The Hostage s-1

by Duncan Falconer

  ‘Baloney.The British have fed you a load of horse manure. The publicity would be good for everyone except the British. If you don’t believe me ask the Father. He agrees with me.’

  ‘You told him?’ Kathryn asked, growing angry.

  ‘Of course.The Father is the one person who could make some good out of this.’

  ‘I can’t believe you told him.’

  ‘For God’s sake, girl. Your husband’s been kidnapped by our own people. There’s no one in a better position to deal with it than the Father. Sure, he probably even knows who did it.’

  Anger flushed through Kathryn, making her face redden. ‘Now just hold on one goddamned minute—’

  ‘Don’t you swear at me, young lady.’

  ‘You are not going to treat Hank’s kidnapping as some kind of political tool.’

  ‘For the sake of Christ, will you listen to yourself? Are you blind, deaf and stupid, girl? Anyone who’s kidnapped becomes a political tool.’

  ‘He’s my husband! Your grandchildren’s father!’

  ‘Some things about you never change, do they?’ Kathryn’s mother said, shaking her head. ‘Always stubborn and thinking you know everything. The Father will make sure no harm comes to Hank and he’ll make the most out of it at the same time. The Brits have to be made to suffer for what they did and he’ll make sure they do.’

  ‘I don’t want Father Kinseller getting involved in this,’ Kathryn said, vexed.

  ‘He’s more than just a priest, young lady. I know.’

  Kathryn rolled her eyes in frustration.‘I know what Father Kinseller is, Mom. I’m not stupid. I knew when we were kids that he recruited boys for the IRA.’

  ‘Then you’ll know not to say that out loud,’ she said in a hushed tone.

  ‘Mom, everyone knows Father Kinseller works for the IRA. He used to collect for them in every bar in the neighbourhood and also the church, for God’s sake. He used to take Mark and me along on Friday nights to help carry the bags of coins. I’ve seen you give him money hundreds of times, in this house!’

  ‘And a fine job he does too. I only wish I could have done half as much for the cause myself.’

  ‘You’re such a hypocrite, Mom. Why didn’t you let him recruit Mark and David if you felt so strongly about it?’

  Kathryn’s mother continued packing away the groceries as if she had not heard.

  ‘When the boys were older you used to discourage them from going to Father Kinseller’s confessionals, didn’t you?’ Kathryn continued.‘That’s how he recruited the young men.

  He used the confession box to get inside their souls.’

  Kathryn’s mother threw her a warning glance and went back to packing tins of food into cupboards.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you let the boys get involved? Come on, Ma, tell me that.’

  ‘They were not suitable for that kind of a life. Mark was an artist.’

  ‘He’s a plasterer, Mom . . . And what about David?’

  ‘David wasn’t very strong.’

  ‘And so you sent him to a military academy in Vermont. Give me a break.’

  ‘He wasn’t strong in the head. He’d have done something stupid.’

  ‘Who are you trying to kid, Mom? You didn’t mind other mothers’ sons joining in the fight, but you didn’t want your own.’

  Kathryn’s mother slammed a can on to the table and glared at her. The seagull left the garage roof and flapped into the air. ‘Your grandfather did his part, and his father before him,’ she said. ‘Your great grandfather on your father’s side, God bless him, was shot by the British just for standing in the road in defiance. There are families out there, in this very street that have given money to the cause but have never spilt a drop of blood for it. This family has done its bit.’

  The old woman took a moment to gather herself before carrying on with her unpacking. Kathryn sighed, hating the argument.

  ‘Mom, I’m not saying you should’ve given them Mark and David. I’m glad you didn’t, obviously I am. I’m just saying, well . . . I wish you hadn’t told Father Kinsella about Hank.’

  The phone rang. Kathryn’s mother went to where it hung on the kitchen wall and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said into it. ‘That’s right.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, she is,’ she said, looking at Kathryn, who was suddenly curious. ‘That won’t be a problem,’ Kathryn’s mother continued. ‘That’ll be fine then . . . Goodbye.’ She put down the phone and went back to her work.

