by Eoin Dempsey
“I know. There’s a dump pretty close to there. I know where to go. I’ll have something for both of us.”
The words hung in the air for a few seconds, as if neither of them wanted to proceed.
“All right then,” Pat said. “You ready for this?”
“I am.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
*****
The feeling of someone tapping his cheek, again and again, dragged him out of semi-consciousness. The black veil lifted from his eyes as the room came into view. The pain was everywhere now, his chest a rickety, broken mess, his face a blood-sodden marsh of lacerations across bruises and raw flesh. Tony was in front of him; the smile on his face like the muzzle flash of a gun.
“Hey, hey,” he said, still tapping Mick’s cheek.
Mick lifted his head, groaning by way of an answer. Martin was standing behind Tony, and there was someone else just beyond his view, a shadow in the corner he couldn’t make out.
“We’ve got someone here who wants to meet you. You should be thanking our guest. She’s the only reason you’re still alive or at least able to still answer questions. She wanted to speak to you, to ask you about a few things before the inevitable end. And, as it turns out, you’re old friends. Funny old world, isn’t it?” he laughed, as the shadow in the corner took form as a human being and he heard her voice.
“Hello, Michael,” Maggie said. “It’s been a while.”
Mick lifted his head as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He spat blood on the floor.
“It certainly has,” he answered. “Seventeen years. But not nearly long enough. So you’re the brains behind this operation then?”
Maggie’s face turned, the hatred blazing through every pore. “We were planning that operation for three years, and it would have been a massive success, would have given us back the impetus to finally go on and win this war. If I’d known you were involved….”
“Killing dozens of innocent people is your idea of success?”
“Who are you protecting? Those orange pricks who march through our neighborhoods with their flags and drums and bowler hats? The same bastards who killed my brother back in ’69? You’re protecting them? Our enemies?”
‘They didn’t kill your brother….”
“I’m done listening to you…” she spat. “I just need to ask you a few questions. If you answer, I’ll make the rest of your miserable life quick, get Tony to go easier on you. I promise you that you won’t see the dawn if you answer. Otherwise, the agonies these boys have planned for you could last days. I’d almost object if you didn’t deserve every ounce of the pain they’re going to inflict on you.”
“Get on with it,” Mick coughed. “Stop wasting my time.”
“Were you alone? Did Sean Campbell work with you?”
“No, I was alone.” Mick’s eyes brightened and he managed to raise his head upright. “Sean didn’t know anything about this. You’re the intelligence officer for the Derry Battalion, aren’t you? Still, after all these years?”
“Never mind me…”
“Because I’m positive that this operation wasn’t mandated by the higher ups. The Army Council would never have approved something of this size directed against a non-military target. Associating with these two dissidents…”
She slapped him hard across the face, blood spattering on the floor. “Don’t think you’re talking your way out of this. I know who I am. I know each of the members of the Army Council of the Provisional Irish Republican Army, and each one of them would approve of your death.” She wiped his blood off on the last clean part of his jeans, round by the calf.
“You really believe that, Maggie? Really? What you do to me doesn’t matter now, you’re all going to die,” Mick spluttered. “There’s no way the Army Council is going to tolerate this. You’ll be in the grave with me soon enough.”
Martin turned to Tony, whose face was burning, his fists clenched, digging fingernails into flesh. But Maggie’s eyes didn’t change. The cold concentration remained. “Was Sean with you? You shared a jail cell for three years, worked together for almost two, had lunch together, drank together. You never talked about taking down his brother’s crazy scheme to kill as many loyalists as possible, to kill dozens of innocent people? You two never wanted to repay the debt you owed to society, to yourselves, to atone for the past? Did you convince him to help you exorcise the demons of those soldiers you killed in that field in 1972, Mick? Or did you even tell him about that?” She moved in, just inches from his face. “Did you just tell him it was the right thing to do. Did you tell him that you weren’t just using him for your own selfish means, that you were willing to risk his life so you could finally sleep at night?”
Mick didn’t speak, just stared back into the depths of her dark blue eyes.
Maggie waited a few seconds before she continued. “Sean didn’t do anything. He just ran, but Tony deserves to know who his brother is, whether he can be trusted.”
“Sean wasn’t with me. I don’t know why he left.”
“We could be here for a while.” Maggie turned to Tony. “Light the fire. Maybe a red-hot poker will loosen his tongue.”
*****
Sean waved him to a stop and Pat got out of the car. The light was fading to dark, the sun dying in the sky. There were no other cars and few houses. Sean looked as if he was about to cry as Pat went to him.
“I’m so sorry, Pat. I should have told you….”
“There’s not time for that now. Where’s the house? Did you check it out yet?”
“I haven’t had the chance. It’s half a mile away, back over there.” He motioned with his hand.
“Do you have the guns?”
“In the back.”
“Let’s go then.”
*****
The fire was the only light in the room now, blazing and crackling in the corner. Mick stared into the orange-yellow flames, running his eyes up along the intricate decoration on the fireplace and then to Tony, sitting opposite him, staring into space as if he was waiting for a bus. Steel pokers stuck out from the flames like deadly spines. Martin pulled one out, examining it.
