The green unmarked Ford in which Jack was a passenger was not the fastest car in the world; it was solid to the point of immobilising rigidity, but apart from a fully armour plated vehicle, it was the only commercial vehicle that offered any kind of protection against a gun attack, or roadside explosion—it was the car of choice for members of the security forces when they were off duty but to the keen eyed terrorist it only served to make the job of selecting targets a lot easier. Jack was not happy with the car chosen to take him to his next stop, but it was the only unmarked car available outside of Belfast—he didn’t have time to wait for a different car to arrive from the capital.
The small fishing village of Annalong had not yet received the news that an influential member of the Royal family had been blown to bits on his fishing boat in the Irish Republic, but there was some buzz about a massive explosion further along the coast at Warrenpoint. There was some speculation about fatalities, but no one in the village could have imagined in their worst nightmares that another nineteen people had been killed. As the good people of Annalong went about their daily business with the terrible events coming to them in small drips, they were completely unaware that a man intimately connected to the terrible events of that day had just driven into town.
Almost an hour had passed since he blew up the lorry, but Jack was still reeling from the events earlier in the day—he had been shot at and almost blown up and instead of the well earned rest that he needed at the end
was being sent out
of the hardest undercover operation of his life, he once again into the unknown. With twenty people dead Jack could never view his efforts on that day as entirely successful, but with two massive bombs destined for busy shopping towns intercepted, the people in charge were of a different opinion. The IRA and the British security forces were both in a state of turmoil and the hours and days that were to follow would be the most dangerous in the history of the conflict as both sides rushed to make the next decisive move. The simple truth of the situation was that they had no one else in such a strong position within the IRA as Jack, and as Jack sat in the back of the unmarked police car on the way into Annalong he wondered if that was the plan all along—he also wondered how much help he would receive from MI5 after what he had just done to one of their agents. Still, it was worth it, he concluded. His masters back in London were going to get as much use out of him before they set him free as they possibly could, and if that freedom came with his death, so be it. It would do no harm for one of them at least to feel what it was to really suffer. This was not a game to be played out on some antique desk in an office back in London—it was real and dangerous and it hurt like hell. Perhaps the agent would remember that the next time he blithely asked someone like Jack who had sacrificed so much, to sacrifice even more. Jack doubted that lesson would ever be learned. The dark green Ford pulled alongside the heavily fortified wall of the village police station and Jack got out. Very subtle, Jack thought. They couldn’t have been any more obvious unless they had actually driven into the police station itself. Jack walked up the small hill to the top of the Main Street. He closed his eyes and called up the hand drawn map that had been shown to him briefly earlier that day—down Main Street and turn left, Jack recollected. Sure enough, the harbour was found exactly where he had been told. Jack walked down a dozen steep stone steps towards the harbour. Jack’s heart skipped a beat. The harbour was small but very deep—just not deep enough to float a boat whenever the tide was out, and that is exactly what alarmed him. Jack checked his watch. The container ship would be passing in the next half hour and after an hour it would be out of reach.
Jack hurried to the other side of the harbour where the entrance was. He looked down at the water in the entrance in an effort to study how it was flowing—if the tide was coming in then he still might have time to make the intercept; if it was still going out then he was screwed. Jack swore under his breath. The water wasn’t moving at all. The tide was on the turn but only just. Jack looked across the harbour at a pub. The pub came within yards of the harbour wall and it would be the perfect place for Jack to wait for the tide without raising too many questions. He resolved not to engage in conversation with any of the locals if that was at all possible—in the cities such as Lisburn, Londonderry and Armagh, territory was clearly demarcated, and he knew exactly what to say in conversation; out in the towns and villages of the countryside the situation was not as clear—which was odd as most of the terrorists from the Republican were from a rural
background. The Loyalists mainly recruited in the ghettos of Belfast and the rural Protestant population did not approve of their activities to the same extent. The events of that day would change the minds and hearts of that passive Protestant majority and set into motion a tolerance for violence that would bring the country to the brink of civil war.
As he made his way back to the other side of the harbour he noticed another set of stone steps, on the ocean side. Jack climbed the steps and he came across a short granite pier. of the pier there was a brass warning bell which used to be struck in times of fog before modern electronics took up the slack. The bell swayed gently on the breeze and it sounded almost imperceptibly, as if it were the ghostly sound from a time long since passed. The sound unsettled Jack.
Jack walked to the edge of the pier and he looked down. A small boat was bobbing up and down in the water dangerously close to the rocky sides of the pier. There was one man on the boat, and in Jack’s opinion there wasn’t much room for too many more men. The man in the boat looked up at Jack and he grinned widely before speak.
“Do you want a lift, boss?” the stranger asked.
