“We’ve a problem here, you know,” put in Clancy. “You see, this here is our safe house, and now you’ve knowledge of it. Would the RUC get wind, we’re done for. If you was Jack, ‘twould be no problem, we’d be welcomin’ you. But if you was a snitch, this meetin’ will have to go poorly for you.” I noticed that Seamus had extracted an automatic pistol from a drawer under the workbench and was waving it around.
Even with a pistol in prospect the group wasn’t formidable. I could easily fight my way out of that basement, but where would that lead? Contrary to what you may have gathered from watching American spy-thriller movies, when you’re a stranger in a foreign land and you bust up some of the locals, you usually find yourself facing unpleasant consequences even if you have official backup, and I was all by my lonesome. Better to wield the golden shovel and bullshit my way through. Figuring that the best defense is a good offense.,I fired back, “And you’re who you say you are? How can I be sure of that? Jack McCool can’t take any chances, stealin’ back into Belfast on a mission he cannot disclose, and him a wanted man. You lead me into this catacomb here that you call your safe house? More likely it’s your uncle’s shop and you sneak down here to slaver over girlie magazines. And you’re claimin’ to be a rebel group in the crosshairs of the law? You expect me to believe all this blarney on your word alone? Surely you appreciate my point.”
“It’s me da’s shop,” Kelly said indignantly. “We’ve no such magazines.”
“I sympathize with your point entirely,” said Saoirse. “You was Jack McCool, ‘twould suit us fine. Jack were a hard man, brave he was too, as he proved when he undertook to ambush a British unit in payback for Bloody Sunday. But the ambush went awry and he had to flee the country. Killed a constable makin’ his escape, he did, and it resulted in a dear price on his head. We could use his likes now, surely, reconstitutin’ PING as we are.”
“Say, I’ve thought of a way of makin’ an authentication,” said Casey. “‘Twas said that Jack McCool could break down an Armalite blindfolded, and reassemble it too.”
Maybe I was catching a break here. The Armalite AR-15 rifle is a precursor to the military M-16, a semi-automatic version. I was intimately familiar with the M-16 from my stint in the LRRPs, and the AR-15 wasn’t much different. “Well, bring on your Armalite, lads, if that will satisfy you.”
“And behind his back too, they say,” chimed in Seamus.
Thanks a heap, Seamus. “Well, get on with it. Blindfold me and get on with it.” I lowered myself to an empty space on the cement floor.
All set to go, and somebody put a rifle in my hands behind my back. It didn’t feel right. What’s a banana clip doing there? Tricky bastards. “Say, and if you’d wanted me to break down a Kalashnikov, why didn’t you so inform me in the first place?” I asked. They’d slipped me an AK-47.
“Good on ya, Jack,” somebody said.
“I never thought he’d fall for that trick, either,” another remarked.
The next piece they gave me was an AR-15. I gave it a once-over feel—wasn’t rusted, seemed to be properly oiled. I’d never tried this before, but I gave it some thought, took my time and soon had it apart. I heard movement behind me. “No monkeyin’ with the parts, now,” I warned, and the movement stopped. I reassembled it pretty quickly. “Satisfied now?” I asked. I pulled off the blindfold. They were looking at each other quizzically. “I’ll tell yez all God’s own truth now, for once and for all,” I said. “If I was Jack McCool, and I’m not sayin’ I am or I’m not, ‘twould be riskin’ me dear life to leave yez all alive here, because Jack McCool would be workin’ undercover, and goin’ by some other name to boot. Now you know of my presence, and were you to snitch to the RUC ‘twould be the end of me. I cannot have you disruptin’ my mission, so let’s leave it at this. I’ll not snitch, and if any of you say a word about my bein’ in Belfast, there are those who will find it out, and your lives will be worth naught when they do. So how about it? I go my way now, and we respect each other’s paths? Um, Seamus,” I added, “could you trouble yourself to put the pistol down? Wavin’ it about, it might go off.”
“It’s not chambered,” he protested. “It’s just trainin’. I’m tryin’ to get accustomed to the feel of it.”
“Nevertheless,” I said. He laid it on the workbench.
