Spies

by Brian Gallagher

  He had slipped out of Hanlon’s boarding house unseen, shutting from his mind how horrified Mrs Hanlon would be if she knew what he was doing. It was a quarter past eight now and Johnny had calculated carefully the time at which he wanted to arrive at the hotel. If he left it too late the rebels might already be in position, poised to go into action for their nine o’clock deadline. But if he acted too soon, Commander Radcliffe would discover the truth and realise that an operation was afoot. Johnny had calculated that about twenty past eight would be the perfect time to reach The Eastwood Hotel, and he accelerated now as he cycled along St Stephens Green.

  Although it was early on a Sunday morning, the streets were surprisingly busy, with Tipperary supporters already on the move ahead of today’s football match against Dublin in Croke Park. Johnny thought it was clever of the IRA to plan their move against the British agents for a day when town would be thronged with football supporters. The rebels could vanish into the crowds if the city was busy, and Johnny recognised good planning even as he tried to concentrate on his own mission.

  He turned into Leeson Street, his heart beginning to thump as he approached The Eastwood Hotel. He tried breathing deeply to calm himself, then dismounted and leaned his bicycle against the lamppost as before. He looked around surreptitiously, but there was no sign of anybody staking out the premises. He paused briefly, getting up his nerve, then quickly mounted the steps into the hotel. He approached the desk with an air of urgency, hoping that his telegraph uniform would make his presence seem convincingly official. The friendly receptionist from last night was gone and in her place was a heavy-set man with horn-rimmed glasses.

  ‘I’ve an urgent message for Wing Commander Radcliffe,’ said Johnny confidently. ‘Is he still in his room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s the number?’

  ‘You can’t disturb a guest in his room. I’ll ring him and tell him there’s a telegram.’

  ‘There isn’t time for that. It’s top priority, I’ve to give it to him in person.’

  Johnny saw the man hesitate. ‘I don’t know. We don’t normally––’

  ‘This is life and death!’ said Johnny cutting him short. ‘His daughter is seriously ill. Just tell me the room number!’

  ‘All right, all right. Room Seven. First floor.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Johnny, already moving for the stairs.

  He ascended two steps at a time then turned right into a carpeted corridor. He continued until he came to a door with seven on it. He had planned carefully what to do next, and he knocked on the door briskly, but not so loudly as to alarm other guests.

  There was no immediate answer, and Johnny prayed that Radcliffe wasn’t a heavy sleeper. Come on, he thought. He resisted the urge to knock again too soon, knowing that it was crucial to get Stella’s father out without alerting his officer friends. Just when Johnny was tempted to knock again he heard the lock being undone.

  The door swung open and Commander Radcliffe stood in the doorway with a towel in his hand and his shirt collar undone.

  ‘Johnny!’ he said. ‘What on earth are––’

  ‘It’s Stella!’ cried Johnny. ‘She’s taken ill. You need to get to Balbriggan!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s really sick. Dr Foley said it’s urgent, and you need to get to Balbriggan straight away.’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  Johnny felt bad about lying when he saw Radcliff’s distress, but he pressed on. ‘Have you got a car, Commander?’

  ‘Yes, it’s parked in Fitzwilliam Square.’

  ‘Better leave everything here and make for the car,’

  ‘Of course.’

  Radcliffe threw down the towel, then grabbed his tie and jacket. He scooped up a wallet and a set of keys, then made for the door.

  ‘What…what happened her, Johnny?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’

  Radcliffe closed the room door, and they made for the stairs.

  ‘Why don’t you just get to the car, and I’ll stay back and send word that you’re on your way?’ said Johnny.

  ‘Fine,’ cried Radcliffe, descending at speed with Johnny at his hells. He paused briefly at the bottom and turned around. ‘Thank you, Johnny. Thank you very much.’ Before Johnny could answer Radcliffe nodded, then quickly made for the front door and exited to the street.

