The Trojan boy

by Ken McClure

  'I didn't really have time to look. Would you like me to look now?' asked O'Neill with a casualness that was a long way from being genuine. As Kell searched his face he felt the blood pound painfully in the stump of his arm.

  'Later will do,’ said Kell. 'We have things to talk about.' Kell looked up at Nelligan and said, 'Leave us.'

  Nelligan parked Kell's pram at the head of the oval table and left the room. O'Neill sat down at the other end and faced Kell.

  ‘The McGlynns have asked for a meeting,’ said Kell.

  O'Neill felt his stomach turn over. The McGlynn brothers, Dominic and Sean, were leaders of the Irish National Liberation Army in Belfast, a sect that had pursued its own war against the British after falling out with the IRA some years before, but their success in attracting the most violent of extremists to their banner had been offset to a great extent by constant internal feuding and disputation over leadership. In more recent times the McGlynns, through psychopathic ruthlessness, had established themselves at the head of what O'Donnell had constantly referred to as 'that festering sore'. In many ways the McGlynns and Kell were alike but the brothers lacked Kell's brains and political intuition.

  'Have they now?' said O'Neill softly.

  ‘They want an alliance,’ said Kell.

  O'Neill rubbed his hand against his forehead but said nothing while he considered the thought of Kell and the McGlynn brothers running the organisation.

  'What do you think?' asked Kell.

  ‘The same as O'Donnell always thought,’ replied O'Neill. 'If we ever joined with that lot we'd end up losing the sympathy of our own. They are a liability.’

  ‘True,’ murmured Kell. 'Still it's always nice to know what everybody's thinking, eh, Martin? No harm in listening to what they have to say.'

  O'Neill looked at the smile on Kell's face and thought of a spider reasoning with a fly. 'When?' he asked.

  ‘Thursday. I'll send a car for you.'

  O'Neill found Liam Drummond and said that he was ready to return to Cladeen.

  As they left Belfast O'Neill sensed that Drummond was itching to say something but was not sure what O'Neill's reaction might be. Eventually he said, 'I told you, didn't I?'

  'Yes, you told me,’ agreed O'Neill.

  'You can't run the organisation on fear,’ said Drummond.

  O'Neill silently declined the invitation to agree.

  'I said…’

  'I heard you.'

  'Are you feeling all right, Mr O'Neill?' asked Drummond with a sidelong glance.

  'An hour ago I blew a twenty-year-old's brains out.’

  'But that little bastard betrayed you and…’

  'Shut up.’

  As the miles passed O'Neill began to regret having snapped at Drummond. The man was one of the best; he had been with the organisation for as long as anyone could remember. By way of making amends he said, 'You've heard that the McGlynns want to talk?'

  Drummond's reaction told O'Neill that he had been forgiven. The driver threw back his head and snorted. 'These cretins! They've forgotten that Kell has a long memory.’

  'What do you mean?' asked O'Neill.

  'The bomb,’ said Drummond.

  'What bomb?' asked O'Neill.

  ‘The one that took Kell's legs off. It was made by the McGlynns' father, Seamus. Everybody thought that it was just one of those things, but not The Bairn. He was convinced that McGlynn had mis-set the fuse deliberately. He never said so publicly at the time, but privately he swore to get even one day and when The Bairn makes that kind of promise…’

  'What did McGlynn have against Kell?'

  'You know how it is when you're young. McGlynn was a hero until Kell came along and started upstaging him all the time. You could put it down to simple jealousy.’

  That's useful to know,’ said O'Neill. He was delighted to have found that there was some obstacle to the frightening prospect of Kell forming an alliance with the McGlynns.

  ‘Is Kell going to speak to them?'

  'On Thursday,’ replied O'Neill.

  Drummond smiled wryly and said, 'If I were a McGlynn… I'd take a long spoon.’

  Kathleen knew that something was troubling O'Neill but did not ask what. He would tell her in his own time as he always had done in the past, she decided, and got on with washing up their dinner things. Despite being several years younger than her brother she had acted as mother to the O'Neill family since the age of fifteen when Mrs O'Neill had died. Apart from Martin, there had been two other children, Maureen and Claire, both younger than herself and both of whom had now married and gone to live abroad, one to Canada and the other to Australia.

