by Jack Elgos
‘Shall I organise tea for everyone?’ Turner suggested and Liam couldn’t help but smile.
A secretary arrived with the refreshments and Liam braced himself for re-interrogation the moment she left, but the feeling was immediately different. These men were clearly worried. There had been a fundamental failure in their intelligence and they were desperate for his help. They even made an effort to be polite. A whole cup of tea was consumed while they discussed the weather and Liam was just considering sticking out his little finger and requesting cucumber sandwiches when the suit he recognised from before cleared his throat and the room quietened respectfully.
‘Mr. O’Neil,’ he began, ‘before we go any further we would like to thank you and congratulate you for your excellent work with McKee and NORAID. If only we could get rid of the rest of Washington’s scum the same way.’
‘Scum?’ Liam asked in surprise and he noticed Turner raise his eyebrows too.
The suit caught himself quickly. ‘I apologise. That was unprofessional of me. No, no, I can’t go as far as to call them scum, but they are definitely dirty. I think we can all agree on that.’
The other two suits and Turner nodded, so Liam nodded along with them. It seemed to be the polite thing to do, but he hoped the man in charge would clarify. He did, and he stood to make the point. ‘Just the other week an American official, elected no less, made the following statement.’ He reached for his notes and read: “We must pledge ourselves to support those brave men and women who, this very moment, are carrying forth the struggle against British imperialism in the streets of Belfast and Derry.”
Liam’s eyes widened in disbelief and his head shook from side to side as the man went on. His voice was rising now and he was clearly very angry. ‘Do you know what happened after he made that statement? Do you? No, you don’t. He received rapturous applause, that’s what happened. The American people suck it all up. The American dream, the American way, is to support terrorism.’
‘Now really,’ Turner tried to interrupt, but the suit would not be silenced.
‘Terrorism, what else can you call it?’ he went on, his fist banging the desk. ‘Look what they’re doing with the Afghans.’
‘But that’s different. Even we…’
‘Yes, even we want the Russians out of Afghanistan, but at what cost? Have they learned nothing from Vietnam? “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” Is he? Is he really? How about one man’s freedom fighter leads one country to arm another country to blow up their allies. Special relationship my foot. Until the Americans have a Londonderry or two in their own back yard they will never learn. That’s why we need men like you, Mr. O’Neil, and I thank you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
As the man underlined the words “Thank you” with a hand to his breast Liam thought he looked as if he was trying to run for Congress himself. The other two suits were staring down at the desk in front of them now and the room was uncomfortably silent. ‘You’re welcome,’ he muttered, unable to think of anything else to say.
It fell to Turner to rescue the situation as he rose to his feet. ‘Yes, yes, old chap. We all know that the American people have been hoodwinked by their own government, but really we are getting a little bit off the subject here. Shall I call for more tea?’ The main suit sat and nodded, though the anger still showed clearly on his face. Liam wasn’t sure he could blame him. He knew a bit about NORAID from the old days and Turner himself had suggested they had far greater support than they should have, but to hear a speech on the subject was something he hadn’t expected. Thankfully the arrival of tea provided the little break they needed and when Turner began the proceedings again Liam was immediately alert.
‘So, to the matter in hand. We are most concerned about the terrible attack in Regent’s Park, are we not?’ Nods all round. ‘So we are here to discuss Peter Moore.’
‘Was that fuckin’ bastard behind the bombings?’ Liam asked, jumping from his chair. He noticed Turner wince, but the others seemed unconcerned by his language.
‘We have no idea, Mr. O’Neil, and that’s our problem,’ said another suit, who might have been called Smith but he couldn’t remember. It was hard to tell these men apart.
‘I should have taken him out when I had the chance,’ Liam spat as he retook his seat.
‘Well, that’s as may be, but what we’re trying to do is piece together our information here. Clearly we missed something. We’ve had Moore on our radar for some time, as you know, but not necessarily at this level. We have to try to find out who masterminded these bombings, and he’s one of our candidates. There was that meeting that you witnessed.’
