by Ken McClure
Anger flashed in Bryant's eyes. 'Let's not take the game too far, Doctor,' he hissed.
'It's not a game to her,' whispered Avedissian equally angrily. 'You do anything to harm her and I'll bring the whole house of cards tumbling down and screw the consequences!'
For a moment their eyes were locked in a contest of wills then Bryant relaxed and assumed a smile. 'All right, Doctor,' he replied. 'Five minutes, no longer, I promise.' With that he closed the door and Avedissian turned to face a puzzled nursing staff who were obviously wondering what had been going on.
'Bloody bureaucrats!' he murmured.
'You sound just like Dr Harmon,’ said one of the nurses.
True to his word Bryant came out of the room after five minutes. He seemed very pleased with himself as he approached Avedissian and the nurses melted away. 'Well,’ he said, 'Christmas has come early this year and Santa Claus has just been very good to us indeed.'
Avedissian waited for Bryant to explain but he did not. Instead he said, ‘The O'Neill woman will have to be transferred out of here.' Avedissian opened his mouth to protest when Bryant stopped him. ‘For her own good,’ he said, 'and for the good of the hospital. What do you think the IRA would do if they found out that Kathleen O'Neill was lying here shooting her mouth off to the British? Or do you think that the fact that it's a hospital would put these bastards off?' Bryant gave a mirthless laugh and said, 'We'll send someone for her. She'll be looked after.'
Kathleen O'Neill was moved from the hospital at two in the morning. It was done quickly and quietly as if she had never been there, and too impersonally for Avedissian's liking. He stopped the attendants as they wheeled the trolley to the door and asked Kathleen O'Neill how she was feeling. Her deep green eyes were frightened but she said, with what Avedissian thought was great courage, 'I feel much better, Doctor. Thank you for your help.' Avedissian gave her hand a little squeeze and let her go.
The little convoy, sirens mute and roof lights in darkness, stole off into what was left of the night to the accompaniment of a clap of thunder and a jagged flash of lightning. The humid weather was coming to an end.
Avedissian watched from the darkened doorway of A amp; E as torrential rain began to bounce off the pavements and tumble into the gutters. Some deity had decided to wash the city clean. All Great Neptune's oceans, he thought.
Avedissian was reading the morning paper on Friday when his attention was caught by an article headed, Top Civil Servant in Death Plunge'. Sir Michael Montrose, a senior official at the Home Office, it was reported, had fallen to his death from the top floor of a building in Belgravia. Foul play was not suspected.
It was not so much the story that captivated Avedissian as the photograph that accompanied it. Sir Michael Montrose was the man who had headed his interview team at Cambridge. Avedissian remembered how little love lost there had been between him and Bryant and how Bryant had openly appeared to ridicule the older man. But why should he have taken his own life?
Avedissian found that he had little time to consider the possibilities before all hell broke lose. At the height of the morning shopping period an enormous bomb was detonated in the Shamrock Shopping Precinct. Although it was nearly a mile away from the hospital Avedissian and the others felt the ground shake beneath their feet and a trickle of plaster fell from the ceiling of the treatment room. One of the nurses crossed herself. Harmon cursed loudly.
Avedissian, like many of the others, stood stock still in the unreal silence that ensued, mesmerised by the thought of the aftermath of the event before the wail of distant sirens broke the spell and sent them all into frenzied activity.
A radio call was broadcast to recall all staff from leave and a request made for blood donors to stand by. Nurses prepared trays of dressings and instruments and stacked them in neat piles round the room. From another part of the city the sound of gunfire reached them and everyone knew that the truce was over.
Avedissian had never seen such terrible injury to human beings before on such a scale. The nearest had been a train crash many years before but even that paled into insignificance beside the horror before his eyes. Dreadfully mutilated people bled to death in the ambulances before reaching hospital, while others, half stupefied by shock but still with the misfortune to be conscious, stared at their own insides through gaping blast wounds in their stomachs. A boy with no legs tried to get up and run from the stretcher that brought him through the doors. A woman with no face left screamed continually through a gaping, misshapen orifice that had once been her mouth. The sound was like nothing Avedissian had ever heard before.
