And yet my mind was working overtime. Before ringing Felix to tell him of the plan, I sat in the car, thinking through the whole scenario. If this operation went wrong or failed spectacularly, I realised that suspicion would be bound to fall on me. I wondered if I would be able to withstand a full IRA interrogation, and the mere thought of the sort of torture of which those men are capable made my mouth go dry. I knew that some agents and police informers had been held for several weeks before finally being killed, their face and bodies almost unrecognisable due to the terrible beatings they had been given. After five minutes of privately debating the pros and cons, I knew that I had no option but to phone Felix and tell him.
I got out of the car, slammed the door and went and called him.
‘I need to talk to you,’ I said, sounding serious.
Felix, however, hadn’t noticed my tone of voice and began happily cracking a couple of jokes, as he sometimes did.
‘We must have a meeting, Felix,’ I began, my voice sounding anxious. ‘This one’s urgent.’
‘Alright, alright’. He said,’30 minutes, usual place.’ And he was gone.
All the way to the meeting, I kept telling myself that I was about to commit the greatest mistake of my life. Something inside told me I was putting my head in an IRA noose.
When I told Felix of the plan, however, his mood changed abruptly. He looked perturbed. I knew Felix had handled many agents since the Troubles began in the early 1970s, but the audacity and the numbers of soldiers due to be killed in this operation surprised even him.
‘When’s this going to happen, Marty?’
‘I don’t know, but everyone is checking it out this weekend.’
‘So, you’re sure it won’t take place this weekend?’
‘I’m as sure as I can be,’ I said, ‘because they’re not checking it out till this Saturday.’
‘Go ahead with everything but make sure you keep us informed of any changes. Alright?’
‘OK,’ I replied.
A couple of days later Spud called another meeting, but this time he addressed everyone together.
He asked on man, named Philip, if he had organised a getaway car; he asked me if I had the two AK-47s, and asked others about the escape route they had mapped out. Everyone answered in the affirmative. There seemed to be no reason why we could not now check out the bar over the next weekend.
Spud told the eight people present, ‘I’m convinced the recce will show we have an easy and straightforward operation, so I want to now run through the plan once again. I want you to drive the getaway car, Marty.’ I nodded.
He told Paul and Philip, ‘I want you two to carry the AKs.’
‘How many rounds have we got, Marty?’
‘well, I’ve got 189.’
‘I want you to tape two magazines to each AK, so you each have 60 rounds, a total of 120. The two spare full magazines will only be used in an emergency when we are driving away.’
‘I want you, Patricia, to make sure you are in Bangor with all the gear. Marty will pick you up outside the railway station in the hijacked car at the time I will give you later.’
‘I want you, Skin, to pick up the old banger parked outside and drive back to Belfast.’
Looking directly at me, Spud said, ‘And as soon as Skin drives away, you, Marty, must immediately take the place to ensure a fast getaway. By the time Marty is parked outside with all the gear in the boot, everyone taking part will have been having a drink in the bar for 20 minutes. While you’re all drinking, I want you to spend the time eyeing everyone who is a potential target. We want to get every fucking bastard we can.’
‘And another point,’ he said. ‘Make sure when you’ve finished your glass of beer you put the glasses back on the bar so they can be washed. We don’t want any finger prints left behind for forensic.’
Everyone in the room remained hushed as Spud continued outlining the details of the plan. ‘When you three, Phil, Paul and Kieran, have identified your targets and when you are all confident the time is right, I want you all to make your way towards the door. Marty will be parked outside and the guns will be in a holdall in the boot, which will be unlocked. Just walk out, open the boot, take out the rifles and the hand-gun. You will find the AKs magazines already taped together, so you will only have to push home the magazines. I want you, Kieran, to take the hand-gun and stand by the door and don’t let anyone in or out.
‘Phil and Paul, remember, hold the rifles by your leg until you reach the door. Then as soon as you go inside, open up, shooting at everyone you targeted earlier. Make sure that you have the rifles on semi-automatic. You know these rifles can fire 100 rounds a minute on automatic, so you must keep them on semi-auto so you can be accurate with the shots.
‘If you have any of those stupid women wanting to act as heroines by throwing themselves in front of the soldiers, take no fucking notice. Just shoot them. I’m not going to let any Brit’s whore fuck up an opportunity like this.’
One more, Spud turned to Kieran. ‘Remember, all of you, that you will have loads of time. The peelers won’t be there for at least ten minutes. When Phil and Paul have done the business, Kieran, you must place the bomb by the exit to stop the emergency services, the peelers and the ambulance men getting into the bar to attend the dying and the injured.’
Spud looked at Kieran, who said, ‘Got it.’
Spud continued, ‘As soon as you get out of the place, walk to the car, get in the back and put the rifles in the golf bag you will find on the back seat. There are also two magazines in the car just in case of trouble. Marty knows the escape route and he will drive away as normally as possible. No speeding unless absolutely necessary.’
It was intended that I should drive along the sea front road for about two miles and drop off the three lads near the entrance to a golf course. Then I would park the car in a nearby old people’s home only yards from the main Bangor-Belfast road. It was hoped the peelers, if they found the car, would believe that we had parked a second getaway car there and were heading back to Belfast.