The man in the boat was either inappropriately friendly towards strangers, or he was the skipper of the craft he was looking for. Jack opted for the latter option and he carefully began to climb down a metal ladder that was attached to the pier. The man steered the boat as close to the wall as he dared which left Jack with a backwards jump off the narrow ladder into a moving boat—he felt certain that it wouldn’t end well. Jack landed heavily in the boat and the friendly expression quickly dropped from the man’s face.
“Are you trying to sink her, boss?” the man asked.
“Sorry about that, but I didn’t exactly have another choice,” Jack said, firmly.
“Never mind boss, you are in and we are still floating. That’s half the battle,” said the man, as the smile returned.
The small outboard engine on the back of the boat roared at the top of its voice as the boat turned and they headed out into the open water. Once they were well clear of the harbour Jack turned to the
cautiously At the end
man.
“Has anyone else made it?” Jack asked.
The man looked uneasy.
“Sorry boss, but you are the only one,” said the man.
The man looked at his watch.
“If they don’t turn up in the next few half hours then they will have literally missed the boat,” he added.
Jack nodded his head as he tried his best not to look pleased at the news. He was pleased at the thought that no one else had made it. Then the operation would really be finished.
The small craft ploughed into the gentle waves on the open sea at an alarming speed and within minutes Jack was soaked through to the skin. The man noticed Jack’s discomfort.
“Sorry about the rough ride, boss, but if I am to get back to the harbour to pick up any latecomers then I have to put the boot down,” he said.
“I understand,” Jack said.
“There will be a change of clothes for you on the container ship. And anything else that you might need,” said the man.
“Twenty year old, Swedish twins?” Jack asked, wryly.
The man smiled.
“You know what boss, it wouldn’t surprise me one little bit.”
Within a few minutes they were pulling up alongside the container ship. The large vessel was still moving, but only just. A rope ladder was dropped ove
r the side of the vessel and the man brought the small boat tight in against the hull of the larger vessel. Jack stood up and he grabbed hold of the ladder. Transferring from the small boat to the ladder was unexpectedly easy.
“Good luck boss,” said the man, just rection of the harbour.
The waves breaking against the hull at Jack’s heels as he climbed the ladder. Jack didn’t look down. As he got to the top of the ladder two arms and a hat appeared and grabbed him. Jack struggled as he was being pulled onto the ship—his mind was in conflict—run from the grasping hands—but run to where?
12
before he sped off in the diof the container ship nipped Jack landed awkwardly on the deck of the container ship. Immediately his nostrils were filled with the overpowering stench from burnt diesel fuel. As he looked down at the rusty deck of the ship Jack was not at all confident that it would ever make it as far as South Africa. Jack raised his head with more than a little trepidation as he looked at the man who had helped him onto the ship for the very first time. The man was everything that Jack had been expecting. He was dirty, badly shaven, with a face that looked as if it had weathered more than its fair share of Atlantic storms. The man was the very embodiment of a salty old sea dog—or a cutthroat mercenary, as the case might be.
“Welcome onboard,” said the sailor, in a thick South African accent. “I am glad that you could make it. Your friend is waiting for you down below.”
“Friend?” Jack quizzed. “What friend? I was told that no one else had made it this far.”
The sailor looked uncomfortable as he answered Jack’s questions.
“Eh…I…I am certain that one of your friends is already onboard. Perhaps I am mistaken? You know how it is? With so many people coming on and off the ship it is hard to keep track of them.”
Jack smiled, but it was an uneasy smile. It was simply beyond all belief that the ship would have taken on so many passengers out in the middle of the Irish Sea on that day for it to be considered a routine event. One of the IRA men was already picked Jack up at Annalong harbour about the small fact that he already taken one of his associates to the container ship.
The sailor waited for Jack to ask another question but when that question did not materialise the sailor turned and began to walk away. Jack followed the man. They moved across the large forward deck of the ship until they were standing in front of a metal door several storeys below the bridge. The sailor made a fist and then he banged on the door three times. There was a short pause and then the door swung open. Another sailor was standing on the other side. The second sailor was even more menacing looking and he glared at Jack with intent.
“After you,” said the first sailor, as he gestured with his hand.
Jack looked at the men and he quickly resigned himself to the
13
on the ship and the man who had deliberately mislead him fact that they were completely in control. The spook back in Lisburn urged him to take a gun with him but Jack argued that it would be too dangerous. An important part of the original escape plan had been disposing of their weapons early into the escape. If he was searched and found with a weapon then the suspicion caused would end him. Judging by the look on the faces of his two hosts, his end was not that far off anyway.
They descended a narrow stairway down into the bowels of the ship. The further they travelled the louder the sound of the mighty engines, which pushed the boat through the water, became. As well as the noise, the petrochemical smell and increasing heat indicated to Jack that they were moving in the direction of the engine room, or one of them, as the ship had a main engine room and a smaller back up engine room—a ship that size powerless on the high seas would have been extremely vulnerable.