‘Fuck, do you think that was when they planned it?’
‘It’s possible, we just don’t know. I understand you saw who was present.’
‘Aye, but I only recognised Mad Dog and later found out that Moore was there too.’
‘So you didn’t see William Nolan there?’
‘Willy Nolan?’ Liam was genuinely shocked to hear that name come up in this conversation. ‘No, no, he definitely wasn’t there. What would he have to do with something like this?’
‘Maybe nothing Mr. O’Neil, but Moore and Nolan have a long history. They were at school together, you know.’
‘What? No, I had no idea. Fuck me, Willy Nolan.’ This was certainly news to him and it shook him for a second, but then he considered further. ‘Hey, wait a minute. Just because two kids went to school together doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Oh indeed,’ the suit agreed. ‘Of course there were many other children at school with the pair of them. Your father, for example, was…’
‘Me Da? What the fuck are you suggesting?’
‘Calm down Mr. O’Neil, we are not suggesting anything. We have nothing on your father at all. I just use him as an example of other children. In the case of Nolan and Moore, however, their association went far before the school gates.’
Suddenly Liam felt very uncomfortable. The mention of the father he never knew had caught him off guard, but Willy Nolan he had known well. Willy was one of the good guys as far as he was concerned and he’d saved his skin on at least one occasion. He could believe Moore capable of anything, but not Willy. He lit a cigarette to give himself a few seconds to gather his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was say something he would regret, something that might give away the fact that he knew Nolan far better than he had admitted previously. He took a deep drag of his fag and sipped from his tea as suit number three spoke for the first time. ‘Well we need to get someone on the inside to see what we can find out,’ he said.
‘Me?’ Liam gasped with a deep intake of breath that took some of the tea down his windpipe and he was immediately rendered speechless by a coughing and spluttering fit that he couldn’t control.
‘No, no, we didn’t mean you,’ he heard one suit exclaim while Turner was at his back, thumping him hard and muttering, ‘Wrong hole, dear boy, deep breaths,’ and someone else called for water.
It was several minutes before order was restored and Liam felt ridiculously embarrassed by what had happened, but at least it had deflected interest from Willy Nolan for a while. When he was finally breathing easily again he offered a sheepish, ‘Sorry,’ confirmed that he was OK and nodded at the suggestion that they continue.
‘Of course we have no intention of putting you on the inside, dear boy,’ began Turner, taking over proceedings. ‘Goodness me, we are not that idiotic. You are dead and you need to stay that way. No, what we need is information to help us get someone else in there quickly do you see?’
‘Ah, OK,’ Liam nodded. He was greatly relieved.
For three days Liam stayed at the British Intelligence office. He was genuinely as helpful as he could be with information about Moore and the people surrounding him but, any time Willy Nolan’s name came up, he offered only harmless snippets of hearsay. He had seen the man once or twice, but he didn’t really know him. Finally, when the suits were sat
isfied that he had given them all he could, Turner took him back to Derbyshire and accepted the offer of a cup of tea.
‘I’d no idea me Da was at school with Peter Moore,’ Liam began.
‘No, why would you? You were very young when he died, weren’t you?’
‘Aye, not even two.’
‘Well then. Anyway, you did a splendid job over the last few days my boy,’ the older man said as he puffed on his pipe in his usual seat in the drawing room.
‘Did I? All I did was talk. This isn’t what I signed up for, Mr. Turner. You said I’d be able to get back at those bastards. Christ, if only I’d been able to get to Moore that night.’
‘Yes, well, I’m beginning to agree with you there lad. The thing is you upset a lot of people with your last mission. The higher-ups didn’t trust you after that and I had to do a lot of persuading to keep you around.’
‘What? You don’t mean…?’
‘Oh, no, no, perish the thought. No, it wouldn’t have come to a termination. You’re still considered a big prize.’
