UMTATA

  The IRA’s business interests continued to thrive, raising money and procuring arms whenever possible. The Provisional Command Councils for each sector continued on a regular basis, and the fervour of rebellion remained on the agenda.

  British Intelligence were also busy, and early in 1980 the joint surveillance of international intelligence agencies arrested the main source of IRA arms deals across the Atlantic. In view of the complexity and sophistication of these consignments, a seizure of arms was intercepted on the high seas. This was a clear indication that the IRA were not intending to halt operations just yet!

  In the States and Canada the FBI were active and carried out raids on factories and storehouses, and coastguards on both sides of the Atlantic were kept busy.

  After the terrible incident that occurred at Narrow Water Castle the Royal Ulster Constabulary introduced a special unit, trained by the SAS in Hereford to SAS standards. This team had its own cruel principles and work ethic; it was to take on the IRA on its own terms. The small unit went by the strange title of E4A, and soon after it was formed the actions it carried out were thought to be outside the boundaries of reasonable law. It was disbanded shortly afterwards.

  ‘Shoot now and ask questions later’ appeared to be their motto, and their actions were never opposed by the RUC, who always stood up to defend them. Many accusations followed, with stern allegations from the nationalists that collusion existed between MI5, the RUC and the British military regarding a huge military cover-up. It then transpired that if the E4A were ever to be prosecuted it would reveal too many classified activities; the government closed down the unit.

  McGirk, commander of the South Armagh division of the IRA, had called a special meeting that was to be held in a secret location. The exact location would not be disclosed until the day of the meeting.

  It was the responsibility of his second in command, a man called O’Rierdan, to ensure all appropriate people attended. The invitation list was distributed to eight of McGirk’s lieutenants; the invitations included all the necessary information with the exception of the location, which would be issued the day before they travelled.

  O’Donnell, the first to arrive at Ferron’s Farm, knocked on the large, old door. He was already complaining of the manure on his shoes; he’d parked his car inside an old pigsty. “Bloody farms always have this smell and mess everywhere; I will never get the stench out of my clothes,” he murmured to himself.

  The door opened and a small, elderly man stood before him. He was balding, and greeted O’Donnell with a wide, toothless grin. “Come in, come in, Danny. It is good to see you, you are the first to arrive, to be sure you are.”

  “Thank you, Thomas; it is good to see you too, but you must keep that bloody yard of yours clean, it is filthy.”

  Thomas laughed and patted the cushions on one of the chairs, indicating for O’Donnell to sit down. “Now I’ll get you a cup of tea, and if there is a knock on the door, let them in; they always come when I am not here.”

  Whilst the host was in the kitchen the door was opened three times, and within a few minutes of Thomas returning with the tea the remaining four members of the brigade were in the house, talking amongst themselves.

  McGirk called for order. Sufficient time had passed for all to be ready, and on this note Thomas left the room, shutting the door behind him. He knew approximately how long the meeting would take, so sauntered up the hill to the highest point of his small farm. To walk to this point took him fifteen minutes, so once he got there he lit his pipe and, with his elbows on the fence, gazed out over the fields below.

  After the meeting was called to order, McGirk, a religious man, said a short prayer. Some paid attention and others didn’t, but they all finished the prayer in unison, saying, “Amen.”

  “I have some news that we will discuss, then we’ll go on to review each and every man’s work brief over the next two months. The actions are not all tedious; they are, however, necessary due to the ‘peace’ process that is currently being debated by our friends the politicians. We will continue our duties as necessary.

  “I would stress that we have lost some valuable consignments over the last month and our leaders feel that this is due to a grass amongst us. It is necessary that we all do not discuss anything within the brigade unless I am in attendance.

  “Our arguments with our British friends are not over yet; it is too early to retire with our esteemed political party still negotiating.”

  The IRA members all sat quietly on the old wooden dining chairs, waiting for the preliminaries to stop, so the more important actions regarding delegation and magnitude could be discussed.

  McGirk summed up the past and present situation. “During 1979 and 1980 the brigade was busy. We had a lot of success against the Brits, but the old way of negotiating seems to be slipping into the past; a change is coming and we need to move with the times, support our leaders, keep loyal to the flag.”

  He looked down at his notes briefly and went on. “The hits that we as a brigade were involved with went according to plan, perhaps too well, so much so that the media have made it ‘bad reading’. It has tarnished our reputation and we have lost many sympathisers, and that has in turn impacted our sponsors’ generosity.

  “The Maze prisoners, our brothers, continue to battle with the authorities and we send our prayers to the boys who sacrificed themselves in the face of adversity; we will support them no matter what.

  “Sinn Fein is making tremendous steps forward politically and our case is now on track for a United Ireland, although I for one do not trust Westminster; the British have a bad track record for making promises and breaking them.

