“As, no doubt, did one or two of the other directors.”
“No doubt, but they will have made their calls on the premises. Fisher left the building, drove off in the direction of the docks and made his call from a telephone box outside a pub called the Lord Nelson.”
“Can’t say I know it.”
“That’s probably why he chose it. The call took less than a couple of minutes, and he was back at Barrington’s in time for lunch, before anyone would have noticed his absence.”
“I wonder why he felt it necessary to be so secretive about who he was calling?”
“Because of something the admiral said, which meant Fisher had to report to his backer immediately, and couldn’t risk being overheard.”
“Surely you don’t believe Fisher is involved in any way with the IRA?”
“Fisher no, but Don Pedro Martinez, yes.”
“Don Pedro who?”
“I think the time has come to tell you about the man Major Fisher represents, how my son Sebastian came across him and the significance of a Rodin statue called The Thinker. Then you’ll begin to understand what we’re up against.”
* * *
Three men boarded the Heysham ferry for Belfast later that evening. One carried a kitbag, one a briefcase and the other carried nothing. They were not friends, or even acquaintances. In fact, it was only their particular skills and beliefs that brought them together.
The voyage to Belfast usually took about eight hours, and during that time, most passengers try to grab some sleep; but not these three men. They made their way to the bar, purchased three pints of Guinness, one of the few things they had in common, and found seats on the top deck.
They agreed that the best time to carry out the job would be at around three in the morning, when most of the other passengers would be asleep, drunk or too exhausted to give a damn. At the appointed hour, one of them left the group, climbed over a chain with a sign warning Crew Only and noiselessly descended the companionway to the cargo deck. He found himself surrounded by large wooden crates, but it wasn’t difficult for him to locate the four he was looking for. After all, they were clearly stamped Harland and Wolff. With the aid of a claw hammer, he loosened all the nails on the blindside of the four crates, 116 of them. Forty minutes later, he rejoined his companions and told them everything was ready. Without another word, his two colleagues made their way down to the cargo deck.
The larger of the two men, who with cauliflower ears and a broken nose looked like a retired heavyweight boxer, possibly because he was, extracted the nails from the first box, then ripped off its wooden slats to reveal an electrical panel consisting of hundreds of red-, green- and blue-coated wires. It was destined for the bridge of the MV Buckingham, and was designed to allow the captain to keep in touch with every section of the ship, from the engine room to the galley. It had taken a group of specialist electrical engineers five months to construct this remarkable piece of machinery. It took a young postgraduate from Queen’s University Belfast, with a PhD in physics and a pair of pliers, twenty-seven minutes to dismantle it. He stood back to admire his handiwork, but only for a moment, before the pugilist shoved the slats from the side of the crate back into place. After checking that they were still alone, he got to work on the second crate.
It contained two bronze propellers that had been lovingly forged by a team of craftsmen in Durham. The workmanship had taken them six weeks, and they were rightly proud of the finished articles. The postgrad opened his briefcase, removed a bottle of nitric acid, unscrewed the top and poured the contents slowly into the grooves of the propellers. When the crate was opened later that morning, the propellers would look as if they were ready for the scrapyard, not for installation.
The contents of the third crate were what the young PhD had been most looking forward to seeing, and when his muscle-bound colleague levered off its side to reveal the prize, he was not disappointed. The Rolex navigational computer was the first of its kind, and would feature in all of Barrington’s promotional material, explaining to potential passengers why, when it came to safety, they should forsake all others in favor of the Buckingham. It only took him twelve minutes to transform the masterpiece from unique to obsolete.
The final crate contained a magnificent oak and brass ship’s wheel built in Dorset, which any captain would have been proud to stand behind on his bridge. The young man smiled. As time was running out and the wheel no longer served any purpose, he left it in its full glory.
Once his colleague had replaced the last of the wooden slats, the two of them returned to the top deck. If anyone had been unfortunate enough to disturb them during the past hour, they would have discovered why the former boxer had been nicknamed the “Destroyer.”
As soon as they reappeared, their colleague made his way back down the spiral staircase. Time was no longer on his side. With the aid of a handkerchief and a hammer, he carefully knocked every one of the 116 nails back into place. He was working on the final crate when he heard two blasts on the ship’s horn.
When the ferry docked alongside Donegall Quay in Belfast, the three men disembarked at fifteen-minute intervals, still unaware of each other’s names and destined never to meet again.
11
“LET ME ASSURE you, major, there are no circumstances in which I would ever consider doing business with the IRA,” said Don Pedro. “They’re nothing more than a bunch of murderous thugs, and the sooner they’re all locked up in Crumlin Road jail, the better it will be for all of us.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Fisher, “because if I thought you were making deals with those criminals behind my back, I’d have to resign immediately.”
“And that’s the last thing I want you to do,” protested Martinez. “Don’t forget, I see you as the next chairman of Barrington’s, and perhaps in the not-too-distant future.”
“But Buchanan isn’t expected to retire for some time.”
“It could be sooner if he felt he had to resign.”
“Why would he do that, when he’s just signed up for the biggest investment program in the company’s history?”
“Or the biggest turkey. Because if that investment proves to be an unwise one, after he put his reputation on the line to make sure the board backed him, there will be no one to blame but the man who proposed it, remembering that the Barrington family were against the whole idea in the first place.”
“Possibly. But the situation would have to get a lot worse before he’d consider resigning.”