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elbow into
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logy%20(UC).txt his ribs when Sara faced away. "This is no night for a girl to
drive alone." Her gaze, when it rested on Jan, would have frozen a pail of
water.
"No, of course you're right," he hurried to say. "Orla, perhaps I can drive
you?"
"I don't want to take you out of your way...
"Not a problem," Thurgood-Smythe said. "He's no more than five minutes from
the West
End. And I'll have one of my drivers bring the car around to your club in the
morning."
"Then it's all set," Liz said, smiling her warmest. "So you needn't worry
about the drive at all."
Jan made his good-byes, kissed his sister affectionately, then went to get the
car.
While the heater took the chill off the interior he scrawled a quick note and
palmed it. Sara was waiting at the front door and he held the door open for
her, handing her the note as she came in. She had just enough time to read the
two words there before the courtesy light went out. CAR BUGGED. As soon as
they were out of sight of the house she nodded agreement.
"'Where can 1 take you, Orla?" he asked.
"I really am sorry to make you go out of your way. It's the Irish Club in
Belgravia, a bit of the ould sod abroad as people say. I always stay there
when I'm in London.
It's not really grand, but very homey. 'With a friendly little bar. They do a
lovely hot whiskey, Irish whiskey of course."
"Of course. I can't say I ever had any."
"Then you must try. You will come in, won't you? Just for a few minutes. It's
not really late yet."
This innocent invitation was driven home by a firm nod of her head and a slow
and languid wink.
"'Well, perhaps for a few minutes. It's nice of you to ask."
The conversation continued in this same light vein as he drove down the nearly
empty
Finchley Road and into Marble Arch. She gave him instructions; the club was
easy enough to find. He parked just in front of the entrance and they entered,
brushing melting snow from their coats. Except for one other couple they had
the bar to themselves. While the waitress took the drink order Sara wrote on
the back of the note he had given her earlier. He looked at it as soon as the
girl turned away.
STILL SOUND BUGGED. ACCEPT INYITATION TO COME TO MY ROOM. LEAVE ALL YOUR
CLOTHES IN
BATHROOM THERE.
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He raised his eyebrows high at the invitation and Sara smiled and stuck her
tongue out at him in mock anger. While they talked he shredded the note in his
pocket.
The hot whiskies were very good, their play-acting seduction even better. No,
he didn't think her bold, yes people would misunderstand if they went to the
room
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with the key and leave the door unlocked.
In her room the curtains were closed and the bed turned back temptingly. He
undressed in the bathroom as he had been instructed and found a heavy terry
cloth bathrobe behind the door which he put on. Sara came in and he heard her
lock the hall door. She had her fingers to her lips when he came out, and did
not talk until she had closed the bathroom door behind him and turned on the
radio.
"Sit down here and keep your voice low. You know that you are under Security
surveillance?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then your clothes are undoubtedly bugged. But we re safe enough away from
them. The
Irish are very proud of their independence and this club is swept and debugged
daily. Security gave up years ago. They lost so many devices that they were
supplying the Irish intelligence services with all they needed."
"Then tell me quickly-what happened to Un?"
"He's safe, and out of the country. Thanks to you.
She pulled him close and hugged him, giving him a warm and lingering kiss. But
when his arms went around her as well she wriggled free and sat on the edge of
the bed.
"Take the armchair," she said. "We need to talk. First."
"Well, as long as you say first. Would you start by telling me just who you
are and how Orla got into my sister's house."
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"It's the best cover we have, so I don't jeopardize it by using it too often.
We've done a lot of favors for the Irish government; this is something they've
done in return. Absolutely solid identification, birth, school records, the
lot. All with my fingerprints and details. It was when we were running your
records through the computer to see how to contact you again that the bells
began to ring. Orla
Mountcharles did go to Roedean, some years after your sister. The rest was
easy. I
boned up on the school, saw some friends of friends of friends, and was
invited to join the bridge club. The rest was as natural as the law of
gravity."
"I know! Expose Liz to a new girl in town, hopefully with fairly good looks,
but preferably with good connections, and the trap is instantly sprung. Home
and dinner with little brother. But isn't it damn risky with the keen nose of
Thurgood-Smythe sniffing the air?"
"I don't think it sniffs quite as well in the cloister of his own home. This
is really the safest way.
"If you say so. But what makes you think my clothes are bugged?"
"Experience. The Irish have a lovely collection of intelligence devices.
Security builds them into belt buckles, pens, the metal spines of notebooks,
anything. They don't broadcast but record digitally on a molecular level to be
played back later.
Virtually indetectable without taking to pieces every item you possess. Best
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to think you are bugged at all times. I only hope your body is still all
right."
"Want to find out?"
'That is not what I meant. Have you had any surgery or dental work done since
you came back from Scotland?"
"No, nothing."
"Then you must still be clean. They have put recording devices inside
bridgework, even implanted them in bones. They are very skilled."
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"This does very little for my morale." He pointed to the bottle of Malvern
water on the nightstand. "You wouldn't have a drop of whiskey to go with that,
would you?"
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