“Are we ready to go with that?” Tony asked.
“Just a couple more minutes,” Martin answered. “The fire’s not quite hot enough yet.”
Maggie glanced through the open door from the kitchen, cup of tea in hand, sipping, waiting. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d talk. They all talked.
*****
Sean drove with the headlights off, still able to see without them in the murk of the gray dusk falling. The hedgerows around them seemed like green shadows jutting out of the earth, the evening air gritty, as if they could feel the texture of it against their skin as they got out of the car. Sean opened the trunk to reveal two AK-47 rifles. He picked one up, handing it to Pat.
“You know how to use this thing?” Sean asked.
Pat felt the weight of the rifle in his hand, the first time he’d held a gun since the night the soldiers had died. The model was unfamiliar, the principal the same.
“I’ve never used one of these before, but I’m familiar enough.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
The night was desolate, not a sound in the air as Sean led Pat a hundred yards to an opening in the hedgerow. Two cars sat in the driveway of a small house. The door on the shed to the side was ajar, the gleam of silver just visible inside. Light flickered in the front windows, licking the glass with flutters of gold, bouncing back and forth in time with the flames from a fire. They moved in stealthy silence, past the cars and to the front of the house. They crouched down, underneath the small old-fashioned front windows. Pat motioned to look inside and raised his head, edging just high enough to see in. His blood froze as he saw Mick, head down, covered in blood, tied to a chair with Tony opposite. Another man was at the fire and drew out a poker, looked at it and placed it back in. A woman he couldn’t quite see poked her head in from what seemed to be an old kit
chen before retreating. The black shape of a handgun was visible on the table beside Tony and the man by the fire had a pistol in his belt. Pat motioned to Sean to take a look, as he slumped down onto the grass below the window. Sean looked in and sat back down beside him. Pat motioned to follow him and they made their way around the back of the house. The darkness had descended and, with no stars above, they fumbled through the long uncut grass, following the chinks of golden light from the back door. Pat peered in through a small window. The woman was gone, had walked back into the living room. Pat tried the door. It opened. He closed it back over and nodded to Sean before they retreated to the cars, hiding behind a Ford Escort.
“We’ve got to cause some kind of a diversion, get them away from him,” Pat whispered. “Have you got a lighter?” Pat asked. Sean nodded and took it out. “Take off your t-shirt,” Pat continued, pointing to the vest Sean was wearing under his shirt. Sean did it without question and handed it to Pat, who tore into several strips. Pat unscrewed the car’s fuel cap and placed several pieces of the torn vest down the fuel line and into the tank, the end protruding like the fuse on a bomb. He took a deep breath, fighting the nerves inside. He knew they didn’t have much time.
“I’m going to go around back. When I leave, count to a hundred. Then light the shirt. Get well away from the car and make sure that whoever comes out of the house doesn’t go back in. I’ll use the back door. No killing unless we absolutely have to, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Pat scuttled into the night, the darkness enveloping him. He counted as he went, reaching the door at about forty. The woman was in the kitchen again, staring into space as she leaned against the narrow table. The seconds seemed like days as the count in his head went on, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine… His palms were so slick that he was worried he might drop the gun when he burst inside. He put a hand on the back door handle, braced himself.
*****
Martin took the poker out of the fire, smiling as it glowed hellish red. Tony bounced out of the seat, grabbing it out of his hand like a child unwilling to share. Mick raised his head, saw the red-hot metal, felt the searing heat as Tony held it inches from his face.
“Wait a minute,” Maggie said, walking in from the kitchen. “Give him one more chance.” She waved fingers at Tony, who withdrew the poker. She leaned down to Mick, looking into his bloodied eyes. “I’m going to give you one more chance before this gets really gruesome. You know how much he’s looking forward to this, and what he’s going to do. So, I ask you, did Sean Campbell know about your little plan to disrupt the operation? Was he working with you?”
The taste of blood was sweet on Mick’s tongue. “I’ve already told you, he didn’t know anything. I did it all myself.”
Maggie paused and then drew her face back. “Do it,” she ordered, and Tony advanced. Tony moved the poker toward Mick’s face, relishing each second. Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the entire house and the front garden was bright with fire. Tony dropped the poker and went for his gun on the side table as Martin ran out the front door. Maggie shouted to stop him, but he was gone. The back door thundered open and Pat ran through the empty kitchen, rifle in hand. Tony spun around and let off a shot, which sliced through the air by Pat’s ear, sending wooden shards through the air like shrapnel. Pat closed his eyes as the shards of wooden daggers rained down on him but dropped a few inches, his finger tightening on the trigger. Tony held up the gun to fire again as Pat squeezed the trigger, pouring three bullets into him, the sound reverberating through the room like thunder and Pat thought his ears would burst. Tony’s chest erupted crimson blood and his lifeless body fell back onto the floor, the gun falling from his hand. The sound of more AK 47 rounds came from the front of the house, and then silence. Smoke hung in the air, thick with death. Tony was lying still on the floor, a pool of blood emanating from the garish holes torn in his chest. Maggie was standing, frozen in the middle of the room, her mouth open as Pat turned the gun on her. No one spoke. Mick coughed, looking up at his brother.