Avedissian worked on as if caught up in a nightmare. He felt icy cold and, at times, almost on the verge of detachment from reality as his mind baulked at accepting what his eyes were seeing. The thing that kept him going more than any other was the sight of Harmon, very much in control, talking to the nurses, encouraging them, deciding priorities, keeping everything on a cool professional level.
Avedissian already knew that Harmon could be an emotional man for he had heard him speak of this very kind of situation with passion. But here, in the midst of the real thing, he was in complete control of things, an inspiration to all around him. At that moment Avedissian admired Harmon more than any other man he had ever known.
As the time passed some kind of order started to emerge from the carnage and chaos. The dead were removed by the porters to the hospital mortuary, those stabilised for surgery were taken out on trolleys to join the queues outside the theatres while the remainder were still held in A amp;E on life support pending removal to Intensive Care.
Avedissian had lost all track of time. He was still desperately trying to stop the bleeding on a young boy whose arm had been severed too near the shoulder for standard procedures when the radio announced that two gunshot victims were on their way.
The new patients arrived in a convoy of police and army vehicles and were afforded scant respect by their attendants. Several dead bodies were in the trucks. Harmon and Avedissian verified that they were dead before they were taken away. 'And now the other side,' said Harmon as they came back into the treatment room.
'What do you mean?' asked Avedissian.
'This lot are the IRA,' replied Harmon, indicating the men lying on the tables.
One of the soldiers who had heard what had happened at the shopping centre lost control and raised his weapon to fire at one of the wounded men. He was manhandled out of the unit by an NCO amidst shouting and chaos.
'What's been going on?' Harmon asked a police inspector.
'It looks like the IRA and the INLA tried to pull a joint operation. The IRA attacked the shopping centre while the INLA raided a number of banks in the city.'
'What happened?'
'Apparently it all went wrong. The diversion didn't work and the INLA were wiped out.'
Harmon looked around him at the pools of blood and pieces of human tissue that had still to be cleared up and whispered, 'A diversion.. this was a… diversion?'
'I think you had better come,' said one of the nurses who had been attending one of the men on the trolleys.
The duty sister had cut away the man's blood-soaked clothing to reveal the extent of the damage. He had been hit twice, once in the shoulder and once in the left thigh. In both cases the bullet had splintered the bone but had still managed to exit.
'Army weapon,' said Harmon. 'If you're hit you go down and you don't get up.'
Avedissian attended to the other gunshot victim who had been less seriously hurt in that the one bullet that had struck him had done so at an angle and gouged out a channel of flesh from his left calf. But the severe bruising about his face and body said that he had been subject to a 'difficult' arrest.
When the place had finally been cleared Harmon sat down slowly on one of the benches and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Avedissian who declined and they both sat in silence before the duty sister came over to them with cups of tea. 'Will you marry me, Sister?' said Harmon, accepting
the cup as if it were the Holy Grail. 'Join the queue,' said Avedissian.
Next day the newspapers found it difficult to strike the right balance in their reporting of the news, for the triumph of-the security forces over the INLA had been so violently offset by the tragedy of the Shamrock Shopping Centre. Seventeen people had died, five were still on the critical list and forty-three had been injured, some destined to carry the scars and mutilations for the rest of their lives.
Church leaders made renewed pleas for an end to the violence but, as always, the men who would heed such pleas were not those who perpetrated it. Hardline Protestants threatened revenge for what they called the 'bloody outrage' and politicians said whatever suited them best politically. As usual the man in the street was confused and angry. Everything was back to normal in Northern Ireland after a lull in the proceedings.
Avedissian was off duty and alone in his room when there was a knock on the door. His invitation to whomever it was to come in met with no response so he got up and opened the door himself. Paul Jarvis was standing there.
'I don't believe it!' exclaimed Avedissian, both surprised and delighted.
