Standing at the window of the farmhouse looking out across the trees as rain swept in across the River Wye, Tony Villiers thought of the man who had just come within inches of destruction. My God, it really is a bloody awful place in weather like this.
The young officer sitting at the desk behind him smiled. The name on his desk said Captain Daniel Warden and he was in charge of the proving ground courses in the Brecons. He and Villiers shared another distinction besides being serving officers in the SAS. Both were also Grenadier Guardsmen.
He opened the file in front of him. Ive got Egans record here from the computer, sir. Really is quite outstanding. Military Medal for gallantry in the field in Ireland, reasons unspecified.
I know about that, Villiers told him. He was working with me at the time. Undercover. South Armagh.
Distinguished Conduct Medal in the Falklands. Badly wounded. Eight months hospitalization. Left knee plastic and stainless steel or what-have-you. Speaks French, Italian and Irish. Thats a new one.
His father was Irish, Villiers said.
Another interesting point. He went to quite a reasonable public school, Warden added. Dulwich College.
Like Villiers, he was an Old Etonian and the Colonel said, Dont be a snob, Daniel. A very good school. Good enough for Raymond Chandler.
Really, sir? I never knew that. Thought he was an American.
He was, you idiot. Villiers crossed to the desk, helped himself to tea from a china pot and sat in the window seat. Let me give it to you chapter and verse on Sean Egan, all Group Four information and most of it very definitely not on your computer. A lot of remarkable things about our Sean. To start with, he has a rather unusual uncle. Maybe youve heard of him? One Jack Shelley.
Warden frowned. The gangster?
A long time ago. In the good, bad old days he was as important as the Kray brothers and the Richardson gang. Very well liked in the East End of London. The peoples hero. Robin Hood in a Jaguar. Made his money from gambling and protection, night clubs and so on. Nothing nasty like drugs or prostitution. And he was clever. Too clever to end up serving life like the Krays. When he discovered he could make just as much money legitimately he moved into a different world. Television, computers, high tech. He must be worth twenty million at least.
And Egan?
Shelleys sister married a London Irishman called Patrick Egan. He was an ex-boxer who ran a pub somewhere on the river. Shelley didnt approve. He never married himself. Villiers lit another cigarette. And theres one thing you should get straight about him. He may be a multi-millionaire who owns half of Wapping, but hes still Jack Shelley to every crook in London and a name to be reckoned with. He took a fancy to young Sean. He was the one who paid for him to go to Dulwich College and Sean was good. Got a scholarship to Trinity College, Cambridge. Intended to read Moral Philosophy. Can you beat that, Jack Shelleys nephew reading Moral Philosophy?
Warden was well hooked by now. What went wrong?
In the spring, of 76, Pat Egan and his wife went across to Ulster to visit relatives in Portadown. Unfortunately they parked next to the wrong truck.
A bomb? Warden asked.
Big one. Took out half the street. They were only two of the people killed. Egan was seventeen and a half. Turned his back on Cambridge and joined the Paratroopers. His uncle was furious, but there wasnt much he could do.
Is Egan Shelleys only relative?
No, theres some woman in her sixties, Seans cousin, I think. He told me once. She runs his fathers old pub. Villiers frowned, thinking. Ida, that was it. Aunt Ida. Girl called Sally, too, adopted by Egan and his wife. I think her parents died when she was a baby. Shelley didnt count her not family. Hes like that. She went to live with his Aunt Ida when Sean joined up.
Sean, sir? Warden said. Isnt that a little familiar between a half-colonel and a sergeant?
Sean Egan and I have worked together a dozen times undercover in Ireland. That alters things. Villierss clipped public school tones changed to the vernacular of Belfast. You cant work on a building site on the Falls Road with a man, risk your life every waking minute, and expect him to call you sir.
Warden leaned back in his chair. Am I right in thinking that Egan joined the army looking for some sort of revenge on the people whod killed his parents?
Of course he did. The Provisional IRA claimed responsibility for that bomb. It was the kind of reaction youd expect from a boy of seventeen.
But wouldnt that make him suspect, sir? I mean, his psychological assessment would throw it all up. Must have.
