by Jack Elgos
‘Thanks mate. Thomas was right about you. You’re a good ‘un.’
Liam scrambled into the boat and Lippy indicated the cargo netting. ‘Hold tight. There’s no spare harness,’ he instructed.
‘OK,’ Liam acknowledged as he turned to wave to Laa Laa, but the boat set off immediately, throwing him backwards and it was all he could do to hold on. The wave to Laa Laa would have to wait.
Ireland quickly disappeared from view as the early dawn light showed them the way. There was no chance for conversation and Liam hung on for dear life as the boat ripped through the water, bouncing across the waves of the grey, unfriendly Irish Sea which sprayed him mercilessly with its icy blast. Laa Laa had told him it was a short journey, but it seemed to go on forever and Liam hated every minute of it. This was worse than a ferry ride in an oil drum and he decided, once and for all, that he was no seaman. Give him a gang of hard men to fight, and he was fine, but Mother Nature had him truly beaten.
Eventually Lippy turned to him and shouted something he couldn’t catch, then indicated he look ahead.
Liam struggled to see anything. His eyes were stinging from the salt water and he blinked and squinted in an effort to clear them. Then he saw it. ‘Land ahoy!’ he croaked with relief and, just minutes later, the RIB entered a small harbour.
‘Fishguard,’ Lippy announced at the top of his voice before expertly manoeuvring the boat out of the water, straight up onto a waiting trailer. Liam was impressed with the seamanship and even more so with the efficiency of the operation that had everything out of sight and him in the back of a warm Land Rover and covered in a blanket in no time at all.
‘First time eh?’ Lippy asked of his bedraggled passenger. Liam simply nodded. ‘Fancy a shower and a change of clothes?’ Liam nodded again. That sounded like heaven. Driver was dropped off en route and then they ended up at what, Liam had to assume, was Lippy’s house. Clearly the man trusted him, so Laa Laa must have given a good stuttering explanation, but Liam thought it best to err on the side of caution. When Lippy said that he’d been told to take him wherever he needed to go, Liam asked for Chesterfield. No point giving too much away. Besides, it wasn’t far from there to Alfreton and he’d rather make the last leg of his journey alone.
Lippy took him outside and Liam couldn’t help the whistle that escaped his lips as he saw the gleaming Mk 1 Ford Escort RS 2000. ‘Nice car.’
‘Thanks mate. Bought it from a bloke up in Yorkshire last month. It goes like stink; handles and brakes well too. It’s perfect for the Welsh dirt and forest roads. Me and Driver got one each, and they’re loads of fun. Anyhow, you ready?’
‘Aye I’m ready, so let’s get off like,’ said Liam as he strapped himself into the four point safety harness. Lippy turned the ignition key, pressed the start button and the motor spun quickly as the Ford growled into life. They were away and Liam decided this was a day for speed as Lippy drove expertly down country lanes, slowing only when they finally hit the main road.
‘Any place in particular?’ he asked.
‘Anywhere in or near the town centre will do fine,’ replied Liam and he was deposited outside Woolworth’s a few minutes later.
‘Sure this is OK for you?’
‘Aye, I’ll be fine from here,’ Liam assured him.
The two men shook hands and Liam watched the Ford growl away before he went in search of a taxi rank. He asked to be dropped at the end of a small lane, explaining to the driver that he had a labouring job and the farmer would be collecting him. He disliked lying to ordinary people, but the last few days had really unsettled him and he decided to be extra cautious.
He walked the last mile or so back to his house, performing his routine security procedures before he entered. He saw nothing out of place and finally walked in to check the security monitors. Again, all seemed fine and there was no evidence that anyone had been there. If Turner called in the next five minutes to ask why he had used a taxi and then walked, he would just have to accept it. He was absolutely exhausted and he just didn’t care. ‘First a whiskey and then a siesta,’ he sighed. It felt as though he’d been gone for months.
