Patriot games - Tom Clancy [33]
Ashley nearly laughed out loud, but caught himself and grinned into his drink.
"Mr. Murphy, I would not shed a single tear if our lads were to catch up with you, but you are a worthy adversary, I'll say that. And a charming bastard."
Ah, the English sense of fair play. Murphy reflected. That's why we'll win eventually, Mr. Ashley.
No, you won't. Ashley had seen that look before.
"How can I make you believe me?" Murphy asked reasonably.
"Names and addresses," Ashley answered quietly.
"No. We cannot do that and you know it."
"If you wish to establish some sort of quid pro quo, that's how you must go about it."
Murphy sighed. "Surely you know how we are organized. Do you think we can punch up a bloody computer command and print out our roster? We're not even sure ourselves who they are. Some men, they just drop out. Many come south and simply vanish, more afraid of us than of you, they are-and with reason," Murphy added. "The one you have alive, Sean Miller-we've never even heard the name."
"And Kevin O'Donnell?"
"Yes, he's probably the leader. He dropped off the earth four years ago, as you well know, after-ah, you know the story as well as I."
Kevin Joseph O'Donnell, Ashley reminded himself. Thirty-four now. Six feet, one hundred sixty pounds, unmarried-this data was old and therefore suspect. The all-time Provo champion at "own-goals." Kevin had been the most ruthless chief of security the Provos had ever had, thrown out after it had been proven that he'd used his power as counterintelligence boss to purge the Organization of political elements he disapproved of. What was the figure-ten, fifteen solid members that he'd had killed or maimed before the Brigade Commander'd found him out? The amazing thing, Ashley thought, was that he'd escaped alive at all. But Murphy was wrong on one thing, Ashley didn't know what had finally tipped the Brigade that O'Donnell was outlaw.
"I fail to see why you feel the urge to protect him and his group." He knew the reason, but why not prod the man when he had the chance?
"And if we turn 'grass,' what becomes of the Organization?" Murphy asked.
"Not my problem, Mr. Murphy, but I do see your point. Still and all, if you want us to believe you-"
"Mr. Ashley, you demonstrate the basis of the entire problem we have, don't you? Had your country ever dealt with Ireland in mutual good faith, surely we would not be here now, would we?"
The intelligence officer reflected on that. It took no more than a couple of seconds, so many times had he examined the historical basis of the Troubles. Some deliberate policy acts, mixed with historical accidents-who could have known that the onset of the crisis that erupted into World War I would prevent a solution to the issue of "Home [or "Rome"] Rule," that the Conservative Party of the time would use this issue as a hammer that would eventually crush the Liberal Party-and who was there to blame now? They were all dead and forgotten, except by hard-core academics who knew that their studies mattered for nothing. It was far too late for that. Is there a way out of this bloody quagmire? he wondered. Ashley shook his head. That was not his brief. That was something for politicians. The same sort, he reminded himself, who'd built the Troubles, one small brick at a time.
"I'll tell you this much, Mr. Ashley-" The waiter showed up with dinner. It was amazing how quick the service was here. The waiter uncorked the wine with a flourish, allowing Ashley to smell the cork and sample a splash in his glass. The Englishman was surprised at the quality of the restaurant's cellar.
"This much you will tell me " Ashley said after the waiter left.
"They get very good information. So good, you would not believe it. And their information comes from your side of the Irish Sea, Mr. Ashley. We don't know who, and we don't know how. The lad who found out died, four years ago, you see." Murphy sampled the broccoli. "There, I told you the vegetables were fresh."
"Four