The Trojan boy

by Ken McClure

  Avedissian turned to leave the room but stopped when he heard the level of sound from across the corridor increase suddenly. Someone was coming out and he would be trapped! He stepped quickly back into the shadow behind the room door and prayed. If someone came in and switched on the light he was a dead man.

  A short, broad man with a bull neck came into the room, still engaged in conversation with those across the corridor. He did not touch the light switch but took the kettle down from the shelf and filled it under the tap. He was so close to Avedissian that Avedissian thought he must smell his fear but the man appeared to notice nothing amiss. He rattled the lid on to the kettle at the second attempt and left the room.

  Avedissian remained motionless for a few moments, still partially paralysed by nightmare thoughts of how close he had come to dying but the fact that he had apparently got away with it filtered through to him and restored his courage. He ventured out into the corridor again and returned to O'Neill and Kathleen.

  O'Neill greeted him with an anxious look.

  'It's done,' said Avedissian. 'Now we wait.'

  'How long?'

  Avedissian tried to guess how long it would take for the kettle to boil, how long it would take the man to make and drink the tea, assuming they drank it at all for there was a chance that they would be put off by the taste, and how long it would take for the drugs to act. He said, 'Better give them thirty minutes to be on the safe side.' He suddenly had an awful thought. He looked down at the man on the floor and said, 'Won't they miss him?'

  As if in answer to Avedissian's question, the door at the end of the passage opened and a voice called out, 'Liam! Tea's ready!'

  Avedissian and O'Neill were turned to stone. They waited for the door to close again but it did not. Someone was waiting for an answer! O'Neill stood up and faced the opposite direction from the source of the shout. He called out, 'Just comin" and then stopped breathing as he waited for a reaction. The door at the end of the passage closed.

  Avedissian examined Kathleen. She was still sleeping peacefully and mercifully free of pain after her ordeal thanks to the analgesics. He lifted one of her eyelids and saw that she was not too deeply sedated for her to be brought round when they had to leave. She groaned and moved her face away in response to him touching her eyes. Avedissian looked at Drummond lying on the floor and said, 'I think I'll give him a shot to make sure he stays out for the next few hours.' He gave the unconscious man an injection.

  O'Neill said, 'I think it's time. Shall we risk it?'

  Avedissian felt his stomach go into knots again but he nodded and said, 'Let's check it out.'

  They left Kathleen in the cell, while they crept along the passage towards the duty room, their hopes increasing with the fact that they could hear no sound at all coming from within. O'Neill found it difficult to put his faith in the power of drugs so it was Avedissian who finally put his hand on the handle of the duty room door and turned it slowly open.

  Two men lay slumped over the table, a third lay on the floor where he had fallen off his seat. O'Neill unlocked the door to the head of the stairs but still continued to rummage around. Avedissian asked him what he was doing.

  'I'm looking for some clue to what the little bastard is up to,' replied O'Neill. 'He could still start a civil war.'

  Avedissian helped O'Neill in the search but when, after five minutes, they had drawn a blank he suggested that they stop.

  'Let's try Kell's room,' said O'Neill. He looked down at the unconscious men and said, 'I take it they will be out for some time?'

  'A long time,’ replied Avedissian.

  'Look at this,’ said O'Neill, handing Avedissian a piece of paper. It was a photocopy of a map. Ordnance Survey, thought Avedissian, and said so to O'Neill.. He had recognised the style but not the area. There was a circle round a village called Valham. 'Mean anything?' asked O'Neill.

  'Nothing, but let's take it.'

  O'Neill asked Avedissian to help him put back the medical boxes in the sick room and drag the unconscious Drummond along to join the others. 'I don't want him getting all the blame for this,’ he said. Avedissian liked the gesture. This done, they brought Kathleen round and helped her along the passage and up the stairs.

  They were out in the Belfast night. The streets were wet but it had stopped raining and the air had never smelled so good to them. For Avedissian, at least, the smell of freedom became a reality.

