Go on.
On the other hand, he was also responsible for the murder of General Hans Grosch during a visit to Munich in nineteen seventy-five. A source of considerable embarrassment to the West German Government. Grosch held a post roughly equivalent to my own in the East German Ministry for State Security. So, as you can see, maam, on the one hand Barry kills a Fascist, on the other, a Communist.
Youre saying he has no politics?
None at all. Ferguson took a sheet from his briefcase and passed it across. A list of the jobs we think hes been concerned with. As you can see, his victims have been from every part of the political scene.
The Prime Minister read the list slowly and frowned. Are you saying then that he works for whoever will pay him?
No, maam, I think its more subtle than that. Everything he does falls into a pattern, in that it causes maximum damage wherever it happens. For instance, he kills a Spanish diplomat visiting Paris in nineteen seventy-seven a Fascist. The French government have to react appropriately and within twenty-four hours, every left-wing agitator in Paris is in police hands. Not only Communists, but Socialists. The Socialist Party didnt like that, which meant the Unions also didnt like it. Result, unrest amongst the workers, strikes, disruption.
She paused suddenly lower down his list and glanced up, her face bleak. You mention here a possible involvement in the Mountbatten assassination?
Weve the best of reasons for believing his advice was sought.
She shook her head. It doesnt make sense.
It does if one considers his known links with the KGB. I believe that most of the incidents he has been responsible for were commissioned by the KGB, even the assassination of those supposed to be their friends, with the sole purpose of causing the maximum amount of disruption possible in the West.
But Barry is no Marxist?
Frank Barry, maam, isnt anything. Oh, hell take their money, Im sure of that, but hell do what he does for the hell of it. I suppose the psychiatrists would have fancy terms to describe his mental condition. Psychopath would only be the start. Im not really interested. I just want to see him dead.
The Prime Minister passed the list back to him. Then get on with it, Brigadier.
Ferguson took the list from her as she pressed a buzzer on her desk. Maam?
Department Four has the power total authority from this office so it would seem. Use it, man. Im not going to tell you how to do your own job, youre too good at it. Ive read your record. The only thing I will say is that it seems obvious to me you must put everything on one side and concentrate all your activities on Barry.
Ferguson got to his feet and slipped the paper back in his briefcase. Very well, Prime Minister.
The door opened behind him and the young secretary appeared. The Prime Minister picked up her pen and returned to work as Ferguson moved to the door and was ushered out.
* * *
Ferguson usually preferred to work from his Cavendish Square flat. He was sitting by the fire drinking tea and toasting crumpets on a long brass fork when Kim opened the door and ushered in Harry Fox.
Ah, there you are, Harry. Got what I wanted?
Yes, sir, every last piece of paper in the file on Frank Barry.
Fox was thirty, a slim elegant young man who wore a Guards tie, not surprising in someone who until two years previously had been an acting-Captain in the Blues. The neat leather glove which he wore permanently on his left hand concealed the fact that he had lost the original in a bomb explosion during his third tour of duty in Belfast. He had been Fergusons assistant for just over a year.
What exactly are we looking for, sir?
Im not sure, Harry. Jack Corder was the third man Ive put up against Frank Barry and two out of the three have ended up in a box. Weve got to come up with something different, thats all I know for certain.
Youre right, sir. Takes a thief to catch a thief, I suppose.
Ferguson paused in the act of spearing another crumpet on his fork. What did you say?
Jack Grand of Special Branch was telling me the other day they put one of their men into Parkhurst Prison, posing as a convict. He was attacked within two days and badly injured. I suppose the truth is most crooks can spot a copper a mile away. Frank Barry will be the same, if you think about it. Hed smell a rat in almost anyone you tried to infiltrate into his kind of action.
You could be right, Ferguson said. Start reading through those files, aloud, if you please.
They were at it for six hours, only Kim disturbing them from time to time to replenish the tea and coffee. It was dark when Ferguson got up and stretched and waved to the window.
Id like to know where the bastard is now.
Fox said, The photos on him are a bit sparse, sir. Nothing since nineteen seventy-two. The earliest seems to be this one taken from a Paris-Match article done by some woman journalist in nineteen seventy-one. Who are the other two with him? Devlin, is it? Liam Devlin and Martin Brosnan.