'Life is full of surprises,' grinned Jarvis.
Avedissian invited him in and asked him to sit down on the one chair in the room while he himself sat on a corner of the bed. 'It's not much but it's home,' said Avedissian, looking around him.
'Not for much longer,' said Jarvis.
'Something is happening?' asked Avedissian.
'We are to meet with Bryant tomorrow. Your time here is over. That's what I came to tell you.'
Avedissian nodded and accepted the news with mixed feelings for, after his initial feelings of apprehension, he had come to enjoy working with Harmon. He had almost allowed himself to believe that he had returned to practising medicine again. 'I'd better tell Dr Harmon,' he said.
'I think you'll find that he has been informed,' said Jarvis. 'He had to be warned so that a replacement for you could be found.'
'Of course,' said Avedissian quietly. 'Have you come from Wales or your base?' he asked Jarvis.
'Neither, I was given three days' leave. I spent it in Edinburgh with my girlfriend.'
'Annie,' said Avedissian.
'You have an excellent memory,' said Jarvis.
'It improved when I gave up the gin,' said Avedissian.
'Oh yes, I'm sorry about that.'
'Why sorry?' asked Avedissian.
'I'm afraid it was me who took your bottle at Llangern.'
'I see… I suppose I should thank you really.'
'You were in a bit of a mess,' agreed Jarvis.
'So what are we going to learn tomorrow?' asked Avedissian.
'I know as much as you. I was just asked to inform you tonight and pick you up tomorrow.'
Avedissian invited Jarvis to stay and eat dinner with him but Jarvis declined, saying that he had to report back. He would see him in the morning at ten o'clock.
Avedissian returned to the A amp;E department and sought out Harmon. He found him in his office working through a pile of paperwork with an air of frustration. 'Bloody nonsense!' he snorted, putting down his pen as Avedissian came in. 'Reports, reports, endless bloody reports. Nobody’s going to read the damned things; they're going to file and forget about them!'
Avedissian smiled and said sympathetically, 'It's the way of the world.'
'You've been told?' said Harmon, reading the look on Avedissian's face.
Avedissian nodded. I’m quite sorry to be going,’ he added.
Harmon took off his glasses and said, 'I never thought that I would be saying this, but I am sorry to lose you. Things worked out fine… Dr Avedissian.'
'You knew?'
'Not until a few days ago, but there was always something familiar about your face. Then I remembered the case. I didn't remember all the details so I went and looked them up.'
'I see.'
'If it's any comfort, I have every sympathy with you.'
Avedissian got to his feet and said, 'Thank you, Doctor. It was kind of you to say so.' He held out his hand.
'I meant it,’ said Harmon taking Avedissian's hand. 'I can't ever offer you a job, of course, only my best wishes for whatever your future has in store. Good luck.'
Avedissian left the room and had a last look round the unit. then he went upstairs to gather his things together before eating and settling down for an early night.
Jarvis arrived promptly at ten and Avedissian got into the car beside him. He found the drive through the city streets depressing for it reminded him of his own time in Belfast with the military. All these years, he thought, and so little had changed. A whole generation of children had grown up thinking of guns and uniforms as the norm. There was no escaping the bigotry of the graffiti, which was everywhere. Here in Ireland the enemy was your neighbour.
The car slowed and turned into an entrance bounded on both sides by high black railings. A wrought-iron gate swung open in response to an infra-red device operated by the driver and they passed through to follow a semi-circular driveway up to a low Georgian building with ornate lampposts on either side of the front entrance. 'N.I. Land Archives District 7' said the plaque on the wall.
Avedissian and Jarvis were left to wait in a small back room which looked out on immaculately kept gardens after being asked if they would like coffee, an offer that both accepted. The coffee arrived and they sipped it in silence while they continued to look out of the window.
'Mr Bryant will see you now,’ said the woman who had brought the coffee.
Avedissian and Jarvis left their cups and saucers on the window-ledge and followed the woman through to a much larger room where Bryant was sitting behind a long mahogany desk.
