Free Timewatch by Linda Grant

Francis hotel, Friday, June 19, 1992
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    Leaning forward in an armchair in the living room of his suite and jabbing a finger at the two men standing in front of him, Carlo yelled, “You told me there would be no problems!”
    Sean, the older of the two men, seemed unruffled by Carlo’s outburst. “The plan was good. We watched the Morgans go into the restaurant. Mick stayed with the car while I boarded the yacht. No problem getting the captain to let me on. I hid the bomb in a locker. It should have exploded.”
    â€œYou were sloppy!”
    His black eyes cold, Sean merely looked at him. “I am never sloppy,” he said.
    â€œThen what happened?”
    â€œThey must have discovered the bomb before they left the dock area. The yacht needed to accelerate before the mercury switch would cause the bomb to explode.”
    â€œI’m not interested in your excuses!” Carlo raged. “And you’re supposed to be the best—ex-IRA—I’m paying you enough to do the job right!”
    What was he going to say to Papa? His plans were ruined. Carlo remembered the time when he was six years old and had tripped over the cat and accidentally spilled hot coffee all over his father. Papa, his eyes burning like hellfire, shouted at him and raised his hand to hit him. Then Mama came in. Papa stopped shouting and acted as though nothing had happened. He didn’t even seem to care anymore about the spilled coffee, just turned away and waved his hand indifferently at Carlo. That had been the pattern of their relationship.
    After Mama died, no one had much time for him, certainly not Papa, who was always so busy.
    He thought constantly about his father. It was important to please him, but what could a small boy do for such a one? Only be ready to serve him instantly.
    And so he had grown up, hanging on to Papa’s every word.
    After Carlo’s expensive education at Harvard, Papa had allowed him to learn the business. “A sacred trust,” he’d called it.
    He had tried, really tried his best. But it was hard to win Papa’s approval.
    What would his father say about his failure to have the Morgans killed? Papa had been very clear: Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the task at hand. Nothing else mattered.
    Mick, the younger man standing next to Sean, shifted from one foot to another. A fox-faced runt with a pointy chin and nose, his none-too-clean clothes hung on his skinny frame, thought Carlo contemptuously. What a contrast to Sean, whose corded muscles showed that he obviously was familiar with the inside of a gym.
    â€œJust so we’re perfectly clear about this,” said Carlo. “You’ll have to try again or find another way to eliminate the Morgans—and it must be done within two days’ time!”
    â€œThe mechanic where the old guy gets his Lincoln serviced said that the car has to be cleaned and ready to go on Sunday. Maybe we could set something up for then.”
    Sean shot a disapproving look at Mick and said, “Forget it. We don’t have time to make another bomb and set it up properly.”
    Barely containing his rage, Carlo ordered, “Then find another way!”
    â€œThat wasn’t part of the deal. We did what we said we would do.” His ramrod-straight posture and glacial stare made Carlo realize that the man wasn’t going to change his mind.
    For a heartbeat the two men stared at each other. Then Carlo said petulantly as he stood up, “All right. Have it your way.”
    Sean nodded. “The money,” he said.
    Carlo went to the safe, took out a bulging envelope, and said as he handed it to Sean, “It’s all there.”
    Without counting the money, Sean took the envelope and put it into the pocket of his navy windbreaker. Then he and Mick walked out of the suite without speaking.
    Alone, finally, Carlo took a deep breath. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of rough stuff. He