Ferguson crossed the room with surprising speed for a man of his bulk and took the news clipping from him. My God, Liam Devlin and Brosnan. Id forgotten theyd had dealings with Barry, its so long ago.
But who were they, sir?
Oh, a couple of anachronisms from the early days of the Irish Troubles. Before the worst of the bombings and the butchery. The kind of men who thought it was still nineteen twenty-one with Michael Collins carrying the flag for Ireland. Gallant guerrillas up against the might of the British Empire, Flying Columns, action by night.
I think I saw the movie once, sir, Fox said.
There was a man called Sean McEoin, a Flying Column leader who later became a General in the Free State Army. In nineteen twenty-one, he was surrounded by Black and Tans in a cottage near his own village. There were women and children inside so McEoin ran out in the open with a gun in each hand and shot his way through the police cordon. Devlin and Brosnan are the same kind of idiots.
I cant say I came up against anyone like that during my time in Ulster, Fox said, feelingly.
No, well its as well to remember that the IRA, like the British Army or any other institution, consists of a wide range of human beings. Still, you cut along now. I want to give this some think time.
Fox left. Ferguson poured himself a brandy and went and stood at the window, looking down into the square, thinking, with regret, of Jack Corder and the others he had sent against Barry.
Somewhere, he said softly, that bastard is still laughing at me.
Barry, at that precise moment, was doing roughly what Ferguson was: standing at a window with a large cognac in his hand. In his case, the apartment was in Paris and the view was of the Seine. There was a discreet tap at the door and when he opened it on the chain, Romanov was outside.
Well? Barry demanded as the Russian entered.
Considerable Service Five activity, Frank. They know you were behind the whole affair so theyre leaving no stone unturned to find you, with full assistance from British Intelligence on this one, I might add. Your Brigadier Ferguson and Colonel Guyon of Service Five are old friends.
Well, that makes a change. I didnt think DI5 and the French Intelligence Service were on speaking terms. How can you be sure that Ferguson and Guyon are such good pals, or have you an informer in Guyons department?
Well, that makes a change. I didnt think DI5 and the French Intelligence Service were on speaking terms. How can you be sure that Ferguson and Guyon are such good pals, or have you an informer in Guyons department?
Anything is possible, Romanov told him.
Barry was surprised and showed it. Youre kidding. I thought British Intelligence had cleaned out all its moles by now. Your man certainly didnt do me any good. What about Corder? I had to find out about him for myself.
To be honest, Frank, at the moment were only getting peripheral information, but we expect that to improve.
I dont get it, Barry said. Youd expect DI5 to check its employees credentials right back to the womb.
Perhaps they do, Frank. But in this case it wouldnt do them any good.
One good thing. At least theres no one left who can finger me at the moment, except you, of course, old son.
Romanovs smile was forced. On the whole, I think it would be sensible if you dropped out of sight for a while.
And where would you suggest?
England.
Barry laughed. Well, its a novel enough idea. The last place theyd expect. Would you have somewhere specific in mind?
The Lake District.
They say its lovely at this time of the year. Barry poured himself another cognac. All right, Nikolai, lets be having it.
The Russian opened his briefcase and took out a selection of maps. Its painfully simple. The balance of power as regards ground forces in Europe is hugely in our favour, mainly because we would be able to put at least four thousand more tanks in the field than the NATO forces.
So?
The West Germans have come up with a rather brilliant new weapon. Light enough to be carried by any infantry section. When fired, its pod releases twelve rockets simultaneously. Imagine them as missiles in miniature. Heat seeking, of course. Any one of these rockets is capable of knocking out our largest tank.
Jesus, Barry said. Youd wonder how they lost the war. Whatll they come up with next?
Weve tried every way possible to get hold of one, but so far, weve failed. We must have one, Frank.
So, where do I come into it?
Romanov started to unfold the maps. Ive had a report today of a rather interesting development. The Germans intend to demonstrate this weapon to the British and others at the British Army Rocket Proving Ground near Wast Water in the Lake District, next Thursday. Theres a team of Germans taking one over on Wednesday. An officer and six men. Theres a disused RAF base at Brisingham which is only twenty miles from the Proving Ground. Theyll land there to be taken the rest of the way by truck.