'The waiting is over, gentlemen,’ said Bryant. I'm going to tell you why we need you.'
Avedissian and Jarvis looked briefly at each other before giving their full attention to what Bryant had to say.
'A few weeks ago a child was abducted and has not been seen since. We would like you to help us get him back.'
Avedissian was confused. 'But the police?' he began.
'Were never informed,' said Bryant.
Jarvis was as puzzled as Avedissian. 'I'm sorry, I don't understand, sir,’ he said.'
Bryant opened one of the desk drawers and brought out a photograph of a family group. He turned it towards Jarvis and Avedissian and held his forefinger to one of the children. 'This is the child,’ he said.
Avedissian felt his jaw drop and sensed Jarvis share his disbelief. 'Are you seriously telling us that one of the royal children has been kidnapped?' he asked.
'I am,’ replied Bryant.
'But how could something like that be kept secret?… And why?' asked an incredulous Jarvis.
‘Because of the repercussions,' replied Bryant.
‘I don't understand,’ said Avedissian. 'What repercussions?'
‘In the absence of any information to the contrary the IRA would be blamed and the backlash would be unstoppable,’
'Civil war, you mean?' said Jarvis.
'I do. Hard-line loyalists would swarm into Catholic estates and the streets would run red.'
'You said, "In the absence of any information to the contrary". Does that mean that you don't know who took the child?' asked Avedissian.
'Correct.'
'Then it could have been the IRA?' said Jarvis.
Bryant shook his head and said, 'No, we know it wasn't them.'
'How?'
'Because they have been asked for the ransom.'
'What?' exclaimed Avedissian and Jarvis almost together.
The kidnappers asked the IRA for the ransom, not us.'
'But why?'
'Presumably they thought the IRA would be easier to deal with and might want him just as badly to use as a bargaining measure.'
'But surely the IRA wouldn't touch it for the reasons you mentioned? There would be civil war.'
'The new leadership seems to think it's worth
the risk,' said Bryant.
Avedissian, who had found himself being lulled into accepting everything that was being said, suddenly felt a sense of incredibility well up inside him. 'But how could something like this be kept secret?' he demanded. 'People must know the child is not there?'
'Officially, there has been a death threat made against the royal children. Security has been tightened and the family are maintaining a low profile, cancelling public engagements etc. Only a few trusted servants know that the child is really missing and they have been sworn to secrecy.'
'But there must be a limit to how long you can keep this up?' said Avedissian.
'Of course. That's why we must get the child back as quickly as possible now we know about the ransom demand.'
'How do you know about the demand?' asked Jarvis.
Bryant pressed a button on the desk and sat back for a moment in silence. At length the door opened and the woman who had met Avedissian and Jarvis on their arrival came in accompanied by another woman, who walked slowly as if she were stiff. It was Kathleen O'Neill.
'I think you two have already met,' said Bryant to Avedissian.
Avedissian got up and smiled at Kathleen who smiled back and said that it was nice to see him again. He enquired about her health and noted that the bruising to her face had subsided a good deal. Jarvis was introduced to her and they all sat down again.
Bryant said, 'It was Miss O'Neill who gave us the information about the ransom demand to the IRA. Apparently they were offered the child for some twenty-five million dollars just after he was taken but their leader, O'Donnell, hesitated for presumably the reasons that have been mentioned. But now there has been a change in the leadership. Kell is in command and he wants to bargain for the boy.'
'How does Miss O'Neill know all this?' asked Jarvis.
'I am Martin O'Neill's sister,' replied Kathleen O'Neill.
Bryant read the look on Jarvis's face and said, 'You are obviously wondering why we should believe a single word that the sister of one of the most wanted men in the province says?'
'Frankly, yes.’
‘Apart from the information that Miss O'Neill has given us about the ransom demand she also told us of a new alliance between the IRA and the INLA. She warned us that the INLA were going to hit the banks last Friday and which ones. She was largely responsible for our success in wiping them out in their attempt to raise money for the ransom.'
