A Traitor in the Family

by Nicholas Searle

  ‘Really? Have you taken the pledge now, Francis?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. Just lost the taste for it.’

  Joe Geraghty shook his head. ‘Now there’s a thing. Not sure I ever could.’

  ‘How’s it going, Joe? The politics and all?’

  ‘You know. Power sharing’s back on. The Prods and the Brits are on about decommissioning, but we have a few tricks up our sleeve. It’ll be all right. We’re not going to sell ourselves down the river. Not after what we’ve sacrificed.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a different world, Francis. We’re doing all right, I suppose. But it’s a rare strange old thing. You’ve to get used to it. These people, with their ways. It’s no different, Westminster or Dublin. They’re all the same …’ He paused. ‘Then again, you can’t afford to become too much like them. You have to continue the struggle, but in a different way.’

  ‘It must take some getting used to.’

  ‘It does that, Francis. It’s no hardship, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I think the old days were simpler. We had a mission and we set off together to do it. Chain of command. Action. Nowadays you’re swimming in treacle. But we’ve to look at the bigger picture, where it’s getting us.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘And how are you doing, Francis? I’ve been thinking about you, you know. The boys have been saying they don’t see much of you.’

  ‘I’m getting there, Joe.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. Is there anything you need of me? Or is this just a social call?’

  ‘I was wondering whether there was any way I could get back into things. Get involved somehow.’

  ‘What were you thinking of, Francis?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’d like to help. Maybe on your staff, on the security side –’

  ‘Kenny and the boys have more or less got that covered off. But if he decides he needs someone we’ll certainly bear you in mind. Of course he’s always been a bit less … high profile, shall we say … than you.’

  ‘What about something more political?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘I’m not looking to run before I can walk. I was thinking of maybe a nomination as a councillor down in Armagh or maybe Monaghan.’

  ‘There’s boys down there been working for years as councillors. You can’t expect us to shift one of them for you.’

  ‘I’ve been working for years too, Joe.’

  ‘I know. But it’s difficult.’

  ‘I’m an intelligent man, Joe.’

  ‘Never said you weren’t.’

  ‘I know the theory. I’ve read up on the politics. I’ve had time to. I know I have to start at the bottom.’

  ‘Well, for a start, join your local party. Then see where it takes you.’

  ‘But you can give me a leg-up.’

  ‘Is it a question of the money, Francis? Working as a local councillor doesn’t earn you anything other than the expenses. And it’s a thankless task.’

  ‘No. It’s nothing to do with money.’

  ‘Is your money being paid on time, now? If you want, I can see what I can do about a little increase. And perhaps a bonus payment. In recognition and all that …’

  ‘No. I’ve said. It’s not the money. I want to do something useful. There’s plenty of others as have made the transition.’

  ‘Me, you mean? You’re looking at me like that. Of course you are. Don’t blame you. But that was then and this is now. We’re in a different era.’

  ‘Are you telling me I couldn’t do it?’

  ‘Not at all, Francis. Listen, there’d be issues.’

  ‘What issues?’

  ‘You were a high-profile volunteer. Locked up in England. You’re notorious.’

  ‘So? All of youse on the Army Council were military men. Now you’re political. Are you telling me the English wouldn’t stand for it?’

  ‘And then there’s the Mikey thing.’

  ‘The Mikey thing?’

  ‘All your accusing about Mikey.’

  ‘Well, if it wasn’t Mikey, who was it, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Francis. But it’s in the past now.’

  ‘He was a tout, I tell you.’

  ‘He wasn’t, Francis.’

  ‘How come he got released by the Brits, then? Answer me that. They wouldn’t let him go unless there was a reason.’

  ‘Mikey wasn’t a tout.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? The RUC don’t just lose evidence. All those forensics that linked him in. Administrative error. You don’t believe that any more than I do.’

  ‘That was us, Francis,’ said Joe Geraghty gently.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was us. Let’s just say we had someone close to Special Branch. They hadn’t transferred the forensics to the central store. They were working off duplicate samples that weren’t properly logged. The original forensics of several cases were being stored in the Special Branch office. We got in and grabbed everything and in among it was the stuff for Mikey’s case. The Brits kept it quiet. So it was “administrative error” in the court case.’

  ‘You really believe that? It must have been a set-up.’

  ‘I do, Francis, I do. I’ve checked it out meself. And Mikey’s not happy. We’re just trying to keep him in the tent now.’

  ‘In the tent? Is that some kind of political speak?’

  ‘Well, we don’t want him outside pissing in, that’s for sure.’

  Francis said nothing.

  ‘Listen here, Francis. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to some people, pull a few strings. Leave it with me. I might pop down and pay you and Bridget a visit sometime and we’ll talk about it. Meanwhile, I see that Kenny’s hovering. I need to be off. Another bloody meeting.’ He smiled wearily.

  ‘Well, then, what are we to make of poor Francis?’ said Joe.

