The Trojan boy

by Ken McClure

  Reagan led out Kathleen and O'Neill at gun-point. Kell did not bother to look up as they passed for he was deep in thought again.

  'Are we going back too, Mr Kell?' asked Nelligan cautiously when he and Kell were alone.

  'No,' replied Kell. 'I want to speak with Harrigan in England. Get him on the phone.'

  The meeting with the McGlynn brothers took place in the Council Room at the Long House on Thursday. Nelligan and Reagan and two others stood, stony-faced, behind Kell as Dominic and Sean McGlynn were escorted into the room with two of their henchmen in attendance.

  'Good to see you, Finbarr,’ said Dominic McGlynn.

  'And you, boys,’ replied Kell softly. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?'

  'To come straight to the point, Finbarr, we've been thinking that the time is right for us to bury our past differences and join forces again.'

  'And what brings you to that way of thinking?' asked Kell evenly.

  'O'Donnell's death,' said Sean McGlynn flatly. 'O'Donnell was a man we could never get on with, but you, Finbarr, well, you are different. We think alike. We know all this political pissing around is useless. We should be giving the British what they understand best.'

  Kell stared at the McGlynns for a moment then his face relaxed into a smile. 'Well, boys,' he said, 'it so happens, you could not have come at a better time.'

  The McGlynn brothers exchanged glances and visibly relaxed as did everyone else round the table. 'Whiskey for our guests, Nelligan,' said Kell.

  'You sound as if you have something in mind, Finbarr?' said Dominic McGlynn accepting his glass.

  'Indeed I do,' smiled Kell. 'Listen carefully.'

  When Kell had finished everyone tried to speak at once in an atmosphere that had become electric. Kell held up his hand and the noise subsided.

  'But have you checked it out?' asked Dominic McGlynn.

  'Of course I've checked it out. What do you take me for?' snapped Kell.

  'And?'

  'The place is tighter than a drum. No one is saying anything but no one has seen him in the last three weeks.'

  'Don't you have anyone on the inside?'

  'A domestic. The official story is that we have made some kind of death threat and that's the reason for the low profile.'

  'But why didn't they ask the British for the money?' asked Sean McGlynn.

  Kell smiled and said, 'It's always easier to deal with friends than enemies.'

  Dominic McGlynn, who had been keeping quiet, said softly, 'If we had him we could bargain for anything we wanted.'

  'Exactly,' said Kell.

  'Where do we come in?' asked Sean McGlynn.

  'Money,' said Kell. 'You boys have always had to make your own arrangements for "funding".' Kell paused and smiled.

  ‘The banks?'

  ‘The banks,' agreed Kell.

  'But we could never get that much,' said Dominic McGlynn.

  'No,' replied Kell, 'But I was thinking, if you were to hit four banks simultaneously you could get quite a bit.'

  'Four?' protested McGlynn. That would stretch us to our limit. It would need every man we had in the field at the same time.'

  ‘This is going to stretch all of us to our limit,' said Kell.

  'And what are your men going to do?' asked Sean McGlynn.

  Kell shook his head and said, 'We've lost O'Donnell, and O'Neill has turned out to be a traitor. We're in a mess. The best we can do at the moment is to create a diversion for you boys, if you let me have the details.'

  'Where are you going to get the bulk of the money?' asked Dominic McGlynn.

  ‘The Americans,' replied Kell.

  'But they always keep a tight grip on the purse strings,' argued McGlynn.

  Kell nodded and said, 'Maybe this time I can persuade them different.'

  FIVE

  It was raining when Avedissian arrived at the hospital and the wetness made the stonework black. The whole building had an air of gloom about it. Avedissian picked his way through a muddle of ambulances parked outside the Accident and Emergency Unit and paused outside the swing doors to shake the water from his coat before entering. Once inside he stopped again at a barrage of directional signs and found the one that he was looking for. It read, Dr S. Harmon, Consultant. A amp; E.

