Confessional. Part 39

There is just one item of minor importance, but worth mentioning,' Devlin told him. 'On your side of the water, I'm still a wanted man from way back. A member of an illegal organization is the least of it.'

Til take care of that, for G.o.d's sake,' Ferguson said. 'Just get your backside on that plane,' and he hung up.

Tanya Voroninova brought tea in from the kitchen. 'What happens now?'

'I'm going with you to London,' he said, 'and we'll take it from there.'

'And Cussane? Where is he, would you say?'

'Anywhere and everywhere.' He sipped some of his tea. 'He has one problem however. The Pope arrives Friday according to the morning paper. Visits Canterbury the next day.'

'Sat.u.r.day the twenty-ninth?'

'Exactly. So Cussane has some time to fill. The question is, where does he intend to go?'

The phone rang. McGuiness was on the other end. 'You've spoken to Ferguson?'

'I have.'

'What does he intend to do?'

'G.o.d knows. He's asked me to go over.'

'And will you?'

'Yes.'

'Jesus, Liam, did you hear about this Russian, Lubov, turning up dead in the cinema? He preaches a h.e.l.l of a sermon this priest of yours.'

'He's developed a slightly different att.i.tude to the job since he discovered his own people were trying to knock him off,' Devlin said. 'Interesting to see where it takes him.'

'To Canterbury is where it's taking the mad b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' McGuiness said. 'And we can't help with that. It's up to British Intelligence to handle this one. Nothing more the IRA can do for them. Watch your back, Liam.'

He rang off and Devlin sat there, frowning thoughtfully.

He stood up. 'I'm going out for a little while,' he said to Tanya. 'Shan't be long,' and he went out through the French windows.

The Customs at Blackpool were just as courteous as they had been at Ronaldsway. Cussane actually paused, smiling, and offered his bag as the stream of pa.s.sengers moved through.

'Anything to declare, Father?' the Customs officer asked.

Cussane unzipped his bag. 'A bottle of Scotch and two hundred cigarettes.'

The Customs officer grinned. 'You could have had a litre of wine as well. It isn't your day, Father.'

'Obviously not.' Cussane zipped up his bag and moved on.

He hesitated outside the entrance of the small airport. There were several taxi cabs waiting, but he decided to walk down to the main road instead. He had, after all, all the time in the world. There was a newsagents across the road and he crossed over and bought a paper. As he came out, a bus pulled in at the stop a few paces away. Its indicator said Morecambe, which he knew was another seaside resort some miles up the coast. On impulse, he ran forward and scrambled on board as it drew away.

He purchased a ticket and went up on the top deck. It was really very pleasant and he felt calm and yet full of energy at the same time. He opened the newspaper and saw that the news from the South Atlantic was not good. HMSCoventry had been bombed and a Cunard container ship, theAtlantic Conveyor, had been hit by an Exocet missile. He lit a cigarette and settled down to read about it.

When Devlin went into the ward at the hospice, Sister Anne Marie was at Danny Malone's bed. Devlin waited and she finally whispered something to the nurse, then turned and noticed him. 'And what do you want?' 'To talk to Danny.'

'He isn't really up to conversation this morning.'

'It's very important.'

She frowned in exasperation. 'It always is with you. All right. Ten minutes.' She started to walk away, then turned. 'Father Cussane didn't come in last night. Do you know why?'

'No,' Devlin lied. 'I haven't seen him.'

She walked away and he pulled a chair forward. 'Danny, how are you?'

Malone opened his eyes and said hoa.r.s.ely, 'Is it you, Liam? Father Cussane didn't come.'

'Tell me, Danny, you talked to him of Sean Deegan of Ballywalter who handles the Isle of Man run, I understand.'

Malone frowned. 'Sure, I talked to him about a lot of things.'

'But mainly of IRA matters.'

'Sure, and he was interested in me telling him how I managed things in the old days.'

'Particularly across the water?' Devlin asked.

'Yes. You know how long I lasted without getting caught, Liam. He wanted to know how I did it.' He frowned. 'What's the problem?'

'You were always the strong one, Danny. Be strong now. He wasn't one of our own.'

Malone's eyes widened. 'You're having me on, Liam.'

'And Sean Deegan in hospital with a bullet in him and two good men dead?'

Danny sat there, staring at him. 'Tell me.' So Devlin did. When he was finished, Danny Malone said softly, 'b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

'Tell me what you can remember, Danny. Anything that particularly interested him.'

Malone frowned, trying to think. 'Yes, the business of how I stayed ahead of Special Branch and those Intelligence boys for so long. I explained to him that I never used the IRA network when I was over there. Totally unreliable, you know that, Liam.'

'True.'

'I always used the underworld myself. Give me an honest

crook any day of the week or a dishonest one if the price is right. I knew a lot of people like that.' Tell me about them,' Devlin said.

Cussane liked seaside towns, especially the ones that catered for the ma.s.ses. Honest, working cla.s.s people out for a good time. Lots of cafes, amus.e.m.e.nt arcades and fairgrounds and plenty of bracing air. Morecambe certainly had that. The dark waters of the bay were being whipped into whitecaps and on the far side he could see the mountains of the Lake District.

He walked across the road. It was not the height of the season yet, but there were plenty of tourists about and he threaded his way through the narrow streets until he found his way to the bus station.