by Martha Twine
He had heard my unspoken thoughts. I was rather shocked for a moment.
‘I know,’ he said, smiling, ‘It’s hard at first, but you’ll get used to it. There can be no secrets between you and me.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘So when can I come and see you? What’s the best time?’
‘Well’, said Bill cautiously. ‘I’d prefer it if you phoned first to ask if it’s convenient. But assuming it is, about ten thirty in the morning would suit me best. Then, if the weather’s fine, we could even take a turn around the garden here.’
I could see the other carol singers getting up to go.
‘Would tomorrow be possible?’ I asked.
‘That would be great, Martha,’ said Bill, smiling broadly. ‘Oh, and by the way, if you could see your way to bringing me a small bottle of the hard stuff, that would be much appreciated.’
He gave me a wink, and a wave of his hand as I left.
Next day I turned up at Bill’s place at the appointed time, with a bottle of Irish Whisky in a plastic bag. Bill accepted it graciously, and we strolled in the nursing home’s well-kept gardens. It was warm and sunny, and eventually we settled on garden seats under a tree. Bill began talking, as if telling a story to a young child.
‘You see, the IRA have been on the British mainland for a long time. I know you won’t agree with attacking British citizens, but we do not recognise the laws of Britain. You see, there’s a lot of history, and it goes back a long way. The English started it, in my view, so we feel we are not bound by their jurisdiction. We have a lot of sleepers – people who came to the UK deliberately to pose as British citizens, in order to avoid suspicion. We marry IRA sympathisers from Britain and other countries – mainly the US, Canada and France. Some of us have settled in the UK and brought up children with English accents.
‘Officers are obliged to marry for business reasons. They have an official partner, with whom they carry out business and social duties. But often they are privately married to someone else in the IRA. Discretion is required when spending time with their real family. Most power emanates from the Irish Republic and is in the hands of a few trusted families. They are the ones with direct access to funding from the North American mafia, and Al-Qaida. When the money’s flowing, their families are the ones that get in on the act.’
‘But where do you fit in to all this?’ I asked. ‘Do you still support the IRA?’
‘Well, I do and I don’t,’ said Bill, shaking his head. ‘I still believe we were right in what we did, but if you asked me now if I would do it again, well, no, I wouldn’t. Because I’ve lived here in this town a long time, and local people have helped me when I needed it, and I don’t forget that.’
‘How did you end up in an IRA unit here?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I volunteered,’ said Bill. ‘You see, I was an engineer, and into IT and Telecommunications, and I felt I had something to offer the cause, after things died down on the British mainland’.
‘But if things had died down, what was there to do?’ I asked.
‘Oh, quite a lot, Martha,’ said Bill. ‘You see, the IRA’s policy, in sleeper mode, is to penetrate the society that they seek to undermine, placing children, family members and affiliates in positions within local authorities, as nurses, carers, clinicians, municipal staff, social services, and youth workers. We make a point of getting into the mental health professions as psychologists and psychotherapists, where we can facilitate the sectioning of whistle-blowers, trouble makers and targeted individuals under the mental health acts. That means that if anyone finds out about us, we can discredit them, if they report things to the Authorities.
‘Once we can do that, we can easily recruit people to our cause. We look for character weaknesses – sexual indiscretions, alcohol abuse, gambling, and ways that we can get people bankrupted or in trouble with the police, and then we blackmail or harass suitable candidates into becoming unit members. We get best results from targeting small businesses which are in financial trouble; self-employed people who rely on the internet for their work – which we can easily take down - and single parent families’.
‘It’s funny you should say that, Bill’, I said, ‘My friend Dan once referred a man to me for advice, because he was being victimised in Manchester. He was self-employed, and ran his internet-based business from his home. He told me that the IRA had identified him as someone they could entrap and employ, and they started with gang stalking. He had attended an evening talk about how to make money quickly; you know the sort of thing, you see them advertised everywhere. Well, he gave someone his contact details and thought no more about it. But soon afterwards his internet was disconnected, and he could not get it fixed. Having taken away his livelihood, the IRA parked a camper van in the road outside his house, from where they bombarded him with microwave radiation beams and laser pain attacks, designed to ruin his health and make him unemployed.
I urged him to get in touch with MI5, but he refused, because he did not trust the Authorities. Perhaps he had something to hide that he chose not to mention. He realised that the terrorists wanted him to work for them. He stopped contacting me, and I suspect that he was press-ganged into the service of the IRA and their subcontractors. But he did have a choice. Perhaps he went to the Authorities later on.
‘Not very likely,’ said Bill. ‘IRA low-level operatives tend to become brainwashed and lose the will to seek help. Psychological intimidation is an important part of the process.’
‘Well, the IRA’s plans don’t always work out as they intended,’ I said. ‘I knew another man who ran an internet support business and helped me to set up my first website. I ran a blog alerting people to the IRA’s covert use of electromagnetic weapons and synthetic telepathy. In retaliation, the IRA decided to stop him working. They hired some villains to dig up and remove the British Telecom optical-fibre cables that supplied his local area with internet connections. No one in that area could go on-line for two weeks. The police never caught the criminals who did it. But the targeted man himself was not badly affected, because he was able to carry on his business via Blackberry, so the IRA’s efforts came to nothing.’