  The family had been steeped in nationalism for as long as any of them could remember and their father, although more active with a bottle than with anything else during his own lifetime, had never let them forget the exploits of their grandfather who had fought in the Easter Rising of 1916 and had been executed by the British in the aftermath.

  Despite the considerable demands put on her by domestic chores and responsibilities Kathleen had not only coped but had achieved academic success too. Three years after her brother had taken his degree she herself had graduated from the same university with a degree in modern languages and, while her brother's political beliefs had become for him the most important thing in life, she had become a teacher and now taught French and German in a Catholic High School.

  Maureen and Claire O'Neill had been simple, uncomplicated girls who had sought nothing more from life than husbands, security and children, as indeed had many of Kathleen's contemporaries. It was partly for this reason that Kathleen valued her friendship with her brother so highly; they were intellectually compatible. But it was a friendship that had cost her dearly in terms of lost social life for, as Martin had risen within the IRA, she too, as a loyal sister, had become a legitimate target for harassment.

  A friendship with a fellow teacher at the High School that had looked like blossoming into romance and marriage had foundered when an ultimatum had been issued concerning the activities of her brother and Kathleen had refused to disown him. She had lost count of the number of young men whose ardour had cooled on hearing that she was Martin O'Neill's sister.

  'I've got a problem, Kath,' said O'Neill.

  'Can you tell me?'

  ‘There's an envelope in my pocket. I took it from the Long House.'

  'Do you mean you stole it?'

  'I took it from the safe. O'Donnell ordered me to get it before anyone else did.'

  'Meaning Kell?'

  'Meaning Kell,’ O'Neill agreed.

  'What's in it?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You're not making much sense,' said Kathleen.

  O'Neill stopped staring into the fire and turned to face Kathleen. He said, 'O'Donnell ordered me to hand it over to the British.'

  'You can't be serious.'

  'I wish I wasn't.'

  'But why?'

  O'Neill shook his head.

  'Can't you open it?'

  'I'm considering it.'

  Kathleen watched O'Neill as he returned to looking into the fire. She said, 'You look as if you have some notion about what's in the letter.'

  O'Neill smiled and said, 'You always could see through me. O'Donnell loathed Kell as much as I do. I think he may have been planning to hand Kell to the British on a plate so that we would be rid of him for good.'

  'You said yourself that Kell could destroy the organisation,' said Kathleen.

  O'Neill nodded and said, 'But betrayal is another matter. He is the commander.'

  'And if you hand over the letter you will be a traitor?'

  O'Neill nodded.

  'You must open it,' said Kathleen firmly. 'It may not be what you think.'

  'You're right,' agreed O'Neill. 'Hand me my jacket will you?'

  Kathleen laid O'Neill's jacket over his knees and switched on the standard lamp behind his chair. She resisted the urge to help while she watched him struggle to open t
he sealed envelope by holding it between his knees and pushing his thumb under the flap. She picked up the empty envelope from the floor while O'Neill flattened out the paper with his palm and began to read.

  Kathleen saw the colour drain from her brother's face but did not interrupt until the tension became unbearable. 'Is it what you feared?' she asked.

  'No,’ replied O'Neill as if in a daze. 'It's something quite, quite different.' He handed the papers to her.

  Kathleen felt her jaw drop as she read the contents. Her shock changed to protest. 'But this cannot be true,’ she said, 'We would have heard something. Did you see the date on this? It's nearly three weeks old.'

  O'Neill nodded. 'I know, but O'Donnell didn't think it was a hoax.'

  'Why did he hide it? Why did he want this to go to the British?' asked Kathleen.

  'I'm thinking, I'm thinking,’ murmured O'Neill.

  Kathleen poured whiskey into a glass and handed it to O'Neill as he continued to stare into the embers of the fire. At length he said, 'I think I understand. It's too big. If we were to take this on there would be civil war and we would lose. When the smoke cleared and the blood was washed away Ireland would be more divided than ever. O'Donnell must have realised that and decided to keep us out of it. Kell on the other hand… would go for it.’

