A Winter of Spies

by Gerard Whelan

  ‘He?’ Ma asked sharply.

  Jimmy couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘That man Fowles,’ he said. ‘He’s in charge of the raid.’

  For one moment Ma looked as though she were going mad. Her teeth chattered, and the eyes rolled in her head. Then her eyes darted past Jimmy towards the door. Jimmy saw the quick look. He backed into the doorway and spread his arms, blocking her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ he said, humbly, miserably. ‘You can’t go up there.’

  ‘Can’t?’ Ma said.

  Jimmy shook his head. This time his voice was more sure of itself. ‘I won’t let you,’ he said.

  ‘Jimmy Conway,’ Ma said. She shook Sarah and Ella off her. ‘Are you telling me what to do?’

  She spoke in what Jimmy called her policeman’s voice. Sarah could see Jimmy sort of shiver when he heard it, but he didn’t back down.

  ‘I’m telling you,’ he said, gently and firmly, ‘what you’re not going to do.’

  Mick, seeing what was happening, had made his slow way over to his sister. Now he threw his good arm around her shoulder. The other hung bandaged and limp.

  ‘Lil,’ he said gently, ‘James won’t want you there.’

  Ma wept. ‘But, Mick,’ she said, ‘that man will kill him. Three years in France, and he’ll die like a dog on his own kitchen floor.’

  Jimmy left the doorway and went over to his mother and his uncle. He put his arms around Ma.

  The noise from upstairs had been growing less. Now there were only the muffled sounds of an angry voice. You couldn’t make out any words, only the sound of its anger. Finally another voice said something in reply. Sarah felt the hair prickle on her neck at the sound of that second voice. It was Da’s, yet it sounded frightened, pleading. The first voice, Fowles’s, sounded again in a harsh, ugly laugh. There was contempt in the laugh; contempt and triumph. Then he said something in a brisk tone. An order of some kind. The many booted feet started to move again, heading for the door.

  ‘My God,’ Mr Breen said. ‘They’re going!’

  The heavy steps went out the front hall, and when Sarah peeped from the window she saw dark figures going down the path. A single set of footsteps went to the front door, and Fowles’s voice shouted to the Auxiliaries now back waiting in their tender.

  ‘You can go ahead, chaps,’ the voice called. ‘And thank you for your time. We’ll have no more trouble from this gentleman.’

  Sarah looked around. The other five people in the room were all looking at each other too. No more trouble?

  Outside the engine of the tender started up. This time its lights came on. Someone in the back waved cheerily to the man in the door, and Sarah distinctly heard the sound of laughter.

  No more trouble from this gentleman? From Da? Her throat tightened. Her heart beat fast.

  They heard Fowles’s footsteps going back down the hall and into the kitchen. In the deathly silence of the Breens’ livingroom, six pairs of eyes turned to the ceiling. Sarah heard her Ma begin to whimper.

  For a little while there was complete silence, a silence more sinister than anything that had gone before. Then something bizarre happened. There was a little laugh, of relief it seemed, and it was, unmistakably, Da’s voice.

  Then the shot came, sounding in Sarah’s waiting ears like the very crack of doom.

  22

  A HANDSHAKE

  SARAH WAS OUT BREENS’ FRONT DOOR before she knew what she was doing. She scrambled up the front steps to her own door. It hung open. She could see the marks where the butts of the Auxies’ rifles had beaten at it.

  The front hall was in a mess, with everything topsy-turvy. A picture from the wall lay on the floor with its glass smashed. The hallstand was overturned. This hadn’t been a search, Sarah thought; this had been pure destruction.

  The kitchen door was ajar. Now that she was here Sarah didn’t know what to do. She was nearly certain that her Da was lying dead on the floor, and that his murderer was still in there. Earlier, Ma had looked as though she were going mad; now Sarah wondered if she was going mad herself.

  The kitchen door opened, and a man came out. It was Fowles. He was putting his hat on. He saw her and smiled.

  ‘This must be the younger Miss Conway,’ he said. ‘How do you do?’

  Sarah hardly even noticed him. She was looking behind Fowles, to where Da stood in the doorway. Da was fixing his collar. His face showed marks of bruising, but he was very much alive.

  ‘Da?’ Sarah said. Even seeing him there she half-believed he was a ghost.

