CHAPTER EIGHT
DUBLIN
Rogan checked that the English officers had no luggage, other than the briefcase Johnson was carrying, so he led the way. They ignored the doorway and walked past the airside wall of the terminal to a quiet car park situated at the rear of the main buildings.
A thin, youngish-looking man in casual clothes was smoking and lounging against the side of a metallic blue, somewhat used-looking, Ford Cortina 1600E. He straightened up and trod out his cigarette as he saw the three men approaching.
“All quiet, Tim?” Rogan asked as they got nearer.
“I’m not sure, Mike,” the man replied. “There’s been a Transit van pass the other side of the fence a couple of times. It could just be workmen, but I can’t be sure.”
“Any markings, registration number?” asked Rogan.
“No, plain