  ‘Who was that?’ Kathryn asked.

  ‘The Tribune.’

  ‘The newspaper? What did they want?’ Kathryn asked, already suspecting the answer.

  ‘They want to talk to you about Hank.’

  ‘You told the newspapers?’

  ‘No. The Father did.’

  Kathryn shook her head in utter frustration. This was spinning out of control.

  ‘Tell Father Kinsella from me he is wasting his time. I’m not going to talk to them or anyone about Hank.’

  Kathryn’s mother stopped what she was doing and stared coldly at her daughter. Kathryn could not remember the last time she saw such an uncompromising look in her mother’s eyes and it froze her. ‘Since when did you become sympathetic with the Brits?’

  ‘Don’t go down that road, Mom. You know I have no love for the Brits. Your ambition is to further the cause. Mine is my children and their father, and it starts and stops there.’

  There was a knock at the front door. Kathryn’s mother glanced towards the lounge then moved to the sink and started cleaning up the dishes. ‘Go answer the door,’ she said in a way that telegraphed she knew who it was. Kathryn didn’t move, suspicions flying in from all directions.

  ‘Who is it, Ma?’

  ‘I said go and get the door.’

  The knock came again. Her mother turned to stare at her. Kathryn started to look defiant, but she could not win. She never could against her mother.

  She left the kitchen, walked through the lounge and paused at the front door. The figure behind the frosted glass was a large one. She opened the door.

  Standing on the porch, blocking out a lot of light and smiling like a snake-oil salesman was Father Kinsella. Kathryn wasn’t surprised.

  ‘Kathryn, Kathryn, Kathryn,’ he said, beaming. ‘You look as beautiful as ever.’

  ‘Hello, Father Kinsella,’ Kathryn said somewhat demurely, standing back to let him in. And in he strode.

  ‘Well, well. It’s been quite a few years since these tired old eyes have settled on your pretty face. I’ve missed you, so I have. How long’s it been?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Your mother told me your children are here.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You know, I’ve always been disappointed you never brought them home and let me be the one to baptise them,’ he said, still smiling, but there was a shadow behind his pale blue eyes. Kathryn forced a smile and began to mouth an excuse, but she couldn’t and stopped herself from trying. He unnerved her.

  ‘Where are the little ones, anyway?’ he said, letting her off the hook and looking around the room.

  ‘They’re upstairs. Mom’s in the kitchen.’

  ‘Well, I tell you what. We’ll bother them later. It’s you I’m here to see anyway. Sit down, sit down,’ he said, as if it were his own house.

  Kathryn obeyed. There were two people in her life who withered her courage like a straw in a furnace and both were in the house with her. Father Kinsella had a similar effect on most of the community and for as far back as many could remember. Rumour had it that in his younger days, before he got the call of the church, he made his money in illegal street fighting. There were even stories that it was the church or jail for him after some dubious goings-on involving the Irish gangs that were behind a lot of the organised crime in those days. It may have been many a year since he swung a punch at someone, but he still had the look of destruction in his eyes when he was displeased. As he looked at Kathryn, his smile fade
d, a warning of a more serious topic of conversation to come.

  ‘First of all, I’m here to say how sorry I am for what has happened to your husband.’

  Kathryn gave a perfunctory nod of appreciation. ‘How do you feel about what’s happened?’

  ‘Feel?’ she asked, unsure as to his meaning.

  ‘Yes. How do you feel, about what’s happened to Hank?’

  ‘I feel like I want him to be released and come home.’

  ‘And so he will be,’ Father Kinsella said. ‘So he will . . . What I mean is, where is your soul in this matter, not your heart?’

  ‘My soul?’