“Don’t kill her, Pat,” he spluttered.
“Go easy there,” Maggie whispered.
Sean burst through the front door, his rifle raised. His eyes fell on the body of his brother on the floor and he dropped the rifle to his side. “Oh, Tony,” he said, shaking his head.
“Sean Campbell,” Maggie said, her eyes wide.
“Untie my brother,” Pat ordered, the rifle still pointed at her.
Maggie moved to Mick, moving her hands around to the ropes behind his back to untie him. Sean kept the gun on her as Pat moved to Mick, taking him in his arms.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Sean said. “We’ve only got a few minutes.” Pat laid his brother out on the couch, tears in his eyes.
“What have they done to you, little brother?”
“I didn’t do that to your brother,” Maggie insisted. “I only questioned him. It was the other two who did that. Him.” She gestured to Tony’s body on the floor. “You’d better run now, boys. You just killed two highly decorated volunteers, men with glittering records, men who served their whole lives for the cause you’ve forgotten.”
“Another one’s not going to make any difference then, is it?” Sean said, raising the barrel of the rifle to her.
“Don’t do it,” Pat said. ‘Tie her up. Killing her won’t help us, and that’s their way, not ours. We’ll call this in. The RUC will find her here and we’ll have bought ourselves some time.” Pat knew that this was far from over, that it had barely begun.
Maggie sat in the chair, still wet with Mick’s blood. She flinched as Sean tied the knots tight around her wrists.
“This isn’t going to make any difference. You’ve only killed yourself now too, Pat,” she said. “The Derry Brigade isn’t going to let this go. They’ll find you.”
Pat wiped the blood from his brother’s face and lifted him into his arms. Mick squirmed as the shock of pain ran through him. Pat stood up, carrying his brother out of the house and into the night, Maggie’s words ringing in his ears.
Sean went to his brother. He touched his face, closed his eyes, remembering a time before the poison of the violence and hatred.
Sean stood up, looked at his brother one last time and walked out. The flames of the burning car illuminated Martin’s lifeless body on the asphalt drive as they moved past. They only had a few minutes now. The police would be on their way. Someone would have seen the explosion, heard the shots.
Mick opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Pat. I wanted to tell you.”
“Don’t say that, brother. There’s no need for sorry. You saved those people today. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” He had tears in his eyes. “We’re not out of trouble yet though, Mick.”
“How bad is he?” Sean asked, putting his hand on Mick’s chest.
“I don’t know, but we need to get him to the hospital right now.”
“We won’t be able to protect him. They can get to him there.”
“We’re not going to be able to protect him anywhere unless we sort this out,” Pat replied, as they reached the car. Sean opened the back door and Pat laid his brother down on the back seat. Sean started the car as Pat got in the front.
“What now?” Sean asked.
“Get back across the border, back to Martina. At least you’ll be safe from the RUC there.”
“What about the IRA? They’ll get me as easily there as here. Maggie would have called in the information as she got it before she went to the house. They’ll know.”
“I know that,” Pat said. “They only know about him, not you.” They pulled up alongside Pat’s car. “Get back over the border. I’ll sort this out. You’ll be safe.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Never you mind, just get out of the area and stay away. Call us in the next few days and one of us will let you know what to do next.”
Sean got out to help put Mick in the back seat of Pat’s car.
&nbs
p; Mick’s eyes were closed, blood running along the slit of his eyelids.
“I’m so sorry I left you, Mick,” Sean said. “I panicked. I’m so sorry.”
“You came back for me. You came back,” Mick gasped.
“Get him out of here,” Sean said, hugging Pat. “And stay safe, they’re going to be coming for all of us now.”
“Get rid of those guns and get over the border, I’ll look after everything else.”
Thirty seconds later Sean was gone and Pat started the car, the broken body of his brother in the back seat and the burden of all their lives on his shoulders.
Chapter 30
Mick tried to sit up but fell back down like a rag doll, coughing out a spurt of blood as his head hit the leather again. His vision was dimming, the yellow flashes of streetlights hurting his eyes.
“Are you OK back there?” Pat asked. “Hang in there, brother, we’re going to get you some help.”
Mick tried to answer, but the words came as a jumble of sounds, blood, and saliva. It was no use. He felt the car slow and pull over, heard the front door opening and felt the waft of air come over the exposed flesh of his face. The door beside his head came open and Pat was over him, his eyes imploring him to get through the next few hours.
“Mick, are you awake?”
Mick couldn’t open his eyes, but managed to squeeze out the words, “Yeah, I can hear you.” Each word spoken was a minor triumph.
“All right, I need to tell you a few things. You know that your life’s still in danger. The IRA can get to you in the hospital, and once they find out what happened tonight, they won’t hesitate to go after either of us. You’re an informant, and two full-time IRA volunteers are dead. That’s more than enough to condemn all three of us to death. I’m going to take you to Melissa’s house. Dr. Kimberly will meet us there. We just need to get through the next few hours and then we’ll be OK. I’m going to sort everything.”