  There was no real decision to be made. Their first objective had to be to get out of the country, for Ireland was no longer a place for any of them. Avedissian suggested that they should make for his flat in London. Any new plans could be made from there. It was agreed.

  Avedissian's worry that the O'Neills might have trouble with heightened security on the Ireland-England routes proved to be unfounded. There had been no IRA action for some time and memories are short even with the best of intentions. They made the crossing unhindered.

  THIRTEEN

  It was not until a London taxi driver gave them a second look that Avedissian realised how dirty and dishevelled they must seem. Up until then, their thoughts had been solely concerned with escape so it was only now, in the depths of London traffic, that they could relax a little and consider that they had really done it. They had escaped from the clutches of Finbarr Kell.

  Avedissian looked at Kathleen as they waited at traffic lights and saw the pain lines round her eyes. She had not complained at all since leaving Belfast but he knew that the effects of the pain-killer he had given her must have worn off some hours ago. He asked her gently if it was bad. She smiled at him and said that she was all right, he was not to worry.

  They drank whisky when they got into Avedissian's flat while they waited for an immersion heater to provide hot water. No one said anything about it only being eleven in the morning. For the moment time was unimportant; they needed a drink.

  Avedissian let the O'Neills bathe first while he scavenged through the kitchen cupboards and found whatever tinned food there was to prepare a passable meal, then he dressed Kathleen's burns before cleaning himself up and settling down to eat.

  'God, I feel better,' said O'Neill and they all agreed. O'Neill was all right in the clothes that Avedissian had given him but Kathleen looked like a waif from the storm in a shirt that swamped her and jeans bunched up into pleats at the waist.

  Their anxiety had subsided, they had cleaned up and they had eaten. It was time to talk about what they were going to do next. All were agreed that everything had to take second place to finding out what Kell was up to and stopping him if at all possible. At the moment the best they could do would be to warn the authorities that a big IRA operation was under way in England.

  'What's the way to do that?' asked Avedissian.

  'We could warn them by phone,' said Kathleen.

  'Would they believe us? Wouldn't they ask for some kind of identification?'

  'More than that, they would want to know what the operation involved and who and what were at risk,' said O'Neill.

  'And we couldn't tell them because we don't know,' added Avedissian.

  'But if Martin told them who he was they might take the warning seriously,' suggested Kathleen.

  'Martin O'Neill is dead as far as the authorities are concerned,' said Avedissian. 'The call would be dismissed as a hoax.'

  They considered for a moment before Avedissian said, 'There is one person who would believe that we were telling the truth.'

  'Who?'

  'Bryant.'

  Kathleen looked down at the table and fidgeted nervously. 'I couldn't bear to face that man again,' she said in a whisper.

  Avedissian put a hand on her shoulder and said quietly, 'I feel the same. I've got a score to settle with that rat, but we must think rationally. Bryant has the resources to stop Kell.'

  'How would you get to Bryant?' asked O'Neill.

  'I've had cause to think about that a lot,’ replied Avedissian. 'Officially I have no way of reaching him but unofficially
I think I can do it.'

  'Go on,’ said O'Neill.

  'When I was taken to see Bryant in London I had to wait in a room that looked out into a lane. It was night-time and there was a neon sign on the building opposite. It said Staplex Bindings. If I can get their address from the phone book I think I can find the building that Bryant uses.'

  'That's worth a try,’ said O'Neill.

  Kathleen, unable to contemplate the prospect of becoming involved with Bryant again, stayed silent.

  Avedissian looked up the phone book and said, 'I've got it.'

  'Do you want us to go too?' asked O'Neill.

  Avedissian shook his head and said, 'It's best if I go alone. There's no time to lose. You and Kathleen can get to work on that map we took from Kell's room. Find out where that village is and what is special about it.’

  'We'll get some clothes too,’ said O'Neill.

