Free The Angel Tapes by David M. Kiely Page B

interesting, then I want to know what that something is before Macken does. Is that clear?”
    He stood up.
    â€œWe’ll keep the units intact, we’ll operate in twos. Mr. Jones and I will work alone, for the most part. He has his job to do, I have mine. I’ll be covering Macken, so I’ll be closest to the top.”
    â€œWhat about the tape, Mr. Redfern?”
    â€œIt’s in good hands, Mr. Sachs. We’ve two secure Unix mainframes in Langley working on it, plus the Crays in Canaveral and the Pentagon. I’m hopeful.”
    â€œOne more thing, Mr. Redfern,” Coburn said. “Are we carrying?”
    Redfern laughed without humor.
    â€œNo, Mr. Coburn, we are not; not for the time being. The White House doesn’t like it, and the Micks are paranoid about guns. But I promise you this: As soon as we’ve got something to shoot at, you’ll be the first to know.”

Nine
    Jim Roche kissed Joan Macken on the cheek, dumped his briefcase in the hall and went straight to the drinks cabinet in the front room. It had been a long—but fruitful—Saturday. He poured himself three fingers of brandy, drank half quickly, and eased himself into the club chair. Joan squirted soda water into her own glass and lit a cigarette.
    â€œYou know Charlie Nolan?” Roche asked.
    She nodded, although it was a rhetorical question. Roche swirled the gold liquid around in his glass, enjoying a childlike fascination with the way a shaft of evening sun caused the brandy to glow as if with an inner light.
    â€œWell, there’s something going on there. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s bloody queer.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘queer’?”
    â€œWell, I suppose you heard about the burglary at Don Delahunt’s house?”
    Joan tossed her mane of thick, heavy hair. It was prematurely gray but she’d never considered having anything done about that. Her friends assured her that it suited her, and she agreed with them.
    â€œYou mean her ladyship’s jewels? Who hasn’t heard about it? Sure didn’t the papers pester us with nothing else for days on end.”
    She drained her glass and helped herself to another soda water. “Can I top you up?”
    Roche passed her his brandy glass. “Apparently Duffy’s put Nolan onto it and he isn’t too pleased about that. I had him on the line today and he did nothing but moan for the best part of twenty minutes. Jesus, sometimes I wonder about that man.”
    â€œOh, why’s that?”
    Roche studied his glass.
    â€œAh, I don’t know. He’s fifty-five if he’s a day—due for retirement in a couple of years—but you’d swear sometimes you were dealing with a bleeding six-year-old.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    â€œWell, for a start, there’s this thing with him and Macken.”
    â€œSure that’s been going on for years, Jim. Charlie Nolan’ll go to his grave still giving out about Duffy.”
    â€œYeah, well, it was bloody stupid of Duffy to put them both in charge of the one unit; they squabble like a pair of Kilkenny cats most of the time. If he’d done the sensible thing now and given Merrigan’s job to Nolan—”
    â€œOr Blade.”
    â€œHmm, well I won’t comment on that. Gerry Merrigan always thought that Nolan was the best man for the job. He told me so loads of times. He never trusted Macken; not after the accident.”
    Joan put her glass on the table and sat down opposite Roche.
    â€œWhat really did happen, Jim? Do you know? Blade would never talk about it.”
    Roche laughed bitterly.
    â€œI’m not surprised. Sure wasn’t he the one partly responsible in the first place? If Macken’d had his shagging wits about him that day, instead of going out on the job half-sloshed, then it never would’ve happened.”
    â€œAre you sure? I mean about the half-sloshed? I know he