‘I’m beginning to understand why you get so much personal attention from our locals,’ said Bill.
‘Well, OK,’ I said. ‘But that kind of behaviour sounds more like hate crime to me than what I associate with IRA activities,’ I said. ‘I thought the IRA was all paramilitary stuff.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Bill. ‘It’s all organised along military lines. You will find that all IRA people have military ranks, and require their soldiers to go through various types of organised training. Those working in civilian roles are exempt from most of it, and it’s better for them not to know too much. But those required to bear weapons routinely, and work in military groups, must pass through recognised stages. After completing military training, they are given the rank of Lieutenant.’
‘But do they do actual fighting still?’ I asked.
‘You told me that you’ve been targeted for a year,’ said Bill. ‘You shouldn’t need to ask that. What do you think has been happening to you, and to people all around you? It’s war, but not as you know it. The soldiers don’t need to meet you face to face. They use remote electromagnetic weapons… and people get sick and die.’
Bill lowered his voice.
‘I know this will sound harsh to you, Martha, but both male and female cadets are required to prove themselves by killing of a person regarded as ‘the enemy’, before acquiring Lieutenant rank. They typically select elderly people in nursing homes and people in hospices. They may operate from a car parked nearby, and they may send someone in to the building to point a device at the target at close range. The device will be controlled from the parked car by wi-fi, but it will be operated via a pointer device at close range.’
I felt pretty sick at that point. I did not ask Bill whether he had ever been involved in such things, in case he told me. But I suspected that with his technical backgrou
nd, he might have worked on support for technical weapons work.
Bill looked at me strangely for a moment. Then I remembered. Of course, he was on the same synthetic telepathy system as me, so he knew what I was thinking.
‘Well, I’ll be straight with you, Martha,’ he said. ‘I was never officer material, so I did not have to gain the rank of Lieutenant. But I worked in a special technical section and was classified as a Technician grade. There were about fifty of us in one Group, and twenty of us worked in the same building. It looked like a big private house from the outside, tucked away in the countryside with its own grounds, so no one suspected.’
I needed time to come to terms with what Bill had just told me. I decided to encourage him to talk on. After all, it was better to find out as much as possible, because that way I could report it to the Authorities, and they could do something about it.
‘Where would a Lieutenant fit into the wider scheme of things?’ I asked.
After a moment’s silence, in which I could tell Bill was weighing up the value of his continued contact with me, he continued.
‘Well, it’s like this, Martha. The IRA’s military hierarchy includes regiments, units and groups. A unit might contain two hundred staff, made up of four groups of about fifty people. They have officer ranks, and a range of grades below officer rank, including technical staff, supervisors and foot soldiers, both men and women.’
‘Their full-time staff are provided free board and lodging. Officers receive comfortable houses, but are expected to make these available to accommodate other staff at any time of the day or night. Officers who have seen active service in the past, are supported in retirement, if they have no personal income or pension. They live in communal houses, where board and lodging are provided - a cross between an officers’ mess and an old people’s home.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve noticed that the IRA have a strong preference for gracious Victorian country houses, set in their own grounds, well away from main roads, and shielded by woods. I’ve seen country residences with white pillars over the front door; others have mock-Tudor beams and ornate chimneys. There is always a large office, above ground floor level, for the chief executive, and an adjoining meeting room with an oval table capable of accommodating up to twenty-four people. The larger houses have smaller meeting rooms as well. These houses include a private suite for the ruling family, their wives and children, and lodgings for the “kitchen cabinet” and “household cavalry”.’
Bill smiled.
‘I see you’ve already visited some of our family residences,’ he said. ‘And we mustn’t forget the social side. That’s very important. There is usually a mezzanine floor, where the troops have a canteen and pub.’
‘Another thing I’ve noticed,’ I continued, ‘is that your troops carry hand guns in holsters under their armpits, and some of them wear loose waistcoats to conceal the holsters. Those guns must be very hot and sweaty by the end of the day.’
Bill laughed.
‘Well I hope you’re not going to start lecturing an army of men about their personal freshness. This is war we are talking about. Those hand-guns are just for personal protection. Nowadays we tend to use electronic laser-powered rifles, as well as conventional semi-automatic rifles. But you won’t see us carrying them. There is a strict rule that troops should be as invisible as possible to the outside world. Even those in civilian jobs must stay in their cars, and not be seen strolling about, unless they have an established local identity.’
‘So when was the last time you carried a rifle, then Bill?’ I asked.
‘Oh, let’s see, now,’ said Bill, puckering his eyebrows. ‘It would have been some time in the 1980s. And I was in Ireland then’.
‘Did you ever go to prison, then?’ I asked.
Bill studied the ground for a moment. Then he looked back at me.
‘There’s a lot of things you don’t understand about our life. You think I should be ashamed about that, don’t you? Well let me tell you, lots of our men went to prison then, and we took it as a badge of honour, to have spent some time inside.’
‘But what about now, Bill?’ I continued. ‘Where are your friends now? They want to torture and kill you.’