  'But it has to be some kind of hoax,’ protested Kathleen.

  O'Neill thought before replying. 'Maybe not,’ he said. 'It's just possible that the British have managed to keep the whole thing quiet to give themselves time.’

  'But if O'Donnell turned the offer down?'

  'Maybe he didn't,’ replied O'Neill. 'Maybe he was stalling for time. Maybe he told them he was trying to raise the money. Maybe he was trying to raise the money. We don't know anything for sure.’

  'Either way, won't they get in contact with Kell?' asked Kathleen.

  The thought chilled O'Neill. 'You're right,’ he said. 'We have to get this information to the British.’

  ‘I’ll drive into the city in the morning,’ said Kathleen. 'It's late; get some sleep.’

  O'Neill nodded but said that he was going to finish his whiskey before going upstairs. Kathleen said good-night and took the letter up with her.

  O'Neill finished his whiskey and poured another. It was the one thing that seemed to deal effectively with the constant nagging pain from the stump of his arm and he needed to be able to think clearly and without distraction.

  It was two a.m. when he thought that he heard a sound on the gravel outside. Alarmed, he got up from the chair and walked to the window to be reminded yet again of the need for two hands as he tried to see out against the reflections from inside the room. He switched out the light and returned to the window. There was nothing to be seen but, once more, he thought he heard the sound of something moving outside on the gravel. This time he was sure.

  O'Neill turned to go to the kitchen where he kept his pistol in a drawer but almost immediately he realised that it was too late. He was furious with himself for being such a fool. The sounds from the gravel at the front had been made deliberately as a distraction. Someone was coming in the back!

  The door leading to the kitchen burst open and O'Neill saw a man standing there framed in the moonlight. He was holding an automatic weapon and it was pointed at his stomach. Another man squeezed past and switched on the room light.

  'What the hell is this?' exclaimed O'Neill as he recognised one of them as the one who had come into Kell's room while he had been searching for the key to the Council Room.

  The man did not reply but motioned with the muzzle of the gun that O'Neill should move towards the fireplace. The other man, whom O'Neill did not recognise, opened the front door and stood there as if waiting for something. The sound of squeaking wheels told O'Neill exactly what everyone was waiting for. He watched helplessly as Nelligan manoeuvred Kell into the room and closed the door.

  'What in the name of God is going on, Finbarr?' O'Neill asked bravely.

  Kell stared at him as if he were a stain on the carpet. 'Show him, Reagan!' he hissed.

  The man who held the gun used it to knock the lampshade off the standard lamp and reveal a microphone that was taped to the stem.

  'Every word,’ said Kell like a death sentence. There was a smug look on Kell's face that heralded an orgy of gloating. He turned to Nelligan and said softly, 'What did I always say? Never trust an intellectual.'

  'Treacherous bastard!' snarled Nelligan.

  'I'm no traitor, Kell. I've always done what's best for the cause.'

  Kell let out a humourless laugh and looked to the others for support. They obliged. 'You plot to give information to the enemy and you're no traitor?' he sneered.

  'Kevin O'Donnell was my commander. I was obeying his orders.'

  'O'Donnell!' snorted Kell. That weak-kneed jelly! He spent so much time on the phone warning the British it's a wonder they didn't include him in their Honours List!'

  When Nelligan's dutiful laughter had died down the smile faded from Kell's face and it became a mask of venom. 'Where is the letter?' he spat.

  ‘I’ll get it,' said O'Neill, making a move towards the stairs.

  Kell nodded to Reagan who swung the butt of his carbine into O'Neill's stomach with full force. O'Neill collapsed on to the floor, his face twisted in pain.

  'Will you never learn to stop taking me for a fool?' asked Kell in a deathly whisper. He looked up at Reagan and snapped, 'Get upstairs and bring down that schoolteacher bitch!'

  Reagan was back within seconds. 'She's gone, Mr Kell!'

  'What do you mean "gone"?' rasped Kell.

  'Her window's open. She must have climbed down on to the roof of the shed and got away.'