  Johnny lowered his head into his hands, relieved that he may have saved the life of his friend’s father. He stood there a moment, allowing his heartbeat to slow down, then he slung his satchel over his shoulder and walked swiftly out of The Eastwood Hotel.

  * * *

  Alice stopped dead in the lobby of the Mill. She and Stella were carrying their hockey gear, but both girls lowered their sticks as Commander Radcliffe burst in the door.

  ‘Stella!’ he cried crossing to her. ‘What’s…what’s happened?!

  Alice had never seen her friend’s father so wild-eyed, and Stella looked at him with equal bemusement.

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘Are you…are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine’

  ‘Oh my God, Stella, I feared for your life!’ He took her in his arms and hugged her, kissing her forehead.

  Alice watched in amazement. Commander Radcliffe was a devoted father, but not normally given to public displays of affection, and Alice was intrigued to know what had brought this on.

  ‘You feared for my life?’ said Stella when her father released her from his embrace.

  ‘Yes, I was told you were really ill.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That Doctor Foley was treating you.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Doctor Foley in over a week. Who…who said this?’

  Alice could see that Commander Radcliffe was totally perplexed.

  ‘I…I thought the message was from Doctor Foley,’ he said.

  ‘But who delivered it?’ persisted Stella.

  ‘Johnny. Johnny Dunne.’

  ‘Johnny? That…that makes no sense,’ said Stella.

  Alice was shocked too, and she struggled to make sense of it. To do such an odd thing, Johnny must have had a good reason. Could he possibly have lured Commander Radcliffe here on the orders of the IRA? No sooner had Alice thought it than she felt ashamed. Johnny was honourable, and he would never use his friendship with Stella to set up her father. So what was he up to?

  ‘Johnny was adamant I get to you as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ve no idea why he’d do that,’ said Stella.

  ‘If it’s some kind of practical joke, it’s extremely ill-judged,’ said Commander Radcliffe angrily. ‘I’ll see to it that he’s dismissed.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that as a joke, Dad.’

  ‘Then what was he at?’

  ‘We don’t know, Commander,’ said Alice. ‘But please, don’t do anything to have him sacked till we find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Very well. When did you last speak to him?’

  ‘The day of Granddad’s mass,’ answered Stella, as the telephone on the reception desk behind them began to ring.

  ‘Neither of us has seen him since then,’ added Alice. No need to reveal that Johnny had written and told them of the developments with his mother, she thought, that was a separate matter.

  ‘Telephone call for you, Commander,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘Really? Who is it?’

  ‘Army Headquarters. They said it’s urgent.’

  Alice listened intrigued as Stella’s father crossed to the desk and took up the telephone.

  ‘Wing Commander Radcliffe speaking,’ he said.

  There was a long pause, but despite straining her ears, Alice couldn’t hear what was being said done the telephone line

  ‘God Almighty!’ said Radcliffe, his face blanching as he gripped the telephone. He listened for another moment, then spoke again. ‘What locations, sir?’ He listened before raising another question. ‘And a
t The Eastwood Hotel, was Lt. Colonel Jennings…?’

  Alice looked at his face hoping for some clue, but his expression was stony. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said finally, ‘I’ll drove straight back to Headquarters. Thank you, sir.’

  He put down the telephone, then turned to face Alice and Stella.

  ‘What’s going on? Dad?’

  ‘British officers have been assassinated all over Dublin. At nine this morning IRA gunmen raided hotels and houses and shot unarmed officers.’

  Alice was taken aback but she tried to think clearly. ‘How… how many people have been shot?’

  ‘There could be as many as twenty. There’s a lot of confusion, but at least a dozen are dead for sure.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Stella. ‘And…and The Eastwood Hotel where you stayed, Dad,’ she continued tentatively. ‘Was that attacked?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You could have been killed!’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Was…was your friend shot?’

  ‘They haven’t found a body for Lt. Colonel Jennings, so we’re hoping for the best. It’s all pretty chaotic.’

  Suddenly it made sense to Alice. Johnny hadn’t been acting for the IRA in going to The Eastwood Hotel. He’d protected Stella’s father from them.