Bill nodded.
‘You see, everything changed when we got involved in North Africa. These people you see running around here in the electronic environment that we’ve created, they’re not the same as we used to be. They are in Al-Qaida’s pay. I’m not saying that we sold out to Al-Qaida, but… there are some who do say that. They also say that Saudi money has turned us into mercenaries, and corrupt ones at that. And that’s where I took issue with our local friends in their little electromagnetic world. They are a bunch of corrupt, undisciplined rabble. I tried to do something about that… which is why I’m here now.’
‘But you’re safe in here, aren’t you, Bill?’ I said. ‘Didn’t you say last night that they couldn’t get at you in the building?’
‘Yes,’ said Bill. ‘The IRA have placed reliance on electromagnetic and electronic weapons, as part of the covert war on Europe, but they get stuck when they come up against buildings designed to modern standards, with proper wall and roof insulation, and UPVC windows. That’s why I bought myself into this place. It’s brand new, and the shielding works. When I’m in the building, there’s not much they can do, except witter on at me via the Syntel system, which means very little, when you get used to it.’
It felt as if we’d talked enough. I got up, and thanked Bill for his time.
‘I wonder if you will come back again after this,’ said Bill. ‘We’ve only scratched the surface, and already I can tell that you’re having second thoughts.’
I smiled.
‘It’s strange in war. There are enemies, and there are casualties, but if we stop talking, we can’t go forward. If it’s going to end, we have to start talking sometime.’
‘Hope to see you again then,’ said Bill, as I waved goodbye.
It was a week before I met up with Bill again. This time I was a bit more organised. There were two things that really bothered me – the people-trafficking that seemed to be endemic throughout the IRA subcontractors, and the way in which different international terrorist groups seemed to be affiliated to each other, and in each other’s pockets. I thought that, if I concentrated on asking about those, things might become a lot clearer.
It was raining, so we could not walk in the garden. Bill suggested that we chat in the nursing home’s small lending library room. There was a table and chairs, so that people could sit and read the daily newspapers, but hardly anyone went in there.
‘How are you, Bill?’ I asked. ‘I wondered if I would find you with a knife in your back, after talking to me.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Bill. ‘They won’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. If it wasn’t for you and me, lots of IRA subcontractors would be out of a job.’
‘What’s the difference between the IRA and their subcontractors?’ I asked.
‘These days, there’s quite a lot of overlap between ourselves and organised crime,’ said Bill. ‘In this covert war, we use anyone who is working on the same side as us against the British, and that includes a lot of criminals. We use them to do our dirty work, things we wouldn’t want traced back to us, if things went wrong. All the people we use have been in prison before, so if they are caught, no one will be particularly surprised.
Our relationship with Al-Qaida is a bit similar. They use us in places where they would look suspicious, but where we can pass unnoticed. We are Al-Qaida subcontractors. They give us money to carry out attacks on ‘Christendom’, which really means ‘The West’, and we give some of that money to criminals, who are subcontracted to us. There are very few actual IRA people involved.’
‘But it looks to me as if most of the people working here are not being paid at all,’ I said. ‘They seem to be slaves. How did they get trapped like that?’
‘Yes,’ said Bill, ‘I know
what you’re talking about. A lot of people who work for us have come to the UK illegally. They do not have the right to live or work here. We paid their travel costs, and gave them false EU identity papers. In return, they have to work for us, and pay back that initial debt. But there is high interest on the payments, and basically, however hard they work, those people will never get out of debt, and they end up as slaves.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked.
‘It means that they get food and shelter in order to complete their tasks, and that is it,’ said Bill.
‘But they can’t leave?’ I asked.
Bill looked at me as if I was an idiot.
‘No one ever leaves,’ he said. ‘I don’t leave. They don’t leave, and you don’t leave.’
‘I’ll see about that’, I thought to myself, forgetting that, of course, he could hear my thoughts.
‘Are you planning to kill all of us, then, Martha?’ asked Bill, in a mocking voice.
‘Seems reasonable to me,’ I replied. ‘But Bill, not changing the subject, can you explain to me about the children born into IRA subcontractors’ families? They seem to be treated as slaves.’
Bill gave a sigh.
‘This isn’t really something I want to discuss’, he said. ‘But I can understand why you are asking. You see, once we start taking money from other organisations, we end up being run by people whose standards are different from ours, and I’m not just talking about Al-Qaida. A lot of our activities receive US mafia funding. The whole electromagnetic technology environment comes from them. Now the US mafia’s attitude to kids is not that different from people-trafficking, and that goes for Al-Qaida as well. Child brothels, child labour, it is a different world. I don’t like it, but these people have taken us over, and we are junior partners these days.’
‘That’s rather what I thought,’ I said. ‘I heard from some IRA women that there was an arrangement to for subcontractors to exchange their children with those of other parents in their unit, while still babes-in-arms, so that parents would not be too soft on the kids and would bring them up as child soldiers. The foster parents did not spend enough on food and clothes for the kids, and some made their kids work in child brothels. As a result, the physical and psychological development of the kids got stunted.’