The Marching Season

binds us, and we will renew the commitment to peaceful change in Northern Ireland."
    Douglas Cannon sat off to the side with a group of senior White House and State Department aides who would take part in the talks. He joined in the polite applause.
    "Last month a group of Loyalist thugs—the so-called Ulster
    338 Daniel Silva
    Freedom Brigade—tried to assassinate the American ambassador to Great Britain, my old friend and colleague Douglas Cannon," Beckwith continued. "It was truly the last gasp by those who wish to deal with Northern Ireland's problems with violence rather than compromise. If anyone doubts our commitment to peace, I ask them to consider one thing: Ambassador Douglas Cannon is here today, and the Ulster Freedom Brigade is but a bad memory."
    Beckwith turned, smiled at Douglas, and began to applaud. Gerry Adams, David Trimble, Bertie Ahern, and Robin Cook joined in, as did the rest of the assembled crowd.
    "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have work to do," Beckwith said.
    He turned away from the podium and, with arms extended, shepherded the politicians into the Oval Office, ignoring the shouted questions of the White House press corps.
    When Douglas returned to the house on N Street late that afternoon, Michael and Elizabeth were waiting for him.
    "How did it go?" Michael asked.
    "Better than expected. Now that the Ulster Freedom Brigade has been neutralized, Gerry Adams thinks the IRA will seriously consider decommissioning."
    "What does 'decommissioning' mean?" Elizabeth asked.
    "It means giving up their weapons and breaking up their terrorist cells and command structure."
    Michael said, "The CIA estimates that the IRA alone has stockpiled a hundred tons of rifles and two and a half tons of Semtex. And then there are the Protestant terrorist groups. That's why it's so important to keep the momentum of the peace process moving in the right direction."
    "The Protestants and the Catholics have made remarkable
    The Marching Season 339
    progress in a short period of time, but the peace process could very easily collapse. And if it does, I'm afraid the violence will be unprecedented." Douglas looked at his watch. "Now the fun begins. The Sinn Fein reception at the Mayflower, the Ulster Unionist reception at the Four Seasons, and the British reception at the embassy."
    "What the hell is that?" Elizabeth said as they changed clothes for the receptions.
    "It's a high-powered Browning automatic with a fifteen-shot clip."
    Michael slipped the gun into a shoulder holster and pulled on his suit jacket.
    "Why are you carrying a gun?"
    "Because it makes me feel good."
    "Daddy is going to have a DSS agent with him the entire time tonight."
    "You can never be too cautious."
    "Is there something you're not telling me?"
    "I'll just feel better when your father is back in London surrounded by a bunch of marines and Special Branch detectives who can hit an assassin between the eyes at a hundred paces."
    He smoothed the front of his jacket.
    "How do I look?"
    "Lovely." She pulled on her dress and turned her back to him. "Zip me up. We're late."
    At the Embassy Row hotel, Delaroche removed his headphones. He quickly broke down the monitors and receivers and placed
    340 Daniel Silva
    them into the duffel bag. He slipped the Beretta 9-millimeter into a shoulder holster and stood in front of the mirror, inspecting his appearance. He wore a gray single-breasted business suit of American design, a white shirt, and a striped tie. Attached to his right ear was a clear plastic wire of the type used by security officers the world over.
    He studied his face, staring into his own eyes, and said, "Diplomatic Security, ma'am. We have an emergency." It was the flat American accent of the actor on the English-language tapes Delaroche had studied at sea. He repeated the phrase several more times, until he felt completely at ease.
    Rebecca emerged from the bathroom. She wore a tailored two-piece suit and black stockings. Delaroche handed her a loaded Beretta and two extra clips, which she slipped into a black shoulder bag.
    He had left the Volvo on Twenty-second Street, just off Massachusetts Avenue. There was a parking ticket beneath the wiper. Delaroche dropped the ticket in the gutter and climbed behind the wheel.
    The limousine stopped in front of the Mayflower Hotel on Connecticut Avenue. A uniformed doorman opened the door, and Douglas, Michael, Elizabeth, and a DSS agent climbed out. They entered the hotel and walked along the