  ‘He’s in a state, isn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, floundering, I’d call it. Wants to go into politics, so he says.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I had to tell him how the land lies. He’d be eaten alive by some of these young whippersnappers. He’s not happy, but he knows how things stand. I’m not so worried about that as his thing about Mikey.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Quite. Here I am trying to talk Mikey down from the ledge and Francis is bad-mouthing him. I can do without this. Is there any point dusting off the old security inquiry?’

  ‘What would the point be? We’d simply come up with the same conclusion. Or non-conclusion. And get up Mikey’s nose into the bargain.’

  ‘It might satisfy Francis. No. I agree. Silly idea. It couldn’t have been Mikey, could it?’

  ‘Of course it could have been. But unless he admits it we get nowhere, do we? I can’t see it, though. If he’d been working for the Brits he wouldn’t be after Francis’s blood. He’d be keeping quiet.’

  ‘Unless it’s all empty threats. Theatre.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like that on the street.’

  ‘I don’t buy it any more than you, Kenny. I’m just bloody searching for answers. So what do we do about Francis?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘You’re not going to like what I have to say,’ said Joe Geraghty, his eyes full of benign intent, three weeks later.

  ‘You’ve found nothing for me. You don’t want me back.’

  Joe sighed. They were sitting opposite each other in the small sitting room. Bridget busied herself in the kitchen, while a burly man wearing a dark suit and an earpiece whom Francis did not know stood discreetly in the hallway. The door was closed and Joe spoke quietly.

  ‘What can I say? That’s about the measure of it. Though it’s not a matter of wanting or not wanting you back. It’s just the reality of it.’

  ‘People are moving over all the time. And I’m liked round here.’

  ‘Admired, maybe. Feared a little. Look, everyone respects what you’ve done. But liked? I’m not
so sure, Francis. I have to be honest with you. And as for the transition, it’s hard. It’s not instant. I did it myself a few years back and I found it difficult. It’s no easier nowadays. You have to create this clear dividing line.’ He chopped his hand down on to the table as if to demonstrate. ‘And now’s not the best time.’

  ‘You didn’t, though.’

  ‘Right enough. I stayed involved because I had to. Someone had to hold it together. And I took special care of me own boys. Like you. Made sure the best men were put on the best jobs. They couldn’t deny me that. That was my price for moving to the political side. They were different times, I keep telling you.’

  ‘You still sent me and others on to the front line.’ Francis spoke the words quietly, in resignation rather than anger.

  ‘Had no choice, Francis. Surely you can see that? We had to keep the conflict going, to bring them to the table. And we needed our best men on the task. Which meant you, among others. I was hoping you’d stay clear until we’d negotiated something.’

  ‘But someone turned us in.’

  ‘Let’s not get started on that again, shall we?’

  ‘Well, some fucker was touting for them. Fucking hell, Joe.’

  ‘You have to put that in the past, Francis. Let it go.’

  ‘Let it go? Easy for you to say, Joe.’

  ‘Well. You’re entitled to your opinion. I’ve said it, easy or not. Stop being stupid, Francis. We have to keep our good people on the straight and narrow.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Just that, Francis. I’m not casting about idle threats. Least of all to one of me own boys. But for the sake of Ireland we have to hold this together. We need to be disciplined. Which brings me on to Mikey.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Yes. Mikey’s not a happy man. With all the accusations going around.’

  ‘I’ve not been spreading rumours.’

  ‘No, you haven’t. Not recently. But it started with you. You dropped the stone in the pool. We had Mikey in, you see. He had a bit of the treatment. Came through all right. Was angry, but he was all right with it. But it became known that he’d been talked to. And the rumours don’t go away. Mud sticks. When you got out, it all flared up again. Plus, he’s not happy with the new arrangements. He’s not a happy man at all, our Mikey.’ He shook his head.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So this, Francis. First off, he’s not happy with you. He won’t see reason where you’re concerned at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came visiting.’

  ‘That would be all right by me. Bring it on, I say.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be good from our point of view. Internecine squabbles. Violence. Not a good look. We want Mikey to stop being a pain in the arse. We want him well and truly back with us.’

  ‘Why don’t you just take him out?’

  ‘Ah, Francis. If only you knew. We do less and less of that sort of thing. Normalization, it applies to us as well. We don’t want to make Mikey a martyr either. He’s plenty of friends, you know.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, your visit got me round to thinking. I need to do something to see you right. I’m thinking a fresh start might be in everyone’s best interests.’

  ‘Fresh start?’

  ‘Yes. We thought you should perhaps take yourself off out of the heat. We’d help you, of course. Sort you out a nice quiet place. Down south somewhere. Find you a job. We can square it all off. Keep you well out of Mikey’s way in case he gets awkward. Discreet. Under the radar. We’d make sure there was no comeback. And every so often you could visit your ma and da back in Belfast. Just give us the word and we’ll set it up.’

  ‘What choice do I have?’

  ‘I can see your predicament, Francis. I’ve asked meself the same question. What choice does Francis have, now?’

  18

  In the end the move was straightforward enough. Kenny rang to say that they had this place set up down in County Kildare and would he and Bridget like to pack. The boys would see to everything else. They’d turn up one night soon. He couldn’t say exactly when. No farewells to Bridget’s folks, though. She’d be able to visit them sometime, but only after the move had been done and only under certain conditions. Not a word to anyone. Someone in the city would let Francis’s parents know. Someone would sort it with Anne-Marie and Stevie and the rest of the locals.

