Tested by Fire

by David Costa

  The operation involved them landing at the Crossmaglen Army police base then patrolling on foot to a nearby housing estate to raid the home of PIRA commander, Sean Costello, arrest him, and search the house for munitions and documents pointing to his terrorist activities.

  The Puma landed on the base square and without shutting down the engines, dropped the raiding party and then accelerated towards the thirty-foot-high security fencing before pulling up into a steep climb away from the base.

  The PIRA leader wasn’t at home and his family couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t, give any information as to his whereabouts. Reece brought back some documents found hidden behind a box in the garage, which provided little intelligence.

  The whole time Reece had been in Crossmaglen he was escorted by an eight-man army patrol providing protective cover against any attack. On the way back to the base, an elderly lady passing him whispered under her breath, ‘Good morning, Sergeant, take care.’

  She kept walking with her head down. Reece hadn’t replied; he knew she risked death if seen talking to him. But it had felt good to realise that there were decent people here in a town known for its bitterness and hatred of the security forces.

  Although the search hadn’t garnered the information they needed, Reece knew Sean Costello had a reputation for death – he’d been linked to at least twenty murders and Reece had interviewed him before.

  Sat across the table from him was a fellow Branch Officer in the Gough Barracks holding centre. The other officer had asked Costello what he would do if they met in Costello’s local pub: would he buy him a pint? Costello said nothing but reached for a box of matches on the table and taking one out he broke it in half while looking the officer in the eye. The SB man smiled and took out a match from the same box, struck it, and placing the flame in the box, ignited the rest while never once taking his eyes off Costello and said, ‘Well, this is what I’ll do to you if you ever come across my path.’

  It was war, and everyone knew the endgame if caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Big boy’s rules. That was the name of the game.

  Unfortunately for Reece, they couldn’t make anything stick and Costello had walked free. The biggest regret of his career was that he’d never managed to get Costello off the streets and behind bars.

  Unlike the Puma journey on that winter day, this time Reece found himself looking out at green fields and small towns and villages. They landed in a secure corner at the airport where a car waited to take Reece to the SG9 office. As he walked to the car, Reece noticed a shaft of sunlight part the clouds and light up the tarmac in front of him. The Gods shining down, he thought, but bringing good news or bad? That was the question.

  Chapter Six

  It was only the second time that Reece had been in this office. The first had been when he’d been invited to join the Department. On that occasion, he’d sat in front of the desk as Broad walked him through his personal file. Sir Ian Fraser had sat quietly watching Reece and only spoke to explain why SG9 had been created, his own connection to it as head of MI6, and how Reece could help by bringing his valuable experience in combating terrorism. Reece didn’t need much convincing. He’d been in a rut, with rare skills not needed in Civi Street. His previous life, he thought, had been but a preparation for just such a job. His boys had grown up and left home and there was no one special in his life. Nothing to hold him back. His answer was where do I sign?

  That was two years ago.

  Wilson stood as Reece came around the table.

  ‘Well, Tom, this is a surprise, but a nice one. How are you?’

  ‘Good, Dave. It’s been awhile.’

  ‘A few years. It’s good to see you.’

  Sir Ian interrupted, ‘All this is very nice, gentlemen, but we have work to do. Mr Reece, please take a seat. I’ll let the ACC explain the urgency and why we had to get you here as soon as possible.’

  Reece nodded his recognition of Sir Ian and in turn, Jim Broad, before sitting down next to Broad facing Tom Wilson.

  ‘It’s all your fault, Reece.’ He smiled. ‘If you hadn’t been such a good agent handler, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.’

  Reece returned the smile with a raised eyebrow, showing his confusion.

  ‘OK, Tom, what have I done now?’

  ‘Do you remember an agent: code name Mike?’

  ‘Yes, a damn good agent.’

  Reece thought back to the first time he’d seen Mary McAuley.

  Just another ordinary day on the surveillance of PIRA targets in and around Newry town twelve miles from the border with the Irish Republic and a few steps from the Bandit Country of South Armagh.

  She was coming out of the house of one of his targets. Her long black hair blowing in the slight breeze. She walked with her head up. As she moved, she reminded Reece of a cat stalking its prey: quiet and with concentration in every step.

  Reece had decided to follow her, telling the rest of the team on the secure radio network to stick with the original target.

  Reece smiled as he remembered his real reason for wanting to follow the woman. She was a lot better looking than the original target.

  Looking at the men around the table, Reece sensed the urgency of the meeting.

  ‘What’s happened to her? Is she OK?’

  Wilson opened the file in front of him and began.

  ‘Over the past few months, our agents, and technical devices in Northern Ireland have been producing information that a dissident Republican terrorist group, believed to be the Real IRA, is planning something big.’

  Technical devices meant bugs…listening devices. They were easy to install in most locations and were deemed the most reliable method of intelligence collection as the information gathered came straight from the horse’s mouth.

  ‘The information shows they’re in the preliminary stages of planning but to date, we’ve not been able to ascertain what, but we are confident it’s something big.’

  Wilson turned another page of the file.