  ‘I hope you weren’t too frightened, Miss Conway,’ Fowles said. He turned to Da and extended his hand. ‘Sorry about the face, James,’ he said. ‘And do apologise to your wife for the state of the place.’

  Several times lately Sarah Conway had felt unreal, but nothing had felt quite this strange. Da took Fowles’s hand and shook it.

  ‘Faces heal,’ he said. ‘Even Mick’s face will heal.’

  ‘That,’ Fowles said, ‘was a bad business. But you know I couldn’t stop it.’

  ‘I know,’ Da said. ‘You’d have given the game away if you’d tried.’

  The game? Behind her on the steps Sarah heard the rest of them coming up – Ma and Jimmy helping Mick up the stairs, followed by Ella and the Breens. They all stopped short when they saw Fowles. Ma stared at her husband shaking hands with the crazed British agent. Except that there was nothing crazed about Fowles now. His pale face just looked a bit strained.

  ‘I’d best be off,’ he said to Da, and headed for the front door. Everyone parted to let him through. Fowles nodded to Mick. ‘That looks nasty,’ he said.

  ‘Sure, there’s worse happens,’ Mick said, ‘in fights after the pubs shut.’

  ‘True enough,’ Fowles replied. He bade them all good night and went out. They all watched him walk down the path. Then they turned to Da in amazement.

  ‘James Conway,’ Ma said, ‘what in the name of God is going on?’

  Da looked mildly at her. ‘I’m sorry, Lil,’ he said, ‘but it’s not over yet. I’ll have to ask you all to go downstairs again. I’ll call you when I can.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Ma said. ‘Look at this house. To judge by the hall the whole place must be shattered. I come up expecting to find you shot, and I find you shaking hands with the man I thought done it. And just look at the state of your face!’

  Sarah was suddenly dizzy with sheer relief. She nearly smiled at the way Ma was talking. She sounded as though she was giving out to one of her children.

  Mick took Ma’s arm. ‘James is right, Lil,’ he said. ‘This isn’t over. Come back down now.’

  Things were clicking into place in Sarah’s mind. She still didn’t know what was going on, but she was starting to realise that all of them had been caught up in some really tremendous lie.

  ‘Mick knows something too, Ma,’ she said accusingly. ‘And Jimmy.’

  ‘I know nothing,’ Jimmy said. ‘Except that we’d better get downstairs.’

  ‘Please, Lil,’ Da said. ‘Just another little while. Trust me.’

  Ma gave an angry snort. ‘Trust you?’ she said.

  Da’s voice got serious. ‘Lily,’ he said, ‘you won’t want to see what’s going to happen here. Now, for God’s sake, go.’

  Ma looked in his eyes. Something seemed to pass between them that Sarah couldn’t see or understand. Then Ma hung her head.

  ‘God help us all,’ she said. She sounded terribly sad. Then she turned and went down the steps. The Breens went with her.

  ‘Do you need me, James?’ Mick asked.

  Da shook his head. ‘You’ve given enough for one day, Mick,’ he said. Mick turned too, and started back down. Jimmy, turning to help him, cast a look at Sarah. ‘Come on, Sal,’ he said. But Sarah stood looking at Da.

  Da looked back at her. Suddenly he seemed terribly tired. ‘You always wanted to help in the struggle, Sarah,’ he said. ‘You wanted to be in the thick of it. Well, you’re in the thick of it now. W
hat do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a dirty, low fight,’ Sarah said. ‘But it’s still a fight for freedom.’

  ‘All fights,’ Da said, ‘are dirty, low fights. Jimmy found that out during the Rising. You’re finding it out now. And aye, this is still a fight for freedom, and some of us think freedom is worth dirtying yourself for. But make no mistake, Sarah – it’s still filthy.’

  He sighed. ‘If you want to see just how low and how dirty this fight is,’ he said, ‘then stay here. I owe you the truth. But I warn you, it’s not pretty.’

  Sarah looked at him, and he looked at her. Sarah was suddenly afraid, but not of danger to herself or Da. Da seemed sure of what was going on. ‘Trust me,’ he’d said to Ma, and Ma had snorted in scorn. But Sarah trusted him. That was why she was afraid: Da had given her a warning. She feared what she might see.