16
The Cooling off Period
The phone didn’t ring and when Liam rose mid-afternoon he knew he should call to make contact, but he wasn’t in the mood for Turner’s cheery voice. In fact he wasn’t in the mood for Turner at all. By the next morning, though, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He felt angry as he placed the call, identified himself to the security switchboard and was transferred instantly. ‘Liam I’ll be round in thirty minutes,’ was all he heard before the phone went down.
What? No Dr. Watson-esque “Hullo”? No “Dear boy”? Mm, that was interesting. Maybe he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood.
The familiar sight of the silver Mercedes appeared on his monitor half-an-hour later and Liam went to open the door. Turner walked in without a word and was through to the drawing room and seated before he finally asked, ‘Well?’
‘Well what, Mr. Turner?’
‘Liam, we lost you. If you were alive you should have made contact. It’s a severe breach of protocol. You were missing for nearly four days.’
‘Ah, so it’s missing I was? You actually lost me off your little radar, did you? I wasn’t missing. I was fuckin’ abandoned and hung out to dry.’
‘Now Liam, really, listen…’
‘No, Mr. Turner, you fuckin’ listen.’ He paused and, when there was no admonishment for his language, he knew he had the floor. ‘That British bastard left me. Thirty minutes more was all I needed and I’d have been out of there. He couldn’t keep that chopper waiting for an extra half-an-hour?’
‘He was under orders.’
‘Aye, your fuckin’ orders. Well thanks for nothing- boss. Your fuckin’ orders cost me one of the best mates I’ve ever had.’
‘Would that be Mr. Malone?’
‘Oh, aye, you know all about him, don’t you? What a fuckin’ surprise. He was a good man, the best, and now he’s dead because of you.’
‘Well I don’t have any details so…’
‘You don’t? And here’s me thinking you know everything. Well I’ll give you details shall I? That fuckin’ Brit coward left me and he’s still alive. Thomas is dead. That’s your fuckin’ details.’
‘The helicopter did wait.’
‘What?’
‘I authorised it.’
‘No you fuckin’ didn’t. It was gone.’
‘Yes, Liam, it was, but you really need to listen to me.’
‘I’m not…’
‘Dear boy, please. Maybe a cup of tea would help.’
‘Fuck yer tea. You can’t make everything all right with a cup of tea. Go on, then, I’ll listen but you ain’t getting no fuckin’ tea.’
Turner sighed deeply, waiting a few seconds to make sure that he really had the lad’s attention. ‘The sergeant radioed in just before departure time and I authorised him to wait for up to an hour, as long as he deemed it safe, but he was under orders to leave at the first sign of trouble.’
‘Trouble? Of course there was fuckin’ trouble.’
‘Liam you know the plan was for you to make your escape before anyone knew what had happened. The sergeant’s report says that two cars were approaching at speed. He judged, correctly I assume, that you had been discovered and were being chased. He ordered the pilot to set off as soon as the rotors were up to speed.’
‘I wasn’t being chased,’ Liam interjected, remembering the two cars he’d heard leaving the hotel.
‘You weren’t?’
‘No.’
‘Well you’ll have to fill me in on that in a minute, but I assume the cars were the bad guys?’
‘Oh aye.’
‘Well, then, the sergeant acted correctly. Liam, my boy, this is all about deniability, and a rogue operative running round Ireland is far easier to deny than a helicopter, a pilot, and one of Her Majesty’s soldiers.’
‘Oh, thanks a fuc
kin’ lot.’
‘Now it’s time for that language to stop. I know you are upset about your friend and I’m deeply sorry about that, really I am. In fact, when the report came in that Mr. Malone’s body had been found, we thought you might have killed him.’
‘Me? Why would I…’
‘Think about it, my boy. We knew he was one of your old associates and we knew that he thought you were dead. If he had been onto you, why wouldn’t you have killed him? We had lost all trace of you. Personally I was quite relieved when the body turned up. At least it suggested you were still alive. You hadn’t called in, we’d lost you and there was nothing we could do to help you. Really, you should have called in. Why didn’t you?’