  ‘As I said, it’s something big, and the one name that keeps popping up is an old friend of yours, David. Sean Costello?’

  Reece’s stomach flipped. He looked Wilson in the eye and just smiled.

  ‘All our information points to Costello being back and up to his old tricks.’

  Costello had been one of the top ten terrorists in the world during the Troubles. He had a reputation for ruthlessness and was linked to countless murders around South Armagh and South Down. Most of his suspected victims had died in bomb blasts and mortar attacks, but his speciality was to kill his victims from long range shootings using a Barrett Browning.50 sniper rifle.

  But with Reece, it was more personal…the never-ending dull pain in his right shoulder a constant reminder of the last time he’d seen Costello. The day had been hot, but as the sun started to go down over Carlingford Lough, the air grew cooler. Carlingford Lough is an inlet of the Irish Sea which parts the Warrenpoint and Rostrevor towns in Northern Ireland from the town of Carlingford in the Irish Republic. The slimmest of intelligence from a technical source had indicated that a retired judge was the target for assassination.

  The judge lived in a colonial-style house on a small country hill just outside Rostrevor, overlooking the Lough below. Reece was assigned the job of visiting the judge to tell him of the threat and to discuss upping his security. SB Officer JD had stayed in the car as Reece approached the house. Just before he raised his hand to knock, a small red Ford van drove at speed into the driveway. In the split second that followed the screech of tyres, Reece could see that both the driver and the passenger were wearing black balaclavas. He ran for the cover of his car, shouting at JD to get down. At the same moment, the front passenger jumped out of the van, an AK47 assault rifle in his hands which he aimed at Reece then opened fire.

  The rapid-fire struck the police car just as Reece made it to cover with the engine between himself and the gunman. Reece knew the engine block would give him protection and
was the safest place for him to be. He took his Smith and Wesson 59 in his hand and blindly fired over the bonnet in the direction the gunman had last stood. The noise of both weapons exploded all around him. Another burst from the AK and a storm of bullets struck the car and Reece felt a thump and searing hot pain in his right shoulder. Falling backwards, he heard the bang, bang, bang from JD’s H&K MP5 automatic rifle before the blackness and silence took him.

  Ten hours later, Reece woke in the Musgrave Park Military Hospital in Belfast. JD stood smiling by the side of his bed.

  ‘Thought we’d lost you for a minute there, buddy.’

  Reece tried a weak smile; the pain in his shoulder now a dull throb. His mouth was dry, and he could just about croak the words, ‘What happened?’

  ‘When you yelled to get down, I only had a split second to dive out of the car to my right before the AK opened up. Then you blasted back, giving me time to get to cover and fire towards the van. The driver pulled it round and AK man jumped in and they were gone, but not before I’d hit the back of the van and blew out the windows. They found the van a couple of miles down the road with blood in the footwell of the driver’s side. The surgeon was here about an hour ago. He said you’re lucky to be alive. The injury was caused by shrapnel, not an actual bullet, if it had been, in such close range, you’d have lost your arm at least. You were in surgery for eight hours. A lot of bullets hit that car, and a lot of shrapnel got you. I’ve buzzed for someone to come and check on you.’ Just then, a young-looking doctor came into the room.

  ‘Good, Mr Reece, I’m glad to see you’re awake.’ Lifting the clipboard at the end of the bed, he made a few notes on the form.

  ‘I’ve made a note for some more painkillers, only to be taken when you really need them. You were lucky the round had already shattered before entering your shoulder. It missed all the vital organs, but we couldn’t get all the pieces out. What’s left are some small fragments and apart from some pain now and then, with a strict physio regime, you should recover full mobility and use of the arm.’

  Reece took the doctor’s advice and after three months away from work, made as full a recovery as he could.

  Occasionally, as the fragments moved, his shoulder would give out a sharp stab of pain just to remind him of that day.

  Having later discovered that the gunman was none other than Sean Costello, Reece had laughed at the thought of the surprise Costello must have felt when he found himself on the receiving end of gunfire from two trained Special Branch officers instead of an unarmed old man. His escape wasn’t plain sailing as his driver and cousin, Vincent Hughes, took a bullet to the foot.

  Sources within PIRA reported that both men hid in the home of a Republican sympathiser for two days, during which a doctor, who supported the cause, fixed up the wound on Hughes’ foot. He would be walking with a limp for the rest of his days.

  The sympathiser then smuggled the two men across the border into the Republic and the safety of Dundalk town, known by the security forces as ‘El Passo’ because of the number of on the run terrorists who lived and operated out of there, carrying on their murderous campaigns into the north and further beyond.

  The house search in Crossmaglen, several months later, was with the intention of arresting Costello or at the very least, learning information of his movements.

  As Reece listened to Wilson, it didn’t surprise him that Costello was back in action or that he’d remained involved in the more extreme levels of Republican terrorism. Most sensible people had realised that enough people had died, and some sort of peaceful settlement had to be agreed. Thirty years was long enough. But people like Costello were just psychopathic killers; they didn’t want to stop until every living British soul was dead. It wasn’t about the Cause for him anymore, he just loved killing.