Or perfect for our requirements, Daniel, it depends on your point of view. When he was a year old his parents moved to South Armagh from London, then Belfast. When he was twelve they came back to London because theyd had enough of the situation over there. So, a boy with an Ulster background, a Catholic, for what its worth, who even spoke reasonable Irish because his father had taught him. The kind of brain which earned a scholarship to Cambridge. Come on, Daniel, he was pulled out of the crowd within six months of joining the army. And then, he does possess one other very special attribute.
Whats that, sir?
Villiers walked to the window and peered out into the rain. Hes a killer by instinct, Daniel. No hesitation. Ive never seen anyone quite like him. As an undercover agent in Ireland hes assassinated eighteen terrorists to my certain knowledge. IRA, INLA
His own people, sir?
Just because hes a Catholic? Villiers demanded. Come off it, Daniel. Nairac was a Catholic. He was also an officer in the Grenadier Guards and thats all that concerned the IRA when they killed him. Anyway, Sean Egan has never played favourites. Hes also taken care of several leading gunmen on the Protestant side. UVF and Red Hand of Ulster.
Warden looked down at the file. Quite a man. And now youve got to tell him hes finished at twenty-five years of age.
Exactly, Villiers said, So lets have him in and get it over with.
When Sean Egan entered the room he was in shirtsleeve order, creases razor sharp, the beige beret tilted at the exact regulation angle. He wore shoulderstrap rank slides with sergeants chevrons. On his right sleeve were the usual SAS wings. Above his left shirt pocket he also wore the wings of an Army Air Corps pilot. Below them were the ribbons for the Distinguished Conduct Medal, the Military Medal for Bravery in the Field and campaign ribbons for Ireland and the Falklands. He stood rigidly at attention in front of Warden who sat behind his desk. Villiers remained in the window seat smoking a cigarette.
Warden said, At ease, Sergeant. This is completely informal. He indicated a chair. Sit down.
Egan did as he was told. Villiers got up and took a tin of cigarettes from his pocket. Smoke?
Given it up, sir. When I got my packet in the Falklands, one bullet chose the left lung.
Some good in everything, I suppose, Villiers said. Filthy habit.
He was filling time and they all knew it. Warden said awkwardly, Colonel Villiers is your control officer on this one, Egan.
So I understand, sir.
There was a pause while Warden fiddled with the papers as if uncertain what to say. Villiers broke in. Daniel, he said to Warden, I wonder if youd mind if Sergeant Egan and I had a word in private?
He was filling time and they all knew it. Warden said awkwardly, Colonel Villiers is your control officer on this one, Egan.
So I understand, sir.
There was a pause while Warden fiddled with the papers as if uncertain what to say. Villiers broke in. Daniel, he said to Warden, I wonder if youd mind if Sergeant Egan and I had a word in private?
Wardens relief was plain. Of course, sir.
The door closed behind him. Villiers said, Its been a long time, Sean.
I didnt think you were still with the regiment, sir.
On and off. A lot of my times taken up with Group Four. You did a job for us in Sicily, as I recall. Just before the Falklands.
Thats right, sir. Still part of D15?
On paper only. Anti-terrorism is still the name of the game though. My boss is responsible only to the Prime Minister.
Would that still be Brigadier Ferguson, sir?
Thats it. Youre well informed as usual.
You used to tell me thats all that kept you alive in Belfast and Derry, undercover. Being well informed.
Villiers laughed. A damned Shinner, right to the end, arent you, Sean? Just like your dad. Only a dyed-in-the-wool Ulster Catholic would call Londonderry, Derry.
I dont like the way they use bombs. That doesnt mean I think they havent got a point of view.
Villiers nodded. Seen your uncle lately?
He visited me in Maudsley Military Hospital a few months ago.
Was it as difficult as usual?
Egan nodded. He never was much of a patriot. To him the army is just a big waste of time. There was another pause and he continued. Look, sir, lets make this easy for you. I wasnt up to scratch, was I?
Villiers turned. You did fine. First time anyone has actually got out of the pit. Very ingenious, that. But the knee, Sean. He came round the desk and opened the file. Its all here in the medical report. I mean, theyve done a clever job in putting it together again.
Egan said, Stainless steel and plastic. The original bionic man, only not quite as good as new.
