'Bastards.'
He slid behind the wheel of the Datsun once more.
Waiting.
INTERVENTION
Portadown, Northern Ireland
As Doyle entered the office he was aware of three pairs of eyes upon him. He even saw a look approaching bewilderment on the face of Wilton, who then glanced across at Wetherby.
The Major nodded a greeting to Doyle, no less taken aback by the counter terrorist's appearance but having had the benefit of knowing what to expect.
They'd met before.
It had been in a Mayfair office that time, at the main Headquarters of the CTU, he guessed three or four years ago. The officer was surprised at how little Doyle had changed. He still wore a leather jacket, jeans and cowboy boots, his hair was a little longer if anything and there were the odd flecks of grey in his stubble. Otherwise, no change.
The scars were still there.
Not that Wetherby had expected them to have magically vanished during the intervening years, he just didn't remember quite how savage one or two of them were. At least those that he could see.
'Gentlemen, this is Sean Doyle, a member of the Counter Terrorist Unit,' the Major said and indicated a chair nearby, where Doyle sat down. The officer then introduced his two colleagues.
Doyle looked impassively at Wilton and Armstrong then reached inside his jacket for his cigarettes.
'It's still Major Wetherby then, I see,' said Doyle, lighting his cigarette. 'No promotion yet? Perhaps you're not brown-nosing enough.' He smiled.
'Still as insolent as ever, Doyle,' Wetherby said flatly. 'Some things never change.'
'All right, let's cut the bullshit, what do you want?' Doyle demanded. 'You didn't get me in here to talk about old times, did you?'
'These killings,' Wetherby said. 'The Sinn Fein men, the UVF and IRA members, you're aware of them?'
'I'd have to be pretty fucking stupid not to be.'
'Who do you think's behind them?' Wetherby asked.
Doyle looked directly at the officer.
'You're Army Intelligence, aren't you? I thought you were going to tell me.'
Wetherby didn't rise to the bait. 'I'm asking for your opinion.'
Doyle shrugged. 'Extremists on both sides,' he said, finally. 'Not everyone wanted peace out here.'
'Do you think the fighting's still going on then?' Armstrong wanted to know.
'Not like it was, of course not,' Doyle said dismissively. 'But that's not to say a few of the boyos don't still fancy a bit of a ruck between themselves. Some of the Unionists think this peace deal sold them down the river.'
'What do you think?' Wetherby insisted.
'About the peace settlement? I couldn't give a fuck one way or the other. Do you know what it's done for me? Put me out of a fucking job.' He smiled thinly and took a puff on his cigarette.
'You don't suspect the IRA or the UVF?' Wetherby enquired.
'I said extremists,' Doyle told him. 'It was never just those two, there were more splinter groups on both sides than you could count. Who knows, it could be some nutters on either side.'
Wetherby looked across at his colleagues.
'Look, what the fuck is this all about?' Doyle demanded. 'I want to know what it's got to do with me.'
'You worked for Army Intelligence before,' Wetherby said. 'You were very successful.'
'Don't tell me,' said Doyle laconically. 'You're going to give me a medal.'
Wetherby glared at him then continued. 'We need your help again, Doyle.'
'Why me?'
'As I said, you were successful before, you know your way around the whole country, not just this province.'
'Your parents were Irish, weren't they?' Wilton said.
'Yeah. So what?' Doyle rounded on him.
'You understand the mentality of these people, the ordinary people and the terrorists,' Wetherby
He slid behind the wheel of the Datsun once more.
Waiting.
INTERVENTION
Portadown, Northern Ireland
As Doyle entered the office he was aware of three pairs of eyes upon him. He even saw a look approaching bewilderment on the face of Wilton, who then glanced across at Wetherby.
The Major nodded a greeting to Doyle, no less taken aback by the counter terrorist's appearance but having had the benefit of knowing what to expect.
They'd met before.
It had been in a Mayfair office that time, at the main Headquarters of the CTU, he guessed three or four years ago. The officer was surprised at how little Doyle had changed. He still wore a leather jacket, jeans and cowboy boots, his hair was a little longer if anything and there were the odd flecks of grey in his stubble. Otherwise, no change.
The scars were still there.
Not that Wetherby had expected them to have magically vanished during the intervening years, he just didn't remember quite how savage one or two of them were. At least those that he could see.
'Gentlemen, this is Sean Doyle, a member of the Counter Terrorist Unit,' the Major said and indicated a chair nearby, where Doyle sat down. The officer then introduced his two colleagues.
Doyle looked impassively at Wilton and Armstrong then reached inside his jacket for his cigarettes.
'It's still Major Wetherby then, I see,' said Doyle, lighting his cigarette. 'No promotion yet? Perhaps you're not brown-nosing enough.' He smiled.
'Still as insolent as ever, Doyle,' Wetherby said flatly. 'Some things never change.'
'All right, let's cut the bullshit, what do you want?' Doyle demanded. 'You didn't get me in here to talk about old times, did you?'
'These killings,' Wetherby said. 'The Sinn Fein men, the UVF and IRA members, you're aware of them?'
'I'd have to be pretty fucking stupid not to be.'
'Who do you think's behind them?' Wetherby asked.
Doyle looked directly at the officer.
'You're Army Intelligence, aren't you? I thought you were going to tell me.'
Wetherby didn't rise to the bait. 'I'm asking for your opinion.'
Doyle shrugged. 'Extremists on both sides,' he said, finally. 'Not everyone wanted peace out here.'
'Do you think the fighting's still going on then?' Armstrong wanted to know.
'Not like it was, of course not,' Doyle said dismissively. 'But that's not to say a few of the boyos don't still fancy a bit of a ruck between themselves. Some of the Unionists think this peace deal sold them down the river.'
'What do you think?' Wetherby insisted.
'About the peace settlement? I couldn't give a fuck one way or the other. Do you know what it's done for me? Put me out of a fucking job.' He smiled thinly and took a puff on his cigarette.
'You don't suspect the IRA or the UVF?' Wetherby enquired.
'I said extremists,' Doyle told him. 'It was never just those two, there were more splinter groups on both sides than you could count. Who knows, it could be some nutters on either side.'
Wetherby looked across at his colleagues.
'Look, what the fuck is this all about?' Doyle demanded. 'I want to know what it's got to do with me.'
'You worked for Army Intelligence before,' Wetherby said. 'You were very successful.'
'Don't tell me,' said Doyle laconically. 'You're going to give me a medal.'
Wetherby glared at him then continued. 'We need your help again, Doyle.'
'Why me?'
'As I said, you were successful before, you know your way around the whole country, not just this province.'
'Your parents were Irish, weren't they?' Wilton said.
'Yeah. So what?' Doyle rounded on him.
'You understand the mentality of these people, the ordinary people and the terrorists,' Wetherby