The Marching Season

next time you try to convince one of our men to betray the IRA and his people."
    Maguire said, "Michael, is that you?"
    Michael moved forward carefully, slipping between Maguire 's tormentors and kneeling at his side. He knew there was nothing he could say, so he just wiped some of the blood from his eyes and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
    "I'm sorry, Kevin," Michael said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "My God, I'm so sorry!"
    "It's not your fault, Michael," Maguire whispered. He paused
    172 Daniel Silva
    for a moment because the effort required to speak caused him more pain. "It's this place. I told you. Nothing's going to change here. Nothing's ever going to change in this place."
    Devlin stepped forward and took Michael's arm, pulling him away. He walked Michael back outside. "That's the real world in there," Devlin said. "I didn't kill Kevin Maguire. You killed him."
    Michael spun and punched Devlin. The blow landed high on his left cheekbone and sent him sprawling into the mud. Devlin just laughed and rubbed his face. A pair of men came running out of the house. Devlin waved them away.
    "Not bad, Michael. Not bad at all."
    "Get him a priest," Michael said, breathing hard. "Let him have his last confession. Then put a bullet in him. He's suffered enough."
    "He'll get his priest," Devlin said, still rubbing his face. "And I'm afraid he'll get his bullet too. But remember one thing. If you and your British mates don't stop the Ulster Freedom Brigade, this place will blow. If that happens, don't try to penetrate us, because the fucking tout will end up just like Maguire."
    They drove for a very long time. Michael tried to keep track of the turns so he might find the farm again, but after a while he just closed his eyes and tried to rest. Finally, the car stopped. Someone hammered on the trunk and said, "Is your fucking hood on?"
    "Yes," Michael answered. He had no strength left for mental games, and he wanted to be away from them. Two men lifted him out and laid him in the wet grass bordering the roadway. A moment later they placed something next to him.
    "Leave the hood on until you can't hear the car engine anymore."
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    Michael sat up as they drove off. He ripped away his hood, hoping to catch a glimpse of the identification number, but they had doused the lights. Then he turned to see what they had placed next to him and found himself staring into the lifeless face of Kevin Maguire.
    19
    LONDON
    "They obviously followed you to the meeting," Wheaton said, with the certainty of a man who never permitted the facts to get in the way of his theory, especially if it resolved things in his favor.
    "I engaged in a thorough SDR, totally by the book," Michael said. "I was clean. They followed Maguire to the meeting, not me. That's why he passed on the first two sites—because he suspected he was being watched. I only wish he'd had the good sense to trust his instincts. He'd still be alive."
    Michael was sitting at a table in the small private kitchen of Winfield House. It was early evening, nearly twenty-four hours since the IRA had snatched him from the streets of Belfast. They had dumped him outside the village of Dromara. Michael had had no choice but to leave Maguire's body by the roadside and get as far away as he could as quickly as possible. He had walked
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    to Banbridge, a Protestant town southeast of Portadown, and flagged down a delivery truck. He told the driver he had been robbed and beaten and that his car had been stolen. The driver was bound for Belfast but said he would be willing to take Michael to the RUC station in Banbridge to file a report. Michael said he would prefer to get back to his hotel in Belfast and file a report there. After arriving at the Europa in Belfast, Michael awakened Wheaton in London. Wheaton made the necessary calls to his British counterparts and arranged for an RAF helicopter to collect Michael from Aldergrove Airport.
    "You haven't been operational in the field for a long time, Michael," Wheaton said. "Maybe you missed something."
    "You're suggesting that I got Kevin Maguire killed?"
    "You're the only case officer that was there."
    "I remember how to spot surveillance. I remember the parameters for making a meeting or passing on one. Devlin said they'd known Maguire was working for us for months."
    "Seamus Devlin is not exactly a source I trust."
    "He knew Buchanan's name."
    "Maguire probably gave it to him under