In fact, Spud planned that I would join the three lads at the golf club, hiding under a hedge for two hours or so until the last train to Belfast had left Bangor. Then we would walk along the railway track as quietly as possible, as there were houses either side of the line. At the same time, we would listen to the high-frequency radio receiver for any police activity. If we heard any, then we would hide in the undergrowth until the danger passed.
IRA intelligence believed it would take us about a couple of hours to walk the six or seven miles to Holywood, where we would sleep in the hedges until morning before making our way to the car park of the Ulster Folk Museum. We would take it in turns to stand guard.
Parked there would be the old £300 banger and we would put the golf bag, containing the gear, into the boot. At 9.00am we had arranged for a minibus, hired for the day by an IRA sympathiser, to arrive, packed with children visiting the museum. All the children would be wearing white T-shirts bearing a logo and in the bus were similar T-shirts for the four of us to wear. After mingling with the children for an hour or so, we would all return to Belfast, raising no suspicion if we were stopped at any checkpoint.
After leaving the museum, Spud had arranged for a breakdown truck to pick up the banger and return it to Belfast.
Before we left the meeting that evening, Spud told Pete, Phil and me to go that weekend for one final recce of the bar. He wanted the operation to take place the following Saturday.
I immediately phoned Felix and told him that the final recce would take place in Bangor that Saturday night and the operation had been given the go-ahead for the following weekend.
When Paul, Phil and I arrived at Heggarty’s Bar that Saturday night we saw an army helicopter hovering over the town. I was amazed to see RUC foot patrols all over the place and concentrated in and around the bar we were checking out. I looked at Phil and Paul, checking their reaction to the scene, for it seemed we had accident
ally stumbled upon a major security alert. I, of course, understood all too well what had happened, that some stupid RUC Chief Superintendent, or whoever, had ordered the Army and police to swamp the area around the bar.
As we parked the car and walked into the bar to have a drink, I looked around me, furious that the RUC had risked exposing me when there was no need whatsoever for such a heavy-handed police and army presence.
The pub was full of people, perhaps more than a hundred, and I wondered how many SB undercover officers there were in the bar that night. Many customers were obviously off-duty soldiers. We could tell by their accents that they were from the mainland. As we drove to Bangor that evening we had all been chatty in the car, discussing the operation. Once inside the bar, however, Phil and Paul seemed to shun me, talking quietly between themselves and saying hardly a word to me. I became very worried.
We stayed for about 45 minutes, and as we emerged from the smoky bar we could see the Army chopper still hovering over the area. Hardly a word was passed between us on the return journey and I dropped them at Andersonstown.
The following morning, I pressed my secret button on the radio and met Felix an hour later. The moment I clambered into the back of the blacked-out SB van, Felix could see that I was far from happy.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘I’ll tell you what’s fucking up,’ I exploded in anger. ‘I told you nothing was happening this weekend, and when we turn up in Bangor there is a fucking army helicopter nearly sitting on the roof of my car and the whole fucking town swarming with peelers.’
‘Quieten down,’ he urged. ‘Cool it, will you, Marty?’
‘No, I won’t fucking cool it!’ I yelled at him. ‘You know I am under the deepest fucking suspicion and you have probably sealed my fate. How the fuck could you do something like that to me, Felix?’ I paused for a moment, my head hanging in frustration and dejection at what had happened. But I hadn’t finished yet. ‘I kept you notified of every step of that operation, Felix,’ I continued, ‘and you have to put your bloody great foot in the middle of it and expose me to the fucking IRA. I don’t know how you could do that to me, Felix, I really don’t.’
Before I left him, he knew that I was both furious and upset. He also knew that, for the first time, I felt he had failed me and I now doubted if there was real trust between us. Kicking the van as I clambered out, I told him, ‘I’ll phone you if I can. But remember, this might be the last time you ever see me alive. And if it is, then it will be on your fucking conscious.’
Later, after I had calmed down a little, I wondered if I had been too heavy-handed with Felix, for I knew that he was always under incredible pressure from his bosses. I presumed that overriding Felix’s authority, the faceless officers at the top had probably ordered the army and the RUC presence. I wondered if Felix had argued my case, insisting by carrying out their orders they were in grave danger of sacrificing one of their agents. I hoped he had, and I wondered if I would ever know.
Extraordinarily, however, the following day I heard that the planned attack on the paras visiting Heggarty’s Bar would go ahead, as I was notified of a meeting due to take place the following Thursday, two days before the attack. Felix also asked for a meeting and apologised for what had happened, explaining that he had been ordered to watch Bangor by his superior officers. He told me that he had argued our case but had been overruled.
‘All I can do is apologise, Marty,’ he said, looking disconsolate. ‘I didn’t want to swamp the fucking place, but there was nothing I could do. They didn’t want to take any risks; they ordered the full works, a blanket job.’
I appreciated the fact that Felix had apologised and that he had told me what his bosses had ordered. But the fact that Felix had been overruled by his superior officers, against his advice, made me realise how unimportant I really was to the men in power. I wondered if the top brass always treated the men on the ground, the agents who risked their lives, with such disdain and disinterest. I expected so.
