by Ken McClure
'Did you see who was in the Mercedes?' asked Kell.
'No, it had tinted windows.'
'But they could see you?'
'Yes.'
Kell smiled distantly and thought for a moment in silence before asking Innes to go on.
‘They want the ransom paid by credit transfer.'
'How?'
'An account is to be opened at this bank,' Innes handed Kell a slip of paper, 'and the money paid into it.'
'An account in whose name?' asked Kell.
'It doesn't matter but a confirmation password has to be agreed with the bank so that a check can be made that the money has been deposited.'
‘Then what?'
'A second password has to be agreed with the bank for the transfer of the money. When we have the child we give them the password and the money can be transferred into whatever account they please.'
'What's to stop us grabbing the brat and not giving them the password?' grinned Nelligan.
'I feel sure they have considered that possibility,’ said Innes coldly. They didn't strike me as being amateurs.'
‘But then neither am I,’ said Kell with a smile.
Innes continued, 'You are to have a man in Chicago within three days. He is to check in to Room 303 at the Stamford Hotel. It's been reserved.’
'Then what?'
'He will be contacted and taken to see the boy. The exchange is to take place within twenty-four hours after that.’
'Where?'
They will decide that.’
'Of course,’ said Kell softly as if something was amusing him.
They are calling the shots,’ said Innes.
'Of course they are,’ said Kell with an even broader smile. His eyes, magnified by the strong lenses of his glasses, blinked with the mesmerising regularity of a lizard as he considered what he had heard.
‘There will, of course, be the problem of getting the boy out of the country after the hand-over,’ said Innes.
Kell looked at him as if he were some kind of mental defective then said, 'Well, I'm sure our American friends can help there, don't you think?'
'If you say so, Mr Kell.’
At eleven precisely the coded knock came to the door again and three men were admitted to the room. There were handshakes all round and the three introduced themselves as Shelby, Bogroless and Roker. Kell, still holding a tumbler of whisky, offered the Americans a drink. Shelby, their leader, a short dark man wearing a grey suit and a yellow silk shirt that threatened to burst under the strain of his stomach, nodded to Kell's glass and said, I’ll have a drop of Irish, too.'
His assumption had been wrong. Kell turned to Nelligan and asked him to ring down for a bottle of Jamieson's. He raised his glass slightly in the direction of the American and said, 'Scotch.'
The American made a joke about Kell's taste in whisky and Kell pretended to share in the amusement for he was sizing up his guests. The request for Irish whiskey had been noted and the man classified by Kell as a Yankee Paddy, Kell's own derogatory term for Americans drawn to the romanticism of the idea of Old Ireland.
But it didn't matter what they were, only the money mattered. It was just a question of how best to deal with them. As the conversation continued it became clear that one of the others, Bogroless, fell into the same mould as Shelby. The third man, Roker, was not so easy to assess. He was not a Y.P. He was too quiet, too withdrawn, a bit like Innes really, a bit like an accountant. Chances were that's what he was. Kell decided that he was the one with the brains.
Shelby said, 'Commander, you have requested our co-operation in securing a great deal of money, an enormous sum of money in fact.'
'A free Ireland doesn't come cheap,' said Kell.
'You really believe that that is what it could mean?' asked Shelby.
Kell, adopting the rhetoric of the patriot, started selling the plan to the Americans. The longer he spoke the more he could see that he was convincing Shelby and Bogroless of the feasibility of the operation but he was worried about Roker. Roker had sat throughout with a complete lack of expression save for a cold, hard gaze that had never left Kell for a moment.
'Frankly, Commander, the sum of money involved is too large. Don't you have some other way of financing it?' asked Shelby.
'Twelve of our gallant lads went down in just such an attempt last Friday,' said Kell. 'Including a dear personal friend.'
'We heard,' Shelby sympathised. 'A tragedy, a tragedy.'
Bogroless nodded in agreement. Roker continued to watch Kell, apparently unmoved by what he had heard.
