Scriostóir - 7

As Cerdic walked into the room the two men sitting in deep discussion at a table looked up. One of them nodded slightly before returning to what he had been talking about with his companion.

“Trouble in paradise?” Cerdic asked, lifting an eyebrow as he joined them.

“We have the plans in place, however my esteemed colleague here seems to be having second thoughts on the wisdom of implementing them at this time,” the man who had nodded when Cerdic arrived explained, his accent thickening as he spoke.

Cerdic turned to the other man, letting a trace of an Irish brogue color his speech. “If we are to accomplish our aims we must strike while the iron is hot. To put it off, even for a week, will weaken what we are trying to accomplish.”

“Aye, that’s the truth, I know, but my people—“

“Need your strong hand at the helm to make them move. If you waver they will know you are not the man they think you are. Is that what you want? Think of the power you will have once this has been done.”

The man nodded pensively, fingering the lapel of his well-cut suit. Finally he said, “I must leave, now. There is a flight out soon that I need to be on.” He smiled tightly as he stood, raising his hand in salute. “Watch the news tomorrow,” he stated firmly before walking quickly from the room.

Once he’d left, the other man shook his head. “I don’t know how you managed that, Donall. I have been arguing with him for the last hour to no avail.”

Cerdic gave him a knowing smile. “It’s all in the tone of voice I think. I brook no argument when it comes to accomplishing our aims. Now,” his voice hardened, “you are to go after him to be certain he makes his flight. If he does not you are to eliminate him and if possible make it seem as if the Brits are responsible.”

“Then what, if that happens?” the man asked even as he headed to the door.

“You will meet with his people and make quite certain things move forward as planned.”

The man nodded sharply before leaving. Cerdic’s smile was vicious as he stepped across the room to the window, arriving just in time to see the first man step into a car that was sitting at the curb. As it pulled away, the second man came into view. He got into a car parked a few yards from the front door of the building. Seconds later he was skillfully following the other car.

“Perfect,” Cerdic murmured to himself as he made a phone call that would send the first man off on a wild goose chase, thus setting into motion Cerdic’s secondary plan, the killing, apparently by British Intelligent forces, of a known RIRA agent in the country on a peaceful mission. “And that should keep the pot boiling,” he remarked as he hung up and strode purposefully from the room.