The Trojan boy

by Ken McClure

  Avedissian turned to Kathleen O'Neill and asked simply, 'Why?'

  'My brother, like Kevin O'Donnell, wanted the IRA to have nothing to do with this business. In fact O'Donnell ordered him to give the ransom note to the British but Kell found out.'

  'What happened to your brother?'

  'Kell had him shot before my eyes,’ replied Kathleen, looking down at her knees.

  'But you managed to escape?'

  'I was to be shot too, but the man detailed to do it had other plans for me first.'

  'He was the one who beat you up?'

  'Yes. After he raped me he fell asleep. I managed to knock him out and get away before he came round.'

  'You've had a horrific experience,’ said Avedissian softly.

  'I dare say the O'Neill family have been responsible for some horrific experiences of other people in their time,’ said Bryant coldly.

  'So what happens now?' asked Jarvis.

  'Two days ago the IRA placed an ad in The Times indicating their willingness to negotiate with the kidnappers. Our people will stay close.'

  'Where will the IRA get the money?' asked Avedissian.

  'Certainly not from the banks,’ said Bryant with a cold smile. It will have to come from outside interests.'

  'Meaning?'

  'NORAID,’ replied Bryant. 'Misguided, interfering American clowns.'

  'But that much?' said Jarvis. Twenty-five million?'

  'It's an all or nothing operation,’ said Bryant.

  'And where do we come into it?' asked Avedissian.

  'We have assembled a rescue team comprising people of every skill known to man. Drivers, climbers, parachutists, you name it, we have it. It will be their task to recover the child. When they have done their job the boy will be handed over to you two for the return home, while everyone else guards your rear, so to speak. It will be your job, Doctor, to look after the boy's health.'

  'And me?' asked Jarvis.

  'You will be the link between the team and Avedissian.'

  'When do we start?' asked Avedissian.

  'Soon.'

  'And until then?'

  'You will all remain here.'

  'Miss O'Neill too?' asked Avedissian.

  Bryant smiled and said, 'Her too. So far her information has proved invaluable to us. There is probably a lot more she can tell us about Kell and his people. There is a suite of rooms on the second floor where you will be comfortable. If there is anything else you want, no reasonable request will be denied.'

  SIX

  Avedissian found himself drawn to Kathleen O'Neill. At first he managed to convince himself that his concern was medical and then, as the bruising disappeared, that it was pity he felt for her. But while it was true that she had lost more than anyone should at the one time, for she was to receive a new identity and leave the only country that she had ever known, it was also true that Avedissian felt a strong personal attraction towards her. As her injuries healed he was struck by how beautiful she really was. He knew about her hair and deep green eyes but the soft lines of her face, which had been obscured by the swelling after the beating, were a revelation and afforded her an air of serenity that he found totally captivating.

  It was also clear that Bryant and Jarvis did not share his regard for Kathleen, apparently crediting her with the sins of her family. In her absence Bryant always referred to her as the O'Neill woman. Paul Jarvis was ever civil but made no overtures of friendship towards her.

  Although not permitted to leave the precincts of the building the limits of their 'house arrest' did allow Avedissian, Jarvis and Kathleen the use of the garden, something that Avedissian and Kathleen made full use of while Jarvis tended to confine himself to using a small gymnasium on the top landing in his continual quest for fitness.

  Avedissian's attempts to get Kathleen to speak of her family background and the philosophy behind her regard for her brother had been largely unsuccessful. He tried again as they walked together in the garden. 'You wouldn't understand,' she said, to Avedissian's annoyance.

  'Why not?' he asked.

  'You have no understanding of our history.'

  'History!' exclaimed Avedissian. 'It's always "history".'

  'It's important.'

  'I would have thought that the future was a damned sight more important,' said Avedissian.

  'A nice, comfortable view,' replied Kathleen.

  'I want to understand. I really do,' said Avedissian.

  Kathleen smiled and said, 'Let's stop talking politics shall we?'

