Confessional by Jack Higgins Page B

the corner reading a newspaper. He was well dressed, a fawn raincoat open revealing a well-cut suit of dark blue, white shirt and a blue and red striped tie. He was handsome enough with a mobile, intelligent mouth and blue eyes. Hard to believe that this rather pleasant-looking man had featured on the British Army's most wanted list for almost thirteen years.

'Ah, Captain Fox,' Martin McGuiness said affably. 'Nice to see you again.'

'But we've never met,' Fox said.

'Deny, 1972.,' McGuiness told him. 'You were a cornet, isn't that what you call second lieutenants in the Blues and Royals? There was a bomb in a pub in Prior Street. You were on detachment with the Military Police at the time.'

'Good God!' Fox said. 'I remember now.'

'The whole street was ablaze. You ran into a house next to the grocer's shop and brought out a woman and two kids. I was on the flat roof opposite with a man with an Armalite rifle who wanted to put a hole in your head. I wouldn't let him. It didn't seem right in the circumstances.'

For a moment, Fox felt rather cold. 'You were in command in Derry for the IRA at that time.'

McGuiness grinned. 'A funny old life, isn't it? You shouldn't really be here. Now then, what is it that old snake, Ferguson, wants you to discuss with me?'

So Fox told him.

When he was finished McGuiness sat there brooding, hands in the pockets of his raincoat, staring across the Liffey. After a while, he said, 'That's Wolfe Tone Quay over there, did you know that?'

'Wasn't he a Protestant?' Fox asked.

'He was so. Also one of the greatest Irish patriots there ever was.'

He whistled tunelessly between his teeth. Fox said, 'Do you believe me?'

'Oh, yes,' McGuiness said softly. 'A devious bloody lot, the English, but I believe you all right and for one very simple reason. It fits, Captain, dear. All those hits over the years, the shit that's come our way because of it and sometimes internationally. I know the times we've not been responsible and so does the Army Council. The thing is, one always thought it was the idiots, the cowboys, the wild men.' He grinned crookedly. 'Or British Intelligence, of course. It never occurred to any of us that it could have been the work of one man. A deliberate plan.'

'You've got a few Marxists in your own organization, haven't you?' Fox suggested. The kind who might see the Soviets as Saviour.'

'You can forget that one.' Anger showed in McGuiness's blue eyes for a moment. 'Ireland free and Ireland for the Irish. We don't want any Marxist pap here.'

'So, what happens now? Will you go to the Army Council?'

'No, I don't think so. I'll talk to the Chief of Staff. See what he thinks. After all, he's the one that sent me. Frankly, the fewer people in on this, the better.'

'True.' Fox stood up. 'Cuchulain could be anyone. Maybe somebody close to the Army Council itself.'

'The thought had occurred to me.' McGuiness waved and the man in the reefer coat moved out from under the tree. 'Murphy will take you back to the Westbourne now. Don't go out. I'll be in touch.'

Fox walked a few paces away, paused and turned. 'By the way, that's a Guards tie you're wearing.'

Martin McGuiness smiled beautifully. 'And didn't I know it? Just trying to make you feel at home, Captain Fox.'

Fox dialled Ferguson from a phone booth in the foyer of the Westbourne so that he didn't have to go through the hotel

switchboard. The Brigadier wasn't at the flat, so he tried the private line to his office at the Directorate-General and got through to him at once.

'I've had my preliminary meeting, sir.'

'That was quick. Did they send McGuiness?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Did he buy it?'

'Very much so, sir. He'll be back in touch, maybe later tonight.'

'Good. I'll be at the flat within the hour. No plans to go out. Phone me the moment you have more news.'

Fox showered, then changed and went downstairs to the bar again. He had another small Scotch and water and sat there, thinking about things for a while and of McGuiness in