by Paul Cuddihy
‘I know where your brother is,’ the man repeated.
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t you want to know where he is?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Thomas snapped.
‘He’s on the Star of the Sea.’
‘What’s that?’
‘What do think it is? It’s a ship and it’s moored down at the Broomielaw at this very minute.’
‘Thank you,’ Thomas said, not sure what else to say.
The man sighed and dragged his side of the veil back. Thomas reluctantly followed suit. Padraig Clarke stared at him through the grate.
‘Surprised to see me?’ Padraig said with a grin.
‘How do you know?’ Thomas asked, almost stuttering over the words.
‘People tell me things, Father. It pays to know what’s going on.’
Thomas nodded, though in the back of his mind he suddenly heard the click of a gun catch again and he shuddered.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ Padraig asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Thomas shrugged. ‘Go down and get him, I suppose.’
Padraig shook his head and frowned.
‘It’s a wee bit more difficult than that,’ he said. ‘I think the people who’ve got him would be reluctant to let him go, even if you are family and a priest.’
‘So what would you suggest then?’
‘Well, I know you don’t have much time. The ship’s leaving for Ireland in the morning and once it’s gone, then I think that will be the last you’ll ever see of your brother.’
Thomas nodded, suddenly wishing he could call on O’Connor because he would have known what to do. He made the sign of the cross for the dead man’s soul.
‘I don’t think that’s going to help him, Father,’ Padraig said, shaking his head.
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’
‘Helping me.’
‘One good turn deserves another, Father. Isn’t that what they always say?’
Thomas wanted to rush down to the ship. He wanted to rescue his brother. He wanted to tell Kate, and he realised guiltily that it was this urge that was gripping him more than any other. He knew she’d be delighted, and he longed to be the bearer of the good news, even though her joy would be solely at the prospect of seeing Mick again.
‘I do have one idea, Father,’ Padraig said and Thomas looked up. ‘It’s worth a try, though I can’t promise anything.’
‘Whatever you think,’ Thomas said, eager to begin right away. ‘So who’s got him then?’
‘It’s probably best if you don’t know, Father,’ said Padraig. ‘Ask no questions and all that.’
Padraig stood up and nodded towards the door and Thomas followed suit at the other side of the box, both men appearing out the door at the same time. There was still a small queue of people kneeling in the row facing him waiting for their confession to be heard and Thomas quickly muttered a few words of apology which he wasn’t even sure that any of them understood before he followed Padraig towards the back of the church, knowing that they were heading for the river. He also knew, even as he stepped out of the church, that disapproving words were already being whispered in Monsignor Dolan’s ear about his sudden desertion, but he’d face the consequences of that later. For now, his only thought was for his brother and he only hoped that they wouldn’t be too late, though he had no idea how the other man intended to rescue Mick.
The biting night-time cold of winter harried and harassed them, searching for any traces of bare flesh to attack as they stood in the shadows, back from the waterfront and out of sight of the ship, which they could see whenever any of them took a peek round the corner of the building. It wasn’t going anywhere at this time of night anyway, though Padraig had checked the departure log at the dock master’s office just to confirm when it would be setting sail. Six o’clock the next morning, so there was still time.
Thomas wasn’t convinced the rescue plan would work, though he kept any doubts to himself. There was no alternative, certainly not anything he could think of, so this was his, and Mick’s only hope. He moved forward and glanced out at the Star of the Sea. The mast stood proud and erect in the gloomy darkness, and he could make it out clearly, though the rest of the ship was just a dark cloud bobbing along on the restless waters of the Clyde. He tried to imagine his brother within the ship, and he prayed that he was still alive. Padraig had assured him that he was – he seemed pretty confident about it – though he also believed that Mick would be heading for home and certain death, even if he remained suspiciously vague on the details or the reason for his belief. Thomas could only presume it was something to do with the man who had been offering money to find Mick. If only he’d been more forceful in helping his brother escape to Liverpool, then none of this would have happened.
He stepped back again and Kate gripped his arm, shivering quietly and pressing herself against his body. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to remind himself why it had been a good idea to bring her. He had insisted on telling her, even if Padraig had argued against it. Thomas knew he was probably right but when he saw the delight on her face and felt her crushing, grateful embrace as she impulsively wrapped her arms round his neck, then all sense seemed to drain out of his body and he offered no resistance when she invited herself along.
‘What are we waiting for?’ she whispered and Thomas glanced round at Padraig who shook his head angrily.
‘Someone else is coming to help us,’ Thomas said. ‘We need to wait for him.’
She sighed impatiently but kept hold of his arm, and he was reluctant to move or say anything else lest she release her grip. Even just a couple of days with Mrs Breslin’s sister had done her good. Her face was on the mend and he could see her brown eyes coming back to life. Thomas had also arranged for another visit from the doctor, if only just to change the dressing on her hand wound. She wore a fresh white bandage, though it was temporarily hidden underneath her black shawl.