They muttered amongst themselves, and finally the girl, Saoirse, spoke up, “We was hopin’ you was Jack and could help us out a wee. We’ve an important assignment up-comin’, and if we do it well, it’s like we’re provin’ our worth. Since Grogan got whacked we’re short-handed. Grogan was our hard man, you see, like Jack McCool before him. Grogan could handle the explosives, and he could talk equal-like with the Russian.”
“Be that as it may, I wish you all well, but I have my own affairs cryin’ out for attention. I’ve no time for explosives, nor for Russians, nor Turks, nor Chinamen either.” I stood up and turned toward the door. “Mum’s the word, now. If you’ll excuse me, I bid you a fine evenin’, and thank you for a most enjoyable interlude.” They didn’t move to stop me, so I climbed the steps, emerged outside into the alcove, eased the door back down, took the alleyway to the street and made my way back to my car. Whew! No one tried to shadow me. No way they could trace me once I cleared out of the neighborhood. I climbed into the Mini, started it up and drove away, heading for another neighborhood for my meat pie.
Russian?
The next day I paid a visit to the security office. “Mr. Cohan (he looked up from the racing tip sheet he was studying), can you spare me a minute of your time?” I asked.
“As the fellow said, God made plenty of time. What can I do for you?”
“I need some information.”
“I’d suggest you be tryin’ the Belfast library or the university research department, then.”
“What can you tell me about a local fellow named Jack McCool?”
Mr. Cohan looked concerned. “There are many things I cannot tell you, because they are not known. Jack McCool was a secretive rascal. But I can tell you a little, at least. Up until ten years ago he was chieftain of one of the IRA splinter groups, The Provisional Irish National Guerillas, the ‘PING’, as folks called them. Now you must understand there’s a hard militant core, the Provos, full name bein’ Provisional Irish Republican Army, and a powerful political element, the Sinn Fein, to the Republican movement. What was it one of ‘em said, ‘Who here really believes we can win the war through the ballot box? But will anyone here object if, with a ballot paper in this hand and an Armalite in the other, we take power in Ireland?’ That is their Armalite and Ballot Box strategy in a nutshell.
“But not all the Irish rebels is so tightly organized, you see. Some are downright brutal and ruthless, but various cells and groups and offshoots spring up, some with serious purpose and some as more like boyos looking for a way to fill their empty days and an excuse to raise a ruckus. The PING was such a splinter group, young Jack McCool and a few followers. Ten years ago the PING set to ambush a British patrol but found themselves surrounded. Jack McCool shot his way free, bolted and found his way to America, Boston to state it precisely. Him gone, PING amounted to little. Rumor has it he’s lately a bagman, raises funds from the Boston Irish nabobs, Tip O’Neill, the Kennedys, all that lot of sentimental fools fancyin’ they’re honorin’ their origins. Gives ‘em a line of blarney—their strugglin’ Irish brethren needs money for the milk fund, and kiddies’ textbooks, and widows and orphans and all. Or maybe he tells ‘em the truth, who can say? There’s ones as crazy there as here. Whatever his story, he then sends it here to buy guns and explosives. Your president Reagan, another son of Erie, exhibited more wisdom in stayin’ out of our affairs, should you want my opinion, which you undoubtedly do not.”
“Would the Russians have anything to do with this?”
“Some Republican groups use Semtex and RPGs, both of which emanate from behind the Iron Curtain
. Having Russians involved is not unlikely.”
“What’s the RUC?”
“The Royal Ulster Constabulary. The local police force charged with thwartin’ the rebels. They man the checkpoints, patrol the area, make arrests, interrogate prisoners. Whatever it takes to forestall the rebels, they’ll do it.”
“What do you know of a woman named Mairead?”
“You must be referrin’ to Mairead Farrell. A fiery colleen, that one. She was in that group, some say was McCool’s woman until he lit out. Went a little off her head after that. When the British decreed that IRA prisoners no longer had Prisoner of War status, but were to be treated as common criminals, she set a bomb at the Conway Hotel, where you’re stayin’, got nabbed before she could fire it off, drew fourteen year at Armagh Women’s Prison for explosives offenses. That were six year ago.” Mr. Cohan looked at me closely. “Now that you raise his name, I do mark a resemblance. At a moderate distance you might pass for Jack McCool. Why would you be interested in these matters, Mr. Fonko, if I may ask?”