  Father Kinsella seemed to be having a bit of trouble getting Kathryn to see his point, which was unusual for him, but in this matter he felt it was worth taking a little time over. He knew Kathryn, at least her basic sensibilities. He had formed his opinion about her when she was little, which is why he had a lot of time for the young. Adults were more difficult to figure out and therefore harder to manipulate. It was his experience that a person’s fundamental character changed little with age, and those that did could be revitalised with a little gentle persuasion. ‘You didn’t like having to go to England, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And not just because your mother told you the English are our enemies.’

  ‘Father. I’m not seven years old any more, sitting with you counting coins.’

  He burst into sudden laughter and slapped his knee. ‘Ah, those were great days, weren’t they? Seems like only the other day. That was your first job for the cause. And you were paid handsomely if I remember. At least an ice cream or chocolate bar a time.’

  ‘A nickel was a bullet and a dollar was a bomb,’ she said, smiling herself. ‘That’s how we used to total them up, in bullets and bombs.’

  ‘Yes, those were fine old days. Bullets and bombs.’ He grinned a while before growing sombre once more. ‘I suppose the world was a lot easier to figure out then . . . I need your help, Kathryn.’

  ‘You need my help?’

  ‘Yes. What’s happened to Hank affects a lot of people, not just you. But you’re in the best position to help all of us, not just yourself.’

  This was what she had been expecting. ‘And how’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘You can be a voice.’

  ‘A voice? And what would I say?’ Antagonism was slowly starting to surface in her. Father Kinsella could see it in her eyes and played her carefully.

  ‘Kathryn. I’m not asking anything of you other than to let people look at you. Let them know what’s happened. Your husband, Hank, the father of your two beautiful little girls, was used by the British as a political tool, and you’re both paying a price.’

  ‘They said it was a mistake. Whoever kidnapped him thought he was a Brit.’

  ‘Then where is he? Why haven’t they let him go? Listen to me, Kathryn. I know what I’m talking about. Don’t be surprised if the Brits even find a way of turning it around and making it Hank’s fault.’

  She wasn’t worldly enough to argue this with him.

  ‘Look at it from another point of view for a moment,’ he went on. ‘The IRA are not terrorists. They’re freedom fighters. That’s not just a play on words. Terrorists want to destroy a way of life. All we want is our country back. We don’t want to destroy the Brits’ way of life. For God’s sake, it’s our way of life too. But the Brits want to deny us our freedom and so they play name games and call us terrorists. The whole world is against terrorism, and me included, I might add. And so if you want the world against someone, call them a terrorist. And to make the Brits’ case even stronger it would suit them nicely if the Americans were seen to be helping them against the IRA because it would make them look all the more like terrorists. The Brits have duped the Americans, the Irish and you.They sacrificed your husband. Do you see what I’m saying, Kathryn? Doesn’t it make sense?’

  Kinsella had taken the fight out of her but he had not pushed her far enough, not yet, not as far as he needed to.

  ‘I don’t know enough to argue against anything you’ve said, Father. And you could be right. But I don’t see what I can do.’

  ‘You mean to say that if you believed the Brits had used Hank as bait, risked his life for a political manoeuvre, that wouldn’t make you angry?’

  ‘Of course but—’

  ‘Then there’s one thing you’d better be clear about, Kathryn. And if nobody has suggested it yet, then I’m sorry to be the one to have to say it, but you had better be prepared for the possibility that you may never see Hank alive again.’

  She looked into his eyes searching for the lie, but, surprisingly, all she saw was sincerity.

  ‘Why would they . . . why would anything happen to him?’

  ‘It’s a game they’re playing, Kathryn, but not a child’s game.’

  ‘But surely, being American, the best thing the IRA could do is to send him home.’

  ‘Yes, they could do that. But that might not be the most advantageous way to play the card that’s been dealt them.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t understand.’

  ‘Explain it to me,’ she suddenly snapped, wanting him to get to the point.

  ‘I’m not saying executing Hank is what they’re thinking of or what they plan to do. I’m just making you aware of their options.’

  Her glare remained fixed on him, inviting him to explain.

