by Jack Higgins
He sighed heavily. 'You know, nobody, but nobody takes me seriously, that's the trouble.' He emptied his glass and stood up. 'Let's go downstairs. I'll show you over the place.'
I hadn't the slightest idea what his game was, but on the other hand, I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter with Dooley dogging my heels, that sub-machine-gun at the ready.
We went down to the main corridor leading to the grand stairway. Barry said, 'My revered uncle, my mother's brother, made the place over to the National Trust on condition he could continue to live here. It has to be open to the public from May to September. The rest of the time you could go for weeks without seeing a soul.'
'Very convenient for you, but doesn't it ever occur to the military to look the place over once in a while in view of the special relationship?'
'With my uncle? A past Grand Master of the Orange Lodge? A Unionist since Carson's day? As a matter of interest, he threw me out on my ear years ago. A well-known fact of Ulster life.'
'Then how does he allow you to come and go as you please now?'
'I'll show you.'
We paused outside a large double door. He knocked, a key turned, and it was opened by a small, wizened man in a grey alpaca jacket who drew himself stiffly together at once and stood to one side like an old soldier.
'And how is he this evening, Sean?' Barry asked.
'Fine, sir. Just fine.'
We moved into an elegant, booklined drawing-room which had a large, four-posted bed in one corner. There was a marble fireplace, logs burning steadily in the hearth, and an old man in a dressing-gown sat in a wing chair before it, a blanket about his knees. He held an empty glass in his left hand and there was a decanter on a small table beside him.
'Hello, Uncle,' Barry said. 'And how are we this evening?'
The old man turned and stared at him listlessly, the eyes vacant in the wrinkled face, lips wet.
'Here, have another brandy. It'll help you sleep.'
Barry poured a good four fingers into the glass, steadied the shaking hand as it was raised. In spite of that, a considerable amount dribbled from the loose mouth as the old man gulped it down greedily.
He sank back in the chair and Barry said cheerfully, 'There you are, Vaughan, Old Lord Palsy himself.'
I had found him likeable enough until then, in spite of his doings, but a remark so cruel was hard to take. Doubly so when one considered that it was being made about his own flesh and blood.
There was a silver candelabrum on a side-board with half a dozen candles in it. He produced a box of matches, lit them one by one, then moved to the door which the man in the alpaca jacket promptly opened for him.
Barry turned to look back at his uncle. 'I'll give you one guess who the heir is when he goes, Vaughan.' He laughed sardonically. 'My God, can you see me taking my seat in the House of Lords? It raises interesting possibilities, mind you. The Tower of London, for instance, instead of the Crumlin Road gaol if they ever catch me.'
I said nothing, simply followed him out and walked at his side as he went down the great stairway to the hall. It was a strange business, for we moved from one room to another, Dooley keeping pace behind, the only light the candelabrum in Barry's hand flickering on silver and glass and polished furniture, drawing the faces of those long-dead out of the darkness as we passed canvas after canvas in ornate gilt frames. And he talked ceaselessly.
He stopped in front of a portrait of a portly, bewigged gentleman in eighteenth-century hunting dress. 'This is the man who started it all, Francis the First, I always call him. Never got over spending the first twenty years of his life slaving on a Galway potato patch. Made his fortune out of slaves and sugar in Barbados. His plantation out there was called Spanish Head. When he'd got enough, he came home, changed his religion, bought a peerage and settled down to live the life of an Irish Protestant gentleman.'
'What about your father's side of things?'
'Ah, now there you have me,' he said. 'He was an actor whose looks outstripped his talent by half a mile, and in their turn were only surpassed by his capacity for strong liquor, which actually allowed him to survive to the ripe old age of forty.'
'Was he a Catholic?'
'Believe it or not, Vaughan, but I'm not the first Protestant to want a united Ireland.' He held a candle up to an oil painting that was almost life-size. 'There's another. Wolfe Tone. He started it all. And that's my favourite relative beside him. Francis the Fourth. By the time he was twenty-three he'd killed three men in duels and had it off with every presentable female in the county. Had to flee to America.'
