First Strike by Jeremy Rumfitt

relations disaster.”
    “Simple. They need the cash. Going legit costs money. Sinn Fein has a nationwide organisation to run, election workers to feed, constituency offices to fund, a national headquarters to finance. Democracy is a very expensive business. Selling the IRA’s specialised expertise on the open market makes perfect sense. The training and equipping element, that is. Not the Dirty Bomb. The Dirty Bomb is O’Brien’s own little bit of private enterprise. IRA/Sinn Fein has nothing to do with that.”
    “Target?”
    “Any major city. Far as I can see it doesn’t matter which one.”
    The waiter arrived with the food but she waved him away.
    “Put everything on the sideboard over there, Hudson,” she gestured, “we’ll help ourselves.”
    “Sounds to me like you’ve got a very serious problem on your hands.”
    Bowman distanced himself from the predicament she was in. It wasn’t his problem. It was hers.
    “It’s not your problem? Is that what you mean? Look, Alex, I’m familiar with your file. I know your history. If you hate the miserable spineless people who run this country, you have every right. What happened to you was truly appalling. But right now I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your bruised ego. And I haven’t got much time. You’re in or you’re out. That’s all I need to know. But I need to know it now.”
    Bowman blushed. He should have recognised the strain she
    must be under.
    “Sorry. That must have sounded pretty flippant. Perhaps you’d better tell me why I’m here.”
    Merlyn Stanbridge stood up.
    “Let’s get something to eat.”
    She strode across to the sideboard, helped herself to food and grabbed both bottles of the house claret.
    “Let me tell you what my problem is. My problem is too much help. The Americans are desperate to do everything they can. Understandably. Target is probably an American city, nobody knows which one. But even that’s not certain. Given O’Brien’s involvement it could just as well be London. As for the Irish, they’re falling over themselves. Officially and unofficially. The IRA is more concerned than anybody. Publicly they deny all knowledge of the three. Some nonsense about not wanting to prejudice a fair trial. But privately they’ll do anything they can to help. If O’Brien succeeds it’s the end of the road for the IRA/Sinn Fein. It would destroy them.” She filled both their glasses. “So my problem is, I have all these people under my feet. Americans, Irish, our own people. Falling over one another. Getting in the way. What I need is a sweeper. Someone outside the system, working directly to my instructions. No committees. No protocol.” She put down her knife and fork. “Interested?”
    Bowman wanted to refuse but knew he couldn’t. If O’Brien could put together a Dirty Bomb it meant the death of an entire city.
    “Sounds to me like I don’t have any choice. What about the Yanks? How do they feel about a Brit operating on their territory, outside their chain of command?”
    “Look, Alex, you have to understand all Washington’s resources are committed to the war. That’s as true here in London as it is in the States. We’re all way over-stretched, especially the Yanks, and anyway, they’ve always recognised the IRA is our problem not theirs. And don’t forget the drugs angle to this thing. Your access to the DEA through Ambrose could be invaluable.”
    She made a note to contact her old friend Frank Willowby at the American Embassy, make sure he was on board.
    “If Herzfeld gets his way there could be a first strike within days. One more experienced pair of hands can only be an asset. Especially as you’ll operate outside the system. You’ll just have to win their respect, that’s all. Impress them. I’m sure you’ll manage.” She paused to light a cigarette. “But we do have one major card to play. We have people inside the IRA. The Americans don’t.” She smiled. “Come to that, neither