‘Thank fu...’ Liam left the thought unfinished as Turner looked at him. ‘So, what do you mean then?’
‘I had to keep you active – on the roster, so to speak. They’ve been deliberately letting you kick your heels. Now that should change. I forcibly reminded them of your excellent work in America, and we all saw how that struck a chord.’
‘Jesus Christ, I thought the man was going to have apoplexy.’
‘Yes, quite, it is a very touchy subject for all of us. Makes international relations rather fiddly sometimes. Anyway, that is beside the point. You are back in the good books and that is what matters.’
‘So I can go after Moore now?’
‘Not so fast, dear boy, not so fast. That day will come, I’m sure of it, but first we need to continue the surveillance at our end. We must improve our intelligence and you have been of great assistance there. For now we would like you to come to one of our bases every now and then to keep your training up and help with a few of our newer recruits. You have some excellent skills and we can make use of those. It will keep you in readiness, and I’ll be calling in to see you whenever I’m in the area.’
‘Mr. Turner, where do you go when you’re not in the area?’
‘That is none of your business, dear boy.’
***
The summer gave way to autumn and Liam found life to be considerably more interesting. He was called on frequently to help with training and he enjoyed that. It reminded him of his days in Spain with E.T.A. It kept him active and his mind occupied. Word came down that the ‘higher-ups’ were happy with him and on a miserable, rainy day in mid-December he finally got a call to action.
‘Is it Moore?’ he asked before Turner was even through the door?
‘Tea, biscuits, pipe, my boy. I will say nothing until I have my usual comforts.’
Liam produced the requirements quickly and then waited as patiently as he could for Turner to settle himself. ‘It isn’t Moore,’ his handler said finally. ‘But,’ he continued with a hand raised to stall Liam’s predicted disappointment, ‘it is one of the Belfast fellows.’
‘Who?’
‘Sean Hogan,’ said Turner producing a file. ‘If I remember correctly, you have never met him.’
‘No,’ Liam confirmed. ‘He’s the fourth member of the Committee Belfast and I know the name, but he’s bottom of the pile like.’
‘Nevertheless…’
‘Aye, it’s right you are Mr. Turner.’
Liam studied the file and the face in the photograph while Turner puffed quietly on his pipe. This was one of the four men who had signed his Ma’s death warrant. Since his little chat with Mad Dog he knew that the guy had probably just added his signature without even knowing who Mary Jeanette McCann was or why she had to die. Still, he had signed.
‘What’s he doing in Scotland?’ he asked in surprise as he reached an interesting part of the dossier.
‘To be honest, old boy, we’re not entirely sure. Well he’s smuggling cigarettes and we do know that’s his department, of course. Indeed he is very successful at raising funds through alcohol and tobacco, but why he is doing his own dirty work is a bit of a mystery. The best information we have is that there have been a few problems with their supply lines so maybe he has been forced to come over and whip people into shape.’
‘Oh dear, how inconvenient for him.’
‘Quite, but how very fortunate for us.’
‘Day after tomorrow?’
‘Yes, it’s been every three days, regular as clockwork for the last few weeks. A predictable routine makes things so much easier, don’t you think? As you can see, we’ve witnessed no real security there. He’s out in the middle of nowhere and that must make him feel safe. He likes small teams apparently. Doesn’t like too many people knowing his business. Anyway, this is fully sanctioned and needs to be a nice clean termination, in and out kind of jobby.’
So I shoot the fucker in the head and get out of there, Liam considered, but he kept the words to himself. As Turner left a short while later he paused at the door. ‘Liam, my boy, I promise you that when Moore’s day comes he is all yours.’
‘Thanks Mr. T.’
17
A Cold Day In Scotland
From where he crouched Liam had a good view of the old farmhouse but, more importantly, he had a perfect view of the newly constructed barn standing to the side. He had been watching for over an hour and he blew on his hands to keep warm. ‘One day, Turner, it would be nice if you found me a target in better weather,’ he mumbled.