'I understood that it was INLA men who attempted the raids,' said Roker, speaking for the first time.
'Indeed it was,' said Kell. This operation is so important that we had decided to put aside our differences and work together. It's that big.'
Shelby said with an air of unease, 'Actually, Commander… it is just possible that we could raise such a sum but it would involve an all or nothing effort including a great deal of borrowing. Not to put too fine a point on it, it would bleed NORAID dry. If the operation failed there would never be any more…'
This will be the last operation for all of us,' said Kell.
That's what you have to convince us of,' said Shelby. 'Do you really believe that the British would pull out of Ireland in exchange for the boy?'
'Yes, I do.'
Roker interrupted. He had a cold featureless voice that matched his appearance. He said, 'Mr Kell, there is a school of thought that says that the British wouldn't stand for this and there would be a bloody civil war in Ireland instead of the triumph you suggest. What do you say to that?'
'I think that they are right,’ said Kell to everyone's obvious surprise. Even Roker permitted himself a raise of the eyebrows. Are you telling us that you would plunge Ireland into civil war deliberately?' he asked.
Kell shook his head slowly and smiled indulgently as if teaching a class of infants. 'No,' he said. 'A lot of people are missing the point. The British have covered the whole thing up. That works in our favour, don't you see? If the British agree to our terms then the boy could be returned to them without the press and the public ever knowing. They could save face as well as get their brat back and we all know how much that means to the British.'
The Americans saw the sense in what Kell was saying. Shelby said, 'You mean the world at large would never know that they had given in to blackmail?'
'Exactly,’ said Kell, as if a pupil had finally managed to get something right.
'What are the arrangements for the ransom?' asked Roker.
Kell told him.
'If we were to agree we would have to be involved at all stages and we would keep control of the money until we were completely satisfied,’ said Roker. 'We could work together,’ said Kell. 'Excuse us a moment, Commander,’ said Shelby. The three Americans moved to the adjoining room of the suite and talked in whispers while Kell, Nelligan and Innes waited.
'What was that about losing a dear friend in the INLA, Mr Kell?' whispered Nelligan quietly. 'Shut up,’ hissed Kell.
The Americans returned. Shelby stood in the middle of the floor flanked by Bogroless and Roker. 'We agree,’ said Shelby. 'We'll finance it.'
‘Then this calls for a celebration,’ said Kell. 'Nelligan! The glasses.'
It was decided that Roker would handle negotiations on behalf of NORAID and Innes would be sent to the States to represent the interests of the IRA. Kell suggested that Innes return with the Americans to their own hotel so that he and Roker could finalise details about the exchange.
‘To a free Ireland,’ proposed Shelby with the final toast of the evening. Kell smiled and raised his glass.
When the Americans had left, Nelligan asked if Kell wanted any more whisky. Kell shook his head and said, 'We've got work to do. I want to speak to Harrigan in England and then I want to see Reagan. But first, phone the Long House… find out if the woman has called.'
Avedissian found that he could not sleep. He tossed and
turned for a while before getting up to look out at the garden. It was bathed in moonlight and pale shadow, like a scene from another planet where no man had ever trod. The flowers had lost their colour and the trees their true form to become abstracts in a dream. There was no sound.. save for a slight scraping sound, that came from be-hind him! He turned round and saw the handle of the door turn slowly.
Avedissian tip-toed quickly across the room to press himself to the wall beside the door and wait for it to open. His pulse rate was rising rapidly. As a shadowy figure entered the room Avedissian reached out his arm and circled it round the figure's neck in a head lock. What he touched was silky and soft and smelled sweetly of a perfume he recognised. 'Kathleen!' he exclaimed. He relaxed his grip and felt on the wall for the switch.
'No, don't put on the light.'
'I'm sorry, I didn't realise…'
'It was my fault. It was a silly thing to do.'
'Are you all right? Did I hurt you?' whispered Avedissian, still holding her shoulders.
