by Jack Higgins
Seumas moved in close, the barrel of the Luger poking into the back of the man's right knee-cap, and then he simply blew it off with a single shot.
The man screamed in agony and rolled over. O'Hagan stood looking down at him.
'There's good men dead and in their graves fighting the bloody British Army and bastards like you spit on them.'
At the same moment, a couple of stripped-down Land-Rovers turned the corner at the end of the street and braked to a halt. Morgan was aware of the uniforms and a spotlight was turned on.
'Stay exactly where you are,' a voice echoed over a loudhailer in crisp, public-school English, but O'Hagan and Seumas had already ducked into the alley at the side of the cafe. Morgan went after them, running like hell.
There was a six-foot brick wall at the end of the street and they were scrambling over it as the first soldiers turned into the alley. They found themselves in a builder's yard and blundered across in darkness to a double wooden door. Seumas got the judas gate open and they were out and into the street as the first soldier arrived on the other side of the wall.
The boy and O'Hagan seemed to know exactly where they were going. Morgan followed at their heels, twisting and turning through a dark rabbit warren of mean streets and the sounds of pursuit grew fainter. Finally, they came out on the banks of a small canal and Seumas paused beside some bushes. He took a small torch from his pocket and as he switched it on, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction of the city centre, followed by three more in rapid succession.
O'Hagan looked at his watch. 'Right on time for once.' He grinned at Morgan. 'Just think, you could have been shot by one of your own people. There's irony for you.'
'Now what?' Morgan asked.
'We get the hell out of here. Get it open, Seumas.'
In the light of the boy's torch, Morgan saw that he had pulled back the bushes revealing a manhole cover which he pulled back. He descended a steel ladder, Morgan hesitated, then went after him and O'Hagan followed, pulling the cover back into place.
Morgan found himself in a tunnel so small that he had to crouch. The boy took a large spot lamp from a ledge and switched it on. He started forward and Morgan went after him, aware of the sound of rushing water in the distance.
They came out on the concrete bank of a large tunnel and in the light of the spot he saw that a brown foaming stream coursed down the centre. The smell was very unpleasant.
'The main sewer,' Seumas said. 'All that Protestant shit from the Shankhill. Don't worry, Colonel. We'll pass right underneath and come up amongst friends in the Ardoyne.'
'Then what?' Morgan asked.
'I think, under the circumstances, we'd do better out of town tonight,' O'Hagan said. 'You, too, Asa.'
'You'll never make it,' Morgan told him. 'Not after those bombs. They'll plug every road out of the city up tight.'
'Ah, there are ways,' O'Hagan said. 'You'd be surprised. Now, let's get moving.'
They emerged some twenty minutes later in what appeared to be a factory yard behind a high brick wall. When the boy turned to the building itself Morgan saw, in the light of the spot, considerable evidence of bomb damage and that all the windows had been blocked with corrugated iron.
They paused at large double doors, locked with a padlock and chain and O'Hagan produced a key. 'This was a wholesale booze warehouse, owned by a London firm. After the third bomb, they decided they'd had enough.'
He got the doors open and Morgan and Seumas moved in. O'Hagan closed the doors and the boy fumbled in the dark. There was the click of a switch and a single bulb turned on.
'Nice of them not to cut off the electricity,' O'Hagan said.
Morgan found himself standing in a garage. In the centre there was some sort of vehicle covered with a dust sheet. O'Hagan moved across and pulled the sheet away, revealing an Army Land-Rover. The painted board mounted at the front said: Emergency - Bomb Disposal.
'Neat, eh?' O'Hagan said. 'And we've never been stopped yet. Come to think of it, you should feel right at home in this situation, Asa.' He went round to the back of the Land-Rover, opened it and took out a camouflage jacket which he threw across. 'Everything we need in here. You'll have to drop a couple of ranks though. Best I can manage are a captain's pips. I'll be sergeant and Seumas our driver.'
'To what end?' Morgan demanded. 'Where are we going?'
'You wanted to know where those Mausers came from. All right - we'll go and ask Brendan Tully.'
