Billy.’
‘You got my message?’ Ahern said.
‘Yes, I drop in to the William of Orange in Kilburn most nights.’
Ahern said to Ali, ‘Kilburn is what you might call the Irish quarter of London. Plenty of good Irish pubs there, Catholic and Protestant. This, by the way, is Ali Halabi from Iran.’
‘So what’s it all about?’ Quigley demanded.
‘This.’ Ahern held up the Evening Standard with the headline about the American President. ‘Ali here represents a group of fundamentalists in Iran called the Army of God. They, shall we say, deeply deplore Arafat’s deal with Israel over the new status of Palestine. They are even more unhappy with the American President presiding over that meeting at the White House and giving it his blessing.’
‘So?’ Quigley said.
‘They’d like me to blow him up for them while he’s in London, me having a certain reputation in that field.’
‘For five million pounds,’ Ali Halabi said. ‘Don’t let us forget that.’
‘Half of which is already on deposit in Geneva.’ Ahern smiled. ‘By God, Billy, couldn’t we give the IRA a run for their money with a million pounds to spend on arms?’
Quigley’s face was pale. ‘The American President? You wouldn’t dare, not even you.’
Norah laughed that distinctive harsh laugh. ‘Oh, yes he would.’
Ahern turned to her. ‘Are you with me, girl?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘And you, Billy?’ Quigley licked dry lips and hesitated. Ahern put a hand on his shoulder. ‘In or out, Billy?’
Quigley smiled suddenly. ‘Why not. A man can only die once. How do we do it?’
‘Come down below and I’ll show you.’
Ahern led the way down the steps and switched on a light at the bottom. There was a vehicle parked in a corner covered by a dust sheet which he pulled away, revealing a grey British Telecom van.
‘Where in the hell did you get that?’ Quigley demanded.
‘Someone knocked it off for me months ago. I was going to leave it outside one of those Catholic pubs in Kilburn with five hundred pounds of Semtex inside and blow the hell out of some Sinn Fein bastards, but I decided to hang on to it until something really important turned up.’ Ahern smiled cheerfully. ‘And now it has.’
‘But how do you intend to pull it off?’ Ali demanded.
‘Hundreds of these things all over London. They can park anywhere without being interfered with because they usually have a manhole cover up while the engineers do what they have to do.’
‘So?’ Quigley said.
‘Don’t ask me how, but I have access through sources to the President’s schedule. Tomorrow he leaves the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square at ten o’clock in the morning to go to Number Ten Downing Street. They take the Park Lane route, turning into Constitution Hill beside Green Park.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’ Norah asked.
‘They always do, love, believe me.’ He turned to Quigley and Ali. ‘You two, dressed in Telecom overalls which are inside the van, will park halfway along Constitution Hill. There’s a huge beech tree. You can’t miss it. As I say, you park, lift the manhole cover, put up your signs and so on. You’ll be there at nine-thirty. At nine-forty-five you walk away through Green Park to Piccadilly. There are some men’s toilets. You can get rid of your overalls there.’
‘And then what?’ Ali demanded.
‘I’ll be in a car, waiting with Norah for the golden moment. As the President’s cavalcade reaches the Telecom van I’ll detonate by remote control.’ He smiled. ‘It’ll work, I promise you. We’ll probably kill everyone in the cavalcade.’
There was silence; a kind of awe on Quigley’s face and Norah was excited, face pale. ‘You bastard,’ she said.
‘You think it will work?’
‘Oh, yes.’
He turned to Ali. ‘And you? You’re willing to take part?’
‘An honour, Mr Ahern.’
‘And you, Billy?’ Ahern turned to him.
‘They’ll be singing about us for years,’ Quigley said.
‘Good man yourself, Billy.’ Ahern looked at his watch. ‘Seven o’clock. I could do with a bite to eat. How about you, Norah?’
‘Fine,’ she said.
‘Good. I’m taking the Telecom van away now. I shan’t be returning to this place. I’ll pick you two up in the Mall at nine o’clock in the morning. You’ll arrive separately and wait at the park gates across from Marlborough Road. Norah will be behind me in a car. You two will take over and we’ll follow. Any questions?’
Ali Halabi was incredibly excited. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Good, off you go now. We’ll leave separately.’ The Arab went out and Ahern turned to Quigley and held out his hand. ‘A big one this, eh, Billy?’
‘The biggest, Michael.’
‘Right, Norah and I will go now. Come and open the main gate for us. I’ll leave you to put out the lights and follow on.’
Norah climbed into the passenger seat, but Ahern shook his head. ‘Move into the rear out of sight and pass me one of those orange jackets. We’ve got to look right. If a copper sees you he might get curious.’
It said British Telecom across the back of the jacket. ‘It’ll never catch on,’ she told him.
He laughed and drove out into the street, waving at Quigley who closed the gate behind them. He travelled only a few yards then swung into a yard and switched off the engine.
‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘You’ll see. Follow me and keep your mouth shut.’
He opened the Judas gate gently and stepped in. Quigley was in the office; they could hear his voice and, when they reached the bottom of the stairs, they could even hear what he was saying.
‘Yes, Brigadier Ferguson. Most urgent.’ There was a pause. ‘Then patch me through, you silly bugger, this is life or death.’
Ahern took a Walther from his pocket and screwed on a silencer as he went up, Norah behind him. The door was open and Quigley sat on the edge of the desk.
‘Brigadier Ferguson?’ he said suddenly. ‘It’s Billy Quigley. You said only to call you when it was big. Well this couldn’t be bigger. Michael Ahern and that bitch Norah Bell