It will never be a hundred per cent. Your own personal evaluation report on the exercise. Villiers picked it up. When did you write this? An hour ago? You say here yourself that the knee let you down.
Thats right, Egan agreed calmly.
Could have been the death of you in action. All right ninety per cent of the time, but its the other ten per cent that matters.
Egan said, So, Im out?
Of the regiment, yes. However, its not as black as it looks. Youre entitled to a discharge and pension, but theres no need for that. The army still needs you.
No thanks. Egan shook his head. If it isnt SAS, then Im not interested.
Villiers said, Are you sure about that?
Absolutely, sir.
Villiers sat back, watching him, a slight frown on his face. Theres more to this, isnt there?
Egan shrugged. Maybe. All those months in hospital gave me time to think. When I joined up seven years ago I had my reasons and you know what they were. I was just a kid and full of all sorts of wild ideas. I wanted to pay them back for my parents.
And?
You dont pay anyone back. The bill will always be outstanding. Never paid in full. So much Irish time. He got up and walked to the window. How many have I knocked off over there and for what? It just goes on and on and it didnt bring my folks back.
Perhaps you need a rest, Villiers suggested.
Sean Egan adjusted his beret. Sir, with the greatest respect to the Colonel, what I need is out.
Villiers stared at him then stood up.
Fine. If thats what you want, youve earned it. There is another alternative, of course.
Whats that, sir?
You could come and work with me for Brigadier Ferguson at Group Four.
Out of the frying pan into the fire? I dont think so.
What will you do, go back to your uncle?
Egan laughed harshly. God save us, Id rather work for the Devil himself.
Cambridge then? Not too late.
I dont really see myself fitting into that kind of cloistered calm. Id feel uncomfortable and those poor old dons certainly would.
Oh, I dont know, Villiers said. I used to know an Oxford professor who was an SOE agent during the Second World War. Still
Something will turn up, sir.
I expect so. Villiers looked at his watch. The helicopter is leaving for regimental headquarters at Hereford in ten minutes. Grab your kit and be on it. Ill arrange for your discharge to be expedited.
Thank you, sir.
Egan moved to the door and Villiers said, By the way, I was just remembering your foster sister, Sally. How is she?
Egan turned, a hand on the door knob. Sally died, Colonel, about four months ago.
Villiers was genuinely horrified. My God, how? She couldnt have been more than eighteen.
She was drowned. They found her in the Thames near Wapping. I was in the middle of major surgery at the time so there was nothing I could do. My uncle took care of the funeral for me. Shes in Highgate Cemetery, quite close to Karl Marx. She liked it up there. His face was blank, his voice calm. Can I go now, sir?
Of course.
The door closed. Villiers lit another cigarette, shocked and disturbed. The door opened again and Captain Warden came in. He told me you wanted him on the helicopter, back to regiment.
Thats right.
Hes taking his discharge? Warden frowned. But theres no need for that, sir. He cant continue to serve in SAS, no, but there are plenty of units whod give their eye teeth to get their hands on him.
No way. Hes quite adamant about that. Hes changed. Maybe the Falklands did it and all those months in hospital. Hes going and thats it.
A hell of a pity, sir.
Yes, well, there may be ways and means of handling him yet. I offered him a job with Group Four. He turned it down flat.
Do you think he might change his mind?
Well have to see what a few months on the outside does to him. I cant see him sitting in the corner of an insurance office, not that he would need to. That pub of his fathers he owns it. He also happens to be Jack Shelleys sole heir. But never mind that now. He just gave me a shock. Told me that foster sister of his was drowned in the Thames a few months ago. He nodded to the computer in the corner. We can pull in stuff from Central Records Office at Scotland Yard with that thing, cant we?
No problem, sir. Matter of seconds.
See what theyve got on a Sally Baines Egan. No, make that Sarah.
Warden sat down at the computer. Villiers stood at the window looking out at the rain. Beyond the trees he heard the roaring of the helicopter engine starting up.
Here we are, sir. Sarah Baines Egan, aged eighteen. Next of kin, Ida Shelley, Jordan Lane, Wapping. Its a pub called The Bargee.
Anything interesting?
Found on a mudbank. Been dead around four days. Drug addict. Four convictions for prostitution.
What in the hell are you talking about? Villiers turned to the computer. You must have the wrong girl.