'I'm fine. I just feel stupid that's all.'
'But why? Why did you…?'
Kathleen looked up at Avedissian so that he could see her face in the moonlight coming from the window. 'It's silly. I couldn't sleep. I thought we might talk, then I realised that you would probably be sleeping so I thought I would look in on you quietly to see.'
Avedissian smiled in the darkness and told her that he hadn't been able to sleep either. He had been looking out of the window.
'May I join you?'
'Of course.'
'It's peaceful,' murmured Kathleen.
'Just what I was thinking,’ agreed Avedissian. 'But when there is nothing to distract you all your past mistakes return to haunt you.
‘The accusation of silence,’ said Kathleen.
'But now we each have a confessor,’ said Avedissian.
Kathleen smiled and pointed to a cat that was stealing across the lawn in pursuit of some unseen prey. They paused in their conversation to watch it then, when it had disappeared into the bushes, Kathleen said, 'Me first?'
'If you like.’
'I wouldn't know where to begin, "Father", for I am guilty of so many things. I feel sometimes as if I have lived my entire life as a victim of circumstance. A willing victim for I did nothing to change it.’
'Does that make you guilty of anything?' asked Avedissian.
'I think so. I think if you see harm being done and do nothing to prevent it it's almost as bad as doing it yourself, perhaps even worse because then you can pretend that you're entirely innocent.’
'Are you talking about your brother?' asked Avedissian.
'I suppose so. Don't get me wrong, I'm for a free Ireland as much as he ever was. I want to see an end to all the injustices of the North and I want to see the British out. It's just that I lack conviction when it comes to the crunch.’
'I don't understand.’
'When Martin came to me, as he always did when he needed someone, I was always there, but not because, as he imagined, I shared his enthusiasm for what he was doing but simply because he was my brother and I loved him.'
'That doesn't sound so bad to me,’ said Avedissian.
'But it was. Don't you see? I let him think that I agreed with him that there was no other way to achieve our ends, because my head told me that he was right, and still does. It's just that my heart always told me that it was wrong and it was a dreadful sin. I never told him that. I never tried to convince him that I might have been right. I just opted out and played the dutiful sister.'
'You are doing something positive now,' said Avedissian.
'I'm just a victim of circumstance again.'
'You needn't have agreed to come along,' Avedissian pointed out.
Kathleen looked at Avedissian and smiled distantly. She said, 'You are a nice man, Avedissian. What kind of a name is that anyway?'
'Armenian grandfather,' replied Avedissian.
'And what sins are you guilty of?' asked Kathleen.
Avedissian shrugged. 'Arrogance when I'm winning, weakness when I'm losing.’
'You sound like the human race,’ said Kathleen.
'It's just a question of degree.'
Kathleen shivered and Avedissian put his arm round her. He did it unsurely and there was an instant when she stiffened, but it passed. She relaxed and laid her head against his chest. 'It's been a long time since anyone held me,’ she said.
I’m sorry. That shouldn't be.'
'Do you find me attractive?' Kathleen asked, sounding vulnerable.
'More than attractive. You’re beautiful.’
'I'm thirty-four years old.’
Avedissian kissed her hair and repeated what he had said.
'You see, there has been no one to tell me that for such a long time.’ Kathleen looked up and Avedissian brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her gently and feeling her lips part, warm and moist.
Kathleen drew away slightly and put her hands against Avedissian's chest. 'I'm going back to my room now,’ she whispered. 'Thank you for talking to me.’
Avedissian smiled and whispered, 'Good-night, Kathleen O'Neill.’
He watched the door close and turned again to have a last look at the garden before returning to bed. It had started to rain, a few spots at first, then steadily. He got into bed and listened to the sound of the drops striking the leaves. Somewhere in the night an owl hooted but Avedissian felt warm and comfortable and out of its reach.