  The highly polished corridor led along past a waiting room with perhaps twenty people inside and somewhere nearby a child was crying loudly in defiance of a nurse and its mother who were trying to pacify it. A teenage boy lay on a trolley outside the X-Ray Department with his right foot bare and a large swelling round his ankle. Nurses moved quickly to and fro across the corridor, their feet squeaking on the linoleum.

  Avedissian came to the door he was looking for and knocked once. He understood a muffled sound from within to be an invitation to enter and stepped inside.

  Harmon turned out to be a thin man in his forties with jet black hair which gave him a very dark beard shadow. He looked at Avedissian over half-framed glasses and released the 'record' button of the dictation machine he had been using. 'Yes?' he asked.

  'I'm Gillibrand,’ said Avedissian.

  'Sit down. I'll be with you in a moment.'

  Avedissian found the man's tone neutral and difficult to analyse. In it he detected neither friendliness nor hostility, He sat down and looked across to the window while Harmon finished dictating his letter, not that there was much to see for the view comprised the building next door. An occasional figure passed the window opposite and by the time Harmon had finished recording Avedissian had counted two nurses, and three patients wearing dressing-gowns.

  '… We would therefore anticipate a degree of stiffness in the joint for some time to come. Yours etc.' Click. 'Welcome to Belfast,' said Harmon accepting the documentation that Avedissian handed to him. He flicked through it briefly then tossed it into the wire tray on the corner of his desk. 'I know you're not Gillibrand,’ he said. 'This twaddle is for administration,' he added, nodding to the paperwork.

  Avedissian could now feel the animosity in the air.

  ‘I’ll be perfectly frank with you,' said Harmon. 'I resent outside interests telling me how I should staff my department. I resent it deeply.'

  'I can understand that,' said Avedissian.

  'In Belfast we get the kind of cases that haven't been seen since Korea. I've got a waiting list a mile long of doctors who want to work here and I land up with a registrar who hasn't seen a casualty department since medical school.'

  Avedissian stayed silent while the lecture continued.

  'I don't know why you’re here, Gillibrand

  'Neither do I,' interrupted Avedissian who was beginning to tire of being dressed down by a man who, but for circumstances, would have been his peer rather than his superior.

  'Are you serious?' asked Harmon.

  'Yes.'

  Harmon let out a long sigh and said, 'God, how I'm sick of secrets and intrigue and…' His hands sought the air as he searched for words. 'Charades. Some days I can't move for men in grey suits hiding behind plastic ID cards.'

  'What do you mean?' asked Avedissian.

  ‘For the past month every A amp; E unit in the province has had an ‘intelligence presence.'

  'I would have thought that normal under the circumstances,' replied Avedissian.

  'Oh, I don't mean just the usual police interest in who's coming and going. There’s something else going on. Something has happened, or is about to happen, and they're listening. I've no idea what it is they're after and I don't think I want to know. I just wish that they would stay out of my road.'

  'Maybe it's connected with O'Donnell's death,' suggested Avedissian. They could be listening for information about the new hierarchy.'

  Harmon nodded and said, That might have been true but for the fact that this all started before O'Donnell died. But as you have brought up the subject I suppose you know that we are all sitting on a powder keg?'

  Avedissian admitted that he had heard rumours about the new IRA leadership
and the possibility of a show of strength.

  The last time we went through this we finished up with four bin liners full of assorted limbs,' said Harmon.

  Avedissian screwed up his face.

  'I wish the bastards could come down here after their bloody bombs go off. I'd like to see them stand in the middle of that room out there and talk about their "struggle for freedom" among the blood and broken lives. They would have to shout above the screams, mind you. Who knows? They might even find the sound memorable.'

  Avedissian nodded his agreement but reserved judgement on whether Harmon's words had a political basis or whether indeed they had come from the heart. He would decide when he got to know the man better.

  'Well, Gillibrand, or whatever your name is, how does the prospect of assembling human jigsaw puzzles appeal to you?' asked Harmon.

  'It doesn't,’ replied Avedissian. 'It fills me with disgust.'