  ‘So Johnny’s story about me being sick,’ said Stella as the truth appeared to dawn on her too, ‘that was to get you out. He probably saved your life.’

  Commander Radcliffe considered for a moment then nodded. ‘So it seems.’ He looked thoughtful, then turned his gaze back to the girls. ‘But how did he know I was there? And more importantly, how did he know the attack was coming?’

  ‘Maybe…maybe he overheard something?’ said Stella. Even to Alice it sounded unconvincing, and she wasn’t surprised when Commander Radcliffe shook his head.

  ‘That’s hardly likely,’ he said.

  Alice felt that she needed to deflect him from the truth of Johnny’s situation. ‘Maybe…maybe someone else sent him with that message. Johnny could have believed Stella really was sick.’

  ‘Possibly. But if someone sent him, that person was close enough to the IRA to know their plans. How was Johnny involved with someone like that?’

  Neither of the girls had a ready answer and Commander Radcliffe looked around. ‘Where’s Mom, Stella?’

  ‘In my room. She’s having a lie-on.’

  ‘I’ll have a quick word before I leave.’

  ‘What’s going to happen, Dad?’

  He turned back to her and paused. ‘There’ll be a price to pay for what the IRA did,’ he answered grimly. ‘And I worry, I seriously worry, for the people who’ll end up paying it.’

  Alice watched him walk away. She was pleased that Johnny had saved the life of her friend’s father, and sorry for the officers who had been shot in cold blood. Mostly though she was worried for Johnny, and she hoped fervently that he wouldn’t be one of those who paid for today’s events.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘We need to get you out of Dublin tonight, Johnny,’ said Mrs Hanlon.

  ‘That wasn’t the plan,’ he protested.

  ‘The plan has changed!’ she snapped.

  Johnny was taken aback by her rare loss of composure.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, raising a hand in apology. ‘There’s just so much going on.’

  There was no denying that, thought Johnny, as he tried to marshal his thoughts. They were in Mrs Hanlon’s sitting room, the gloom of a November dusk relieved by soft lighting and a roaring fire in the grate. Over the course of the day Johnny’s emotions had been in turmoil. He had been hugely relieved to get Stella’s father out of harm’s way, and he knew now that his fears had been well founded, and that Commander Radcliffe could well have been shot as a fellow British officer by the men sent to execute Lt. Colonel Jennings. Johnny had been excited that Michael Collins’s men had struck a stunning blow against British Intelligence. But he was also disturbed by the idea of unarmed agents being shot in cold blood, and he was uncomfortably aware that he had played a part in confirming the locations of some of the victims. He had accepted Mrs Hanlon’s argument that Collins had struck the enemy before they could strike him, but he had still felt uneasy.

  Then had come the devastating news that police, Auxiliaries and British troops had raided Croke Park during the Dublin versus Tipperary match. Johnny had expected some form of reprisals for the executions of the British agents, but he had been horrified to hear that the raiding party had opened fire on the crowd at the match, causing the deaths of fourteen spectators. Johnny knew it must have been a nightmare, with screaming spectators running in panic as the dead and wounded fell to the ground.

  Nevertheless, Mrs Hanlon claimed that Collins had devastated British Intelligence in Ireland, with surviving agents scurrying to the safety of Dublin Castle. Johnny, though, felt that the deaths of fourteen innocent civilians was a high price to pay, and he was sickened that the authorities would lash out so indiscriminately. And if all that wasn’t enough, now Mrs Hanlon was ordering him out of Dublin.

  ‘Why can’t I stay here?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not safe. If they can mow down football supporters, God knows where the backlash will end. Dick McKee and Peadar Clancy have been arrested, and there’ll be more raids, and roadblocks, and checkpoints. And if they raid here as part of a crackdown they’ll find out you lived here. Much better that you’re gone if that happens.’

  ‘But you’re not going to leave, are you?’

