AT CAVENDISH SQUARE, Ferguson was seated at the desk holding the telephone, face grave when Harry Fox came in from the study with a telex message. Ferguson made a quick gesture with one hand, then said, 'Thank you, Minister,' and replaced the receiver.
'Trouble, sir?' Fox asked.
'As far as I'm concerned it is. The Foreign Office have just informed me that the Pope's visit is definitely on. The Vatican will make an announcement within the next few hours. What have you got?'
'Telex, sir. Information on the Task Force's progress. The bad news is that HMSAntelope has finally sunk. She was bombed by Skyhawks yesterday. The good news is that seven Argentinian jets have been brought down.'
'I'd be happier about that if I saw the wreckage, Harry. Probably half that figure in actuality. Battle of Britain all over again.'
'Perhaps, sir. Everybody claims a hit in the heat of the moment. It can be confusing.'
Ferguson stood up and lit one of his cheroots. 'I don't know, sometimes the bloody roof just seems to fall in. I've got the Pope coming, which we could well have done without. Cuchulain still on the loose over there, and now this nonsense about the Argentinians trying to buy Exocet missiles on the black market in Paris. Orders have gone through to pull Tony Villiers from behind enemy lines in the Falk-lands?'
'No problem, sir. He's being off-loaded by submarine in Uruguay. Flying from Montevideo by Air France direct to Paris. Should be there tomorrow.'
'Good. You'll have to go over on the shuttlf. Brief him thoroughly, then get straight back here.'
'Will that be enough, sir?'
'Good God, yes. You know what Tony's like when he gets moving. Hell on wheels. He'll sort the opposition out over there, no problem. I need you here, Harry. What about the Voroninova girl?'
'As I told you, sir, we stopped off at Harrods on the way from Heathrow to get her a few things. Only had what she stood up in.'
'She'll be broke, of course,' Ferguson said. 'We'll have to tap the contingency fund.'
'As a matter of fact that won't be necessary, sir. It seems she has a very substantial bank account here. Record royalties and so on. She certainly won't have any difficulty in earning her living. They'll be clamouring for her, all the impresarios, when they know she's available.'
'That will have to wait. She's very definitely to stay under wraps until I say so. What's she like?'
'Very nice indeed, sir. I settled her into the spare room and she was having a bath.'
'Yes, well don't let's make her too comfortable, Harry. We want to get on with this thing. I've heard from Devlin and it seems another of McGuiness's hatchet men, the one who was supposed to be keeping an eye on Cherny, has turned up in the Liffey. He doesn't waste time, our friend.'
'I see, sir,' Fox said. 'So what are you suggesting?'
'We'll get her over to Dublin now - this afternoon. You can escort her, Harry. Hand her over to Devlin at the airport, then get back here. You can go to Paris on the morning shuttle.'
Fox said mildly, 'She might just feel like sitting down for a moment. Taking a deep breath. That sort of thing.'
'So would we all, Harry, and if that's a subtle way of telling me how you feel, then all I can say is you should have taken that job they offered you at your uncle's merchant bank. Start at ten, finish at four.'
'And terribly, terribly boring, sir.'
Kim opened the door at that moment and ushered in Tanya Voroninova. Her eyes were slightly hollowed, but she looked surprisingly well, the general effect enhanced by the blue cashmere sweater and neat tweed skirt she had purchased at Harrods. Fox made the introductions.
'Miss Voroninova. A great pleasure,' Ferguson said. 'You've certainly had an active time of it. Please sit down.'
She sat on the couch by the fire. 'Have you any idea what's happening in Paris?' she asked.
'Not yet,' Fox said. 'We'll find out in the end, but if you want an educated guess, the KGB never care for failure at the best of times and if we consider your foster-father's special interest in this case...' He shrugged. 'I wouldn't care to be in Turkin or Shepilov's shoes.'
'Even such a shrewd old campaigner as Nikolai Belov will have difficulty surviving this one,' Ferguson put in.
'So, what happens now?' she asked. 'Do I see Professor Devlin again?'
'Yes, but that means flying over to Dublin. I know your feet have hardly touched the ground, but time is of the essence. I'd like you to go later on this afternoon if that's all right. Captain Fox will escort you and we'll arrange for Devlin to meet you at Dublin Airport.'
She was still on a high, and somehow it seemed a part of what had already happened. 'When do we leave?'
'The early evening plane,' Devlin said. 'Sure, I'll be there. No problem.'
'You'll make your own arrangements about the necessary meeting with McGuiness so that she can look at whatever photos or other material they want to show her?'
Til take care of it,' Devlin said.
'Sooner rather than later,' Ferguson told him firmly.
'I hear and obey, O Genie of the lamp,' Devlin said. 'Now let me talk to her.'
Ferguson handed her the phone. Tanya said, 'Professor Devlin? What is it?'
'I've just heard from Paris. The Mona Lisa is smiling all over her face. See you soon.'
And in Moscow important things had been happening that morning. Events that were to affect the whole of Russia and world politics generally, for Yuri Andropov, head of the KGB since 1967, was named Secretary of the Communist Party Central Committee. He still inhabited his old office at KGB headquarters at Dzerhinsky Square and it was there that he summoned Maslovsky just after noon. The General stood in front of the desk, filled with foreboding, for Andropov was possibly the only man he had ever known of whom he was genuinely afraid. Andropov was writing, his pen scratching the paper. He ignored Maslovsky for a while, then spoke without looking up.
'There is little point in referring to the gross inefficiency shown by your department in the matter of the Cuchulain affair.'
'Comrade.' Maslovsky didn't attempt to defend himself.
'You have given orders that he is to be eliminated together with Cherny?'
'Yes, Comrade.'
