by John Brady
The sergeant was assiduously trying to prove he was deaf. Minogue opened the door.
"Sergeant, could I ask you a favour, please."
The driver's head shifted around.
"Anything I can do, Detective Sergeant."
"Would you find out what you can on the radio about this car business. Inspector Kilmartin here will furnish details."
"But Matt," Kilmartin leaned over to look under the roof as Minogue stepped out onto the kerb.
"That can wait. We have this thing on the boil."
"Sure what can we do about this evening, Jimmy, except, kill time waiting for something?" Minogue said.
He had actually been reprimanding in his tone, the driver realised. Now if he himself tried that with an Inspector…
"I'll be back in a few minutes," Minogue said. He began striding down the footpath toward Trinity.
As if Minogue's new-found vigour had by default led him to lassitude, Kilmartin slouched in the back seat listening to the driver. He was becoming aware that Minogue was more than merely contrary. Because Minogue did what he had just done so rarely, it appeared almost aggressive. Kilmartin decided he needed some time in the near future to sort out how to deal with Minogue. The sergeant was stroking his neck in anticipation of a reply on the radio.
"Takes 'em long enough," the sergeant muttered.
Kilmartin idly watched two drunken men staggering arm-in-arm down Dame Street. They didn't even notice the police car.
Then Minogue was climbing into the front seat, breathing heavily.
"'A magenta Toyota Cressida,' he said."
"What?" said Kilmartin.
"It's a magenta Toyota Cressida. It's on its way north tonight."
"What are you saying?" asked Kilmartin.
"All this talk of a big Japanese car. I was thinking about that McGuire girl, the Walsh boy's girlfriend. Allen gave her a lift to the funeral in a fancy car, I'm sure it was a Toyota, and I think it was a magenta colour. You know, the one you don't know if it's crimson or purple. I could kick meself, so I could."
"But how in the name of Jas-" Kilmartin began.
"— I asked one of the porters, one of the fellas who works in the college. He checked the parking passes off a list."
A voice yowled on the radio.
"No reported thefts of that type. A magnet… a magan-a magenta Toyota Cressida or Datsun. Over."
"Tell them," Minogue said. His wide eyes bored into Kilmartin's.
"Hold on a minute," Kilmartin leaned over. "Tell them what?"
"The suspect car is heading for the border."
"But the tip-off was for tomorrow, Matt."
The driver looked to Kilmartin.
"Over," the radio said.
"Allen has a car like that. He's gone up north to deliver a lecture. He left a day early. He's the one."
Kilmartin's frown bit deep into his forehead. "The professor fella who does the peace lectures?"
"Allen. Dublin registration. A Professor Allen."
He ate in McDonalds in Grafton Street. His throat was still tight, barely letting food down. The restaurant was full. He looked around and realised that almost all the customers were young people. The older folks didn't trust hamburgers. So this was freedom and progress. He looked down at the shoulder bag under the table and he thought back to his exit from the hotel. The shift had changed for the evening and he hadn't been noticed. He had peeled off the moustache in an alley. The glasses irritated the bridge of his nose. He could discard them later.
The food tasted the same as stateside. Near the bottom of his coffee cup, he decided that he should try to get out tonight from Dun Laoghaire. There was nothing else for it. Either he left tonight or he waited for a week or two. His disguise was foolproof up to the point of someone checking when he had entered the country. They'd never go that far.
He stepped back out onto Grafton Street and crossed onto the footpath which led to the Front Gate of Trinity College. Busses and cars swept by him. The lights of shops spilled out over the path opposite. He remembered that the ferry left at nine o'clock.
He felt quite alone for the first time since he had landed. This bothered him all the more when he wondered as he passed people if they knew he was carrying a gun or that he had killed someone. There was no one he could phone or say goodbye to. This is absurd, he thought: get some control. Nothing would be served by an attack of nostalgia on top of the fear. As he passed the front of the college, he noticed a police car turning into Dame Street. The doubts began to creep in again. What could McCarthy tell them if he was picked up? His thoughts turned to wondering how much surveillance there would be at the dock in Dun Laoghaire. Had they installed a metal detector there since he got the O.K.?