  'Be careful,’ said Kathleen as Avedissian prepared to leave. He kissed her and told her there was no need to worry. He would be back soon.

  Avedissian took a taxi to the Staplex works. It was a journey of about fifteen minutes but would have been shorter had it not been for heavy traffic. He crossed the road and walked past the building until he came to the entrance to the lane he remembered. He looked at the neon sign above the goods entrance and then at the building opposite. It seemed dark and featureless, just another anonymous building, but there, on the third floor, was a window with a large plant in it. It was the room where he had been asked to wait on the night he had been brought from the training school at Llangern.

  Avedissian walked up one side of the lane and came back on the other, casually looking at the doors leading into the building. All were securely locked. But maybe that was all to the good, he thought. His best plan would be to wait for Bryant either to enter or leave the building. That way the element of surprise would remain with him. If he were to go in blind he would be playing a game where he was an amateur among professionals.

  Avedissian grew tired of waiting. It had been over three hours and still no one had entered or left. He began to have visions of the building being empty. Perhaps it was only used on odd occasions, not on a regular basis at all. He had almost convinced himself that this was the case when at five-thirty, the front door opened and a woman came out. He recognised her. It was Sarah Milek, the secretary he had first met at Cambridge.

  Sarah. Milek walked down the lane and turned left, with Avedissian some thirty metres behind. She turned left again into another narrow lane and approached a line of lock-up garages before pausing to search in her handbag for the key to one of the doors. Avedissian waited until she had opened it and was lifting up the door before running up behind her and hustling her inside. He clamped his hand over her mouth to stifle her scream and whispered in her ear. 'Don't panic, Miss Milek. It's an old friend. Remember me?' He took his hand away.

  'You!' gasped Sarah Milek.

  'Surprised? Could that be because I'm supposed to be dead, I wonder?'

  'I'm glad you're not.’

  'Of course you are. Where's Bryant?' snapped Avedissian.

  'I see,’ said Sarah Milek, 'You've come for your revenge.'

  'That was my original intention,’ agreed Avedissian. 'But circumstances have dictated that I need Bryant's help.’

  'Help?' said an astonished Sarah Milek.

  ‘The IRA have been planning a big operation here in England. It's going to happen any day now and Kell's people are already here. It's Kell's way of paying Bryant back for trying to trick him.'

  'But there hasn't been time for Kell to mount anything big,’ protested Sarah Milek.

  'You're wrong,’ said Avedissian. 'Kell knew all along that there had been no royal kidnap. He started working on his own scheme right back at the beginning and just kept stringing Bryant along.'

  'But he tried to raise money from bank raids.'

  'Wrong again. Kell planted Kathleen O'Neill on Bryant and used her to settle an old score with the INLA and convince Bryant that she was genuine at the same time. Her brother hadn't been killed by Kell at all. He's still alive. He's here with me in London. That's how I know about Kell's plans.'

  'And Kathleen O'Neill?'

  'She's here too.'

  'What happened to the boy?' asked Sarah Milek tentatively.

  'He's dead. I buried him in a field in Illinois.'

  Tm sorry… I know you can't believe that, but I am. It was the most horrible plan.'

  'So why didn't you stop it?' demanded Avedissian.

  'It was Bryant's doing — him and his bitter hatred of the Irish.'

  'Why?'

  'He thinks that being so long in the Irish section has destroyed his career. He believes that successive governments have refused to tackle the IRA head-on as he would like. He has always believed that the fight should have been taken to the enemy. Fight fire with fire, that sort of thing, but every scheme he has come up with over the years has been turned down as being either too aggressive or too politically sensitive. He has always taken the rejection of his plans personally; he has become paranoid about the "Public School Mafia" as he calls them. Sometimes I think he hates our side as much as he does the opposition.'

  'And his latest scheme?'

  'He saw a photograph in a newspaper of a handicapped child whose parents had been killed in a car crash and noticed that the boy bore a superficial resemblance to one of the royal children. It gave him an idea for an operation that he thought would prove to the powers that be that he should be running the section instead of playing number two.'

