchcoat from the wardrobe and went out. Five minutes later he was hailing a cab on the corner. He got in and told the driver to take him to Covent Garden.

Gordon Brown sat on the other side of Ferguson’s desk in the half-light. He had never been so frightened in his life. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, Brigadier, I swear it.’

‘Then why did you take a copy of the report?’

‘It was just a whim. Stupid, I know, but I was so intrigued with it being for the Prime Minister.’

‘You realise what you’ve done, Gordon, a man of your service? All those years in the army? This could mean your pension.’

Detective Inspector Lane of Special Branch was in his late thirties and in his crumpled tweed suit and glasses looked like a schoolmaster. He said, ‘I’m going to ask you again, Mr Brown.’ He leaned on the end of the desk. ‘Have you ever taken copies like this before?’

‘Absolutely not, I swear it.’

‘You’ve never been asked by another person to do such a thing?’

Gordon managed to look suitably shocked. ‘Good heavens, Inspector, that would be treason. I was a sergeant major in the Intelligence Corps.’