The resemblance to Barry himself was quite remarkable. 'What happened to him?'
'Killed at a place called Shiloh, during the American Civil War.'
'On which side?'
'What do you think? Grey brought out the colour of his eyes, that's what he said in a letter home to his mother. I've read it.'
We had turned and were making a slow promenade back towards the entrance hall. I said, 'When I look at all this, you don't make sense.'
'Why exactly?'
'Your present activities.'
'I like a fight.' He shrugged. 'Korea wasn't all that bad if it hadn't been for the bloody cold. And life gets so damn boring, don't you think?'
'Some people might think that was a pretty poor excuse.'
'My reasons don't matter, Vaughan, it's what I'm doing for the Cause that counts.'
We had reached the hall and he put the candelabrum down on the table and took out the handcuffs. I held out my wrists.
He said, 'Thirty years ago, if I'd been doing exactly what I'm doing today for the resistance in France or Norway I'd have been looked upon as a gallant hero. Strange how perspective changes with the point of view.'
'Not mine,' I said.
He looked at me closely, 'And what do you believe in, Vaughan?'
'Nothing. I can't afford to.'
'A man after my own heart.' He turned to Dooley and jerked his thumb downwards. 'Take him back to the others for now.'
He picked up the candelabrum and went upstairs. I stood watching him for a moment, then Dooley put the muzzle of the Sterling in my back and prodded me towards the door.
When I was returned to the cell, Binnie was fast asleep on the cot, his head to one side, mouth slightly open. When the door closed, he stirred slightly, but did not waken. The Brigadier put a finger to his lips, moved to check that the boy was genuinely asleep, then crossed to the table and we both sat down.
'A pretty kettle of fish,' he said. 'What's been happening to you?'
I told him and in detail, for in some way almost everything Barry had said to me seemed important, if only because of the way in which it threw some light on the man himself.
When I'd finished, the Brigadier nodded. 'It makes sense that he would ask you to go to Oban. After all, you're on call to the highest bidder as far as he knows and you couldn't very well go running to the police.'
'He said he'll be seeing me later, presumably to discuss the deal further. What do I say?'
'You accept, of course, all along the line.'
'And what about you?'
'God knows. What do you think he'd do if you told GHQ where I was and they sent the Royal Marine Commandos to get me out.'
'He'd use you as a hostage. Try to bargain.'
'And if that failed, and it would fail because the moment the government gives in to that kind of blackmail it's finished, what would he do then?'
'Put a bullet through your head.'
'Exactly.'
The bolts rattled again, the door was flung open with a crash that brought Binnie up off the cot to his feet. He stood there, swaying slightly, wiping sleep from his eyes with the back of a hand.
Dooley was back again with a couple of men this time. 'Outside, all of you,' one of them ordered roughly.
We followed the same route as before, up through the green baize door to the hall, then mounted the marble stairs to the main landing and turned along the
corridor. We paused at another of those tall double doors, Dooley opened it and led the way in.
It was a rather similar room to the old man's although there was no bed, but it was pleasantly furnished in Regency style. Norah Murphy sat in a chair by the fire, her hands tightly folded in her lap. Barry stood beside her, a hand on the back of the chair.
'Good, then as we're all here, we can get started. I should tell you gentlemen that Dr Murphy is being more than a trifle stubborn. She has certain information I need rather badly which she stupidly insists on keeping to herself.' He put a hand on her shoulder. 'Shall we try again? What happened to the bullion, Norah? Where's he hidden it?'
'You go to hell,' she said crisply. 'If I did know, you're the last man on earth I'd tell.'
'A great pity.' He nodded to Dooley, speaking slowly, enunciating the words so that he could read his lips. 'Come and hold her.'
Dooley slung his Sterling over one shoulder and moved behind the chair. Norah tried to get up and he shoved her down and twisted her arms back cruelly, holding her firm.