The group moved through the corridors in the lower decks in complete silence. As they continued towards their destination the tension and anticipation in the air escalated. They walked past the door to the engine room and they came to a stop outside another door a few yards away. The sailor who helped Jack onto the ship opened the door and then he stood to one side to allow Jack into the room. Jack hesitated for a few moments before giving himself over to the inevitable. He entered the dimly lit room. Jack turned towards his escorts just in time to have the door closed in his face. The sound of metal grinding on metal as the door’s locking mechanism was engaged told Jack that for the time being that room was going to be his prison. That fact didn’t stop Jack from trying the handle to the door just to be certain—it would not move.
“This won’t take long,” a familiar voice said, from deep within the gloom.
The hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood on end at the sound of the voice. Someone had made it to the ship and of all his former associates the voice belonged to the one man Jack never wanted to see again. As Jack cautiously walked towards the voice the form of Barry Fagan, sitting on a chair, came into view. Jack walked confidently towards Barry as if he was delighted to see him sitting there likea sinister
spectre in the semi darkness. His pace slowed considerably when he noticed that Barry was resting a pistol on his left leg.
“Expecting trouble?” Jack asked, as he sat down on a chair in front of Barry.
“I don’t know Sean, why don’t you tell me,” Barry said.
Barry calmly lit a cigarette before offering one to Jack. Jack took a cigarette out of the packet that Barry was extending towards him and then he leaned forwards to catch a light from a match that Barry struck for him. Jack took a long draw on the cigarette.
“By now Barry, you probably know as much as I know,” Jack said. “The attack on the soldiers at Warrenpoint went according to plan, as well as the attack on Mountbatten. Lisburn and Banbridge both went south. Cathal was shot dead by an army patrol and I have no idea what happened in Lisburn.”
Barry sucked hard on his cigarette.
“Aye Sean, it has all turned into one hell of a mess. Many good men are either dead or in the hands of the Brits. After what we did to the Brits today I wouldn’t want to be an IRA volunteer in their custody, would you?”
“It wouldn’t be much craic,” Jack said, simply.
Barry took another long, deliberate drag on his cigarette before continuing.
“The one thing that I can’t understand is how in the midst of all this chaos, you managed to get away. How did you manage to do that, Sean?”
“I could ask you the very same thing,” Jack said, defiantly. “You could Sean, but the fact of the matter is that I am the one with the gun. Now, I’ll ask you again, how did you manage to escape? This time I am afraid that I am going to have to insist on an answer.”
Jack leaned forwards and as he did so Barry took hold of the gun and pointed it at him.
“The bullets started to fly and I bailed out of the lorry,” Jack said. “Cathal went on a suicide run. That is something that I didn’t sign up for. The instructions were to come back alive, even if that meant being captured, not to go out in a blaze of glory.”
Jack leaned back in his seat and Barry moved the gun back to rest
15 on his leg, but with his hand firmly around the handle of the weapon. “You bailed out of the lorry and the army just let you go?” Barry
asked.
“Yes Barry, that is about the long and the short of it. We saw the
checkpoint and Barry stopped the lorry. Then without a word he began to drive towards it. That’s when I jumped out. I ran into a housing
estate and I didn’t stop running until I was in the fields on the outskirts
of the town. There were army Landrovers and police cars everywhere.
There were even a couple of helicopters at one point, but I managed
to get away. The grace of god, or the luck of my Irish ancestry. Call it
what you like, that’s how it went down.”
Barry stared at Jack intently as if he was trying to look into his very
soul. After what felt like an eternity Barry finally broke the intense
look
that he was giving Jack.
“OK Sean, let’s say you are the luckiest man this side of Dublin
and leave it at that,” Barry said, with obvious disbelief in his voice. There was another tense pause.
“And what about you Barry? How is it that you are the only member of your team to make it to safety?” Jack asked.
“I was scouting the motorway outside Lisburn to make sure the
escape route was still clear. That’s when all hell broke loose. Army and
cops came at the town from all sides. There was nothing that I could
do,” Barry explained, with slight embarrassment and mild anger. “Then it would seem that we both have a lot to be thankful for,”
Jack said.
“So it would seem,” Barry replied.
Barry stood up and walked towards the door. Jack remained seated. When he got to the door Barry turned around to face Jack. Barry
banged on the door five times.
“If any of the others made it through the security blanket they
should be here by now,” Barry said. “Are you coming?”
Jack stood up and he walked towards the door, which opened from
the outside before he reached it. The sailor who helped Jack onto the
container ship was standing guard in the corridor outside the room.
The man walked in the opposite direction to Jack and Barry, who
made their way back up to the deck of the ship. They walked across
the empty main deck towards the side of the ship which was closest to
the harbour. There was no sign of the small transport boat. “Maybe they couldn’t make it to the harbour because of the security forces?” Jack said, with optimism.
“Maybe Sean. If they are on the run they better be across the border. If the Brits catch up with them in the North today they will be
shot on sight. No questions asked.”
The two men stood by the side of the deck looking out across the
Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) Page 2