“I met some people in a pub last night, and these names were came up in the course of the conversation.”
“And which pub would that be?”
“The Duke’s Dalliance, over in the Catholic district. I walked in for a drink and wound up talking to some young folks.”
“I might recommend you in the future steer clear of that particular pub. Notorious parties are known to frequent those premises. Some say remnants of the PING group is still active in Twinbrook, a new bunch of youngsters achin’ to perform mighty deeds in the name of the cause. It’s a poor neighborhood in any event, and the IRA enjoys considerable support over there. If you want to experience life as Catholics hereabouts live it, I can recommend some more respectable venues.”
As the next few days passed, with my assignment no clearer than before, I wandered around the plant talking to people who seemed inclined to converse. The Irish being a garrulous lot, that meant just about everybody. I cruised the area in my Mini, as Roy Nesseth suggested, getting a feeling for the terrain. It was something to do, and the knowledge might come in handy if I was expected to do escort duty. Between and beyond the housing districts the Belfast surround was covered by small, irregular fields enclosed in stone fences or hedgerows, some of them tilled and farmed, some allotted to pasturage for cows or sheep, and some fields apparently too boggy for either use. It reminded me of New England, where the rocks cleared from the croplands wound up marking their boundaries. Here and there were stands of trees and copses of gorse and bracken. The area came nowhere near Third-World destitution, but some of the farm plots and buildings would not have looked out of place in Appalachia. These farmers weren’t living large on their labors.
The test track at the plant mostly sat idle, and the climate was temperate, so I brought my sweats and sneaks to work with me, changed in the assembly plant worker’s washroom, and ran laps around it to stay in trim. Ten laps was five miles, a worthy use of a morning’s half hour or so when rain wasn’t falling hard. Toweling down after one of my runs, a local manager I’d found friendly, Riley McBrian, came into the washroom and said, “Mr. Fonko, you bein’ athletic and all, I have a proposition that might interest you.”
“I’m always interested in a good proposition, Riley. What’s yours?”
“Well, you see, a few us, of a Saturday, we like to gather for a friendly game of football with some other lads in Derighy, and we wondered if you might honor us by joinin’ in.”
“I haven’t played much football since college, but if you can put up with an out-of-shape beginner, sure, I’d be glad to play.”
“Out of shape you surely aren’t,” he replied. “That was American football you played, with helmets and padding and all?”
“Your football is more like rugby, is it? Or soccer?”
“Mmmmm, Gaelic football’s a wee different from those, but you’ll catch on quick. The rules are simple, and the fellows, they’re a good lot. They’ll help you out. You’ll be joinin’ us this comin’ Saturday, then? I’ll provide you with the details.”
It sounded like fun. I’d heard about the fellowship of English rugby leagues, and I’d played a little rugby at UCLA, so this seemed a good way to meet the locals and learn more about the situation. I finished dressing and walked over to the office building, where I encountered a decided chill in the air. Something I’d done? Myron had been keeping an eye on the reception area, and he came out to meet me. “Mr. Nesseth has come to the plant this morning, Jake, and he’d like to see you in his office.”
I’d not been looking forward to my next encounter with Mr. Popularity, but it had to be faced. His office door was open. I knocked, and he looked up from some papers he was perusing. “Jake? Good to see you, Jake. Come on in.” I did and took the seat he indicated. He graced me with his big puppy dog smile. “How’s it going? Getting familiar with the operation?”
“As much as could be accomplished in just a week. Don Lander gave me the grand tour, and everyone else has been friendly and helpful.”
“It’s a good crew we have here, and Don is a wizard,” he said. “He’s holding the fort while we work our way through the problems and clear the field for action. That’s where you come in. Big things are percolating. John’s getting ready to bring it to a boil. He wants you in Los Angeles on the morning of the 28th to be on hand for a meeting with some key people. It’s an in-and-outer, you’ll fly back here that same night. I’ve arranged your flights and accommodations.”