Ahead of him, the bustle of O'Connell Street lit up the bridge. A tinker woman with a baby shawled next to her breast sat by a cardboard box on O'Connell Bridge.
"A few ha'pence, sir, to feed the child," she said.
He walked by her thinking of O'Connell, the Liberator, with beggars in his liberated land. In the distance he heard a siren. It came from behind him, from College Green and it faded quickly.
As the police car sped up Dame Street, Minogue watched the red light spilling and wiping along the buildings. The siren seemed to vibrate inside the car. For a few moments he wondered if this was real at all. In five minutes he'd be aloft in a helicopter from Dublin Castle on the way to the border. Ridiculous, to be sure. Was that him who shouted at Kilmartin to get him a place on it with the Special Branch men? And why had he insisted so? He wanted to see Allen's face, to tell him something, not to ask him questions. Minogue didn't know what it was that he should tell Allen. His mind struggled, looking for a grip on some words.
"Have you ever been up in one of those things before?" Kilmartin asked.
"Never in my life," replied Minogue.
The car shuddered over the kerb and stopped abruptly at the gate to Dublin Castle. Walls loomed over the car. A uniformed Garda walked over to the car. The driver knew him. The Garda nodded his head and returned to the booth. The barrier lifted soundlessly. '^r
"Who owns it?" Minogue asked.
"Who else but the bloody army. They can get what they want these days."
Minogue stepped stiffly from the car. He was excited and nervous at the prospect of being whisked away into the night in this contraption. Kilmartin called out to him and he paused. Kilmartin half lay on the seat looking out under the window at Minogue. Looked like a child, Minogue thought.
"Matt. Don't bite any of your company in that whirlygig thing. Remember you're on the trip on sufferance. I'm a bit out of order insisting on you going along so don't poison the well for me. The Branch men will make the arrest and have him driven back to Dundalk most likely. I'll be arranging from this end that they give you a few minutes with him. You know this fella better than I do."
"So: observe," Minogue said
"Now you have it."
Minogue recognised one of the men who had sat with him in Pearse Street listening to McCarthy. He walked over to Minogue.
"Are you the one who hit the button on this?" he said.
"Sort of, " said Minogue, anticipating trouble.
"Be the living jases you must be some kind of magician. Would a bit of it rub off on me now?" he said.
Minogue smiled despite the excitement. It felt like he hadn't smiled for days. He fleetingly recalled the moments in Bewley's, the talk around the tea-table at home: worlds away.
He followed the Special Branch men out through the building to a tarmacadam pad. Eerily, a light helicopter sat there. To Minogue it looked like a big insect. Its blades were claws, its Plexiglass screen a giant eye. Two men in jogging suits stood next to it, smoking. In the floodlights the smoke writhed Hallowe'enish toward the machine. Both men looked up when Minogue and his companion neared the helicopter. Just like that, Minogue was thinking. We're going to walk into this thing, like a bus. One of the two eased into the seat and switched on what sounded li
ke a ventilator fan.
"Are we right?" the other said.
"As right as we'll ever be," the Special Branch said. He looked at Minogue and said,
"It'll be cold, er… "
"Minogue. Matt Minogue. I'll be all right. How long will this yoke take?"
"We'll be landed and sitting in the customs post within fifty minutes. Less even."
"Be the hokey fly," Minogue marvelled. What was that expression? 'I have seen the future and…?'
As the craft lifted and bowed away over the city, Minogue was again stunned. It was incomprehensible that no wires held this thing up. The city was completely changed from here. It fell away under the belly of the helicopter like glowing embers of a coal fire. To the east the sea was in blue darkness. Ahead of them, then veering away, he saw runway lights at the airport. Minute moving lights of cars pulsed along the veins of this thing below. The lights petered out as they tended to the mountains. Minogue sat between the pilot and the Special Branch man. It felt as if he were in their care. The helmeted pilot was shockingly casual about it all, drawing lightly on the stick, commenting into the stalk microphone which stuck out from the gladiator helmet. Over the rotor noise, the Special Branch man shouted.