Barry leaned down to the fire. When he turned, he was holding a poker, the end of which was red-hot. Binnie gave a desperate cry, took a step forward and got the butt of a Sterling in the kidneys.
He went down on one knee and Barry said coldly, 'If any one of them makes a move, put a bullet in him.'
He turned to Norah, grabbed her hair, turning her face up to him and held the poker over her. 'I'll ask you once more, Norah. Where's the bullion?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'You're wasting your time. This will get you nowhere.'
He touched her cheek with the tip of the poker, there was a plume of smoke, the smell of burning flesh. She gave a terrible cry and fainted.
Binnie forced himself up on one knee and put out a hand in appeal. 'It's the truth she's telling you. Nobody knows where the gold is except the Small Man himself. Not even her because that's the way he wanted it.'
Barry looked down at him, frowning for a long moment, then he nodded. 'All right, I'll buy that. Where is he now?'
Binnie got to his feet and stood swaying, a hand to his back, not saying a word. Barry grabbed the unconscious girl by the hair again, the poker raised in threat.
'You tell me, damn you or I'll mark the other side of her face.'
'All right,' Binnie said. 'But much good it'll do you. He's in the old hidey-hole in the Sperrins and there's nothing he'd like better than for you and your men to try and take him there.'
Barry underwent another personality change, became once again the smiling, genial man I'd taken wine with earlier. He dropped the poker into the fireplace and nodded to Dooley.
'Take her into the bedroom.'
Dooley picked her up effortlessly, crossed the room and kicked open a door on the far side. Barry moved to a sideboard and poured himself a whiskey. When he turned he was smiling. 'I wouldn't get within ten miles of that farmhouse. There isn't a farm labourer or shepherd or snotty-nosed little boy in every village you touch on up there who isn't another pair of eyes for the Small Man.'
'Exactly,' Binnie said.
'I know,' Barry nodded. 'But you, Binnie, they'd welcome with open arms.'
Binnie stared at him amazement on his face. 'You must be mad.'
'No, I'm not, old love, I've never been saner in my life. You're going to go and see my old friend Michael for me and you're going to point out the obvious and unpleasant fact that I'm holding his favourite niece. If I get the gold or details of its whereabouts, he gets her back in one piece. If I don't...'
'By God, they broke the mould when they made you,' Binnie said. 'I'll kill you for this, Barry. Before God, I will.'
Barry sighed heavily and patted the boy's face. 'Binnie, Cork's milk and water religion, his let's-sit-down-and-talk, isn't going to win this war. It's people like me who are willing to go all the way.'
'And to hell with the cost?' the Brigadier put in. 'The slaughter of the innocents all over again.'
When Barry turned to him there was a madness in his eyes that chilled the blood.
'If that's what's needed,' he said. 'We won't shirk the price, any price, because we are strong and you are weak.' He turned back to Binnie. 'With that gold I buy enough arms to take on the whole British Army. What will the Small Man do with it?'
Binnie stared at him, that slightly dazed look on his face again, and Barry, calmer now, patted him on the shoulder. 'You'll leave at dawn, Binnie. It's a good time on the back roads. Nice and quiet. It shouldn't take you more than a couple of hours to get there. I'll give you a good car.'
Binnie's shoulders sagged. 'All right.' It was almost a whisper.
'Good lad.' Barry patted him again and looked straight at me. 'And we'll send the Major along, just to keep you company. That public school accent of his should be guaranteed to get you past any road blocks you run into, especially with the kind of papers I'll provide him with. All right, Major Vaughan?'
'Do I have any choice?'
'I shouldn't think so.'
He gave me that lazy, genial smile of his, looking more than ever like Francis the Fourth of the portrait up there in the gallery. I didn't smile back because I was thinking of Norah, remembering the stink of her flesh burning, considering with some care exactly how I was going to give it to him when the time came.
10
Run for your Life
Barry himself disappeared and a great deal seemed to happen after that. The Brigadier was hauled off to his cell. Binnie and I, rather puzzlingly, had our pictures taken by one of Barry's men using a flash camera.
