dickhead, what are you doing here?’ He gestured for me to join him.
We sat down, and since Euan was sponsoring the RV he came up with the cover story. ‘I’ve just come to see you from Belfast before you fly back to London. Old friends from school days.’ It helps to know you both have the same story.
‘Where are they?’ I said, as if asking after the family.
‘My half left and you’ve got the bar. Go right of the TV. They’re sitting – one’s got a jean jacket on, one a black three-quarter-length suede coat. Kerr is on the right-hand side. He’s now called Michael Lindsay. McGear is Morgan Ashdown.’
‘Have they checked in?’
‘Yes. Hand luggage only.’
‘For two weeks in Washington?’
‘Suit-carriers.’
‘And they haven’t gone to any other check-in?’
‘No, it looks like they’re going to Heathrow.’
I walked over to the counter and bought two coffees.
I could tell they were the only Irishmen at the bar, because everybody else was wearing Guinness polo shirts and drinking pints of the black stuff. These two were on Budweiser by the neck and watching the football. Both had cigarettes on the go and were smoking like ten men; if I’d been watching them in a bar in Derry I’d have taken it as nervousness, but Aer Lingus have a no-smoking policy on their flights and it looked as if these boys were getting their big hit before boarding.
Both were looking very much the tourist, clean-shaven, clean hair, not overdressed as businessmen, not underdressed as slobs. Basically, they were so nondescript you wouldn’t give them a second glance, which indicated that they were quite switched on – and that was a problem for me. If they’d been looking a bag of bollocks or at all nervous, I’d have known I was up against second- or third-division players – easy job. But these boys were Premier League, a long way from hanging around the Bogside on kneecapping duty.
There were kids everywhere, chasing and shouting, mothers screaming after two-year-olds who’d found their feet and were skimming across the terminal. For us, the more noise and activity the better. I sat down with the drinks. I wanted to get as much information as I could from Euan before they went airside.
On cue, he said, ‘I picked McGear up from Derry. He went to the Sinn Féin office in Cable Street and presumably got the brief, then to Belfast. The spooks tried to use the listening device but didn’t have any luck. Nothing else to report, really. They spent the night on the piss, then came down here. Been here about two hours. They booked the flight by credit card in their cover names. Their cover’s good. They’ve even got their Virgin cabin-luggage tags on, they don’t want anything to go wrong.’
‘Where are they staying?’
‘I don’t know. It’s all very last-minute and Easter’s a busy time. There are about ten Virgin-affiliated hotels in Washington and it’s probably one of them – we haven’t had time to check.’
‘Is that all?’ I said.
‘That’s your lot. I don’t know how they’re going to transfer from the airport, but it looks like they’re off to DC, big boy.’ Subject closed, as far as Euan was concerned. It was now time to talk shit. ‘You still see a lot of Kev?’
I took a mouthful of coffee and nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s in Washington now; he’s doing all right. The kids and Marsha are fine. I saw them about four months ago. He’s been promoted and they’ve just bought a plastic mansion on this naff estate. It’s what you’d call executive housing.’
Euan grinned, looking like Father Christmas with white froth on his top lip. His own place was a stone-walled sheep-farmer’s house in the middle of nowhere on the Black Mountains in Wales. His nearest neighbour was 2 miles away on the other side of the valley.
I said, ‘Marsha loves it in Washington – no-one trying to shoot holes in the car.’
Marsha, an American, was Kev’s second wife. After leaving the Regiment
We sat down, and since Euan was sponsoring the RV he came up with the cover story. ‘I’ve just come to see you from Belfast before you fly back to London. Old friends from school days.’ It helps to know you both have the same story.
‘Where are they?’ I said, as if asking after the family.
‘My half left and you’ve got the bar. Go right of the TV. They’re sitting – one’s got a jean jacket on, one a black three-quarter-length suede coat. Kerr is on the right-hand side. He’s now called Michael Lindsay. McGear is Morgan Ashdown.’
‘Have they checked in?’
‘Yes. Hand luggage only.’
‘For two weeks in Washington?’
‘Suit-carriers.’
‘And they haven’t gone to any other check-in?’
‘No, it looks like they’re going to Heathrow.’
I walked over to the counter and bought two coffees.
I could tell they were the only Irishmen at the bar, because everybody else was wearing Guinness polo shirts and drinking pints of the black stuff. These two were on Budweiser by the neck and watching the football. Both had cigarettes on the go and were smoking like ten men; if I’d been watching them in a bar in Derry I’d have taken it as nervousness, but Aer Lingus have a no-smoking policy on their flights and it looked as if these boys were getting their big hit before boarding.
Both were looking very much the tourist, clean-shaven, clean hair, not overdressed as businessmen, not underdressed as slobs. Basically, they were so nondescript you wouldn’t give them a second glance, which indicated that they were quite switched on – and that was a problem for me. If they’d been looking a bag of bollocks or at all nervous, I’d have known I was up against second- or third-division players – easy job. But these boys were Premier League, a long way from hanging around the Bogside on kneecapping duty.
There were kids everywhere, chasing and shouting, mothers screaming after two-year-olds who’d found their feet and were skimming across the terminal. For us, the more noise and activity the better. I sat down with the drinks. I wanted to get as much information as I could from Euan before they went airside.
On cue, he said, ‘I picked McGear up from Derry. He went to the Sinn Féin office in Cable Street and presumably got the brief, then to Belfast. The spooks tried to use the listening device but didn’t have any luck. Nothing else to report, really. They spent the night on the piss, then came down here. Been here about two hours. They booked the flight by credit card in their cover names. Their cover’s good. They’ve even got their Virgin cabin-luggage tags on, they don’t want anything to go wrong.’
‘Where are they staying?’
‘I don’t know. It’s all very last-minute and Easter’s a busy time. There are about ten Virgin-affiliated hotels in Washington and it’s probably one of them – we haven’t had time to check.’
‘Is that all?’ I said.
‘That’s your lot. I don’t know how they’re going to transfer from the airport, but it looks like they’re off to DC, big boy.’ Subject closed, as far as Euan was concerned. It was now time to talk shit. ‘You still see a lot of Kev?’
I took a mouthful of coffee and nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s in Washington now; he’s doing all right. The kids and Marsha are fine. I saw them about four months ago. He’s been promoted and they’ve just bought a plastic mansion on this naff estate. It’s what you’d call executive housing.’
Euan grinned, looking like Father Christmas with white froth on his top lip. His own place was a stone-walled sheep-farmer’s house in the middle of nowhere on the Black Mountains in Wales. His nearest neighbour was 2 miles away on the other side of the valley.
I said, ‘Marsha loves it in Washington – no-one trying to shoot holes in the car.’
Marsha, an American, was Kev’s second wife. After leaving the Regiment
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