  The place they were allocated was a council house set on a hill in a huge estate of almost identical homes. Someone in the council had fixed it, though Francis was never told who. The boys came late one night and packed all their belongings into a truck. There wasn’t much. They’d been told to leave the car; Stevie down the garage would sell it on and they’d be sent the proceeds in due course. Some boys Francis didn’t know drove them down in a fancy German car. They travelled through the night by a circuitous route through Kells and Mullingar, avoiding Dublin. They arrived past one in the morning. The driver handed Francis the keys to the house together with a card with a telephone number on it.

  ‘This is your helpline,’ the other boy said humourlessly. ‘Any trouble, you call that number. Ask for Dessie.’

  ‘Are you Dessie?’ asked Bridget.

  ‘Are you being funny, missus?’ he said. ‘No. Anyways, you just call that number. You want to go back to see your family, you call that number. Anything at all, you call that number. Got it? The local Gardai may pay you a visit. Don’t be worried if they do, they’re squared off. Joe says we’re to take good care of you. You’ll find everything you need in the house. Your things’ll get here tomorrow. Goodbye now.’

  The black Mercedes sped off.

  They carried their overnight bags to the front door. Francis let them in. The electricity was on and the house was warm and carpeted. That was something at least. In the kitchen there was a kettle and two mugs, and milk in the fridge. A small plastic box containing tea bags stood on the worktop. Upstairs someone had set up two folding beds with clean bedlinen. There were threadbare towels and a half-used bar of soap in the bathroom.

  In the dining room Francis found another envelope. He had been allocated a social insurance number and the address of the factory where a job had been found for him was also enclosed. He was expected there on the next day but one. There were medical cards, too, for him and Bridget. He picked up the telephone. It was not connected. The boys had taken both their mobile phones, so he’d have to sort something out in the town tomorrow. He was tired and needed to lie down.

  This, then, was home.

  Bridget didn’t miss the cottage or the routine that had become ingrained over all these years. Still less did she miss her parents, though obligation meant that at some point she would have to return to see them. She did not quite understand why they’d had to leave at all, let alone under cover of darkness. She did not ask, and Francis volunteered no details.

  She hated this house, numbered 1,700 and something, suitably anonymized and anonymizing, in the big estate on the hill that led from the town. The estate did not have a central road running through it. Rather, it seemed to be designed to confuse, with streets running in all directions, houses clustered around wide green areas on the wind-blown hill where horses were tethered and children of all ages played. No climbing frames, though, no goalposts: simply expanses of raggedy grass in which youngsters ran enthusiastically while teenagers smoked and looked on, bored.

  The noise. There were two sorts. The general, the night-time drunken shouting across the green, the starting of cars at all times of the day and night – sometimes a chase over the grass leaving a muddy trail of tyre marks – the banging and clattering of doors and smashing of glass, and the occasional whinnying of the poor horses, which somehow she found soothing. And the more particular, the neighbours on both sides arguing, the shouting at children and the music, the slamming of doors. It was the constancy of it, day in, day out.

  It stank too. The old cottage smelt, she had found belatedly when she began to go away. When she returned from some fine hot
el or Sarah’s centrally heated Downpatrick bungalow, she always inhaled the smoke, the peat of generations. That had been comforting in its way. This place stank of fried and burnt food, urine and excrement and the chemical afterburn of whatever drugs had been prepared in the bathroom or on the kitchen worktop.

  It was quite comfortable, she would tell Francis when he asked. He always said they’d move on once they’d found their feet and located something better, but she knew they never would.

  His only animation came late at night. He had begun, quite suddenly, to crave intimacy again. And surprisingly to her, it was not the disappointed, half-hearted intimacy of the balding, nondescript middle-aged, formerly energetic man, but the frenzied, desperate lunges once again of a man in full.

  ‘Did you betray me?’ he asked in the middle of the darkness one night.

  ‘Francis, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Answer the question. Did you?’

  ‘God, no, Francis. I’ve stuck with you these years. What do you take me for?’

  ‘I don’t take you for anything. You didn’t talk to anyone? You sure?’

  ‘No, Francis! No.’

  He grunted, and was silent for a while. She thought he might have fallen asleep.

  ‘That day,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Which day?’

  ‘When Mikey was at ours. The police came.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You speak to them?’

  ‘No. We’ve been through this.’

  ‘My mobile.’

  ‘What mobile?’

  ‘I left it in the house. I know I did.’

  ‘I didn’t see any mobile. Joe Geraghty asked me about your mobile too.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘Same as I’m saying to you. I didn’t know about any mobile. Would the police have found it?’

  ‘When I got back it was in my coat.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It wasn’t there earlier.’

  ‘Are you sure? Could you have missed it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said plaintively.

  ‘It was all mixed up.’

  ‘I don’t get mixed up.’

  ‘Could the police have got it? And put it back in your pocket somehow?’