Afterwards, we were taken by way of the back stairs to a bedroom on the next floor. It was comfortable enough, with dark mahogany furniture and brass bedstead, a faded Indian carpet on the floor. There was a familiar-looking suitcase on the bed. As I approached it, Barry came into the room.
'I had your stuff brought up from the boat, old lad. I don't think those sea-going togs of yours will be exactly appropriate for this little affair. Suit, collar and tie, raincoat - or something of that order. Can you oblige?'
'Everything except the raincoat.'
'No problem there.'
'What about Binnie?'
Barry turned to look at him. 'As impeccable as usual. All done up to go to somebody's funeral.'
'Yours maybe?' Binnie said and I noticed that his forehead was damp with sweat.
Barry chuckled, not in the least put out. 'You always were a comfort, Binnie boy.' He turned to me. 'There's a bathroom through there. Plenty of hot water. No bars on the window, but it's fifty feet down to the courtyard and two men on the door, so behave yourselves. I'll see you later.'
The door closed behind him. Binnie went to the window, opened it and stood there breathing deeply on the damp air as if to steady himself.
I said, 'Are you all right?'
He turned, that look on his face again. 'For what he has done to Norah Murphy he is a dead man walking, Major. He is mine for the taking when the time comes. Nothing can alter that.'
Something cold moved inside me then, fear, I suppose, at his utter implacability which went so much beyond mere hatred. There was a power in this boy, an elemental force that would carry him through most things.
A dead man walking, he had called Frank Barry, and I wondered what he would call me on that day of reckoning when he discovered my true motives.
Which was all decidedly unpleasant, so I left him there by the window staring out to sea, went into the bathroom and ran a bath.
I dressed in a brown polo-neck sweater, Donegal tweed suit and brown brogues. The end result coupled with the bath and a shave was something of an improvement. Binnie, who seemed to have recovered his spirits a little, sat on the edge of the bed watching me. As I pulled on my jacket and checked the general effect in the wardrobe mirror he whistled softly.
'By God, Major, but you look grand. Just like one of them fellas in the whiskey adverts in the magazines.'
I had the distinct impression that he might break in
to laughter at any moment, an unusual event indeed. 'And the toe of my boot to you, too, you young bastard.'
We were prevented from carrying the conversation any further for at that moment the door opened and the guards ordered us outside.
This time we were taken all the way down to the kitchen, where we were given a really excellent meal with another bottle of that Sancerre Barry had liked so much to share between us. It was all rather pleasant in spite of the guards in the background.
As we were finishing, Barry appeared, the formidable Dooley at his back. He had an old trenchcoat over one arm which he dropped across the back of a chair.
'That should keep out the weather and these should get you past any road blocks you run into, military or police.'
There were two Military Intelligence identity cards, each with its photo, which explained the camera work earlier. Binnie was a Sergeant O'Meara. I had become Captain Geoffrey Hamilton. There was also a very authentic-looking travel permit authorizing me to proceed from Strabane to interrogate an IRA suspect named Malloy being held at police headquarters there.
I passed Binnie his ID card. 'These are really very good indeed.'
'They should be. They're the real thing.' He turned to Binnie. The boys will take you down to the garage now so you can check the car. The Major and I will be along in a few minutes.'
Binnie glanced at me briefly. I nodded and he got up and went out, followed by two of the guards. Dooley stood by the door watching me woodenly, his Sterling at the ready. I pulled on the trenchcoat.
Barry took a couple of packets of cigarettes from his pocket and shoved them across the table. 'For the journey.'
He stood watching me, hands in pockets, as I stowed them away. 'Very nice of you,' I said. 'Now what do you want?'
'Binnie is inclined to be a little emotional where Norah is concerned, but not me.'
'I must say I had rather got that impression,' I said.
'As far as I'm concerned she's just a medium of exchange. You make that clear to Cork, just in case Binnie doesn't get the message across.' He turned and nodded to Dooley, who went out of the room immediately. The first sign of anything untoward at all, Dooley puts a bullet in her head.'