It worked like a charm, all the way out of the city on the Antrim Road. They were waved through three separate roadblocks by military police without hesitation and at a fourth, where there was a queue of vehicles being checked, Seumas simply sounded his horn and overtook on the wrong side of the road.
Outside Ballymena, O'Hagan told the boy to pull up at a public telephone box. He was inside for no more than three minutes. When he returned, he was smiling.
'He's expecting us. The Glenarrif road through the Antrim mountains.'
Morgan said, 'How do you explain me?'
O'Hagan grinned. 'You still speak Welsh, don't you? He loves to try out his Irish, Brendan. Learned it when he and McStiophan were in prison together. Welsh and Irish - they must have something in common surely.'
Twenty miles along the road through the mountains, they came to a sign indicating Coley to the left. Seumas turned, following a narrow, twisting road between dry-stone walls, climbing higher and higher into the mountains.
In the first grey light of dawn they came over a rise on to a small plateau backed by beech trees. There was a barn, doors standing open and an old jeep. Two men stood beside it. They were both dressed like farm labourers, one in a patched corduroy jacket and cloth cap, the younger one in denim overalls and Wellington boots.
'The one in the cap is Tim Pat Keogh, Tully's right-hand man. The other's Jackie Rafferty. A bit touched in the head, that one. He usually does what Tully tells him to and likes it,' O'Hagan said.
Seumas braked to a halt and the two men came forward. 'Good day to you, Mr O'Hagan,' Keogh said. 'If you'd leave the Land-Rover in the barn, we'll take you up to the farm in the jeep.'
O'Hagan nodded to Seumas who drove the vehicle under cover. They all got out and as they emerged, Keogh and Rafferty closed the barn door. O'Hagan had slung a Sterling submachine-gun over one shoulder and Morgan carried a Smith and Wesson .38 service revolver in a standard issue webbing holster.
Keogh said, 'A friendly visit, is it, Mr O'Hagan?' O'Hagan said, 'Don't be bloody stupid, Tim Pat. Now let's get up to the farm. I could do with some breakfast. It's been a hard night.'
The farm was a poor sort of place, in a small hollow backed up against the side of the mountain for protection against the wind. The outbuildings were badly in need of repair and the yard was thick with mud.
Brendan Tully was a tall, handsome, lean-faced man with one side of his mouth hooked into a slight perpetual half-smile as if permanently amused by the world and its inhabitants. He greeted them at the door. He'd obviously just got out of bed and wore an old robe over pyjamas.
'Liam!' he cried. 'You're a sight for sore eyes, in spite of that bloody uniform. Come away in.'
They followed him into the kitchen where a wood fire burned on an open hearth. An old woman, a black shawl about her shoulders against the morning chill, was at the stove preparing breakfast.
'Don't worry about her. She's deaf as a post. Seumas, lad.' He clapped the boy on the shoulder. 'I've still got a place for you, if you fancy some real action.'
'I'm content where I am, Mr Tully.'
Tully turned, eyeing Morgan curiously. 'And who might this be?'
'An old friend. Dai Lewis of the Free Wales Army. They helped us out with guns in the autumn of sixty-nine, remember, when things were bad.'
'Does he speak Welsh then?'
'A bloody poor sort of Welshman I'd be if I didn't,' Morgan answered in his native tongue.
Tully was delighted. 'Marvellous,' he said. 'Only I didn't unde
rstand a word of it. Now, let's start the day right, while the old bag there gets the food ready.'
He produced a whiskey jug and glasses. O'Hagan said, 'A bit early even for you.'
'A short life, eh?' Tully was obviously in high spirits, 'Anyway what brings you out this way?'
'Oh, things were a little bit warm in town last night and then Dai came over to see me from Cardiff. Let him tell you himself.'
He accepted the glass Tully passed him and Morgan said, sounding very Welsh indeed, 'We've decided to go active properly this time, Mr Tully. Talking to the bloody English about an independent Wales is wasted breath.'
'Seven hundred years of talking to the buggers we've had and where's it got us?' Tully asked him.
O'Hagan said, 'What Dai and his people are after are some silenced pistols. He thought I might be able to help and then I remembered those two lads of yours who died last year. Terry Murphy and young Phelan. Wasn't it silenced Mausers they were carrying?'