Interesting. Barry opened the maps right across the table.
Frank, pull this off for me and it would be worth half a million.
Barry didnt seem to hear him. Id need ground support. Someone I could rely on in the general area of things. A thorough-going crook preferably. Could your people in London arrange that?
Anything, Frank.
And more maps. English Ordnance Survey maps. I want to know that area like the back of my hand.
Ill have them round to you in the morning.
Tonight, Barry said. Ill also need fake passports. One British, one French and one American, just to vary things. Details like who I am, Ill leave to your experts.
All right, Romanov said.
And keep the SDECE off my back. Tell them Ive been in Turkey or gone to the Argentine.
Since the Sapphire scandal, the intelligence networks of most Western countries had had a rather poor opinion of the French Intelligence Service, believing it to be penetrated by the KGB, which it was certainly enough for Romanov to be able to agree to Barrys request.
And one more thing, Barry added as Romanov opened the door. A banking account in my English identity for fifty thousand pounds working capital. He smiled softly. And itll cost you a million, Nikolai. This one will cost you a million.
Romanov shrugged. Frank, just get it for us and you can name your own price, I promise you.
He went out and Barry locked and chained the door, then returned to the table, sat down at the maps and started to give the whole thing some thought.
Back in London, Harry Fox was just about to step into the shower when his phone rang. He cursed, pulled a towel around him and went to answer it.
Harry, Ferguson here. You know what you said earlier about setting a thief to catch a thief. Youve given me a very interesting idea. Go to the office and bring me Martin Brosnans file. You might as well bring Devlins while youre at it.
Fox glanced at his watch. You mean in the morning, sir?
I mean now, damn you!
Ferguson slammed down his phone and Fox replaced his receiver and checked his watch. It was just after two a.m. He sighed, returned to the bathroom and started to dress.
3
Martin Aodh Brosnan, Ferguson said. The Aodh is Gaelic for Hugh, if youre interested, after his maternal grandfather, a well-known Dublin Union leader in his day.
The fire was burning well. It was four oclock in the morning and Harry Fox felt unaccountably alive, except for the hand, of course, which ached a little as if it were still there. That always happened under stress.
According to the file he was born in Boston in nineteen forty-five, sir, of Irish-American parentage. His great, great-grandfather emigrated from Kerry during the famine. Made the family fortune out of shipping during the second half of the nineteenth century, since when theyve never looked back. Oil, construction, chemical plants you name it. And very social register. Fox frowned and looked up. A Protestant. Thats astonishing.
Why? Ferguson said. A lot of prejudice against the Catholics in America in the old days. Probably one of his ancestors changed sides. Hes hardly the first Protestant to want a United Ireland. What about Wolfe Tone? He started it all. And the man who came closest to getting it from the British Government of his day, Charles Stewart Parnell, was another.
According to this, Brosnans mother is a Catholic.
Unremittingly so. Mass four times a week. Born in Dublin. Met her husband when she was a student at Boston University. Hes been dead for some years. She rules the family empire with a rod of iron. I believe the only human being she has never been able to bend to her will is her son.
He did all the right things, it seems. Very Ivy League stuff. Top prep school, Andover. Took a degree in English literature at Princeton.
Majored, Ferguson corrected him.
I beg your pardon, sir?
Majored in English, thats what our American friends say.
Fox shrugged and returned to the file. Then in nineteen sixty-six he volunteered for Vietnam. Airborne Rangers and Special Services. And in the ranks, sir, thats the puzzling thing.
A very important point, that, Harry.
Ferguson poured himself more tea. Vietnam was never exactly a popular issue in America. If you were at University or College, it was possible to avoid the draft, which was exactly what most young men with Brosnans background did. He could have continued to avoid service by staying on at University and taking a doctorate. He didnt. Whats the word thats so popular these days, Harry, macho? Maybe that had something to do with it? Perhaps he felt less of a man because hed avoided it for so long. In the end, the important thing is that he went.