  Avedissian hesitated for a moment then agreed. He said, 'Tell me about your teaching. You are a teacher aren't you?'

  Kathleen spoke readily of her job at the High School. She was obviously fond of children and her career had clearly been important to her, maybe even as important as his had been to him. Her enthusiasm made him wonder if she had yet faced the fact that it was probably over. But to point this out was something that Avedissian found he had no heart for. Instead he smiled and laughed at the tales of the High School and its pupils. 'You never married?' he asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

  'No. You?'

  'She died.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  Avedissian found himself taken unawares when Kathleen started asking him about his own life and career. Up until then she had been content to let Avedissian make all the running in their talks and he had come to accept that as the norm. Now he felt the need to become evasive and did not enjoy the feeling.

  'Did you always want to be a doctor?'

  Avedissian considered taking the easy way out and saying yes but did not. For some unaccountable reason he felt that he did not want to lie to Kathleen. 'No,’ he replied, hoping that the inquiry would stop there. 'That came later.'

  'Later than what?'

  Avedissian took a deep breath and said, 'I was in the army.'

  Kathleen looked at him with surprise on her face. 'But not here?'

  'Yes, here. I was an officer in the Paras.'

  Kathleen looked away and they continued their walk. They had come to the rose bushes and she stopped to examine a giant yellow bloom before she asked, 'How did you like that?'

  'I didn't,' replied Avedissian.

  'So you became a doctor?'

  'Yes.'

  'Good for you.'

  Avedissian was left with the feeling that he had learned nothing about Kathleen from the exchange. They returned to the house, unaware that Bryant had been watching them from a first floor window for some time.

  Seeing Avedissian and the O'Neill woman walking together in the shrubbery had given Bryant an idea. Kathleen O'Neill had been his biggest stroke of luck since taking on the Irish problem and she could not have happened at a better time. Perhaps she could still be of use.

  The triumph over the INLA at the very inception of a new IRA-INLA pact had made Bryant look good and it had vindicated his view that the fight should be taken to the enemy, not the other way round. Waiting to be hit first before retaliating was a schoolboy concept, a stupid public schoolboy concept. That was the trouble with the Service, he reckoned, it was full of old fools like Montrose who had never really left their bloody public schools. Still… Montrose was no longer a problem. If he could pull this operation off successfully he could circumvent the lot of them and rise to the very top, then they would have to do things his way. He asked to see Kathleen O'Neill.

  'You wanted me,' said Kathleen O'Neill putting her head round Bryant's door.

  'Come in. Sit down,' said Bryant in what Kathleen thought were much warmer tones than usual. 'It's about your new identity…'

  ‘There's a problem?'

  'Not exactly,’ said Bryant, obviously stalling.

  Then what?'

  'I wondered how you would feel about helping us further?'

  'I've told you all I can.'

  Bryant raised his hand and said, 'Yes, I know, it's just that I've had an idea.'

  'Go on.'

  'You know just how i
mportant it is that we get the child back safely and without anyone knowing? Important for Ireland as much as anything?'

  Kathleen nodded.

  'Our people will need all the help they can get in bringing this off.'

  'Where do I come in?'

  'You know a lot of faces in the IRA. If you were on the spot it could be a tremendous help.'

  'You mean I should go with the doctor and Captain Jarvis wherever it is they are going?'

  'In a word, yes. The fact that you're a woman is also to our advantage.'

  'How so?'

  'A child travelling with a man and a woman is much more inconspicuous than a child travelling with two men,’ said Bryant.

  Kathleen swithered and said, 'I'd like to know what the others think.'

  'We can ask them.' Bryant picked up the phone and asked that Avedissian and Jarvis join them.

  Avedissian thought that it was a good idea. Jarvis said merely that it made sense.

  'Well?' asked Bryant.

  'I agree,' said Kathleen.

  'When is something going to happen?' asked Jarvis when the hubbub had died down.