Despite this, the fact that I had been called to another IRA meeting gave me hope that all was still well. It also made me think that I could have over-reacted.
I arrived at the cell meeting in a house in Turf Lodge as arranged. But although I could see everyone inside the house, I was told as I waited in the hall that the meeting had been called off. I didn’t say a word, didn’t question the decision, but as I walked to my car I knew that my days were numbered. I kept my eyes peeled, believing that an IRA squad would pounce at any moment and take me for questioning. My heart was thumping, my hands shaking as I got into the car and locked the door. It seemed an age before I managed to get the key into the ignition switch for my hands were shaking with fear.
I didn’t hear a word from the IRA, but I did speak to Felix warning him that the operation was still scheduled for that Saturday.
During the brief conversation I told him, ‘You should also know that I was banned from the final planning meeting and told to go away. I don’t think that’s a good sign.’
That Saturday afternoon, Felix phoned and I called him back from a phone box.
‘Marty,’ he said, ‘that kit’s been moved from your friend’s house.’
‘Impossible,’ I said.
‘Believe me,’ he replied, ‘the kit’s gone. We’ve done nothing yet but we’re tracking it now. It’s in Turf Lodge at the moment. We will see if it travels anywhere else. If we think there’s any danger we will pick them up with the kit.’
‘Jesus!’ I said, realising that if the IRA gun carriers were stopped on their journey to Bangor, then it would spell curtains for me, because the planned attack had now been ordered without my knowledge or presence and I had been a vital, integral part of the original plan.
‘Marty,’ Felix said, ‘You must understand. If they travel towards Bangor we have no option but to pick them up. There are too many lives at risk. Do you realise 20 or 30 people could be killed in this operation, if not more? We have no choice.’
‘But these are just the carriers,’ I shouted, ‘they’re not the active service unit. Nothing can happen until the weapons arrive at Bangor. When it does, the lot can be picked up. I told you every detail of the plan.’
‘We have no choice,’ Felix replied. ‘We have to obey orders.’
In my heart, I understood the RUC rationale but thought it a grave error. I now had to face the fact that Felix, the man I trusted, no longer had any influence with his senior officers. They, in their wisdom, were prepared to sacrifice me in case, just in case, they fouled up. Although they had full knowledge of all the facts, they did not have the confidence in the Army and its men to intercept and stop an attack at the right moment. They obviously preferred to take the easy way out and simply stop a hijacked car, which they knew contained weapons and a couple of low-grade Provo gun carriers.
I put down the phone feeling sick to the pit of my stomach, and went round to my mother’s house to watch television and to decide on a course of action. I knew that if it had been at all possible, the Branch would have targeted and marked the gun-carriers car.
The Special Branch had discovered a ‘magic’ spray which they would daub on the roof of a suspect car. The spray, invisible to the naked eye, could be picked up by a device fitted into a helicopter, and the mark would remain visible for a couple of weeks even if the car was washed and polished. It was one of the SB’s most successful weapons in tracking IRA suspects and was the reason why so many IRA members were caught travelling around the country in what they thought were safe vehicles.
A few hours later, there was a knock at the front door. My mother went and shouted to me, ‘Martin, you’re wanted at the door.’
As I walked along the hall I could see no one in the doorway. The man had obviously walked back to his car, because I could see him silhouetted as he sat in the driver’s seat. I recognised the man as Stephen, the IRA man who murdered the soldier Tony Harrison with his accomplice, Paul Lynch.
I walked down th
e path and we chatted through the open car window.
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got some bad news for you,’ he said.
‘Don’t tell me you can’t pay me the money you owe me,’ I said, referring to £200 I had lent him some weeks before.
He didn’t laugh. ‘No, two of your friends have been arrested,’ he said, looking me straight in the eye.
‘You’re joking,’ I said, acting as though shocked at the news. ‘What happened?’
He said, ‘They were driving into Bangor and for no reason they were stopped by the RUC.’
‘Fuck me!’ I said. ‘I can’t believe that. What happened?’
‘They were driving along in a hijacked car when they were stopped on the edge of Bangor. They found two AKs and nearly 200 rounds of ammunition and a short.’
‘Shit!’ I said.
‘You can say that again,’ he said, ‘they’ll go down for a long time.’
I could see by the look on Stephen’s face that something was wrong. I instinctively knew that he was being completely honest with me, letting me know that I was in danger yet not spelling out what that danger was.
As soon as Stephen drove off, I went to my arms dump in the woman’s house nearby.
‘Is all that stuff still in your roof space?’ I asked her.
‘No, it’s away,’ she replied.
‘Away, where?’
‘Your mate Gary called earlier today and took it.’
‘Was he on his own?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he was alone.’
As soon as I left the woman’s house, I walked to Gary’s place 50 yards down the road.
‘Gary, did you move that stuff today?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Who told you to get it?’
‘Your mate Paul told me to go and get it,’ he replied. ‘He said it would be alright by you.’
I then knew that my cell did suspect me for they had taken the gear without my knowledge. They had also decided to go ahead with their operation, deliberately leaving me out of the plan.
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