  'Jesus! Am I completely surrounded by idiots? She can't have gone far. Find her! Bring her back!' Kell looked down at O'Neill who was still lying on the floor. 'Meanwhile our friend here can tell us what was in the letter,’ he whispered. 'Can't he, Nelligan?'

  The big man moved out from behind Kell to stand over O'Neill. From where O'Neill lay he looked twelve feet tall.

  Knowing that she would not get far on foot and in her night-dress Kathleen had not tried to escape but had hidden herself in the hut at the foot of the garden among various garden tools and sacks of peat and fertiliser. It was her one hope that Kell's men might overlook that possibility and leave the house without discovering her. Beyond that she had no plans at all. She had already almost given the game away when moonlight through a dirty window-pane had silhouetted a rat moving along the handle of the lawnmower. But revulsion had paralysed her throat and prevented her breath from leaving her in anything more than spasmodic gasps. In her hand she clutched the letter from the Long House. She held it tightly as she tried to bury herself deeper into a pile of hessian sacks in the corner.

  'I'm waiting,’ said Kell, his voice filled with soft menace.

  O'Neill had recovered from the blow to his stomach but now fear was making him feel sick. 'All right, I'll tell you,’ he said, acknowledging that resistance was pointless.

  When he had finished O'Neill saw Kell's face darken with anger. His eyes seemed huge behind his spectacles. Nelligan kept looking towards him to see what his reaction should be.

  'You seem to think that I'm a complete imbecile, O'Neill,’ said Kell in tones that cut into O'Neill like a razor-blade. 'Did you really think that I would swallow this preposterous crap?'

  O'Neill was taken aback for he had not considered for a moment that Kell would not believe him when he spoke the truth.

  Kell looked at Nelligan and rasped, 'Show him the error of his ways!'

  Nelligan lashed the back of his ham-like fist across O'Neill's face and sent him sprawling again. This time O'Neill landed heavily on the tender stump of his left arm and let out a cry of pain. Kell homed in on it like a shark and said with mock concern, 'Mr O'Neill's wound seems to be troubling him

  Nelligan took his cue and kicked O'Neill viciously in the stomach before pinning him to the ground wi
th his knee and punching the stump of his severed arm repeatedly. He seemed oblivious to O'Neill's screams and looked only to Kell to find renewed vigour in his master's approval.

  O'Neill's agony ended mercifully in unconsciousness. He was no longer in Cladeen. He was sixteen years old and leaning on a fence at the farm in Valeena where he and the family had spent their last summer holiday together. The sun was shining and the grass was green. He could feel the warmth of it on his back as he waited for Maureen, the girl from the village, to come across the field. He could see her; she was wearing the white dress that he liked so much and her hair was bouncing on her shoulders as she moved. She was smiling and her eyes were filled with the frankness of young love. God, it was so good to be young and in love. Life was so good, so full of… icy-cold wetness and pain… excruciating pain.

  'He's coming round,' said Nelligan after dousing O'Neill with cold water.

  'Give him more of the same,' spat Kell.

  'Stop it! This is what you want!' said Kathleen coming in through the door. She threw the letter at Kell and pushed Nelligan out of the way to kneel down beside her brother.

  She cradled his head in her arms and said, I'm sorry, I couldn't bear what they were doing to you.'

  'You always were around to wipe my nose,' gasped O'Neill through his pain.

  Nelligan moved in to separate them but first looked to Kell for approval. Kell dismissed the notion as being unimportant with an impatient wave of his hand and returned to being engrossed in the letter. Nelligan stood back to watch as Kathleen continued to administer to O'Neill's needs.

  Reagan and the other man returned from their fruitless search for Kathleen and stood sheepishly by while Kell continued to read, fully expecting to receive the brunt of Kell's wrath when he was ready. Instead The Bairn remained fully preoccupied with something else. There was silence in the room while Kell, having finished reading, stared into space for a long time. After a while he suddenly appeared to become aware of the others in the room again and smiled. 'Well, well, well,' he said softly. 'So our intellectual friend wasn't lying after all. I think we owe him an apology, Nelligan.'

  Nelligan grinned unsurely.

  'Take them to the Long House,' Kell snapped.