  'Almost immediately,' replied Bryant. 'We know roughly where the boy is. You, Jarvis, will be leaving tonight, the other two tomorrow afternoon.'

  Jarvis asked where he would be going.

  'The United States,’ said Bryant.

  'How do I make contact with the team?' asked Jarvis.

  'I will brief you when we are alone,’ replied Bryant. He turned to the others and said, The operation will be conducted on a need-to-know basis. No member will be told anything that he or she does not absolutely need to know. It's safer that way. You can't be betrayed by someone who doesn't even know who you are or what you're doing,’

  'But…’ began Avedissian.

  'When the time comes you will be contacted,’ said Bryant, discouraging any more questions about procedure.

  'And if something goes wrong?' insisted Kathleen.

  'You will be given a telephone number to call. Now you really must excuse me.’

  Avedissian and Kathleen said goodbye to Paul Jarvis just after nine and came indoors to eat on their own. By mutual agreement they moved the table closer to the window where they could see the garden in the twilight of what had been a long summer's day. Avedissian found himself taking continual sidelong glances at Kathleen and was caught doing so on one occasion. 'Is anything wrong?' she asked.

  'I was just thinking how well you had recovered from your injuries,’ replied Avedissian settling for the half-truth.

  'Thanks to you,’ said Kathleen. 'I'm grateful.’

  'I did very little,’ said Avedissian.

  Kathleen walked across the room and Avedissian noticed that the stiffness had left her limbs. She exuded the kind of exciting sensuality that seemed to him to be peculiar to certain women in their early thirties when experience, personality and an understanding of men combine to endow them with an attractiveness that captivates men of their own age and can prove almost irresistible to boys on the verge of manhood. The Indian summer of Kathleen O'Neill, thought Avedissian.

  'What are you thinking about?' asked Kathleen, returning to the table with wine glasses.

  'I was wondering when you were last truly happy,’ replied Avedissian.

  Kathleen looked surprised but did not fend off the question. 'I suppose it must be ten, maybe twelve years. I've had the occasional day, of course, but for a period of sustained happiness or contentment, which I assume you meant?'

  Avedissian nodded.

  'It is certainly all of that. Why do you ask?'

  'I wanted to know.'

  'Trying to find out if I have a conscience?'

  'Maybe, I don't know. I just wanted to ask you.’

  'I suppose, being a doctor, you sleep the sleep of the just every night with a conscience whiter than arctic snow?'

  'I am a struck-off doctor. They say I murdered a child. My wife committed suicide in the aftermath.’

  'My God,’ said Kathleen. 'I had no idea. How awful.’

  'Perhaps I shouldn't have said that all at once. Your jibe about my conscience got through.'

  'Will you tell me?'

  Avedissian told Kathleen O'Neill of the past three years.

  'So happiness is not a prominent feature in either of our lives,’ said Kathleen when he had finished.

  Avedissian smiled and refilled their glasses. ‘To the future,’ he said, holding up his glass.

  'To the future,’ replied Kathleen.

  They had finished their meal and were drinking coffee when Bryant came into the room with some papers in his hand. 'Dr and Mrs George Farmer,’ he announced. 'Going on holiday to the States with their son David.’

  'But who…?'

  'David is the son of one of our people. You will meet him at the airport. He will fly out with you and enter the States on your passport then someone will take him from you and bring him back across the Atlantic. But, to all intents and purposes, Dr and Mrs Farmer will have entered the States with their son David. No one will be surprised when they leave with him.’

  'Only it will be a different boy,’ said Kathleen.

  Bryant nodded and said, 'Is there anything you would like before I say good-night?'

  Avedissian, who had always replied no to this question before, said, 'Yes, yes there is. I'd like a bottle of Gordon's gin, a supply of Schweppes' tonic and one…’ He paused to look at Kathleen who nodded. 'No, two crystal glasses.’

  'I'll see what I can do,’ said Bryant. 'Anything else?'

  Kathleen shook her head. Avedissian said that there wasn't.