  He paused and threw in a word of caution. “If politics does not sort out our problems and allow us to govern Ireland as we want, our times will remain as dangerous as they are now. We will maintain our posts and business deals, continue to build our reserves, and none of you will change a thing until I tell you so. But for now we will do little and wait for further instructions from our leader, and we will call another general meeting in three months from now.”

  The attendees got up from their seats and made for the kitchen; it seemed that this was the best place to discuss business. It was much larger than the living room, and Thomas had returned from his walk and was setting up the table with plates of food and plenty of bottles of alcohol.

  “So now our brigade is becoming obsolete, we can have a game of golf. It will certainly replace these intense meetings; how times have changed.” John O’Halloran addressed the two colleagues he was drinking with at the bar.

  “Perhaps,” answered the man next to him. “Let’s see what happens, but it will be a first if we can control all of Ireland. At worst it will end with a power-sharing arrangement, but we will have to wait and see.”

  After the meal was over and the team were bonding, Thomas returned for his walk up the hill and he scanned the countryside with binoculars, it was all clear and he walked back and opened the door one at a time before the leaders were on their way.

  Barney Coughlin was not given a mention.

  35

  A Woman Scorned,

  November 1981

  The group of elderly ladies had changed their venue for their monthly meeting. They were all seated in George’s Café in Marylebone, and were doing what all elderly ladies do: chatting. Most of the time it was worthless rubbish to everyone else but those ladies present.

  The ladies met on a regular basis and the lateness of one of their members did not deter them in the slightest, they just continued exchanging useless gossip of no importance then to themselves. The lady in question would have been early but for a thought – something was troubling her. On instinct, she turned back for home, and did not give her visit another thought. Six months previously, Barney Coughlin, a one-time IRA terrorist, had come into her life. She had developed feelings for him, and then he left he
r, but this did not trouble her as much the bad deeds he did before leaving her home: he had wronged her, disrespected her deceased husband, and whilst doing this had carried out an illegal action. She had been deceived by his charm and subsequently he had abandoned her, an older woman left unwanted by a younger man. She was irate and felt used; it was time to settle this with the law.

  What was more disturbing for her was the fact that he had taken her late husband’s identity. At first she wasn’t sure; it was apparent she had serious emotions for him, it was not about her feelings as much as the illegality that surrounded his actions, it was her opinion as she saw them with hindsight.

  He had related to her a tale of intrigue and his classified IRA training; she wasn’t even sure whether this was an honest admission or just another lie he had told her.

  She shivered – her thoughts were disturbing. He was an enemy of the British government, and if his story was true then how many innocent people had been killed on his account? She needed to share this information, whether it was with the police or the Diplomatic Corps. She picked up the phone and dialled a Paddington number.

  “Officer, I may be ringing the wrong people but I would like to speak with someone regarding misrepresentation of a person I became involved with.”

  “Yes, ma’am – can I first start with your name and address? We can then arrange a date and time for you to come to the station, or if that is not convenient then perhaps we can arrange to meet at your home.”

  “Sarah Siddons, I am a widow.” She went on to advise the policeman of her address.

  “Do you wish to come here to the station, or is your home more convenient?”

  “The station is fine, Officer.”

  “May I suggest three o’clock today?”

  “Yes, I will be there.”

  “That’s fine, Mrs Siddons; I will arrange to have an officer interview you, and he will know the next step to take.”

  She made her way home, and started to prepare for her meeting.

  Her meeting with an Inspector Wilton was intense and she felt that she had answered without total fluency; it was as if the inspector was challenging everything she said. He made a phone call, talked for a few moments and then returned his attention to Sarah.

  “What you have told me is very interesting and the details concerning our friend Coughlin are of course illegal, so I have discussed your situation with the Intelligence Service and they have arranged to send a man down from Head Office. He will be here to talk with you in approximately thirty minutes.”

  “Do I have to stay here?” asked Sarah.

  “Yes, ma’am, we would appreciate it, so please take a seat in the room over there and we will make you a cup of tea and a sandwich.”

  It was forty minutes later that a very well-dressed man entered the room. He smiled, although this told Sarah nothing; his eyes had been cold when he entered the room and remained so now. He moved to a chair adjacent to where Sarah was sitting. “May I sit?”

  “Yes, of course,” answered Sarah.

  “Now, Mrs Siddons, my name is Bill Dean. I work for HM Intelligence Service, and I would appreciate it if, in your own time, you could tell me everything about this situation that you find yourself in.”

  Two hours later, she left the police station, exhausted, and walked back to her home near Paddington Station.

  After escorting Sarah to the door and bidding her goodbye, Dean picked up the telephone and dialled a number.

  “Hello, Webster here.”

  “George, it’s me, Dean.”

  “Yes, Bill?”

