The Marching Season by Daniel Silva Page B

financial state of the Society. He defended his decision to transform the organization from a mere catalyst for global instability into a full-time secret army. Yes, he had strayed from the original charter, but in a brief period he had managed to fill the Society’s coffers with millions of dollars in operating capital, money that could be put to good use.
    The members of the executive council broke into a round of polite boardroom applause. Seated around the table were arms merchants and defense contractors who faced dwindling markets, makers of chemical and nuclear technology who wanted to peddle their goods to the militaries of the Third World, and intelligence chiefs who faced shrinking budgets and diminishing power and influence in their capitals.
    For the next hour the Director guided a roundtable discussion on the state of global conflict. Indeed, it seemed the world was not cooperating with them. Yes, there was the odd civil war in West Africa, the Eritreans and Ethiopians were at it again, and South America continued to be ripe for exploitation. But the Middle East peace process, though strained, had failed to break down completely. The Iranians and Americans were talking about a rapprochement. Even the Protestants and Catholics of Northern Ireland seemed to be putting aside their differences.
    “Perhaps it’s time for us to make a few investments,” the Director said in conclusion, contemplating his hands as he spoke. “Perhaps it’s time for us to plow some of our capital back into the business. I think it’s incumbent on each and every one of us to look for opportunity wherever it can be found.”
    Again, applause and the ring of silver utensils against glasses interrupted him. When it died away he threw open the meeting for discussion.
    Rembrandt, one of the world’s principal manufacturers of small arms, cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps there’s some way we can help fan the flames in Northern Ireland.”
    The Director arched an eyebrow and picked at the seam of his trousers. He had dealt with Northern Ireland when he was with MI6. Like most members of the intelligence and security community, he considered the IRA a worthy opponent, a professional and disciplined guerrilla army. The Protestant paramilitaries had been something else altogether, mainly gangsters and thugs who waged a campaign of sheer terror against Catholics. But this new group, the Ulster Freedom Brigade, seemed different, and this intrigued him.
    “Northern Ireland was never a terribly lucrative conflict for people in my business,” Rembrandt continued, “simply because it was so small. What concerns me, though, is the message that the peace agreement sends to the rest of the world. If the Protestants and Catholics of Northern Ireland can learn to live in peace after four hundred years of bloodshed—well, you understand my point, Director.”
    “Actually, that message has already gone forth,” said Rodin, a senior officer in the French intelligence service. “The Basque separatist group ETA has declared a cease-fire in Spain. They say they were inspired by the peace in Northern Ireland.”
    “What are you suggesting, Rembrandt?” the Director asked.
    “Perhaps we could reach out to the Ulster Freedom Brigade, make an offer of assistance,” Rembrandt said. “If the past is any guide, it is probably a very small group, with little money and only a small stockpile of guns and explosives. If they are to continue their campaign, they’ll need a sponsor.”
    “Actually, I believe we may already have an opening,” said Monet.
    The Director and Monet had worked together against the Palestinian guerrillas who had turned London into a terrorist playground in the 1970s. Monet was Ari Shamron, chief of operations of the Israeli intelligence service, the Mossad.
    “Last month our assets in Beirut filed a report on a man named Gavin Spencer, an Ulsterman who came to Lebanon to buy guns. In fact he actually met with one of our