Secret Asset by Stella Rimington

though shortly afterwards she’d been transferred to the counter-terrorism branch.
    Fergus raised an eyebrow. “It’s ironic that just as life has calmed down here, it’s heated up for you.”
    â€œSo,” said Liz, “if you’re not chasing the UVF these days, what are you working on?”
    â€œWho says I’m not chasing the UVF?” he said with a grin. “Same people, different crimes. Murdering Catholics out, extortion, prostitution and gambling in. Standard stuff really.”
    As the waiter brought their food, Fergus asked what she was doing in Northern Ireland. Liz gave him her cover story about the new vetting procedures. “I’ve been sent to interview someone who gave a reference for one of my colleagues fifteen years ago,” she said, hoping her tone suggested a bureaucratic interference she could have done without.
    Fergus grinned. “I’m glad we’re not the only ones with intrusive bosses,” he said. “Who did you see?”
    â€œA lecturer at Queen’s. We used him as a referee for one of his pupils. He taught History at Oxford for a while, then came here about ten years ago to teach Irish Studies. He had strong views. If Ireland had only stuck with Parnell, the country would be unified today.”
    Fergus gave a hollow laugh as he cut into his sirloin. “He probably thinks Gerry Adams has sold out. He sounds what my father used to call an ‘armchair Fenian.’ What’s his name?”
    Liz leaned forward before she spoke. “Liam O’Phelan.”
    â€œI’ve heard of him,” he said, musing. “Didn’t he originally come from Dublin?”
    â€œI don’t know much about him,” Liz admitted. “But I don’t think he was being straight with me.”
    â€œAbout his ex-pupil?”
    â€œNo, that rang true. A few other things didn’t though.” She didn’t want to go into too much detail about the interview.
    Fergus speared a chip and stared at it for a moment as he answered. “I could check and see if we have a file on him. We may well do. At one point during the height of the violence we were very concerned about Queen’s.”
    â€œWould you mind? I’d appreciate it.”
    â€œSure,” said Fergus easily, “but use me while you can. I won’t be doing this forever.”
    Was Fergus going to retire? It seemed inconceivable. Liz said so, sitting back in her chair, looking at him with affectionate scepticism.
    â€œI’m older than you think,” said Fergus. “I’ll have done twenty-five years this autumn.”
    â€œWhat would you do next?” asked Liz. She couldn’t envisage him back in Antrim, bringing in the wheat crop.
    Fergus shrugged, a little dolefully, and Liz wished she hadn’t asked. He’d already explained, regretfully, that he was single again, and she knew it was a sadness that he had never had children.
    Wanting to change the subject, Liz remarked, “I saw in the paper that another former agent has gone public.”
    â€œI’m sure there will be more,” said Fergus seriously. “It’s hard now for some of those people who worked as secret assets, sources, agents, whatever you like to call them, during the Troubles—for us, you lot, and particularly for the Army. As politics brings old enemies together, they’ve got difficult decisions to make. Partly, they’re afraid they’ll get blown anyway as more and more information comes out through enquiries, freedom of information, or whatever. They won’t probably, but they’re not sure of that. For some of them, I think, there’s a sort of crisis of conscience. They have a need for understanding what they did and why—after all, they don’t see themselves as traitors. They’ll be feeling they made a contribution to peace in their own way and they’d like some recognition for it. Going public