SEVEN
The rain persisted throughout the following day. It made Avedissian and Kathleen huddle down into their collars as they walked the short distance from the airport bus to the steps of the TWA Boeing 747. David, to their relief, seemed completely at ease with them, something that Avedissian put down to Kathleen's winning way with children. They had had only an hour with him and his real parents in a room at the airport but it had been sufficient. The boy was happily clutching Kathleen's hand as he scaled, what were for him, the giant steps to the rear entrance.
Almost at the same time the three Americans who had met with Kell were boarding by the front steps. As 'Ambassador Class' passengers they would be unlikely to come into contact with the Farmer family who were more ordinary passengers, not that it would have mattered. They didn't know each other. Fate's little joke would have been lost on both parties.
Two hours out across the Atlantic David fell asleep and Avedissian and Kathleen could talk without distraction. Kathleen asked, 'Do you think we're going to the States because the kidnappers are American?'
Avedissian shrugged. He had been thinking along the same lines himself but had to confess that he had not reached any conclusion. He said, That seems logical but there could be other reasons. The kidnappers may know that the Irish could only fund this thing with the help of American money. They may have decided to set up shop close to the bank, so to speak.'
'So they could be any nationality.'
'I suppose so.'
'Why Chicago?' asked Kathleen. 'Wouldn't it have been more sensible to use a city on the East Coast?'
'My guess is that they are taking no chances. Chicago is in the middle. That gives them options to move north, south, east or west with equal predictability.'
They stopped talking to allow a stewardess to ask them if they wanted anything to drink. Both said no.
‘I wish we were on the way back,' said Kathleen ruefully as the captain made a slight course correction.
Avedissian smiled. 'Do you know what I wish?' he said. 'I wish that we. really were Dr and Mrs Farmer travelling with our son David for a holiday in the States.' He put his head back on the seat cushion and closed his eyes. He was pleased to feel Kathleen take his hand and squeeze it.
The flight landed on time in Chicago and they were met by a woman who took charge of David. She wished them well before disappearing into the throng on the main concourse. It happened so quickly that Kathleen was visibly surprised. She looked wistfully after the child as he vanished among the a
rms and legs of the airport crowd.
'No problem with goodbyes,' said Avedissian.
‘I suppose not,' said Kathleen.
They took a yellow cab to their hotel and saw immediately why it had been chosen. It was enormous. Kathleen had to strain her head back to look up at the huge tower block. 'Identical rooms for identical people,' she said.
The edge of excitement that had been so much in evidence at the start of their journey had been dulled by the long flight and the knowledge that they were now in for another period of waiting. Their instructions, given by Bryant before they had left Belfast for London Heathrow, were that one of them was to stay in the hotel at all times. The other had to check back at intervals of no longer than two hours.
'Hungry?' asked Avedissian when they had finished unpacking what little belongings they had.
'Just tired,’ replied Kathleen.
'I want to stretch my legs,’ said Avedissian.
'I shan't go out,’ she assured him.
Kathleen was fast asleep when Avedissian returned from a brief walk in the streets around the hotel; he had enjoyed the exercise but had found the humidity oppressive and was glad to return to the air-conditioned comfort of the room. He tried to make as little noise as possible in taking a shower.
There was no message for them throughout the following day and they grew nervous with the waiting. Each had been unwilling to leave the other so they had spent almost the entire day talking in their room. It had not been unpleasant but always, at the back of their minds, they had known that they were waiting for something to happen and the seeds of frustration had been sown.
At seven in the evening Kathleen had just finished saying, 'They might keep us a bit better informed,’ when the phone rang and their excitement grew. Avedissian answered. It was Paul Jarvis.
'Meet me in the bar of the Regency Hotel at seven-thirty,’ said Jarvis. 'It's three blocks west of where you are.'
An American woman in her thirties was holding court in the bar of the Regency when Avedissian and Kathleen arrived. Her spreading buttocks slid around the bar stool as she emphasised every comment with extravagant hand gestures.