Acts of Allegiance

by Peter Cunningham

  ‘We need to talk, chum,’ my caller said.

  Heavy rain blurred my windscreen near the ferry port in Dún Laoghaire, so that I never saw him until the door opened.

  ‘D’you know what I’m going to do when I retire?’

  His outer coat was sodden and his hair, still showing traces of its former russetness, was plastered across his head. ‘Live in bloody Spain, that’s what. Or the Canaries. Or Gibraltar. Or some other bloody place where the sun shines. God, I just hate the weather in these parts, don’t you?’

  ‘Sometimes. But then there are days down in the south-east, out on the mountains, even in weather like this, when it’s quite beautiful.’

  ‘Of course, I’d forgotten you’re a toff, Marty. Blue blood and all that pack-drill. You chaps never feel the cold.’

  He played such a convoluted game, Vance, flattering me, or so he thought, as if life had always to be represented other than what it really was. In outline, his nose looked bigger and more curved than I had remembered, his eyelashes even longer and silkier, like feminine props to his thickset face. I assumed he had come in by ferry, but knew better than to ask him.

  ‘How do you feel, chum?’

  ‘Perfectly fine.’

  ‘Because if you didn’t, I would have concerns.’

  ‘For whom?’

  He laughed quietly. ‘Good question. Family well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Yours?’

  ‘Tip-top actually. I’m sure it’s the same over here, but the cost of education in England is scandalous. It was the same in our day, I dare say. Thirty quid a term and still my old man was always in arrears. I knew it too, which made it worse, so I used to spin the school a yarn about how he was really working in the diplomatic service and that he was abroad a lot, which was why he hadn’t paid. Funny, isn’t it? I ended up living in my yarn.’

  He had wanted to meet a month earlier but I had put him off; I had needed time to make a rational decision. My position was made no easier by the fact that I could not allow Sugar to see the extent of my grief, or speak to her, or to anyone, of how bereft I felt for the loss of someone who had been so important to me. I pined all day, every day, for Alison. And I had become consumed by the need to respond on her behalf.

  ‘How is her family?’

  ‘There is of course a decent pension with benefits that will accrue to them,’ Vance began, frowning. ‘Otherwise … ’ A squall blew in from sea and rattled the car. ‘The night after it happened, the Provos partied into the small hours. For them, it was like winning the Grand National,’ he said.

  Feelings of loathing I had never known surged in me. ‘How did they learn the route from the airport?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  ‘They were tipped off by some patriot or other working in your Gardaí,’ Vance said. ‘Sadly, the capacity to block radio signals such as the one that triggered the bomb, hasn’t reached here yet.’

  Strange when the future is laid out so clearly, as it was then.

  ‘I take it there’s no doubt. I mean, about his involvement.’

  ‘None whatsoever, chum. The ordnance was the same as he has used before. Czechoslovakian Semtex that came in here via Libya, ball-bearings, American transistors, you name it. He might as well have left a note. He’s become quite the celebrity up there, you know.’ Vance wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Alison hated the little bugger.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure it was him.’

  ‘It was their south Armagh specialist. His name is Ignatius Kane.’

  During MI5’s post-mortem of the failed Armagh operation, two years before, someone would have, at the very least, raised the possibility that I had tipped off Iggy. Film footage may have been available. If a decision had been reached that I was the real culprit, then Vance would now regard me as expendable. On the other hand, if that was the position, would Alison not have warned me?

  ‘A simple question, Vance.’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to become involved?’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘If I don’t want to help you bring this to a conclusion.’

  Vance’s nose twitched. ‘Is there any point in such a discussion?’

  Rain corrugated the car’s windows.

  ‘Basically,’ he said, ‘one chooses one’s chums for the long haul. Over the years, both sides benefit from the arrangement, even flourish from it. Give and take and all that. Intimacies are exchanged in an atmosphere of mutual trust. Each of us learns hush-hush things about the other side. Then, one day, and this always crops up, something really bad happens that leads one chum to make a big demand on the other.’ From his sleeve, like a conjurer, he withdrew a green handkerchief and attended to his nose. ‘Except, in our line of work, the friendship can never end, if you get my drift. Too many intimacies, too much hush-hush to let go walkabout, so to speak. We just have to keep going, best we can, as if always preparing for the next step. The defining moment really.’