‘Because you’d left me. I didn’t trust you.’
‘Dear, dear, dear. I do blame myself for all this. You’ve had two big jobs in as many weeks and that really is not how we like to operate. You should have been rested and I think we need to go over some of the basic procedures again. I’m actually going to have quite a lot of explaining to do. I shouldn’t even be here. I was supposed to be off in a nice, quiet little place by now, but your disappearing act has me grounded and some of those higher up are a little bit displeased with me. I convinced them you were ready, but it looks like I made a mistake.’
‘I was ready. I am ready.’
‘No Liam. You’re very good at what you do and we are all impressed with the way you dealt with Mr. Mad Dog. That was superb work by the way, and it justified my faith in you, but you are still a little rough around the edges. An operative who disobeys basic orders and protocol is a liability and my head is on the block over this.’
‘Sorry,’ Liam muttered as he realised he might have judged Turner too harshly. ‘You won’t lose your job, will you?’
‘Oh no, dear boy, don’t you worry yourself over that. I’m far too useful you see. No, I’ll just have a bit of explaining to do. So, how about we have that cup of tea now and then you tell me exactly what happened.’
Liam trudged off to make the tea and he found some biscuits to go with it. He felt a little like a naughty schoolboy now and he didn’t like it. He was still unhappy about what had happened to Thomas, but he knew he couldn’t lay all the blame at Turner’s feet. When he returned to the drawing room, the older man was puffing on his pipe and they sat together, the mood less tense now, to begin the de-brief.
When Liam mentioned Peter Moore’s presence, Turner almost jumped from his chair. ‘Why weren’t we aware of that beforehand?’ he said, his voice rising from its normal, soft tone.
‘Well I don’t know, do I?’
‘No, no, of course not, dear boy, but – well, really, that was a terrible lapse at our end. Quite unforgivable. And I suppose you tried to get him too?’
‘Of course.’
‘So that’s where it all went wrong then. You see, old bean, you should have left him. I’ve told you before; you can’t go around killing just anybody. They have to be authorised targets.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake. Moore is a target. I was interrogated about him, remember?’
‘He is not a target until we say he is a target.’
‘That’s fu… er, bloody stupid.’
‘No, Liam, that is protocol. And when protocol is broken, that’s when things go wrong. However, this is very interesting information. Oh yes, very interesting indeed. This will make my explanation a lot easier. Thank you for that.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The morning went on until Turner was satisfied that he had every detail. When he was ready to leave they shook hands and Liam was pleased to be back to their old level of – friendship? Were they friends? Yes, he really thought they were. Therefore he was a bit disappointed when Turner announced that he wouldn’t be seeing him again for some time. ‘I have to pass on this information and then I have other matters to deal with. You, dear boy, are to take a break and relax.’
‘Where?’
‘Here, of course, in this lovely old house and this beautiful countryside.’
‘I don’t really like this house. It’s too big.’
‘Oh come now, it’s hardly more than a cottage. Manor house is a rather grand name, I grant you, but it’s not that big really. Now you take a well-earned rest and someone will be in touch.’
‘When?’
‘Oh, I just can’t say. There’s nothing on the horizon for you at the moment. It could be a couple of months.’ And with that he left.
Months? What the fuck was he going to do for a couple of months?
***
As March turned into April and then May, the Derbyshire countryside erupted with spring flowers and Liam began taking long walks as part of his fitness routine. Though he would never admit it, he actually enjoyed it. It reminded him of when he was a young boy back in the 60s and his Mammy would take him away from the city to visit relatives for a few days. Walking through fields, his hand in hers, was one of his fondest childhood memories. He had no memory of his Da, who had died in a car crash when he was a baby. His Ma had never remarried and it was always just the two of them, a hard-working woman and her son. That’s probably what had turned him into a loner, he knew. The Belfast streets were full of large groups of siblings playing together, but he was an only child and had always felt excluded. When the 70s came his Ma regularly thanked God that her son was the solitary type. The awful events of 1972 had young men clamouring to join the I.R.A., but he was no team player. He preferred to fight his own battles and stay away from the bigger issue. Of course that all changed in 1978 when they murdered his Ma.