A man suddenly appeared before them and Padraig stepped forward with a grunt and shook his hand. He didn’t offer an introduction and Thomas wasn’t concerned with any formalities. He had never seen the man before but he presumed that he was one of Padraig’s comrades. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t a name he could scribble down later for the Archbishop. His only thought was to rescue his brother and if this man was able to help, then he could be the leader of the Brotherhood for all Thomas cared.
‘Have you got them, Father?’ Padraig said and Thomas nodded towards the sack behind him. Both Thomas and the nameless man quickly slipped into the dark brown robes that he’d collected from Brother Clare, a Marist who taught in the school next to the church. He was obviously a sympathiser and he’d handed over the garments to Thomas without any questions when he’d visited the school.
When they both pushed the hoods over their heads, the two men were suddenly transformed into faceless bodies and Thomas quickly pulled the hood back.
‘You need to keep that up, Father,’ Padraig said. ‘We don’t want them seeing your faces. Now, do you know what you’re doing?’
The two hooded heads nodded and Padraig gave them both a nudge that propelled them out onto the road. They started to walk silently towards the ship.
‘Wait,’ Kate said and ran over to him, lifting back his hood and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘For good luck,’ she said and Thomas was glad of the darkness and the hood to hide the embarrassment that had instantly crept across his face.
The two men were approaching the Star of the Sea and Thomas couldn’t see any sign of life on it. There were no guards on the ship, as far as he could make out, though Padraig had warned that it wasn’t going to be easy. Thomas had expected men with guns to be peering down at them from the vessel but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that they were actually just going to walk up onto the ship, find Mick and then bring him back home. They were at the gangplank and his accomplice had just put one foot on it when a
voice shouted a warning out from the ship.
‘Let me do the talking,’ the man whispered as footsteps thundered across the deck and they both looked up, peering out from their hoods. ‘And if anyone asks, I’m Brother Jerome.’
A bulky shape appeared at the top of the gangplank and stood, arms folded, blocking their way onto the ship. Another figure lurked behind his left shoulder.
‘What do you want?’ the first man said. Brother Jerome took another step forward.
‘Stay where you are,’ the man ordered, and the hooded figure stopped again.
‘We’re here to see the prisoner,’ he said, nodding round at Thomas.
‘I don’t know anything about this.’
‘We’ve to hear his confession before he heads back to Ireland tomorrow.’
‘No one said anything to me.’
‘Mister Walsh arranged it. He said everything would be fine. I thought he would have told you.’
The man at the top of the gangplank shook his head but Thomas could see he was suddenly hesitant at the mention of Mister Walsh’s name. Thomas didn’t know who that was but he was evidently a man of some importance.
‘We can go if you want,’ his companion said. ‘But I don’t think Mister Walsh will be very happy. He seemed pretty insistent that we see the prisoner.’
The guard glanced round at his partner and whispers floated down towards Thomas as they discussed what to do, although he couldn’t make out any words. After a couple of minutes, the first guard turned round and nodded.
‘Okay, you can come up, but just you.’
‘We both need to be there,’ Brother Jerome said as he began walking up towards the guards, Thomas following at his back. ‘But if that’s a problem, I can go and let Mister Walsh know.’
By the time they reached the top of the gangplank, the guard had decided against risking any prospect of the two priests leaving without seeing the prisoner, so he stood aside as both men stepped onto the ship. The other guard muttered at them and began walking back across the deck. They followed him, with the first guard bringing up the rear. They clambered down the stairs that led to the hold, which was black as night, and Thomas bumped into his companion. They stopped and waited for the first guard who was now approaching down the stairs with a candle that cast a gloomy but welcome light over their surroundings.
Thomas saw him immediately, a sagging figure bound to a chair at the far end. He resisted the urge to make a dash for his brother, waiting instead for the two guards to lead the way. Soon, all four men stood in front of Mick, who remained sitting, head bowed and oblivious to what was happening in front of him.
‘Right, there you are,’ the first guard said. ‘Do what you have to do and then you can be away.’
‘You can’t stay here,’ Brother Jerome said.
‘I’m not leaving you alone with him.’
‘I’m a priest and I’m here to hear this man’s confession. That’s a private thing between him and God, so you’ll have to wait up on deck.’
The guard hesitated again and Jerome sighed.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he said, turning away from Mick and walking towards the stairs.
‘Okay, okay,’ the guard said, ‘but you’ve got ten minutes. No more.’
The two guards disappeared back up to the deck, having left their candle sitting on the floor in front of Mick. As soon as they were out of sight, Thomas rushed to his brother, kneeling down and grabbing his shoulders.
‘Mick … Mick!’
Thomas shook him and Mick groaned.
‘Mick, it’s me. Thomas. Your brother.’
He pulled back his hood as Mick mustered enough strength to raise his head slightly and open his eyes. It took him a few seconds before his mind registered who it was and he smiled weakly.
‘We’re going to get you out,’ Thomas said. ‘We’re here to rescue you.’
Mick groaned again. Thomas wanted to hug him but he feared that he would only end up crushing him. He kept trying to look away from Mick’s left arm, which appeared even worse since the last time he’d seen him.
‘We need to hurry up, Father,’ Brother Jerome said. ‘We’ve not got much time.’