"I'm Scully, Pat Scully. I forgot."
Minogue nodded vigorously. This was like a carnival. He tried to identify the constellation of lights ahead of him. Swords? It occurred to him that he wasn't exactly sure what would be happening when they landed. Would they pick up Allen along the road or would they wait until the border? They had time, just about though. The porter at the Pearse Street Gate in Trinity said that Allen had taken his car about an hour ago. He couldn't have made it by then. He'd know better than to try an unapproved road especially after dark. Roving patrols of the British Army and SAS were on the move after dark.
"What's the story up ahead?" Minogue shouted into Scully's ear.
"We're all set up," Scully replied.
What did that mean? Minogue returned to thinking out the possible outcomes. Did Allen know? Allen would not hand over his car like that. It hadn't been stolen so Allen must have voluntarily given it over. Could it all be a coincidence though? What was there in it for Allen?
The pilot reached over and tipped Scully on the knee, then he pointed to a headset. Scully put it on. Minogue lip read the pilot saying 'go ahead.' Scully searched for a volume control but giving up, cupped hands over his ears. As he listened, he nodded several times. Then he said O.K. He looked over at the pilot who nodded once. Minogue noticed the pilot glancing quickly at him and then back to Scully.
"The car has been spotted. This side of Castlebellingham. Plenty of time," Scully shouted.
Minogue looked out over a town, marooned in light. A slash in the sky to the west was flooding a scarlet ribbon in the grey.
"Drogheda," the pilot said, pointing.
"There's someone else in the car."
"What?" said Minogue, leaning.
"There's someone else in the car. A woman," Scully shouted.
"What's the plan?" Minogue asked.
"We'll stick to the original," Scully announced and turned to look at the town passing below. Minogue looked out too. He followed car lights on the outskirts of town. They looked like a video game. A woman. Minogue's heart stopped, then a cold wash fell down through his chest. No, it couldn't be.
Minogue nudged Scully.
"Where will they be picked up?" he shouted. Scully paused before answering.
"At the border."
Minogue felt an alarm, like waking in the night to a strange sound. He stared at the side of Scully's face. Scully turned again.
"The situation on the ground," Scully shouted. "It may change. We have to be ready," he added, and returned to looking out over the Belfast road. Any minute now, they'd be overtaking the car.
The cold was biting into Minogue's shoes and under his chin. He no longer noticed the noise. He began to count but his heart was racing. He thought of Ravel and the tea at home in the oven waiting for him. Allen's face kept interrupting his images. Then he saw Agnes McGuire's face clearly in the darkness below.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Agnes sat up on the seat as they slowed, entering Dundalk.
"They called it El Paso, the locals," she murmured.
"I shouldn't wonder," Allen replied.
"Doesn't look bad at night, does it?" Agnes said.
Allen guessed it was eight miles from the border, give or take.
"Tell me, Agnes, do you get nervous crossing the border? Going North, I mean."
"I'm going home, so I am. What's to be nervous about?" Touche, thought Allen. Stop treating her like she's wounded. As they pulled away from a traffic light, Allen noticed a car parked in a sidestreet. It was half up on the kerb. A double yellow line ran under the car. Briefly he noted the outline of two figures in it. He caught a momentary glint of an antenna as he accelerated through the junction.
"I suppose 'irritated' is the word. I don't like men with guns and costumes or uniforms looking at me. It's all so silly. Sometimes you forget it's serious. I find myself laughing, then crying," Agnes said.
Part of Allen's mind discounted what he had seen. Dundalk was a border town so you'd expect police.
"It's like a game, isn't it?" Agnes murmured.
That had to be routine here. He looked in the mirror but no car emerged from the street.
"Yes. I suppose," Allen replied.