  I had not expected to be told anything else, but was curious, nonetheless, to hear my position laid out so starkly.

  ‘This is very close to home,’ I said. ‘They may rumble me.’

  ‘Any reasons for saying that? Beyond normal apprehension, of course?’

  ‘Just a feeling,’ I said. ‘Bill O’Neill, for example.’

  ‘Ah, Mr O’Neill.’

  ‘He’s been acting strangely.’

  He had, too, ever since the Provos had come to the gates of Dublin. As he got older, Bill had become more self-preoccupied, more introverted, not just with me but with everyone in our section. He and I seldom chatted informally now, or exchanged gossip.

  ‘We know to our cost that within your Gardaí there are officers with strong republican leanings, particularly men stationed along the border,’ Vance was saying. ‘It is impossible that their true allegiances are not known to some in Dublin. These officers are more than tolerated, is how I would put it. Yet your name never arises. And it would do so, were it in the general mix, so to speak. And if it were, then Mr O’Neill would be involved. But he isn’t. In other words, we don’t believe you have a problem.’

  ‘What do you hear otherwise about O’Neill?’

  ‘That not far beneath the surface is an unbendable republican.’

  ‘And yet I’m safe?’

  ‘Yes, we’re sure of it.’

  ‘That operation in Armagh was a stupid error,’ I said, pushing it out. ‘It was idiotic.’

  Vance’s eyebrows rose fractionally. ‘By which you mean—?’

  ‘An idiotic error by your people, Vance. Look what happened. It should never have been attempted. It was incompetent.’

  I watched him closely, for surely if I had become expendable he would not be able to resist a flicker of disdain for my brazenness. Instead, he said, ‘Look, this will be very different. We have a plan, of which you will be informed, when the moment comes, and although it will not be easy, it will succeed.’

  ‘What do you mean by succeed? At whose expense?’

  Vance sighed. ‘We’re not going to throw you to the wolves, Marty.’

  ‘They will suspect me.’

  ‘Of course, which makes you absolutely perfect for the task.’

  I knew then that these people were far cleverer than I would ever be, and that by choosing them as my allies, years before, I had placed my life in a brace from which it could never escape.

  ‘But it goes without saying that you should always be concerned,’ Vance went on. ‘And so, even though we would never knowingly put you in harm’s way, yes, of course, we have procedures. A plan. In the event of. The plan is we get you out. That has always been a given. That’s what friends are for.’

  ‘When you say get me out …?’

  ‘We’re talking tiny percentage chances, but yes, a complete identity package in a new location for you, Sugar, the two children. Somewhere they’ll never find you, and believe me, we know what we’re doing. Within the UK
sometimes works. So do Australia and Canada. Big countries, full of strangers moving in and out. Perfect.’

  It was bizarre to think that a parallel life had been created for me and my family and that it had stood by, waiting to be used, all these years.

  ‘So, shall we proceed?’ he said.

  I sighed. ‘I’m going to guess how you’ve decided to flush him.’

  Vance glanced at me and for a brief moment his expression was that of the cheeky boy I’d known twenty-five years before.

  ‘You’re going to use his sick daughter,’ I said.

  ‘My word. Quite the old operator you’ve become, chum.’

  10

  WATERFORD

  December 1976

  Georgie, at seven, was already turning into a gorgeous version of her mother. She was going to be taller than Sugar, with her mother’s nose and fleeting expressions, her sideways glances and her little smiles that left me helpless. She and I went to eleven o’clock mass in the cathedral the Sunday before Christmas. I was a fraud in religion as I was in so many other aspects of my life: I believed in nothing, yet clung to the prayers like a character actor fitting in once again to a familiar part.