  Da was still looking hard at her. She couldn’t read his look. She wanted to go.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said.

  Jimmy looked from his sister’s face to his father’s. He looked unhappy. ‘I’ll leave youse to it,’ he said. Then he turned again and went down the steps with Mick.

  23

  VISITORS

  ‘GO OUT,’ DA SAID, ‘and open the back door a bit.’

  Sarah did it without asking questions, but she couldn’t help asking them in her mind. Was she letting someone out, or in?

  When she opened the back door Sarah stood for a moment looking out into the dark garden. She thought she saw some movement, but it might just have been something blowing in the breeze. In a far-off yard a tomcat yowled. A church bell tolled the hour. Sarah shivered and went back into the kitchen. Everything there had been thrown about except the heavy table. Mrs Breen’s basket lay on the floor, the food from it mashed into the ground by heavy boots.

  When she looked at the mantelpiece Sarah almost cried out. She knew now where the bullet from the shot they’d heard had gone.

  Ma’s old clock was shattered. There was a hole in its face and the two hands were at mad angles. Springs and cogs and wheels spilled out in a tangled, broken heap. Sarah stared at it, overcome with thoughts too mixed up to follow. Like the broken clockwork itself, they were too knotted up to unravel.

  Da had taken the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cupboard where it was kept. He uncorked it and poured half a tumbler full. That was a big drink. Da sat at the table. The night was cool, but there was sweat on his forehead. Sarah tore her eyes away from the gutted clock and sat opposite him. Da took a deep drink of the whiskey, then put the glass on the table.

  ‘Judas sold Jesus,’ he said, ‘and that was a sin. But what if someone had sold Judas first? Would that have been a sin as well?’

  Theology wasn’t Sarah’s strong point. ‘If it would,’ she said, ‘then it would have been a smaller one.’

  Da’s grin had no humour. ‘I see it’s not just Jimmy who’s growing up,’ he said. ‘That’s an answer worthy of a priest.’

  ‘Should I shut the front door?’ Sarah asked.

  Da’s shook his head wearily. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said.

  ‘What are we waiting for, Da?’

  ‘Not what,’ Da said. ‘Who.’

  He’d say no more. After a couple of minutes he didn’t need to. Someone came running up the outside steps and pushed the front door open. There were footsteps in the hall. Rory Moore appeared in the doorway. He came across the room and stood at the table.

  ‘James!’ he said. ‘I thought he might have shot you! Are you all right?’

  ‘I am. I told him what he wanted to know.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Who killed Reed, and where to find him. A safe house on the canal.’

  Sarah went cold. Her Da had just claimed to be an informer. He’d told Fowles the very thing she’d avoided telling Moore. Da had betrayed Hugh Byrne.

  But then she had to think again. Simon Hughes had said that Hugh Byrne was in Wexford …

  ‘Thank God, James,’ Moore said. ‘You’ve seen sense!’

  Da growled at him. ‘Sense? He wrecked my home. He threatened to kill my wife and children. He nearly killed her brother. What was I supposed to do?’

  Moore pulled up a chair that the Auxies had overturned. He set it upright and sat down.

  ‘Will you offer me a drink?’ he asked, seeing the whiskey.

  Da stood up silently and fetched another glass. He put it on the table in front of Moore. Then he sat and pushed the whiskey bottle over. Moore poured himself a drink. He hadn’t even glanced at Sarah since coming in. His narrowed eyes were fixed on Da. Looking at the tanned face now, Sarah felt that Moore was trying to hide a tremendous excitement.

  ‘You must see that this is the only way,’ Moore said. ‘You’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘It’s only a question,’ Da said, ‘of who kills me, really. When Collins finds out –’

  ‘No!’ Moore interrupted. ‘I’ll protect you – at least I’ll try. But you’ve certainly ruined yourself with the rebels. What we must do now is persuade the authorities of your importance. Then they’ll make it their business to see that you’re safe. Why, you must know everything about Collins’s organisation! You must know names, places … my God, man, you can put Collins himself on the spot! Apart from anything else that would be worth a lot of money, I know. You can make yourself a great asset, and don’t think the authorities won’t be suitably grateful!’

  Sarah’s stomach lurched as Moore spoke. She watched him grow more excited, his attempts to hide it weakening. He’s almost drooling, she thought, at the prospect of having my Da as an informer. Then it hit her like a great weight. It’s Collins he wants, she realised. That’s what he’s wanted all along. The Big Fellow.