  ‘This is where you come in, David,’ Wilson said. ‘Although we’re being told that there is a job coming up, we don’t have any details. Now, your old agent Mike comes into the picture. Have you had any contact with her recently?’

  ‘No, not since leaving the force, why?’

  ‘She contacted the agent’s control number this morning. She gave her code name and number and left a message asking to meet with Joseph. I was coming to London for meetings anyway so I thought I could bring everyone up to date myself.’

  Wilson played a recording of the call to the room. The men watched Reece for his reaction.

  ‘Mike. She was my best agent at the top of PIRA. She comes from a long line of Republicans. When I first became aware of her, she lived just outside Newry, but she originally came from the Beechmount area on the Falls Road in West Belfast.’

  ‘How did you recruit her?’ asked Sir Ian.

  Reece was happy to tell these men the story, but even in a room where secrets were shared daily, there were some things about Mike he wouldn’t be sharing with anyone.

  Newry. Northern Ireland, 1992

  The first day he’d followed her, she’d taken the bus to Belfast and met with Kevin O’Hagan, the PIRA Head of Intelligence, in the Europa Hotel. Realising she had access to those higher up due to her on-the-ground connections, Reece knew she could be vital to providing intelligence for their operations. After a few weeks surveying her, he knew the key to bringing her on-board lay with her husband, Brendan. A drunk and a bully who thought he was higher up the chain of command in the PROVO than he was.

  Coming out of a pub one night, Reece watched from his car while Brendan decided to beat her in the street. Not wanting to blow his cover, he had to suffer in silence while the poor excuse of a man pushed her around and taunted her. Reece drew the line when Brendan took his fists to her. By the time he’d left his car and reached them, Mary was on the floor following two blows to her gut and one to her face, Brendan was about to continue his assault while she was on the ground until Reece grabbed him from behind and swung him around.

  About to focus his attack on Reece, Brendan stumbled, but Reece knocked him unconscious before he managed to even form a fist.

  Reece offered Mary his hand and helped her to her feet. Assessing her facial injuries, he expected to see fear in her eyes. But she was strong and all he could see was fire. He knew that when she told him to leave, she would be OK.

  The next time Reece saw her she was walking in the rain about a mile away from her home. He pulled over and offered her a lift. She recognised him and although it was a short journey, he got the impression from their conversation that she was happy to see him. She was a lonely but smart woman. She tried to apologise for her husband’s behaviour, but he knew from how she described his actions that the love, if there had ever been real love, had died, and she could potentially be looking for a way out.

  After he’d dropped her off, Reece opened a file on the couple and discovered that although Brendan was a low-level PIRA recruit who had been implicated in moving weapons for Sean Costello and a couple of robberies, he was only alive because of Mary.

  She was the one the PIRA wanted. She was unassuming. Looked to all around her like the down-trodden battered wife. But best of all, she was clean.

  She’d never been arrested. Never been linked to any crime. Never even had a conversation with a police officer as far as Reece could see.

  Using his sources, Reece discovered that she had a Republican background and had only agreed to passing messages on to save Brendan’s head being blown off. She was loyal to her family. Regardless of what they did to her.

  Reece kept an eye out for her, but it was three weeks before he saw her again. This time she was carrying her shopping and sporting a huge bruise on her face.

  He asked if she was all right and she burst into tears. She was in pain. Reece then took a chance and drove to a small lay-by a few miles out of town. He asked her what had happened. She said she couldn’t talk about it, especially to a stranger. Reece gave her his cover story – his name was Joseph and he was the regional manager of a hotel chain and he travelled around checking in on their various sites.


  No longer strangers, she poured her heart out to him. There was something about him that she trusted, something in his eyes.

  He offered to have a word with Brendan for her, but she refused. Said this was just a glitch and she could handle him. Besides, she couldn’t leave him. She was a good Catholic girl, after all.

  She asked him to take her home and when they pulled over just outside the estate where she lived, he handed her his fake business card and told her to call him anytime. He would be there for her.

  About two weeks later she called him and said it would be nice to have that coffee and chat but away from the prying eyes of where she lived.

  With cover and backup from a surveillance team, he met her in a café in Banbridge, a town about fifteen miles north of Newry. Expecting her to be battered and bruised. He was shocked at the venom in her voice when he joined up with her.

  ‘Joseph, they want to kill you. I know you aren’t who you told me you are, you’re at the top of their hit list. Their units are hunting for information on you and they will kill you.’

  She’d explained that her exposure to the PIRA had turned her romantic ideas about it all to nothing. She was crushed and utterly disgusted with the likes of Sean Costello. Only a few days earlier he’d been bragging about shooting dead a retired security services officer in the street in front of his wife. And another in his home. Both hits had been aided by information she’d personally passed to Costello. But only one of them was ordered from above, so Sean was on risky ground. When she then found out Brendan was the getaway driver, she was physically sick. She’d prayed that the police would lift her so she could unburden herself, but they didn’t.

  Her last task had been to take pictures of officers O’Hagan wanted rid of to the local PIRA meeting. She’d nearly thrown up again when she saw his face in one of the images and realised he was Special Branch.