  A momentary flicker of surprise registered on Harmon's face. It was followed by a slight pause as if he had been forced to make some kind of reappraisal. He said quietly, 'it does me too. I'm glad you didn't see it as "a challenge". I've had too many buggers here who see it all as "a challenge". No people, just challenges.'

  Avedissian smiled as he warmed to the man. 'Belfast on the c.v. equals another ten grand stateside,' he said.

  It was Harmon's turn to smile. 'Exactly,' he said.

  A nurse put her head round the door and apologised for interrupting before saying that Harmon was required in the Admission Suite.

  'Join me,' said Harmon getting up.

  Avedissian pulled on a white coat and felt good as he did so for he had come to believe that it was something that he would never do again. But his pleasure was tinged with apprehension. It had been a long time. Could he still cope?

  'In at the deep end, eh?' said Harmon as they walked along the corridor together.

  'Might as well,' replied Avedissian.

  After a brief introduction to the nursing staff Avedissian was left to ask a man in his thirties how he had come to have fallen off the ladder in the first place.

  As the day progressed Avedissian found himself dealing with a perfectly manageable procession of cuts and breaks and sprains. Harmon warned him that it was the lull before the storm but, even if it was, thought Avedissian, he was grateful for it was giving him precious time to ease himself back into medicine.

  The first real pressure on him came in the late afternoon when six people who had been involved in a serious car accident were admitted. Two were dead on arrival and the other four were very badly injured. A cursory examination by Harmon to establish where priority lay left Avedissian to deal with a young man in his twenties suffering from severe chest and lower limb injuries. The man arrested as Avedissian worked on him and it was a very long ninety seconds before Avedissian's attempts to revive him were rewarded and the patient's heart was restarted.

  Although his own pulse was racing and self-doubt had threatened him from all angles Avedissian had outwardly remained cool and professional throughout and Harmon had noticed. He looked across and said, 'Welcome to A amp; E.'

  Avedissian acknowledged the comment with a nod but there was no time for conversation. He still had a lot to do to stabilise the boy's condition and there was another patient waiting.

  ‘There's a drug overdose on the way,' announced the unit sister. 'Female, 42, Librium.'

  ‘Thank you, Sister,' said Harmon without looking up. 'Prepare to wash her out will you.'

  There were to be two more drug overdoses, three more car accidents, a scalding and the aftermath of a 'domestic dispute', as the police put it, before Avedissian felt able to sign off and leave the night to the duty housemen.

  He climbed the stairs to his small room in the medical residency and flung himself down on the bed. He was tired, in fact he was exhausted, not just with the work, although that had been considerable, but mainly because of the mental stress that he had been under. The fear that he might have lost all his old ability as a doctor had proved to be unfounded but it had been no easy task laying it to rest.

  Now he began to feel good. The truth was that it had been a very long time since he had felt so good and the austerity of his surroundings could do nothing to diminish the feeling, it would not have mattered had it been a deep, dark dungeon instead of a dingy, Victorian turret room in peeling NHS green. Bryant had been right. A amp; E was exactly what he needed. Belfast was doing for his self-esteem what Llangern had done for his body.

  When his mind had calmed Avedissian's thoughts turned to food and he went to eat in the hospital staff restaurant before returning upstairs to begin reading. Harmon had thoughtfully furnished him with copious reading matter on the various aspects of military medicine and he began with a tome on the treatment of gunshot wounds.

  Tension grew in the city as the days passed with still no move from the IRA to justify the rumours that had been circulating in the pubs about what they would do to avenge the death of Kevin O'Donnell. The more optimistic began to suggest that O'Donnell's death had been a bigger blow to the IRA than had previously been thought while the more realistic just waited. The weather did little to help for it was warm and uncommonly humid as if a still, wet cloud were pressing down on the city. It shortened tempers and made skin glisten at the slightest effort.

  Avedissian ran his forefinger round the inside of his collar as he came on duty in the afternoon. There was an unpleasant, sour smell of sweat about the department which had persisted for days despite competition from anaesthetics and disinfectant. 'What have we got?' he asked the duty sister. 'Not much. One sprained ankle and a broken thumb.' The day continued routinely with troughs and peaks of activity until nine in the evening when Avedissian was thinking about calling it a day. As he took off his coat an ambulance drew up outside and the attendants carried in a woman who had obviously been badly beaten. As it was Harmon's day off and the houseman was busy with another patient Avedissian decided to stay and deal with the woman himself.

