Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [70]
"You think this is important?" Quinn asked Dillon.
"I don't know. It could just be business, but the last time I was in Ireland with Kate Rashid, she was hiring the IRA. We'll fly out before her and see where she goes. Maybe I'll even show you the delights of City."
"Now that you've finished, could I get a word in?" Roper said.
"About what?"
"It so happens I know where she's going. I know I'm a simple soul, but it seemed logical to me that they would have some company cars, and I found it in their database: a chauffeur, name of Hennesy, and his Volvo. He'll be driving them around."
"You clever bastard."
"No, I'm a brilliant bastard. I remember about your involvement with Rashid and Aidan Bell and the IRA last year...and that the name Drumcree figured largely."
"Jesus," Dillon said. "Don't tell me..."
"Oh, but I am telling you. Hennesy picks her and Dauncey up at the Europa at nine-thirty Friday morning and proceeds to the Royal George at Drumcree. That's a strange name for a pub in the IRA heartland."
"Well, I'm from County Down myself, and people have a sense of history where I come from. It's always been called that. Anything else?"
"Of course. As you'll recall, Drumcree was originally Aidan Bell's patch, before you killed him and his two henchmen, Tony Brosnan and Jack O'Hara."
"To be accurate, I killed Aidan and Jack. It was Billy Salter who shot Brosnan."
"I stand corrected. Anyway, I thought I'd access both the RUC and Army Intelligence at Lisburn, just to check on the Drumcree situation at the moment."
Quinn, who had stood by in silence, said, "You can do that?"
"I can do anything," Roper said, and smiled. "Even the White House."
"Never mind that," Dillon said. "Drumcree?"
"Oh, yes. Well, according to Lisburn, a chap called Barry Keenan runs things there now. Do you know him?"
"A long time ago. Aidan Bell's nephew."
"He has two minders, named Sean Casey and Frank Kelly. But they're not with the Provos anymore, they're Real IRA."
"Barry was always tops in the explosives business. Big with the bombs." Dillon nodded. "She's at it again."
"But at what, exactly?" Quinn asked.
"I'd say she's hiring Keenan to do what he does best--blow something up. Only not just any old thing, otherwise why go to the trouble of hiring the man considered by many the finest bombmaker in the IRA?"
"How do we find out the target?" Quinn asked.
"If she followed the pattern from last time, she'll meet Keenan in the snug at the Royal George. It's a kind of back parlor. She isn't about to speak to him in the bar," Dillon said to Roper. "A listening device, preferably with a recorder. We'd need to stick it somewhere in the snug."
"Will we have time to plant it?"
"They should be there by eleven, certainly not any earlier. If we leave at seven-thirty, we'll be there at nine. They do breakfast at the pub, an Irish fry-up. One of us can dump the recorder in the snug." He turned to Roper. "But can you supply the right article?"
"Nothing run-of-the-mill would do. They might talk a long time. As it happens, I've got just the thing. It'll give you two hours." He held up a small gadget, silver in appearance and no bigger than the palm of his hand.
"From when?" Dillon asked.
"From when you turn it on." He produced a black plastic box with a scarlet button. "Remote control. Just press the button when you see her go in the pub."
"That should do it?"
"As long as we can recover the recorder afterwards," Quinn said.
"We travel hopefully on that one," Dillon told him.
He took the recorder and the remote control and slipped them into one of his pockets. Roper said, "There's just one thing, Dillon. Your face isn't exactly foreign to the IRA, and certainly in Drumcree, where you've been before."
"True, but the British Army knew my face, too, and couldn't lay a hand on me in thirty years." He turned to Daniel Quinn. "I did a bit of theater work before I answered the call of the glorious cause." He laughed. "I once walked down the Falls Road dressed as a bag lady, and no one suspected.