'That's right,' Tully said. 'And damned difficult to come by they were.'
'Can we ask where you got them?'
'The Jago brothers - two of the biggest villains in London.' Tully turned to Morgan. 'I don't know if they'll still have what you want, but watch them. They'd dig up their grandmother and sell the corpse if they thought there was money in it.'
There was a strange, nervous unease to him and his eyes were very bright. He swallowed some of his whiskey and said to O'Hagan, 'I'm glad you've come. I'd like to talk. Something of considerable importance to the whole movement.'
'Is that so?' O'Hagan was interested and wary at the same time.
'Come in the living-room. I'll show you. We've time before breakfast.' Tully could hardly contain himself. 'It'll only take a few minutes. They can wait for us.'
He turned and went through into the living-room. O'Hagan glanced at Morgan and Seumas, then followed reluctantly.
'Close the door, man,' Tully said impatiently, then opened a drawer in the old mahogany table and took out a map which he unrolled.
O'Hagan joined him and saw that the map was of the west coast of Scotland including the islands of the Outer Hebrides.
'What's all this?'
'This island here, Skerryvore,' Tully pointed. 'It's a missile training base. One of my boys, Michael Bell, was a corporal technician there. Knows the place backwards.'
'So?'
'It seems that on Thursdays once a fortnight, an officer and nine men drive up by road from Glasgow Airport to Mallaig. From there, they go to Skerryvore by boat. Let's say their truck is stopped on the way to Mallaig one Thursday and I'm waiting with nine of my men to take their place, including Michael Bell, of course.'
'But why?' O'Hagan said. 'What's the name of the game?'
'The thing they're testing on that island is called Hunter, a medium-range missile. Not atomic, but a new kind of explosive that would cause a very big bang indeed. One of those things on target could take out a square mile of London.'
'You must be crazy,' O'Hagan told him angrily. 'Rockets on London? What are you trying to do? Lose everything we've fought for?'
'But it's the only way, don't you see? Take the struggle to the enemy's own doorstep.'
'Kill thousands at one blow; totally alienate world opinion?' O'Hagan shook his head. 'Brendan, at the moment in the eyes of many people abroad, we're a gallant little handful taking on an army. That's how we'll win in the end. Not by defeating the British Army, but by making the whole thing so unpleasant that they'll withdraw of their own accord, just like they did in Aden and Cyprus and all those other places. But this...' He shook his head. 'This is madness. The Army Council would never approve such a scheme. It would be like shooting the Queen - counter-productive.'
'You mean you'll tell the Army Council about this?'
'Of course I will. What else do you expect me to do? I'm Chief Intelligence Officer for Ulster, aren't I?'
'All right,' Tully said defensively. 'So I was wrong. If the Council won't back me, then there's no way we can do it, that's obvious. I'll see if breakfast is ready.'
He went into the kitchen where Morgan, Seumas and Keogh sat at the table. He moved to the front door and found Rafferty leaning inside the jeep, oiling the brake pedal shaft. Rafferty straightened and turned.
Tully's face was distorted with fury. 'Dump them, Jackie. Three with one blow. No messing. You understand?'
'Yes, Mr Tully,' Rafferty said without the slightest flicker of emotion. 'One of those Russian pencil timers should do it and the plastique.'
'Get to it then.' Tully went back into the kitchen.
O'Hagan was just coming out of the living-room. He had the map under one arm and the Sterling submachine-gun ready for action in his right hand.
'I've suddenly lost my appetite.' Outside there was the sound of the jeep starting up and driving away. 'Where in the hell has he gone?'
'For milk,' Tully said. 'We don't have a cow here. Liam, let's be reasonable.'
'Just keep your distance.' O'Hagan nodded to Morgan and the boy. 'All right, you two. Seumas, watch my back.'
They moved into the yard. As they reached the gate, Tully shouted from the door, 'Liam, listen to me.'
But O'Hagan simply increased his walking speed. Morgan said, 'What in the hell was all that about?'
'Nothing to do with you,' O'Hagan said. 'A matter for the Army Council.' He shook his head. 'That lunatic. How could he even have imagined I'd go for such a scheme.'
