by Alex Shaw
“We should be thinking of Taylor’s wife and kids and not the bloody media coverage.” Fox growled.
“If this operation fails, if the ceasefire fails then it’s everyone’s wives and kids that are put at risk Paddy.”
“Do we know when and where the cell is going to target Taylor?” Snow asked
“No. Dermott has given us nothing, but we know the attack is imminent. We need McCracken to make contact again. The number he called is one associated with Pat Dolan, the former Republican Sinn Féin councillor. Dolan is funding McCracken’s group from across the border.”
“This just gets better.” Napp’s sarcasm was not hidden. “Do we know Taylor’s plans?”
“We know that he’s meant to be giving a radio interview tomorrow sometime after six at his house.”
“Lovely.”
“An interview about what?” Gord questioned.
“We don’t know. To have asked the station would have alerted them that we were directly interested in Taylor.”
“So what’s the plan?” Snow didn’t want to waste any more time.
If O’Connor was relieved the grilling was over she didn’t show it. “Snow and Fox. You are to set up a covert OP on Taylor’s house. Gord and Napp you’ll be keeping watch over the approach road. Fannon knew that there were more members of this splinter group but not who or where they were. Our task is to wait, see who turns up and then make hard arrests. The RUC will take it from there.”
“Forget the RUC; we should just take them out. That’s what we’re here for isn’t it, to keep the ceasefire alive at any cost.”
O’Connor was shocked. “No Napp, the Det is not a ‘hit squad’. Sean...Fannon’s loss was very unfortunate but we must let the RUC run with this.”
“Run with it? What if the PROVOS ‘run off’ with the Kalashnikovs? What if they plant an IED?” Napp added.
Lancing raised his hands in a calming gesture. “There is nothing I want more than to see them stopped. I want them to pay for what happened to Fannon, but this is bigger than just one man - regardless of who he was. If the RUC arrests them we’ll find out who else is involved.”
Napp and Gord exchanged looks, they weren’t convinced. Fox simply glared at O’Connor whilst Snow drank his coffee.
“You move out at nightfall. Questions?” O’Connor asked.
“Have you finished?”
O’Connor took a deep breath. “Yes Paddy I have.”
“Good. Let’s grab some scoff.” Fox stood and opened the door.
The four troopers made for the canteen. Once their plates were piled high they sat at a table to one side. The other personnel knew who the SAS boys were and gave them a wide berth.
Snow looked across the table at Fox. “What have you got against her?”
“Who?”
“Mary O’Connor.”
“I just don’t like her, that’s all.” Fox took a gulp of his tea. “She’s too political. If I wanted to be a politician I’d wear a monkey suit with a large rosette.”
“What would it say, ‘best of breed’?” Napp asked with a mouth full of chips.
“Piss off.” Fox retorted.
“Was she close to Fannon?”
“She really ‘handled him’, if you get what I mean.” Gord raised his eyebrow suggestively.
“She’s a whore.” Fox abruptly stood and walked back to the counter.
Gord leant forward. “Ignore Paddy; he’s a bit sensitive, what with his own wife shagging someone else.”
“Ah.” Snow bit into his chicken.
“What was that, five years ago?” Gord asked.
“Seven.” Replied Napp.
“He holds grudges.” Gord stated.
“Memory like an Elephant.” Napp confirmed. “Matches his ears.”
When Fox returned Lancing was with him and addressed the team. “Fastball. I’ve just received a call. The South Det has intercepted Dolan speaking on the phone to one of his old ‘deputies’. The hit’s going down tonight.”
Keady, South Armagh, Northern Ireland
A heavy rain had started to fall as the Q car drove through Keady. Taylor’s house was a large, white, detached property just off of the Crossmore Road. This was the posh end of the village. Further substantial houses, all a respectable distance away from each other, dotted the otherwise open countryside.