Thomas stood up and began pulling the robe over his body as the other man untied the rope binding Mick to the chair. He then started undressing Mick, ignoring the groans of pain from the broken figure and handing each item of wet clothing to Thomas who bundled them together before hiding them in a dark corner of the hold. When his brother was dressed in the Marist robe they stood him up, holding either arm to keep him steady.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ Thomas said, looking at his brother.
‘We’ve got no other choice,’ Jerome said. ‘Mick! Listen to me. You’ve got to be strong now. We’re going to get you out, but you need to help us. Can you do that?’
Thomas wasn’t sure if Mick’s head nodded in agreement or whether he just wasn’t able to control it, but he knew his companion was right. It was this or nothing. He let go of Mick’s arm and his brother swayed slightly, but he remained on his feet.
‘You better tie me up,’ Thomas said, sitting down on the chair.
‘I’m afraid it’s not as easy as that, Father.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, to make it look like I’ve attacked you and stripped you and tied you to the chair, then there’ll have to be some sign of a struggle.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I need to hit you, Father.’
‘What?’
‘Just to make it look real.’
Thomas knew it made sense and started to nod in agreement, though just as he did the man’s forehead suddenly came into contact with the bridge of his nose, and he collapsed on the ground, holding his face and moaning, in shock and in pain.
‘Sorry, Father,’ Brother Jerome said.
‘I thought you were just going to punch me,’ Thomas said, taking his hands away from his nose and staring at the blood on his palms. He felt sick.
‘Now I’ll tie you up,’ he said, letting go of Mick, who remained as unsteady on his feet as a drunk at closing time. He grabbed Thomas under the arm and helped him up.
‘I thought you were just going to punch me,’ he said again, blinking furiously.
‘It looks more realistic this way,’ Jerome said as he tightened the rope, binding Thomas to the chair. Thomas’ nose throbbed – he was sure the man had broken it – and a vicious pain was beginning to spread out across his skull.
‘Once they realise what’s happened, they’ll let you go. You’ll be fine.’
Thomas nodded, knowing that the most difficult part of the plan was still to come when Jerome attempted to get Mick off the ship.
‘Good luck,’ he whispered, then winced. It was even sore to talk.
‘Thanks, Father,’ Brother Jerome said as he picked up the candle and steered Mick towards the stairs. Thomas watched them as they got further away, leaving him in increasing darkness, and he tried to muster up enough effort to blank out the pain so that he could say a prayer for his brother, who remained an unsteady figure, hidden behind the hood. Thomas wasn’t concerned for his own safety, broken nose aside. At least that part of Padraig’s plan had made sense. He would know soon enough whether the rest of it was a success.
20
THE QUIET ASSASSIN
Mick felt like he was walking with someone else’s legs and he needed the steady grip of the hooded man to keep him upright. The ship swayed unpredictably but it was a gentle rocking. The Clyde was relatively calm tonight and he was glad of that at least. He felt himself being pulled along and his feet seemed to slide on the floor without ever really managing to lift themselves. When they reached the stairs, he was propped against the side of them as the man peered up towards the deck, taking off his hood to get a better look.
‘Right, Mick, can you hear me?’ the man said.
Mick nodded.
‘I’ll help you up the stairs but once we get
to the top, you have to try walking on your own. If I help you, the guards will notice right away and then we’ll be in trouble. Can you try and do that?’
Mick nodded again but he knew that it wasn’t convincing. It would be a miracle if they made it off the ship safely, but he guessed that was his companion’s problem more than his since he didn’t have the strength to punch a hole in a cloud. He glanced back to where Thomas sat watching them. He was worried for his brother and only hoped that they believed he was an innocent victim in the escape. Neither of them knew what had happened with the barrel and Mick realised that if it could break him, then Thomas didn’t have a chance.
‘Are you ready?’
Mick tried to reply but only a grunt came out. It was enough for the man, however, and he tugged him forward. Together they began climbing the stairs until their heads appeared through the hole and Mick spotted the two guards standing at the top of the gangplank, staring down at the dock. The hooded man scrambled up onto the deck first and pulled Mick up. He was on his knees and he groaned as the man grabbed him under the arms and stood him up.
The noise was enough to alert the two guards who spun round at the same time. One of the men strode forward while the other scurried along behind him. Mick could feel a steadying hand on his arm and he tried to stop himself from swaying.
‘Is that you finished?’ the first guard asked.
‘Our work here is done,’ the hooded man said and gently nudged Mick’s arm as they began moving towards the gangplank. Mick was still shuffling, even though he tried to lift his feet and every step that he did manage to complete only seemed to shoot a sharp pain through his ribs. After the third one in quick succession, he breathed in sharply.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ the guard asked.
They stopped but it was too sudden for Mick whose feet seemed to get tangled up with each other and he began toppling over. His companion tried to keep him upright but his grip wasn’t strong enough and Mick’s fall had taken him by surprise. He crashed to the ground, cracking his head noisily off the wooden deck and he lay, one side of his face pressed painfully into the harsh wood, the other side woefully exposed to the watching guards.