They went over the rise and down to the barn. The doors were still closed and there was no sign of the jeep.
He said to Morgan and Seumas, 'You cover me while I get the Land-Rover out, just in case they try anything funny,' and he tossed the Sterling to Morgan.
He got the barn door open, Morgan turned away, aware of him moving inside. The Land-Rover door slammed as O'Hagan got in. There was a colossal explosion, a blast of hot air and Morgan was flung forward on to his face.
He got to his knees, turned and found Seumas trying to get up, clutching his arm where a piece of metal was embedded like shrapnel.
The barn was an inferno, the wreck of the Land-Rover blazing fiercely.
Morgan was aware of the sound of an engine, dragged Seumas to his feet and shoved him into the trees, crouching down beside him. The jeep approached. It braked to a halt and Rafferty got out.
He walked forward, a hand shielding his face from the heat, going as close as he dared. Morgan stood up and emerged from the bushes.
'Rafferty?'
As Rafferty swung to face him, Morgan emptied the Sterling in three bursts, driving him back into the furnace of the barn. He threw the Sterling after him, picked up Seumas and got him to the jeep.
As he climbed behind the wheel he said, 'Do you know where we can find you a doctor? A safe doctor.'
'The Hibernian Nursing Home for the Aged. It's two miles this side of Ballymena,' Seumas told him and fainted.
Morgan removed the camouflage uniform in the washroom and stuffed it into a laundry basket. Underneath, he still wore his ordinary clothes. He checked his wallet, then washed his face and hands and returned to the small surgery.
The old doctor, Kelly, who appeared to run the place and a young nun were bending over Seumas whose arm and shoulder were bandaged. His eyes closed.
Doctor Kelly turned to Morgan. 'He'll sleep now. I've given him an injection. Good as new in a week.'
Seumas opened his eyes. 'You going, Colonel?'
'Back to London. I've things to do. You know, you never did tell me your second name.'
The boy smiled weakly. 'Keegan.'
Morgan wrote his London telephone number on the doctor's prescription pad and tore it off. 'If you think I can help any time, give me a ring.'
He moved to the door.
'Why, Colonel? Why did they do it?'
'From what I could gather, Tully had come up with some scheme or other that Liam didn't approve. He was going to inform the Army Council. I suppose this was Tully's way of sto
pping that.'
'I'll see him in hell first,' Seumas said and closed his eyes.
At the first public telephone box he came to, Morgan phoned Army Intelligence Headquarters at Lisburn and in as convincing an Ulster accent as he could muster, indicated where Brendan Tully and the Sons of Erin might be found, although he suspected they would already be long gone.
Then he caught a train in Ballymena for Belfast and went straight to the Europa where he booked out. By three o'clock he was at Aldergrove Airport waiting for the London flight.
John Mikali, twenty-eight thousand feet over Sweden, en route for Helsinki, was working his way through the file on Asa Morgan. The GRU man at the Russian Embassy in London had really been most thorough. Not only every aspect of Morgan's career in finest detail, but also details of his known associates, with photographs. Ferguson figured prominently as head of the anti-terrorist squad, Group Four, and so did Baker, although Mikali was already familiar with the Yorkshireman. Deville had a file on Special Branch personnel and Mikali had spent many hours in the past scanning their faces. Had done the same with their counterparts in Paris, Berlin and most other major cities he was in the habit of visiting.
He studied Asa Morgan's photograph again for quite a while then leaned back, thinking about it.
Not that he was worried. There was no way Morgan could get to him. Not a single clue, not a hint of a lead. The tracks were too well covered.
A blonde stewardess, an attractive girl with an excellent figure which was definitely enhanced by the navy blue uniform of British Airways, leaned over him.
'Are you giving a concert in Helsinki, Mr Mikali?'
'Yes. The Brahms Number One tomorrow night with the National State Orchestra.'
I'd love to come if I can get a ticket,' she said. We're on stopover for two days.'
She really was rather pretty. He smiled lazily. 'Let me know where you're staying and I'll have one sent round to you. And there's a party afterwards, if you've nothing better to do.'