Free Keys to the Kingdom by Derek Fee Page B

isn’t it?’
    Burfield’s eyes seemed to bore into him. Worley smiled. ’It’s been awhile since you were in the field. It’s not all fun and games.’
    ‘No gin and tonics by the pool then,’ Burfield returned the smile.
    ‘Let me look at the file and I’ll get out of your hair.’
    ‘Firstly, Arthur, I want it clearly understood that I am not the enemy,’ Burfield sat back in his chair. ‘I’ve been mulling things over since yesterday and of course I’m willing to believe that you saw someone who closely resembled Gallagher in Riyadh. I’m bothered most by what this obsession does to you. If you’d seen how you looked yesterday through my eyes, you would have adopted a similar stance to mine. I simply will not allow one of my oldest and most trusted friends to destroy himself because thirty years ago his brother happened to get himself murdered in the ‘dirty war’ in Northern Ireland.’ Burfield was at his most affable. ‘Forget the Gallagher file and spend a few pleasant days in London before going back to the snake pit. It’s history. The last ball was bowled years ago. Let it stay buried.’
    ‘Let’s go look at the file,’ Worley said standing up.
    ‘If you insist,’ Burfield said. He rose slowly from behind his desk and set his rangy frame in motion in the direction of the door. ‘No need to go down to the vaults as in days of yore.’ He opened the door and ushered Worley through. ‘Must have cost a bloody fortune to put all the files on computer but the boffins had a field day.’ They strode along a corridor that seemed to stretch ahead forever. ‘You up to speed on computers or will you need one of the operators to help you.’
    ‘I think I can handle it myself, thanks very much.’
    ‘Good,’ Burfield stopped before an unmarked door on the corridor, slipped a plastic card into a security point and pushed the door open when the green light on the grey plastic panel illuminated.
    ‘I’ve organised a temporary password for you,’ Burfield said as he opened the door exposing a small office containing a desk on which stood a computer terminal and a printer. The only other piece of office furniture in the room was a chair.
    Worley had the distinct impression that the terminal had been specifically set up for him. He wondered whether Burfield had also organised the information within Gallagher’s file. God but he was becoming paranoid. Maybe Geoffrey was right and he was over-reacting to the sight of the Gallagher-like apparition in Riyadh. Perhaps it was all in his head. His thoughts cleared and he began to see how he must appear to Burfield. He looked at the machine standing on the table. This was the moment of truth. If he refused to switch on the computer he would be accepting that Patrick Joseph Gallagher was dead. It would also mean that he would be giving up forever any possibility of avenging Robert’s death. That was something that he could never do. If there were any chance, no matter how minutely small, that he could lay his hands on the man who had murdered his brother he was going to take that chance. If Gallagher were alive, he would pursue him with his last breath.
    Burfield watched Worley as he took his place in front of the computer and threw the switch that set the machine in operation. You poor demented fool, he said to himself as the screen brightened. If the hierarchy were ever to get wind of the waste of departmental resources on the quest for a dead man, then both he and Arthur would be on their way double quick. He was in the unenviable position of having to draw up a list of Middle East operatives who were to be made redundant. He had a certain loyalty to Arthur but the obsession with Gallagher was worrying. It was one thing to inaugurate a vendetta against an IRA terrorist but it was quite another to attempt to dredge up the terrorist’s body to satisfy one’s own delusion. The moment Arthur had switched on the computer he had in effect written his own