That was the way it had been those years ago, a game. At least that was how he looked at it. In an instant he had felt the full weight of an adult world when the girl's parents opened the door to the garage. He had run, but he knew that he could run nowhere but home. Despite admitting it to the policeman who sat in the kitchen chair where his father used to sit, his mother kept saying it was impossible, that she knew her own son. She didn't listen at all.
Allen felt the beginnings of a headache grasping the back of his neck. Of course he was nervous, he couldn't deny that. Which was he more nervous about, asking her, or facing these soldiers and RUC at the border?
"Are you O. K?" Agnes was asking.
"Oh. Yes. Just tired, that's all," he replied.
Minogue followed Scully over to an unmarked car. Behind him the blades were slowing and the monster was bathed in light. His legs felt like pieces of wood. The blower was on in the car. The driver reminded Minogue of Connors. A creased coat, the shirt half out of his pants probably.
"I'm Scully. Sergeant Minogue here is along for the ride. He's investigating a link here."
"Geraghty, sir. I'm to take yous to the customs post."
So they were going to wait, Minogue thought. That was odd.
"Away, so, Geraghty. What kind of time do we have?" Scully asked.
"The suspects are in Dundalk, sir. They're probably ten minutes back the road."
"Timing, hah?" Scully said, rubbing his hands.
"Were they waiting for us before they make the pick up?" Minogue tried.
Scully didn't answer. Minogue felt his tension edge into anger.
"Who's the other suspect?" he said.
"A woman, sir," Geraghty answered, suddenly aware of a brittle atmosphere.
"Reddish hair, young?"
"We don't know, sir," Geraghty said cautiously.
Traffic was light as they passed the sign for the border. Minogue remembered Kilmartin's injunction to him about meddling. Scully turned to him and said:
"Not to worry, Sergeant, everything will go well."
The mention of his rank skittered away in Minogue's mind. A warning? The floodlights at the customs post ahead filled up the windscreen. A lorry was parked off to the side, facing south. Minogue could see figures in the shed through the screens. They pulled up on the gravel behind the shed. Minogue noticed two cars and a Land Rover in the shadows. It'd be the same up the road, he guessed, on the Northern side. RUC armed and some soldiers off to the side of the road; invisible from within the arena of floodlights. Minogue stepped out of the car.
He felt ropey.
Scully walked over to the car and began talking in the window. Minogue heard a man laugh. The car creaked on its suspension. The lorry which had been parked drove off. No other vehicles could be heard. Minogue saw a movement in the shadows behind the customs shed, then another. He recognised the outlines of soldiers carrying automatic rifles.
Headlights appeared, coming from the south. It was a van. It slowed and a hand waved toward the customs shed. Probably a local who made the crossing every day. It accelerated slowly away to the North. Minogue stood at the side of the road. He saw a group of lights on the northern side which filtered dimly through the yellow-white glare of the customs post. He heard a car door open behind him. A big man climbed out awkwardly. In the weak light which shone from the car's interior, Minogue saw the man heft a strap on his shoulder inside his coat. He was carrying a submachine gun, Minogue realised. More cowboys.
Scully walked over to Minogue.
"Any minute now," Scully said.
"I don't see all your lads, is there more of them?" Minogue asked.
"Ah we don't need an army now," Scully said smoothly.
"Are they obliged to stop here? Heading north?"
"Not obliged. But people slow down."
"Do you put down some barrier?" Minogue persisted.
Scully shook his head.
"You're making a lot out of this now. Leave the details to me. Everything's in place. We're here to just see that everything goes smoothly. Don't be worrying," Scully soothed.
Minogue could smell the sea. It was mixed in with the smell of turned soil. He looked to the north again, at the lights of their customs post. A few hundred yards away were British soldiers like on the telly, with real guns and real uniforms.
"Oi," said Scully behind him. Minogue turned. The lights of one vehicle were approaching from Dundalk.
"Over here," Scully said. Minogue followed him to the customs post and stood next to him in the shadows. The big detective joined them. A radio squawked under his anorak and he reached in to turn it down. Minogue caught a few words before the volume went.