  'Why did nobody stop him?'

  ‘This time Bryant was clever. He sold the idea to Sir Michael as purely a confidence trick to destroy NORAID and undermine IRA morale. There was no mention of ever using a real child, but he maintained that, for the scheme to have a chance of success, everyone would have to act and behave as if the kidnap had really happened, and Sir Michael agreed.'

  'Why didn't it stay that way?'

  'Bryant was obsessed with the operation. He saw this as his one big chance to show how good he was.'

  'So he planned his own version all along?'

  Sarah Milek nodded. 'He also diverted funds from within the section to employ some dubious operatives of his own.'

  'And the boy?'

  'The child was still in temporary accommodation after the crash while the social services decided what to do with him. Bryant came up with transfer forms for a children's home at the other end of the country, on the grounds that some distant relation of the boy had been located and adoption might be a possibility. The local authorities were only too happy to see their problem solved.’

  'But surely Sir Michael must have suspected something was going on while Bryant was doing all this?' Avedissian protested.

  'He did, but at the wrong moment his past caught up with him.’

  'What do you mean?'

  'One of Bryant's people came up with something on Sir Michael himself, a series of indiscretions involving young boys. Bryant virtually took over the operation and the section from then on. Sir Michael became little more than a figurehead. Bryant ran the show.'

  ‘That's why the old man committed suicide,’ said Avedissian, remembering the story in the papers.

  'He couldn't bear the shame,’ said Sarah Milek.

  'But Bryant's scheme failed,’ said Avedissian.

  'It's true that he didn't get the money, but the INLA was wiped out in Belfast and Bryant got the credit for that. He also set up the ambush that killed Kevin O'Donnell. His record says that he will be made head of section in the near future in spite of any opposition from high places.'

  'Why doesn't somebody tell the truth about him? You, for instance?' asked Avedissian.

  'I only know what Sir Michael told me before he died and even then I suspect that there are bits of the story I don't know. I don't really know much about what he was using the outsiders for.'

  'He used them to wire bombs to cars,’ said Avedissian quie
tly.

  'What?'

  'It doesn't matter. You know enough,’ accused Avedissian.

  'Knowing something and proving it are two different things.'

  'There must be someone you could go to?'

  'I'm not that brave, Doctor. Bryant is a powerful man. He's above the law, whatever politicians might say, and, quite frankly, he scares me. You don't cross a man like Bryant and get away with it.'

  Avedissian closed his eyes and whispered, 'Now where have I heard that before?'

  'Pardon?'

  Avedissian ignored the question and said, 'I have to talk to Bryant. Where is he?'

  'He's at a meeting. He's one of the advisers on security matters for the royal birthday party,’ said Sarah Milek. When Avedissian looked blank she added, 'There's to be a specially televised birthday party tomorrow. The Blue Peter programme is hosting a party for handicapped young people from all over the country. Members of the Royal Family will attend.'

  Avedissian remembered reading about it, but now that he knew that Bryant was involved he saw it in a different light and alarm bells started to ring inside his head. 'Where is it to be held?' he asked.

  'That is being kept secret,’ said Sarah Milek.

  'God, that could be it!' gasped Avedissian.

  'Could be what?'

  'Kell! He's going to hit the party!'

  'But…’

  'That's what he meant by the "last thing anyone would think of in the circumstances'" A hit on the very child he was supposed to be negotiating for on the other side of the Atlantic!'

  'But how? Security is always tight on these occasions.'

  'I don't know, but I'm almost sure that must be it. Can Bryant be contacted?'

  'Yes if it's urgent.'

  'It's urgent.'

  'Come back to the office.'

  Avedissian waited impatiently while Sarah Milek telephoned Bryant. He heard her say why she was calling but could not hear Bryant's response when she told him who was with her. He took the phone and put it to his ear.