  Her face was swollen and barely recognisable under a halo of beautiful red hair that was matted with blood along her forehead. Avedissian examined her limbs gently for broken bones but found no evidence of any damage other than severe bruising. He sent her to the X-Ray Department with a nurse in attendance and waited for the results.

  Avedissian's optimism that the woman's injuries appeared to be a great deal more dramatic than they actually were was confirmed by an X-Ray report which confirmed that she had no broken bones and was free from damage to her skull. She had, however, taken a bad beating and was only now beginning to recover consciousness. She tried to speak and a nurse shushed her and told her to rest. This only made the woman anxious and even more determined to speak. The nurse tried again to soothe her but to no avail.

  'All right,’ said Avedissian to the nurse. 'Let her speak.'

  While the woman tried to form words Avedissian asked the nurse quietly, 'Do we know who she is?'

  'She had no handbag and no identification,' replied the nurse.

  'Do we know why she was beaten up?'

  'No, it was an anonymous treble-nine call.'

  'What else?' said Avedissian under his breath. An unwillingness to 'get involved' was more in evidence in Belfast than anywhere else in the United Kingdom.

  'I must speak… to… British Intelligence…' said the woman with obvious and painful difficulty.

  'I'll ask the constable to come in, shall I?' said the nurse.

  Avedissian was about to agree when the woman put her hand on his arm. 'No police… Intelligence… Bryant.’

  Avedissian went cold at the mention of Bryant's name. Wait a minute,' he asked the nurse who was heading for the door. She paused with her hand on the handle.

  Avedissian bent close to the woman and whispered 'What do you know of Bryant?'

  I’m… Kathleen O'Neill… Martin O'Neill's sister… have important information… must tell Bryant.'

  The name O'Neill meant nothing to Ave
dissian. He left the woman's side for a moment and walked over to the nurse. 'She says she's Kathleen O'Neill. Mean anything to you?'

  The girl shook her head.

  'She said something about being Martin O'Neill's sister.'

  'Now that means something,’ said the nurse. She told Avedissian that Martin O'Neill was a leading IRA man.

  Avedissian returned to the woman and said, 'Can't you tell us what it is? You need rest and sleep.'

  'No… must speak to Bryant… tell him… it's about the

  … missing person.'

  Avedissian shrugged and turned to the nurse. 'Better call the security number.'

  The nurse dialled a number, handed him the phone and said, 'It's ringing.'

  ‘This is Dr Gillibrand, A amp; E at the General. I've got a woman here who says that she's Martin O'Neill's sister. She wants to speak to someone called Bryant about a missing person.'

  In less than fifteen minutes a black saloon drew up outside A amp; E and Bryant got out accompanied by three other men. Bryant stared straight ahead but the other two looked about them constantly.

  'Well, Dr Gillibrand, this is a coincidence. And how are things in the Emerald Isle?' murmured Bryant after making sure that no one else was within hearing range.

  Once again Avedissian noted the sneer in Bryant's voice whenever he used the term 'Emerald Isle'. 'I'm coping,' he said.

  'Good. Where's the O'Neill woman?'

  'She's in here,' said Avedissian, pointing to a closed door. -But she's very weak. She's been badly beaten.'

  Bryant grinned as if Avedissian had said something that had amused him. 'Really?' he said quietly. 'Now isn't that a shame.'

  Avedissian said, 'I think it would be best if you could leave off questioning her till the morning.'

  The grin left Bryant's face in an instant and he hissed at Avedissian, 'When I want your "professional" advice, Doctor, I'll ask for it. Take me to her.'

  Avedissian held his tongue and led the way. He was about to enter the room behind Bryant when Bryant stopped and turned. He said to Avedissian, 'Wait outside please.'

  'She is my patient,' insisted Avedissian as loudly as he dared.