  As Moore spoke, Da’s head was sinking lower and lower. His hand gripped tighter and tighter on the glass of whiskey. Suddenly the tumbler shattered.

  Moore jumped in his seat. Sarah gave a little squeak of shock. Shards of glass and dribbles of whiskey covered the table. Da held up his hand. It was wet with spirits. Blood began to flow from a dozen little cuts.

  Da looked at his hand, then he looked at Moore.

  ‘You owe me your life,’ he said.

  Something in Da’s voice alarmed Rory Moore. He stared at Da, then at the bleeding hand. At last he looked at Sarah. There was puzzlement and surprise in the look.

  ‘You owe me your life,’ Da said again. ‘And this is how you pay the debt.’ He didn’t sound angry. Instead he sounded sadder than any human being Sarah had ever heard.

  ‘Sure you can’t expect much from a desperate man,’ a new voice said. It was a pleasant voice, with a Cork accent. Sarah and Moore both whirled to look. A tall man in a dark suit stood in the kitchen doorway. He held a light-coloured hat in his hand, and with the other hand he pushed his dark brown hair back from his broad forehead. The man was smiling. It was Michael Collins.

  24

  A BEATEN MAN

  THE CHANGE THAT CAME OVER RORY MOORE was very sudden. He froze in his chair. His face grew pale beneath his tan.

  ‘Mr Collins,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been telling James here –’

  Collins held a hand up to silence him. Moore stopped speaking.

  Collins looked around the room. ‘Someone’s been having quite a hooley here,’ he said. He looked back at Moore, who was watching him the way a rabbit might watch a snake.

  Moore’s lips seemed to be dry. The tip of his tongue licked them. ‘Fowles was here,’ he said to Collins, ‘with a lorryload of Auxiliaries.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Collins said. ‘The terrible Mr Fowles, who was recalled from Egypt for his excesses. I checked that, you know. I have my sources. But you guessed that much.’

  ‘You’ll know his reputation then,’ Moore began. ‘He …’

  But again Collins cut him off. ‘Please,’ Collins said. ‘Don’t think me more stupid than I am.’ He looked at Sarah and gave her a little smile. ‘Did you ever think, Sarah,’ he said, ‘that Fowles wa
s very pale for a man who’d spent years in Egypt under a hot sun? Not like Mr Moore here, with his tanned skin.’

  When he turned again to Moore his voice was harsh. ‘That man’s name is Murray,’ Collins said. ‘He was never in Egypt in his life. He’s a police inspector from the Midlands that Dublin Castle brought here to do intelligence work. Fowles is the name that you had him use here – the same name you used yourself in Egypt.’

  Moore seemed to relax a little. ‘He played the part well, though,’ he said to Collins. ‘You must admit that. He should have been an actor.’

  ‘He was, in a way,’ Collins said. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and absent-mindedly looked at the label, then put it back on the table. ‘You heard that James here was suspected of being a courier for me,’ he said. ‘And you thought you might turn him to your advantage. Who’d suspect a man whose life he’d saved? A British officer’s honour would never let him betray someone he owed his life to, would it now?’

  Sarah’s stomach felt suddenly hollow. She heard what Collins was implying. It was the point her own suspicions had been leading to, but it couldn’t be true. Of all of the lies and betrayals she’d discovered, that would be the most truly monstrous. She looked at Da, but he hadn’t looked up from the table since Collins had come in. Then she looked over at Moore. No-one could be such a monster of deceit as Collins was suggesting. But Moore wasn’t denying it.

  ‘You’d get close to James,’ Collins said. ‘You’d use Fowles as a bogeyman to frighten him. You’d put pressure on his family. You’d stage a false raid. You’d beat his brother-in-law. You’d take him and break him and then, Mr Moore, you’d use him to put me on the spot. And after that? After I was captured or dead? What would happen to James then?’

  ‘I never thought that far ahead,’ Moore said mildly.

  ‘Didn’t you? I suppose it would be the usual – discard him, or even shoot him. My God, man, I’ve heard you speak of honour. I’m surprised the word didn’t choke you.’ His eyes glinted as he spoke. He looked very calm and very dangerous.