Taylor’s house had belonged to his wife’s mother. She’d been a catholic and a highly regarded figure in the local community. As such although many in the village didn’t approve of his views, they tolerated Taylor’s presence. The IRA did not, but luckily for Taylor the South Armagh Brigade had had bigger fish to fry in the shape of the British army who still patrolled the area and manned a permanent checkpoint nearby.
Napp steered the car past the house and took a left up-hill. The interior light had been set to the ‘off position’. He flicked an extra added switch to disable the brake lights before pulling over at the side of the road. A casual observer would not notice that the car had stopped to allow the pair of Det operatives to alight and push their way through the hedgerow into the dark fields beyond.
Fox and Snow lay prone in the sticky earth and foliage at the edge of the field as the car pulled away. Their NVGs turned the night around them into a green alien world. They remained static until their hearing had acclimatised to the ambient sounds around them. Satisfied that they were alone they moved at a crouch, day sacks on their backs as the wind picked up and blew rain into their faces.
On cue they heard the distant thud of a pair of Chinooks on a flight path to the north. The helos had been scheduled as a classic diversion whilst the Det team were inserted.
Such was her anger at Fannon’s death that O’Connor had also requested and been approved top cover in the form of an Army Air Corp’s Gazelle from 'Bat Flight'. The helo carried video and Forward Looking Infrared (FLIR) surveillance cameras enabling it to follow suspects whilst staying out of sight and sound of anyone below. As yet the Bat had not picked up any movement from the opposition.
The OP was an empty house. It had been for sale for over a year after the death of its elderly owner, and provided an elevated view of Taylor’s property and the only access road to it. Napp was to loop around the hill and position his car out of sight but near the road before joining Gord, who was already cold and wet under a hedge on the other side of the field.
Fox went prone, Snow copied a millisecond later. Fox motioned for Snow to remain static whilst he crawled forward; he had seen something he wanted to check out. Snow felt the cold mud seeping down his collar and trickling into his mouth but he remained still.
Fox reappeared. He moved close to Snow and spoke into his ear. “Would you believe it, it was a bloody fox?”
Snow smiled and wished he hadn’t done as more mud entered his mouth.
“OK. It’s all clear. The house is just ahead and empty. Taylor’s place has lights on in the back bedroom.”
They moved off, quicker this time as the rain became even heavier. Cresting the hill the house loomed over them. They dashed towards it and pressed against an outer wall. Unheard and unseen by either man, the helo had made a pass over the house and detected no movement or heat signatures but the men on the ground were not going to rely on the FLIR cameras alone.
They un-holstered their SIGs, took up positions by the back door and then to compensate for the loss of ambient light inside the building, switched their NVGs to IR ‘torch mode’. Snow nodded and Fox burst inside. Holding his SIG two handed he moved to the right, ‘cutting the pie’ as Snow took the left.
“Clear.” Fox’s voice was low but not whispered.
They moved through the kitchen, its appliances removed and cupboards skeletal, to the hall. Empty. Doors led off to the lounge and dining room before the passage ended at the entrance hall, front-door and the stairs.
Methodically they crept into the lounge, again working different arcs to confirm it was clear. Once they had cleared the dining room they moved t
o the hall. Taking the stairs two at a time and sticking to the sides to avoid the betraying sounds of complaint from the floorboards, they advanced. This was potentially the most dangerous time.
Upstairs there were three bedrooms and one bathroom to clear. The master bedroom, where they would set up the OP, looked directly downhill and into Taylor’s house. Fox turned left and moved swiftly into the first bedroom, whilst Snow covered him from the landing. Clear again. They repeated this process with the bathroom and bedroom number three before both men entered the master bedroom…clear. Fox leant against the wall and sweating from concentration, let out a sigh of relief. Snow moved closer to the window and stood in the shadows, invisible to anyone outside.
“We’re on station.” Fox spoke into his throat mic.
“Have that.” Napp replied.
Snow removed a bottle of water from his webbing and sluiced out his mouth before spitting it on the floor.
“Were you raised in a stable?”
“No, a circus.” Snow drank some more
“Ah I see it now, your mother was the bearded lady?”
Despite himself Snow almost choked on his water.