  ‘This is my home, so I’ll brazen it out. But you’ve already said your mother wants you to live with her. Take her up on it, Johnny. Go to Scotland with her, you’ve more than done your bit for the cause.’

  Part of Johnny resented the idea of fleeing the country, yet he knew that Mrs Hanlon was making sense. ‘Supposing…supposing I do that. How do I get out of Dublin? You said there’ll be roadblocks and checkpoints. If they’re that much on the warpath, how do I get through the net?’

  ‘It won’t be easy. But I have an idea that I think will work.’

  Johnny looked at her challengingly. Her steely blue eye held his gaze, however, and on instinct he decided to trust her. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘tell me about it.’

  * * *

  ‘What a dreadful day,’ said Mrs Goodman as she and Alice walked down the aisle of the parish church in Balbriggan, alongside Stella and Mrs Radcliffe. They had attended Benediction, the air heavy with incense while the organist played ‘Tantum Ergo’ as the congregation prayed for the souls of all those killed earlier. Now the cold of November caused Stella to shiver as they stepped out into the night air.

  ‘I wish it would all just stop,’ she said.

  ‘It won’t though, will it?’ said Alice. ‘Killing those people in Croke Park was awful. It’ll only make things worse.’

  Stella hoped that this wouldn’t be the case. Her father had reported to Army Headquarters, but she told herself that the government response to the IRA executions wouldn’t involve much use of the RAF.

  ‘I pray you’re wrong, Alice,’ said Mrs Radcliffe. ‘Surely sense will prevail eventually.’

  ‘We haven’t seen much sense so far,’ said Mrs Goodman as they passed out the gate of the church grounds and headed back towards the Mill. ‘But maybe our prayers well be answered in time.’

  ‘In a way they already have,’ said Stella. ‘Dad had a miraculous escape this morning.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Goodman. ‘But I’d like to know what Johnny Dunne was up to.’

  ‘Whatever it was, he probably saved Dad’s life,’ answered Stella.

  ‘For which we’re greatly relieved. But his presence there…it suggests involvement.’

  ‘Maybe he just heard something on the grapevine, Mam,’ said Alice.

  ‘Or maybe he played a part. I always suspected him of rebel sympathies. And I know it’s a horrible thought, but perhaps he’d some link to this morning’s killings. Maybe we should report it to the police.’


  Stella immediately turned to her friend’s mother. ‘Don’t do that, Mrs Goodman. Please.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because if he was involved – and I’m not saying he was – but if he was involved some way, we’re even more in his debt. It would have taken huge courage to go against everyone on his own side, everything he believed in, to save Dad.’

  ‘I…I hadn’t thought of it that way,’ said Mrs Goodman.

  Stella looked at her appealingly. ‘There’s been enough trouble for one day. Please. Don’t add to it by setting the police on Johnny.’

  Mrs Goodman looked thoughtful, then nodded her head. ‘All right. Maybe it’s best to leave well enough alone for now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Stella. She sensed that the subject might not be closed permanently, but for now she had bought Johnny some time. Relieved by the thought, she linked arms with Alice and walked back towards the warmth of the Mill.

  * * *

  ‘Connecting you now, caller,’ said the operator.

  ‘Thank you,’ answered Johnny, his pulses starting to throb. A lot depended on the outcome of this call, and if he didn’t get his message away now he wouldn’t get another chance tonight. He was in Mrs Hanlon’s private parlour, his suitcase containing his dismantled clarinet at his feet, in preparation for his escape bid from Dublin.

  He had already tried to contact his mother, ringing the chemist’s shop in Athlone only to be told that she was out. The chemist had been pleasant and had offered to take a message, but what was there to say? I’m Norah’s son, and it’s vital I contact her so we can flee the country?

  Johnny had thanked him and said he would try to make contact later. Now he waited anxiously as the telephone operator put him through on what he knew would be his final call.

  ‘Mill Hotel,’ came a voice down the line.

  ‘Hello, could I speak to Alice, please?’

  ‘Is that…is that Johnny?’