'The sooner the better.' Andropov paused, removed his glasses and ran a hand over his forehead. 'Then there is the matter of your foster-daughter. She is now safely in London due to the bungling of your people.'
'Yes, Comrade.'
'From which city Brigadier Ferguson is having her flown to Dublin, where the IRA intend to give her any help she needs to identify Cuchulain?'
'That would appear to be the case,' Maslovsky said weakly.
'The Provisional IRA is a fascist organization as far as I am concerned, hopelessly tainted by its links with the Catholic Church, and Tanya Voroninova is a traitor to her country, her party and her class. You will send an immediate signal to
the man Lubov in Dublin. He will eliminate her as well as Cherny and Cuchulain.'
He replaced his glasses, picked up his pen and started to write again. Maslovsky said in a hoarse voice, 'Please, Comrade, perhaps...'
Andropov glanced up in surprise. 'Does my order give you some sort of problem, Comrade General?'
Maslovsky, wilting under those cold eyes, shook his head hurriedly. 'No, of course not, Comrade,' and he turned and went out, feeling just the slightest tremor in his limbs.
At the Soviet Embassy in Dublin, Lubov had already received a signal from Paris informing him that Tanya Voroninova had slipped the net. He was still in the radio room digesting this startling piece of news when the second signal came through, the one from Maslovsky in Moscow. The operator recorded it, placed the tape in the machine and Lubov keyed in his personal code. When he read the message he felt physically sick. He went to his office, locked the door and got a bottle of Scotch from the cupboard. He had one and then another. Finally he phoned Cherny.
'Costello, here.' It was the code name he used on such occasions. 'Are you busy?'
'Not particularly,' Cherny told him.
'We must meet.'
'The usual place?'
'Yes, I must talk to you first. Very important. However, we must also arrange to see our mutual friend this evening. Dun Street, I think. Can you arrange that?'
'It's very unusual.'
'As I said, matters of importance. Ring me back to confirm this evening's meeting.'
Cherny was definitely worried. Dun Street was a code name for a disused warehouse on City Quay which he had leased under a company name some years previously, but that wasn't the point. What was really important was the fact that he, Cussane and Lubov had never all met together in the same
place before. He phoned Cussane at the cottage without success, so he tried the Catholic Secretariat offices in Dublin. Cussane answered at once.
'Thank God,' said Cherny. 'I tried the cottage.'
'Yes, I've just got in,' Cussane told him. 'Is there a problem?'
'I'm not sure. I feel uneasy. Can I speak freely?'
'You usually do on this line.'
'Our friend Costello has been in touch. Asked me to meet him at three-thirty.'
'Usual place?'
'Yes, but he's also asked me to arrange for the three of us to meet at Dun Street tonight.'
'Thatis unusual.'
'I know. I don't like it.'
'Perhaps he has instructions for us to pull out,' Cussane said. 'Did he say anything about the girl?'
'No. Should he have done?'
'I just wondered what was happening there, that's all. Tell him I'll see you at Dun Street at six-thirty. Don't worry, Paul. I'll handle things.'
He rang off and Cherny got straight back to Lubov. 'Six-thirty, is that all right?'
'Fine,' Lubov told him.
'He asked me if you'd heard anything about the girl in Paris.'
'No, not a word,' Lubov lied. Til see you at three-thirty.' He rang off, poured himself a drink, then unlocked the top drawer of his desk, took out a case and opened it. It contained a Stechkin automatic pistol and a silencer. Gingerly, he started fitting them together.
In his office at the Secretariat, Harry Cussane stood at the window, looking down into the street. He had listened in to Devlin's conversations with Ferguson before leaving the cottage and knew that Tanya Voroninova was due that evening. It was inconceivable that Lubov would not have heard, either from Moscow or Paris, so why hadn't he mentioned it?
The meeting at Dun Street was unusual enough in itself, but in view of that meeting, why meet Cherny in the usual back row at the cinema first? What could possibly be the need? It didn't fit, any of it, and every instinct that Cussane possessed, honed by his years in the trenches, told him so. Whatever Lubov wanted to see them for, it was not conversation.
Paul Cherny was reaching for his raincoat when there was a knock at the door of his rooms. When he opened it, Harry Cussane was standing outside. He wore a dark trilby hat and raincoat of the kind affected by priests and looked agitated.
'Paul, thank God I caught you.'
'Why, what is it?' Cherny demanded.
'The IRA man who followed you, the one I disposed of the other day. They've set another one on. This way.'
Cherny's rooms were on the first floor of the old greystone college building. Cussane went up the stairs quickly to the next floor and turned at once up another flight of stairs.
'Where are we going?' Cherny called.
Til show you.'
On the top landing, the tall Georgian window at the end had its bottom half pushed up. Cussane peered out. 'Over there,' he said. 'On the other side of the quad.'
Cherny looked down to the stone flags and the green grass of the quadrangle. 'Where?' he asked.
There was the hand in the small of his back, a sudden violent push. He managed to cry out, but only just as he overbalanced across the low windowsill and plunged head first towards the stone flags eighty-feet below.
Cussane ran along the corridor and descended the back stairs hurriedly. In a sense, he had been telling the truth. McGuiness had indeed replaced Murphy with a new watchdog, in fact two of them this time, sitting in a green Ford Escort near the main entrance, not that it was going to do them much good now.
Lubov had the back row to himself. In fact, there were only five or six people in the cinema at all as far as he could see in the dim light. He was early, but that was by intention, and he fingered the silenced Stechkin in his pocket, his palms damp with sweat. He'd brought a flask with him and took it out now and swallowed deep. More Scotch to give him the courage he needed. First Cherny and then Cussane, but that should be easier if he was at the warehouse first and waiting in ambush. He took another swig at the flask, had just replaced it in his pocket when there was a movement in the darkness and someone sat down beside him.