“Seriously, we’re not meant to leave a trace.”
“Shit.” Snow realised his mistake.
Fox started to laugh quietly. “You think they’ll spot your spittle and not our big muddy footprints? I’m just jazzing you, you southern Jessie!”
Snow emptied his pack and set up the OP in silence.
Through IR scopes the pair now kept ‘eyes on’ the target as the minutes passed and stretched into an hour and then two. The rain outside strengthened, distant lightning flared and then a storm was upon Keady. The house seemed to shrink around them and shake as though it was shivering.
“Shite. If this weather keeps up Bat Flight will have to bail.” Fox growled.
Unseen in the darkness Snow agreed. “Then we’d better expect them to attack.”
“I rekon.”
They watched for a further quarter of an hour. The storm intensified until on cue they heard the familiar voice of O’Connor. She sounded despondent. “Bat Flight RTB.”
Fox read Snow’s mind. “Who else did you think was up there all comfy with the flyboy?”
Ten more minutes passed as the rain lashed the window in front of them before they heard Gord on the net. “Movement; coming across the field. Four X-rays.”
Snow swivelled his scope and looked towards Napp and Gord’s OP. There was an opening in the hedgerow to accommodate a metal gate. He saw figures walking towards the back of Taylor’s house. They had their heads down to shield them from the rain but something was wrong. Snow squinted. They did not seem to be armed. They stopped, turned and looked up at the OP. Then one of them waved.
“What the…”
“Cheeky sods. We’ve been rumbled.” Fox started to laugh.
Snow spoke into his mic. “X-rays are aware. Repeat. X-rays are aware.”
“Have that and confirmed.” Gord acknowledged.
Snow carried on watching the group who now turned and walked back the way they had come.
“Abort, I repeat abort.” Fox ordered. With O’Connor back at the helo base he was in command.
“So that’s it?”
Fox stood, stretched. “Aye laddie. They’ll be nothing on those four; they’ll just be local sympathisers.” Fox pressed his transmit button. “Need a taxi.”
“Understood.” Napp replied, a glint of humour in his voice. “Sending over an RUC ‘limo’.”
Fox and Snow collected their kit and left the house. Snow took a final glance out of the window and saw the blue strobes of two RUC response vehicles at the gate. The rain had started to ease off and he could make out the four men standing with their arms raised. The Det duo retraced the route across the field to their insertion point, mud clogging their boots with every step.
Snow was first at the hedgerow. He ducked down and pushed forward. As he reached the other side he came eye to eye with Jimmy McCracken and Marin Grew. They were standing in front of a dark transit van and each holding a Kalashnikov.
“Move and yer a dead man!” McCracken snarled; his AK aimed point-blank at Snow’s head.
A second later Fox appeared. “The Sass bastard’s mine!” His accent had become pure Armagh.
“And who the feck are you?”
Fox kept his gaze on McCracken, but spoke to Grew. “It’s been a long time Marty-boy.”
Grew was somewhat amazed. “Is that Paddy Fox himself?”
“You know him?” McCracken asked, incredulous.
“Used to.”
“I’m your inside man McCracken.” Fox stated. “Call Dolan, he’ll tell you.”
There was the briefest of silences as McCracken assessed Fox’s claim. “Prove it. Shoot laddie here in the head.”
“No. He’s worth more to you alive.”
“Is that right?” McCracken said calmly. “Then give me your pistol.”
“Here.” Fox opened his smock slowly, removed his SIG with his right hand and leaning forward placed it on the pavement.
As McCracken and Grew momentarily followed the SIG, Snow saw his chance and stepped sideways and forward. He kicked with his right leg at Grew’s knee. The Irishman stumbled backwards, but as Snow grabbed at the AK his own legs were violently taken from under him. He collapsed to the ground. Stars erupted in front of his eyes as his head hit the pavement. A wave of cold surged down his spine. Before Snow could register the attack Fox was pummelling him with his fists.