  ‘I’m going to have a drink with Mr Gillece,’ I said to Georgie as we walked back to the car. ‘I’ll be no more than twenty minutes.’

  Unlike the previous operation, when I had baulked, this time I felt no visceral hesitation, no call from the walking dead. This time I was briefed and ready. Broad Street was strewn with litter. Outside Bobby’s Bar, empty beer crates were stacked ten high. I was led by a teenage barman through the thick smoke of the pub and into the hall of the house as Bobby emerged from an understairs nook he used as an office. He slammed shut the door of this tiny room and steered me to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s bad,’ he said grimly. ‘He was on last night, in a desperate state. The baby is too weak to operate on; she’s on oxygen. They say it’s terrible to watch.’

  ‘God help them.’

  ‘They can’t even bring her home for Christmas, and, of course, he’s only seen her once in the last four or five weeks; it’s just too dangerous for him. Those bastards are only waiting for him to show himself.’ Bobby began to pound the table with his fist until I thought he would injure himself. ‘I mean, is there no decency? Even during wars in the fucking Middle Ages they allowed safe passage in these kinds of situations.’

  Over his shoulder I could see the faces out at the bar, local merchants I recognised, pushing forward, as they called out their orders.

  ‘Can she not be moved to a hospital down here?’ I asked and felt a spike of unwanted hope.

  ‘She could, but we don’t have the equipment or the know-how. She’s in the best hands she can possibly be in.’ Irony was not something Bobby was attuned to. ‘I’m going up there. To give them support.’

  ‘A great idea.’

  ‘I mean, we’re all he has at the end of the day.’ He looked at me narrowly. ‘We could go up together.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, Bobby.’

  ‘Come on! We’d be up and down in no time!’

  ‘You know, after our last visit … ’

  My arm was grabbed. ‘Come with me. Come with me and, even though we may not meet him, the fact that we came up to see his child will mean a lot at a time like this.’

  ‘I’d like to, Bobby, I really would, but, you know, under the circumstances, given my job and Iggy’s problems—’

  ‘All the more reason for you to come with me!’ Bobby cried. ‘Come on!’

  I felt a vicarious pride for Vance’s perspicacity. ‘When had you in mind?’

  ‘As soon as possible. The child is dying.’

  ‘How long has she got?’

  Bobby’s vein-ruptured cheeks filled out into little balloons. ‘From what he told me, she’ll hardly see in the New Year.’

  On Christmas Eve Bobby and I were both in Wise’s grocery, attending to final shopping items.

  ‘I was expecting a call from you,’ I said.

  Bobby coughed at length. ‘They’re in chaos. Iggy’s in a bad way; he thinks he’s not going to see the child again. I spoke to Jennifer. They’re trying to see if they can arrange it so that he sees her over Christmas.’

  ‘Are we going up?’

  Bobby’s little eyes blinked defensively. ‘I was told not to tell anyone until the night before.’

  ‘If I’m going, you’d better tell me,’ I said.

  ‘Stephen’s Day,’ Bobby said and wiped his nose. ‘I’ve told Kate I’m going to Leopardstown races.’

  Instead of driving home directly with our smoked ham, wine and a crate of tangerines, I drove to the crown of the city, to the warren of streets around Ballybricken, and parked at a corner for thirty minutes. It was dark and a fog had stolen in from the river. When I was sure I had not been followed, or observed, I got out and walked fifty yards to a public call box. I dialled the long number and pressed button A. My coins fell noisily.

  ‘December twenty-sixth,’ I said and hung up.

  But on the following evening, which was Christmas Day, Auntie Kate called to say that Bobby was in bed with a temperature of a hundred and four, and that I was to go to Leopardstown races on my own.

  11

  NEWRY, COUNTY ARMAGH

  Saint Stephen’s Day 1976

  I have often reflected during these past years, when I have had more than ample time for reflection, on what happened next.