  ‘Struggles like the one in Ireland need support, and not just local support and a bit of help from patriotic Irish Americans. It needs to be shown to the world. The more the world hears of the injustice, the louder it will call for its end. Britain doesn’t care what Ireland thinks, but it cares what the world thinks. A situation like this, Hank being kidnapped, is something the world would take notice of. They have to take advantage of that interest before it goes away.That’s why Hank hasn’t been released yet and why he’s not likely to be in the immediate future.’

  ‘But you said he could be killed.’

  ‘I’m getting to that . . . At the end of the game, when all the publicity has been had out of the kidnapping, when the world is getting tired of the news, to make the most of it, to squeeze the last drop from it, there has to be a change in direction, and a dramatic one. It can’t go on for ever. And so the question has to be answered. Will Hank come home or not?’

  ‘You make it sound like a TV soap.’

  ‘Sadly, the entertainment industry has taught us a lot about selling a story.’

  ‘But I don’t see why it would be an advantage for the IRA to kill him. Surely they’d look good if they let him go back to his family.’

  ‘It would seem that way, but history has taught us something else. The happy ending might be the best way to end a movie, but in the real world, sadly people only sit up and take notice when all they are left with is horror. Mercy does not live as long in memory as does horror. And the world will call even louder for the Troubles to end . . . The IRA won’t back down, so it will be up to the Brits to. History tells us they will. They’ve already started. Now they need to be pushed back even harder.’

  It was as if Father Kinsella had been talking about another world. Kathryn was suddenly overcome with fear for Hank and loathing for everything else to do with the British and the IRA. She had never seriously considered that Hank would not return alive. Now all of a sudden, looking at it through Father Kinsella’s eyes, it seemed certain he was going to die.

  ‘You think they’ll kill him,’ she said, a tremor in her voice. It was not a question.

  ‘No, Kathryn. That’s why I’m here. If we can provide the IRA with the grandstand they want from this it will satisfy them. Don’t you see? If we point the finger at the Brits, and the American government too, tell the world they’re playing with the lives of our loved ones, making them pay the price for their political games, trying to paint a grand body of freedom fighters as terrorists, then the godfathers will benefit more by releasing
Hank. Do you see it, Kathryn?’ He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘Now do you see why we can’t just sit back and do nothing?’

  She pulled her hand away and looked at him coldly. ‘Is it them telling you or you telling them?’

  The priest dropped his gaze, but more in an effort to control his anger than hide any guilt. He then looked at her. ‘Whatever you think of me, or my beliefs, or how I deal with the rights and the wrongs of the world, I came here to help you save your husband. I’ll tell you straight, Kathryn Munro, I don’t think it will be easy, but I’m willing to try.’

  He stood up and straightened out his jacket. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘before I walk out that door I want to know one thing. Are you going to help me save Hank’s life or not?’

  She did not trust him, but he had her trapped. She despised him more that moment than ever before.

  ‘Well. What’s it to be?’ he demanded.

  ‘What do I have to do?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Nothing more than what should come naturally to you. Whoever asks, newspapers or anyone else, just say you miss your husband and want him to come home to his family, and that you don’t trust anyone from the British or American authorities. We’ll talk further tomorrow.’

  Father Kinsella walked to the front door and out of the house. It was only after he had closed the door behind him that she remembered he had not seen her mother or children. She sensed eyes behind her and looked around to the kitchen door where her mother was watching her. Before she stepped back into the kitchen, Kathryn thought she detected a look of guilt on her face.

  Chapter 17

  Hank sat on the floor of a dark, damp room with his hands tied in front of him around a pipe running vertically upwards. A grubby hessian hood was over his head, tied loosely around his neck. He had been there long enough to discover the walls were metal, as was the floor, and added to that, the constant hum of engines and the occasional gentle bump of the entire room made it obvious to him that he was inside a boat of some kind, and not a small one either. The air was thick with the odour of diesel fuel and rotting garbage, competing occasionally with the smell of his own shit-filled and urine-soaked trousers. His captors had been less than considerate regarding his personal hygiene.