  “I have finished my interview with Mrs Siddons and you will be interested in our discussion regarding Coughlin, our long-lost Irish terrorist.”

  “I will be very interested, so I suggest, Bill, that you ring your wife and inform her that you will be home late, is that OK?”

  “OK, that is fine with me, George. See you soon.”

  The Evening After

  George Webster pondered on the conversation he’d had with Bill Dean the evening before. He knew it was important in allocating the appropriate time and resource in endeavouring to locate Coughlin. The man was now more a nuisance than a threat but he still needed to be found, and it was his responsibility to do it.

  Which direction would the Irishman take? George had tracked him as far as Africa but now his whereabouts were official he would need to start from the beginning.

  The first and most important question was, where would a fugitive head for if he wanted to lie low without too much efficiency from the local security?

  Europe he thought too close; the States and Canada could be possibilities, especially if Coughlin became involved with the underworld? George’s first lead may come from either border control or the ticket sales agencies. But if Coughlin already had a new identity this approach would be useless – unless, of course, he had used Charles Siddons’ passport or his credit card. That would make George’s life a lot easier. It would be difficult to trace a pedestrian on the ferries, unless a ticket had been bought with a credit card.

  George thought hard. His first instincts told him Coughlin was still in Africa and would pursue the path he had already taken. A huge continent, one where a fugitive could easily get lost among a mass of people, where corruption was endemic, and an easy place to hide.

  He set up a special meeting with his team and included some others who were specialists in the task in question.

  The situation regarding Coughlin was now a nuisance factor; Webster had higher priorities and Coughlin may at this stage be more trouble than he was worth. He had defrauded a lady who seemed to have a romantic grudge against the Irishman, and this had now developed into a possible legal complaint. A clear case of alleged terrorism was now a messy situation that involved fraud and misrepresentation.

  He had set his team to work on highest-priority items, of which the Coughlin affair was not one, but he would persevere during the next few days and hope that something would break on the situation.

  Three days later he recalled his team to review the situation.

  “Guys, what do we have?”

  The team produced a report that listed the place where sightings were evident although they were all unconfirmed.

  There was one on Ancona-Split ferry, another from Irish ferries and another from the Tarifa-Tangier ferry.

  The most promising was the Irish ferries where it was said a group of men all but one was the worse for drink, and it was this particular individual that resembled Coughlin’s profile.

  It was reported that a ticket had been bought with cash at a kiosk near Gibraltar. The buyer was Irish and the ferry was to Tangier, but again, this was unconfirmed.

  Mike Nottage, an MI6 agent covering the Africa region, asked George, “Didn’t you have a contact in Africa? I was under the impression you spoke with him recently; perhaps he would know something? You know how expatriates stick together.”

  George stiffened and sat upright. “Yes, that’s right, Mike, I do. Although he is on the Copperbelt in Zambia, it is always worth a call, and come to think of it, he has been, er, vacant of late.”

  That evening George tried many times to get through to Martin but the phone just rang out. After the third time he gave up, intending to ring again during the next few days.

  Little did he know that further perseverance might have given him the information he was after.

  36

  At a Low Ebb

  It seemed that both Charles and Naomi had exhausted all their ideas. Their resources were dwindling, all their contacts proved unhelpful, but they remained resolute, and he promised to commit to finding her children, whatever disappointments they may face on the way.

  Charles was beginning to be concerned with the outcome regarding his meeting with Martin, and it would be necessary to advise Naomi of any bad news that m
ay arise in the future. Subsequently he explained to her the recent events and the possible outcome of his meeting, although he felt that she did not understand the full implications; they seemed of secondary importance to her. She had listened to everything he had said but it never entered her head that anyone in their right mind would arrest Charles; he was just too considerate, a perfect gentleman – nothing was going to happen to him!

  The following day Martin informed Charles that he was aware of his identity theft, and how this information had become known to MI6. It was, said Martin, “the anger of a woman scorned”.

  Charles continued to play golf and his friendships with his friends grew, although it seemed Martin was pulling back. Charles was not sure whether this was because of his outside business or his unwillingness to continue mixing with a known fraudster.

  All things in life seem to happen at the worst moment, and on this particular day it happened to Martin.

  He had worked an exhausting day at the mines and found his evenings invaluable; this was his time to ensure that the boxers were in their best shape for the upcoming show at the trade fair.

  Rushing home, he grabbed a sandwich, pulled on his training suit and made his way to the door. It was then that the telephone rang, he thought that it always seemed to ring at the last moment, he thought of ignoring it, but changed direction and lifted the receiver. “Hello, who is it?”

  “Martin, you seem annoyed – everything all right, old chap?”

  “Everything is fine, George, but I am in a hurry to get out; got something on.”

  “Anything important?” George was trying to be polite.

  “Not really – I have signed the second stage of the contract required for the next show. Martin was showing irritation.