A wry smile spread on McCracken’s face. “Enough. You were a second away from getting one in the head Paddy Fox. Marty, help your friend get his ‘pal’ inside. Paddy, if either of youse make a wrong move then you will get a bullet in both of yer heads. Understood?”
“Aye.” Fox clambered off of Snow, then delivered a couple of swift kicks to the Englishman’s back for good measure.
Snow made no attempt to move and became dead weight. A fury burned through the pain and confusion. He’d been set up; the Det had been set up by one of its own.
As Fox lifted Snow to his feet, Grew pulled his arms behind his back and plasticuffed them. Grew took away Snow’s SIG and ripped out his comms link. They manhandled Snow into the back of the transit van. McCracken followed them in, shut the doors and the van moved off. Moments later an RUC patrol car crested the hill.
McCracken sat against the bulkhead with his AK still trained on Fox. "Throw your radio to me.”
Fox did as he was told. “Merry Christmas.”
A couple of feet away from Fox, Snow glowered. He made no attempt to hide his contempt, he had to do something but with Grew’s AK pointed at him he had nowhere to go.
“You’ve buggered me knee you Brit-shite!” Grew sneered, before using the barrel of his Kalashnikov to force Snow’s face into the floor. He then reversed the AK and hit Snow on the back of the head. Snow lost consciousness.
Fox smiled at Grew. “I’ve wanted to do that to the English eejit since I first met him.”
“Explain.” McCracken said.
“Well, England is the largest country in the United Kingdom.”
McCracken’s face became crimson. “You think I’ve time for feckin levity? Explain who you feckin are!”
“I work for Pat Dolan.”
“Whilst being a member of the East Det?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Ask him.”
McCracken was about to say something but thought better of it.
Fox looked at Grew. “Marty. It really has been a long time. How’s your ma?”
In the gloom Grew frowned. “Fine. Why?”
“No reason. Have you shown him your scar?”
“What scar?”
“Ach it’s nothing, Jimmy.” Grew snapped, defensively.
“Marty, tell me how you know this comedian.”
“Me and the big lad here used to play in the street as kids. Thick as thieves we were, he sti
ll is.”
McCracken fell silent for a moment before laying out his orders. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We take you back with us and then if Dolan confirms your story it’s all hearts and flowers. And if he doesn’t, well I don’t suppose I need to enlighten you any further.”
***
Grew’s Kalashnikov rested across his legs and the owner of the farmhouse, an older volunteer named Kian Quinn, had a Browning hi-power handgun in his right hand. They had been instructed to guard Fox whilst McCracken had gone to call Dolan. To his annoyance however McCracken had found that the phone was out, the lines damaged by the storm. This meant that he had to get in his car and find a payphone.
“Would you believe Kian, the last time I saw this naff excuse for an Irishman it was 1979! Jesus we were both fifteen. So what happened to you?” Grew asked Fox.
“What, after me Da ran off? We stopped coming over the water, didn’t we? I got stuck in the Red Road flats.”
“Where?” Quinn asked.
“Glasgow. What a shit hole, they made the Ballybeen estate look like Butlins! But I’m back now.”
“Fighting for the cause in the belly of the beast?” Quinn said with sarcasm.
“Couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“Under Mary O’Connor.” Grew stated.
“Aye, but I’d rather be on top of her!” As the men sniggered at Fox’s words, he tried not to let his surprise show. The identity of members of the Det was classified, but Grew knew about Mary. Dolan’s real mole had access to the Det in some way.
“I’d drink to that.” Quinn said before adding to no one in particular. “God I need a drink.”
“Which one of you took care of Fannon?”
Quinn looked at Grew who answered. “The kid in the barn, call it an initiation if you will. That is one mad bastard.”
“It’s them Yank films. What was the one he was quoting the other day?”
“Ach, True Romance.” Grew stated.
“That was it. He goes on and on about the interrogation scene, you see, says he could have done it better. He carved Fannon up like a pig. A very mad bastard.”
Fox folded his arms. “Good. The man was a piece of shite.”
“You met him?” Grew asked.