  'How did you find out that the boy was in the United States?' Kathleen asked Bryant.

  Bryant touched the side of his nose and said, 'Need to know… remember?' He left the room.

  Five minutes later one of the staff entered with a tray carrying all that Avedissian had requested. Kathleen accepted her drink and said, 'What shall we drink to this time?'

  'Let's just drink,’ said Avedissian.

  In an hotel suite, less than five miles from where Avedissian and Kathleen sat with their drinks, Finbarr Kell raised a tumbler to his lips and took an angry gulp. 'Where is he, damn it?' he hissed, looking at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

  'He should be here by now,’ said Nelligan unhelpfully. It only annoyed Kell more.

  'I know he should be here by now!' he snapped. 'The plane landed two hours ago.’

  Kell was approaching his irritable worst and it was at times like this that his disability rankled most. He wanted to pace up and down and vent his frustration through physical action, but instead, he had to wait in nail-biting inertia, trapped inside a legless torso.

  The response to his insert in The Times had been a directive to send an agent to Amsterdam to receive further instructions and, to this end, he had activated a man with no previous record or history of sympathy with the Republican movement. He had activated the Tally Man.

  To the world at large Malcolm Innes was a respectably dull accountant in his late thirties whose thinning hair and anonymous features had made him ideal for the purpose. Malcolm Innes was the man who lived up the street from everyone. Malcolm Innes was also the man who had left his brief-case in a public place on three separate occasions with devastating consequences. Malcolm Innes was the invisible man who, in the past, had come up behind five known traitors in the crowd and left them with an ice pick in the kidneys. Malcolm Innes was the Tally Man.

  To Kell, at the moment, Innes was a link in a chain that was currently under strain for he was more than an hour late. His plans had allowed for a margin of ninety minutes at the most, for the Americans were due at eleven and he had to digest the information that Innes was bringing before they arrived.

  As Kell could have predicted, the Americans had gagged on hearing the sum involved. They always preferred to deal in small sums at intervals rather than entrust control of large sums to the organisation itself, a constant bone o
f contention but one the IRA could do little about. If the Americans, who had insisted on crossing the Atlantic to discuss the present operation before making any commitment, arrived to find Kell without the facts at his fingertips it would give them the excuse they would be looking for to pull out. He would look like a bungling amateur and the Americans would take the first plane back. Kell threw back his glass and handed the empty to Nelligan. 'More,' he said.

  As Nelligan refilled the glass a knock came at the door. Kell held up his hand and they both waited. A further three taps followed by another pause then two more.

  ‘Thank Christ,’ said Kell and Nelligan opened the door to admit Malcolm Innes.

  Innes entered the room clutching his brief-case and wearing a harassed expression. He took off his glasses to wipe some drops of rain from them.

  'Something's wrong?' said Kell anxiously.

  Innes shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I just got stopped at Customs. I've never been stopped before but tonight of all nights I get the full treatment. They even took the lining out of my case.'

  'They didn't have a reason to, did they?' asked Kell suspiciously. 'If I thought for one moment…'

  'No, no,' Innes assured him. 'Unless you call ten cigars and a bottle of Advocaat a reason.'

  Kell relaxed visibly. 'Bols,’ he said.

  'It's the absolute truth, Mr Kell… Oh I see,' said Innes, unprepared for Kell's joke and sudden change of mood.

  Kell checked his watch and said, 'We've got thirty minutes. Start talking.'

  Nelligan handed Innes a drink and the man took a hasty gulp to wash down two indigestion tablets before starting to speak. 'I got into Schiphol on time and heard myself being paged on the public address system. I was directed by telephone to a particular taxi on the rank outside and the driver took me to a rendezvous about five miles from the airport. After about ten minutes

  They were waiting to see if you were followed,' interrupted Kell.

  '… a green Mercedes drew up alongside and a transceiver was passed in through the window of the cab. We conducted the conversation by phone.'