A Scania tractor unit pulling a long container had recently arrived and he was waiting for it to depart again to get the driver out of the way. That would leave just Hogan and two men in the barn. Turner had been right about a small team. He heard a motor start, though it was quickly drowned out by the sound of a screaming jet engine making its final approach to Glasgow airport. Liam jumped at the noise but continued his surveillance as he watched the tractor unit emerge from the barn without its cargo and drive away. One of the remaining men checked around the outside and then closed the huge door as he went back inside. They would now be unloading the container and it would take them a while. Ideally Liam would have liked to get Hogan alone, but he couldn’t be sure that would happen and there was always the possibility of another load or more men arriving later. He figured three to one might be the best odds he could hope for and it was time to move.
He returned to the innocuous car that Turner had kindly provided and drove down to the building making no effort at stealth. ‘Hello,’ he called out as he arrived.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a man, poking his head from inside the barn, the door slightly ajar.
‘Aye, I’m here to see Sean. Is he about like?’ asked Liam, laying on his accent as thickly as he could and fingering the crescent shaped scar on his cheek.
‘Wait here.’
The man disappeared. Liam hoped the accent would do the trick and, within a few seconds he heard an order from inside to ‘Keep going. I’ll deal with it,’ and Hogan’s face appeared round the door.
‘Looks like you’re a busy feller today there Sean,’ Liam offered with his friendliest smile.
‘Aye I am. Who sent you, and what the fuck do you want? I’ve got another load due in this afternoon. I don’t have time to sit and bleedin’ chat,’ he snapped.
‘Ah, ‘tis a feller in London as sent me.’
‘London? Who the fuck we got down there?’ asked Sean in surprise as he opened the door a little wider.
In a flash Liam had him by the shoulder and a .38 aimed at his head. ‘Oh, he’s not one of the boys,’ Liam hissed, the smile gone as he pushed him back inside the barn.
The colour began draining from Hogan’s face as he stumbled backwards. His mind was racing along in overdrive. ‘Who the fuck knew about the farm? He always kept his team small. No one knew. How’d they tracked him down? How was he gonna get out of this?’ He
looked behind him for help, but none came. The other men were deep inside the container and were too busy to check on him.
‘Who are you?’ his prisoner asked.
‘I’m somebody’s son.’
‘What?’
‘Mary Jeanette McCann.’
‘Who?’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought you’d say. 1978. You signed her death order.’
‘I can’t remember everybody…’
‘Aye, I thought you’d say that too. But you see, I remember her well. That was me Ma and you had her killed. The name’s McCann, Darren McCann, but you might remember someone called the Butcher of Belfast.’
Any remaining colour in Hogan’s cheeks was gone now and he stared, unable to speak, as a noise from the container alerted Liam. The two men appeared at the open rear of the large truck, lugging boxes and still unaware that anything was amiss. ‘Hey lads,’ Liam shouted. They looked up and froze. ‘Now you get out of there and lie down on the ground. Me and yer boss have some business to deal with.’
The men quickly jumped from the ledge and raised their hands as they landed, which Liam thought was rather polite of them. He hadn’t asked for their hands up and he still had his gun trained on Hogan anyway. It confirmed what he thought. These were just workers. They weren’t fighting men. ‘On the ground lads,’ he repeated and they did as instructed. ‘I’ve no problem with the pair of youse, so keep yer heads down. I only want this bastard.’
He turned his attention back to the man in front of him. ‘Now then Sean old mate, if you’ve got any prayers to say, this would be a good time to say ‘em.’
‘Fuck you, and fu…’ He never finished his insult. The single bullet tore through his stomach as Sean fell to his knees and looked down in horror at the dark blood pumping from his belly.
‘Hurts does it mate?’ mocked Liam as his victim tried to scream, but all that emerged was a whimper. ‘Bye bye.’ A shot to the head finished the job.