The Angel Tapes Read Free Page B

point; had the bomb exploded above ground, the destruction would have been enormous. Seven pounds of Semtex could have taken out an entire city block.
    Macken rubbed his chin. “Okay,” he said, “let’s say you’re right and that somebody managed to plant a bomb down there. When could they have done that? They’d have had to break the street open.” He looked about him at the broad thoroughfare: the traffic, the hundreds of Dubliners on foot, whose numbers, at this time of year, are swelled by a million tourists. “We’re talking about the main street of Dublin!”
    â€œIf it wasn’t broken open already,” Sweetman said.
    Duffy threw her a sharp look. “That’s exactly the theory we’re working on, Miss … er…?”
    â€œSweetman, sir. Detective Sergeant Sweetman of the Special Detective Unit.”
    â€œSweetman … Sweetman. Weren’t you in Mapping at one stage?”
    â€œI got promoted, sir. I’m assisting Superintendent Macken now, sir.”
    â€œI see. Well done, well done.” He turned to Blade. “We thought at first they might’ve planted it in a culvert—like they did in 1971—but there wasn’t any culvert there to begin with. We checked.”
    â€œSo you’re saying the bomb was planted when roadworks were being carried out?” Blade asked.
    Fitzpatrick nodded.
    â€œNow you know as well as I do that you can’t dig a hole in O’Connell Street any old time you feel like it; there are all sorts of procedures to go through. You have to get permission from Dublin Corporation for a start. So we reckon the bombers may have slipped the device under the street the last time somebody carried out repairs.”
    â€œAnd when would that have been?”
    â€œYou won’t believe this, Blade.” Captain Fitzpatrick looked sheepish.
    â€œWell?”
    The soldier licked his lips. “Your people have checked and double-checked. They’ve spoken to everybody: the electricity board, the gas company, the phone company, Road Maintenance—everybody.”
    â€œAnd…?”
    â€œTelecom Éireann were the last to go near it, Blade. Five years ago, almost to the day.”

Two
    â€œIf it’s not the perfect crime,” Blade declared, “then it comes pretty close. If it’d been a car bomb, we might have some chance of tracing who planted it. You know as well as I do that it’s pretty hard to cover your tracks these days when you’re handling high explosives.”
    He paused and sipped water from a tumbler; the thirst was getting to him.
    â€œBut this thing,” he continued, “was planned so far in advance that the trail must be ice-cold by now. The bomber, or bombers—and I prefer to think of it as the work of a group; I can’t see how one man could have carried it off—the bombers don’t know who the victim is going to be. I mean, five years ago they could’ve had no idea. They plant a massive device under a section of roadway that’ll be used by a visiting statesman eleven days from now—”
    â€œJust a minute, Detective Superintendent,” Duffy said. “Aren’t we jumping to conclusions here? There’s no evidence so far that the two are connected.”
    Blade leaned against the wall of the conference hall on the fourth floor of Block One at Harcourt Square, and shoved his fists deep in his trouser pockets. He hated when Duffy did this. Blade was fond of the assistant commissioner—he wouldn’t be heading up the Special Detective Unit if it hadn’t been for Duffy—but the man could not delegate responsibility. He put you in charge of an investigation, yet shoved his oar in at every turn; he couldn’t let go. This was the fourth time he’d interrupted in as many minutes.
    Blade sighed and looked around the big room. They’d called in every available Special Branch