“Are you going to brief me on what I’m supposed to do?”
“Don’t worry about that. (Uh oh, where have I heard that before?) John wants you there to show the flag. You aren’t expected to make a presentation or anything. John will do all the talking.”
“So I don’t need to bring along anything, or study up on anything in particular?”
“No, no, not this trip. This one is strictly prelim, getting final arrangements lined up and moving forward. Sniffing noses and tails this time, as we say. John’s got it all under control. The main event will unfold a short time later, and that’s where you’ll strut your stuff. You’ll get all the details and instructions in plenty of time.”
“Okay, so I leave here what day? Any layovers?”
“Leave early on Monday the 27th, fly straight through, changing planes in NYC, arriving in LA that same night. John’s coming in the next morning, so you’ll hook up with him at the Bonaventure Hotel. After the meeting you catch a red-eye, and you’ll be back here on the 29th.”
“Sounds compressed.”
“Welcome to our world. This is how John DeLorean lives. Oh, by the way, I had a package here for you, forgot to mention it when I saw you last. Somebody said you’d picked it up. Everything in order?”
“No problems. With the package. But there’s a snag with the payment of the installment of my fee. Aoibheann said she needed an authorization before she could make the transfer of funds, and she hadn’t received one. She advanced me some expense money, but she couldn’t do anything about the $10,000 due.”
Nesseth slapped his forehead. “Left in a hurry, plumb slipped my mind! My mistake. I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”
“That’s all I can think of. Are you going to be at the LA meeting?”
“No. There’s a million other things I have to attend to. So, happy landings in LA. John is looking forward to seeing you.”
“I haven’t noticed any evidence of sabotage yet,” I remarked.
“Sabotage? What sabotage? You mean, here in the factory?”
“You mentioned it last time we talked, that I should be on the lookout for sabotage.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. You can’t be too careful. Keep up the good work, Jake. Have a good trip to LA.”
Roy Nesseth departed that evening. The next day I found that of all the million things he had to attend to, authorizing Aoibhea
nn to deposit my $10,000 wasn’t on the list. She told me he’d been beaky about the £1,000, but there was nothing he could do about it.
They played their football game every Saturday afternoon at a public park in a respectable part of town. Shorts and jerseys were the garb, Riley told me, his team wearing blue. Footwear could be anything you could run in, as it was a pick-up game just for fun. I’d brought a pair of shorts along and my running shoes would do. The shop he suggested supplied a blue rugby shirt I could use back home.
The day was overcast, damp and chilly, ideal weather for a brisk workout. Did I say brisk? Gaelic football was that and more. Fifteen men to a side, and the two sides—factory men and village men, all buddies practically from the cradle—comprised whoever showed up that day. The game was continuous action, like soccer, with two 30 minute halves. Also like soccer they played with a round, white ball a little larger than a volleyball. Besides those two features Gaelic football had nothing to do with any other game I’d ever played.
Riley had told me the rules were simple. Well, sure, if you also think long tax forms, environmental impact statements, and differential calculus are simple. Gaelic football must have given Bill Waterson the idea for “Calvinball”—make up the rules on the fly, and never play it the same way twice. For starters, Gaelic football offense: the idea was to put the ball into the opponent’s net (3 points) or over his goal posts (1) point. You did this by kicking the ball, hand-passing the ball (not throwing it, rather hitting it like a volleyball serve), or running with it. But—a big but—after four steps you had to do something with it. You could dribble it, once only. You could pass it. You could kick it. Or you could kick it in the air to yourself, catch it and run four more steps. You could not pick the ball up your hands, but had to kick it up with your foot and snatch it out of the air. While you had the ball you could not shift it from one hand to the other.
The idea of defense was to get the ball away from the other guy. You could reach in and flick it away, you could block a kick with your hands (but not your feet), you could slap it (but not wrestle it) out of his grasp. You could tackle the man with one hand, not two. Shoulder contact was allowed, but no tripping and no sliding tackles.
The Jake Fonko Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 51