Walking in the fields, staying fit and keeping alert could only occupy him for so long. There was a limit to the number of guns he could strip and rebuild blindfolded and, by June, he was truly bored. He had established a cover in the local area, pretending to be a journalist who worked from home, and he was now an accepted face in a few local shops, though he avoided becoming friendly with anyone in the neighbourhood. When he felt in need of female company he travelled well away from his base and found ladies willing to take him to their homes. He never had visitors to his own.
By July he was desperately searching for activities to occupy his mind and knew things had come to a pretty pass when he found himself attempting a bit of DIY on the annoying creaking stairs of the manor house. He had even started watching TV, something he had never done before. His one room place back in Belfast hadn’t even had a TV. He didn’t mind the BBC 2 programmes for schools and colleges. There was often some interesting stuff on there and he regularly watched the BBC 1 news. It usually depressed him, but at least it reminded him that there was still a real world out there beyond the four walls of his house where no one came to call and the phone rarely rang. There was contact of the checking-in type, but nothing of interest and he really missed Turner’s visits.
On Thursday 29th July he settled down to watch the news and was horrified by what he saw. Two bombs had gone off in London and they were the work of the Provisional I.R.A. Eight soldiers had been killed, but they were guards on parade and bandsmen playing in Regent’s Park. Horses had died too and Liam couldn’t believe that his old comrades had chosen such soft targets. What point were they trying to make? He hated bombs and had always refused to have anything to do with them. Bombs were the tools of cowards and he watched the news report in disbelief, first with anger and finally with deep shame for his past associations. He was overwhelmed by sadness and, as always in times of strong emotion, his mind turned to thoughts of his Mam.
Later that night the phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Liam, my boy, have you seen the news?’
‘Aye Mr. Turner. I don’t know what to say.’
‘No, it’s a terribly bad state of affairs. Can you be ready for a little trip by 9am tomorrow?’
‘I can.’
The silver Mercedes arrived on time and Liam walked out with a small case. ‘It’s good to see you again Mr. Turner.’
‘You too, de
ar boy. I just wish it were under different circumstances. This is worse than last year in Chelsea,’ said Turner as he started the car and headed out on the road.
‘Aye,’ Liam nodded, remembering the bombing that had happened within days of his “escape” from the Maze. ‘Who’s the target and how long will I be away?’
‘No target, Liam. That’s the trouble, you see. We didn’t see this coming – not at all and it has us in quite a flap. Something has gone terribly wrong with our intelligence and heads may roll.’
‘You?’
‘Oh no, quite the reverse in fact. I have been called in to save the day, dear boy, because it seems I might have the one operative who could help.’
‘Me?’
‘Quite.’
‘But if there’s no target, how can I help?’
‘Intelligence, my lad. We are going somewhere nice and secure for a serious chat with some very important people.’
‘You are fuckin’ joking.’
‘Liam I have missed you, but not that much. Will you kindly mind that tongue of yours.’
‘Sorry, but I’m an operative like you said. That means I operate. I go out and kill people. I’m not a fu… I’m not an intelligence officer.’
‘You are a source of intelligence, Liam, a source and we need to talk about some people you are acquainted with.’
‘I told you everything that I could months ago. You need to let me get out there and do something about this. They bombed poor fuckin’ horses for Christ’s sake.’
‘Liam, really.’
‘Well I’m sorry, but honestly how messed up can it get?’
‘I know, dear boy, I know.’
The drive wasn’t long and they were soon at an airfield. A helicopter whisked them away and by early afternoon Liam was walking into a room he remembered only too well. He had spent weeks here at the end of last year being rigorously grilled by men in suits and politely questioned by Turner who had kept offering him cups of tea. There were three suits in the room now, one of whom he recognised from his previous time here, and two new faces.