  That Saint Stephen’s Day was Emmet’s fourteenth birthday and we had all been invited to a lawn meet at Main, a local tradition of some importance, at which the Santrys’ hospitality was once more on offer to the locality. Sugar was disappointed when I told her that I was going to the races. ‘On your son’s birthday?’

  ‘I’ll be back later.’

  ‘You’re not turning into the Captain, are you?’ she asked.

  As I set out and began to crawl northwards on an icy road, the towns and villages I passed through seemed deserted, or dead. In County Kildare, drenched horses stood with hindquarters to the wind in slanting drizzle. There were several occasions when I almost lost my nerve. At traffic lights in Dublin, I may even have made the decision to turn around, but then the lights went green and I drove on. What did I owe to Vance and his like compared to the fond memories of my childhood that would always endure for me? I didn’t have to do this, I kept telling myself. I could easily have telephoned a number and called off the operation that was already in motion. My day could indeed have been spent at the races; I could have been the Captain for the afternoon; I would still have been home in time for Emmet’s birthday party. In those dreamy moments when we all fantasise about living our lives again, of going back in time with the advantage of foreknowledge, I have asked myself a hundred times what I would have done differently that day, and I have always come to the same conclusion. Nothing. Bring me back in time, I say to the God I once believed in, bring me back and I would do it all over again.

  Snow lay in thin ridges in the car park. I counted six other cars and a boxy blue Ford van, all of them with Northern Ireland registrations. The noon-day Angelus was ringing out over Newry as I hurried into the hospital.

  Christmas decorations were everywhere in the empty lobby. Behind a raised reception counter a man was reading a book. When I coughed, he looked up. His bald head was startlingly white and elliptical.

  ‘The hospital is closed.’

  ‘The door was open.’

  ‘It’s Christmas. Everyone’s been sent home; there’s no one here.’

  ‘I’ve come to visit a sick child. Jenny Kane. I’ve come a long way.’

  Large, round eyes bestowed his face with qualities of childlike innocence. He put down his book.

  ‘We’re officially closed,’ he said, picking up a phone. ‘Who shall I tell them?’

  ‘Uncle Marty.’

  He dialled, spoke quietly, replaced the receiver. ‘If you’d like to take a seat.’

  Low-slung, tweed-upholstered a
rmchairs with wooden arms overlooked the car park. In Leopardstown, they would be drinking hot toddies. Where had the old days gone, when nothing more than a betting coup was at stake? I heard lift doors trundling open and then a young man with a flaming beard was walking towards me. His dark polo neck and anorak were somehow instantly sinister.

  ‘I’m Ted Junior, Uncle Marty. Remember me?’

  A packet of Marlboros appeared in his hands as he sat and we both lit up. ‘You’ve come alone.’

  ‘Bobby sends his best wishes, but unfortunately—’

  ‘I know, Kate called. It’s bad luck on him over Christmas and all. But you’re well, Uncle Marty?’

  ‘We’re all feeling for you. How is little Jenny?’

  ‘Baby Jenny’s dying. She’s been anointed twice, the last time just this morning. She’s going straight to heaven.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘She’s an example to all of us. She gives us the strength to go on. She makes us brave.’

  He was not quite as tall as me, but he was broad in the shoulders. When he spoke, he had a way of smiling briefly, and it took me a few moments to work it out: he was the image of Uncle Ted, my uncle.

  ‘How are her parents?’

  ‘Jennifer’s here, of course, she’s not left little Jenny’s bedside for a month. Iggy’s the problem.’ His smile beamed for an instant from his beard. ‘He can’t risk coming here to see his little girl. It’s the reality. We understand the reality. We created it.’

  ‘I wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘Your being here means a lot. A lot to Iggy.’

  ‘I can only try to imagine how he feels.’

  ‘Angry at the beginning, but better now. We talk to him every night, bring him Polaroids, he sends her in his carved wooden animals.’

  ‘That’s lovely.’

  He ground out his cigarette. ‘Would you like to see her?’

  ‘I don’t want to intrude.’

  ‘You’re part of our family, Uncle Marty.’