bejewelled with dew. It
was cold and wet and the overnight damp from the bench was already seeping
through his coat. He was used to the cold and damp, goodness only knows his
beloved Ireland had enough of it but he considered it insult to have to endure
it in foreign climes.
He put a cigarette to his lips and having lit it took a deep breath, perhaps
seeking some inward heating effect on the cold damp air. His heavily ringed hand
displayed manicured nails and fingers that hadn't seen manual labour for a very
long time. His nose and mouth displayed a sense of cruelty that accurately
reflected his attitude towards his fellow man, or woman and child come to
that.
Dermot
O' Rourke liked to consider himself a success story. Others had very varying
opinions. Born in Ireland to parents who were vehemently anti-British, at a time
when militancy and violence were preached as the solution to all ills, he had
watched and waited for the right moment to take advantage. There was little that
he wouldn't use as a means to end. He smiled to himself in recollection at how
he had taken advantage, and now here he was with power at his fingertips and the
means to use it. He sighed in satisfaction at his own self-assessment. His train
of thought was however rudely derailed by a small man sitting down next to him
and pulling out a cigarette himself.
Dermot appeared to ignore him to all intents and purposes but eventually deigned
to acknowledge him.
"Sean. You're late. I've been sitting here catching pneumonia and I don't
appreciate it."
The small man shifted awkwardly. "You could have found a more accessible
spot."
His companion turned. "I'm not going to risk being seen with you. It's difficult
enough to evade press and security as it is. I make a speech to the Assembly on
the Peace Process in five days time and I'm not going to chance arousing
unwanted interest by being seen with you. Do I make myself clear?"
Reilly kept his eyes down, this was not a man to anger, he knew that. "Aye.
Clear enough."
Dermot ran a hand through his damp grey hair and brought them to business.
"You're convinced that Bartlett knew nothing about the package."
"I
am", Reilly shuffled slightly. "He wouldn't believe it at first, couldn't
accept it. He knew nothing about the package never mind the contents. He would
have told me. I'm sure he would." A slight smile. "He didn't like the pain.
You're still convinced that it wasn't destroyed?"
"I can't take the chance. If those papers come to light then I'm finished, and
if I'm finished then you're finished. No, I'm sure that the package was passed
on after Granger's death. It didn't vanish in the accident, I would have known.
So someone somewhere has it."
Reilly acquiesced. "And Bartlett's friends. Mister Lennox and company."
Dermot sunk his head into his coat collar to keep the cold out. "John Bartlett's
trip on the Hermes wasn't a coincidence but I'm sure he was nothing to do with
our meddling friend who 'broke his neck falling down stairs' either. So
something smells very fishy and Mr Lennox has wind of it. No, something prompted
our Mr Bartlett, which means that someone knows about the boats other than Greg.
And that's not good news for us or for Greg. We need to keep Greg focussed. If
he loses it now we may have to cut our losses. Watch him."
"You think Lennox knows about the massacre?" questioned Reilly.
Dermot
considered it. "It's unlikely. If young Bartlett didn't know then there's no
reason to suppose that Lennox does either."
"So how to we deal with Lennox?"
"The police picked him up as expected and should hopefully deal with him for us.
Failing that then I suspect he has a soft spot for Miss Trent. Whilst he may be
happy to take risks himself I suspect he wouldn't like to see her come to any
harm."
Reilly smiled. "So he has an Achilles Heel as it were?"
"I think he does. So keep tabs on the lady." He stopped and checked his watch.
"We need to talk to Anna
was cold and wet and the overnight damp from the bench was already seeping
through his coat. He was used to the cold and damp, goodness only knows his
beloved Ireland had enough of it but he considered it insult to have to endure
it in foreign climes.
He put a cigarette to his lips and having lit it took a deep breath, perhaps
seeking some inward heating effect on the cold damp air. His heavily ringed hand
displayed manicured nails and fingers that hadn't seen manual labour for a very
long time. His nose and mouth displayed a sense of cruelty that accurately
reflected his attitude towards his fellow man, or woman and child come to
that.
Dermot
O' Rourke liked to consider himself a success story. Others had very varying
opinions. Born in Ireland to parents who were vehemently anti-British, at a time
when militancy and violence were preached as the solution to all ills, he had
watched and waited for the right moment to take advantage. There was little that
he wouldn't use as a means to end. He smiled to himself in recollection at how
he had taken advantage, and now here he was with power at his fingertips and the
means to use it. He sighed in satisfaction at his own self-assessment. His train
of thought was however rudely derailed by a small man sitting down next to him
and pulling out a cigarette himself.
Dermot appeared to ignore him to all intents and purposes but eventually deigned
to acknowledge him.
"Sean. You're late. I've been sitting here catching pneumonia and I don't
appreciate it."
The small man shifted awkwardly. "You could have found a more accessible
spot."
His companion turned. "I'm not going to risk being seen with you. It's difficult
enough to evade press and security as it is. I make a speech to the Assembly on
the Peace Process in five days time and I'm not going to chance arousing
unwanted interest by being seen with you. Do I make myself clear?"
Reilly kept his eyes down, this was not a man to anger, he knew that. "Aye.
Clear enough."
Dermot ran a hand through his damp grey hair and brought them to business.
"You're convinced that Bartlett knew nothing about the package."
"I
am", Reilly shuffled slightly. "He wouldn't believe it at first, couldn't
accept it. He knew nothing about the package never mind the contents. He would
have told me. I'm sure he would." A slight smile. "He didn't like the pain.
You're still convinced that it wasn't destroyed?"
"I can't take the chance. If those papers come to light then I'm finished, and
if I'm finished then you're finished. No, I'm sure that the package was passed
on after Granger's death. It didn't vanish in the accident, I would have known.
So someone somewhere has it."
Reilly acquiesced. "And Bartlett's friends. Mister Lennox and company."
Dermot sunk his head into his coat collar to keep the cold out. "John Bartlett's
trip on the Hermes wasn't a coincidence but I'm sure he was nothing to do with
our meddling friend who 'broke his neck falling down stairs' either. So
something smells very fishy and Mr Lennox has wind of it. No, something prompted
our Mr Bartlett, which means that someone knows about the boats other than Greg.
And that's not good news for us or for Greg. We need to keep Greg focussed. If
he loses it now we may have to cut our losses. Watch him."
"You think Lennox knows about the massacre?" questioned Reilly.
Dermot
considered it. "It's unlikely. If young Bartlett didn't know then there's no
reason to suppose that Lennox does either."
"So how to we deal with Lennox?"
"The police picked him up as expected and should hopefully deal with him for us.
Failing that then I suspect he has a soft spot for Miss Trent. Whilst he may be
happy to take risks himself I suspect he wouldn't like to see her come to any
harm."
Reilly smiled. "So he has an Achilles Heel as it were?"
"I think he does. So keep tabs on the lady." He stopped and checked his watch.
"We need to talk to Anna
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