by Tom Bradby
She walked down the stairs. She heard him go into the loo. She went back into the room and Paddy clearly saw the expression on her face. ‘Everything all right, Colette?’ She nodded and stared dumbly at the weapons piled on the table – three automatic rifles and three pistols, along with a selection of balaclavas, gloves and blue boiler suits.
She waited for the young man to come down and denounce her. She heard his footsteps on the stairs. He seemed to be coming so slowly and she wondered if he was thinking and turning over what he’d seen in his mind, deciding what to do.
She sensed he’d come into the room, but she didn’t look. She was leaning forward looking at the floor. She heard nothing. Nobody spoke.
Eventually, she looked up. The youth was staring at her. She wondered if it was suspicion she saw in his eyes, or fear, or both. She almost willed him to say something and get it over with, but Paddy stood up and said, ‘All right, let’s go.’
He scooped up the boiler suits and gloves and took hold of one of the AK-Ms, hiding it beneath his long coat. He led from the front and Colette followed him quickly, trying to get herself out of the room.
The red Sierra left first. As it moved off, she was sure the youth looked back towards her.
In the van, they waited. Colette began to replay the incident in her mind. She saw herself lying on the bed, gripping the phone. She tried to recall what she’d said, going through it word by word and second by second, and she tried to think of exactly when she had heard his footsteps on the stairs. She didn’t think he could have heard anything, since she’d spoken so quietly, but she’d seen the suspicion in his face.
Before she’d really noticed, they were moving. Paddy was driving and he was frowning, his face distorted by concentration.
Nobody spoke. They passed the security surveillance point situated on the top floor of the Divis Tower, a grubby, archaic block of flats on the edge of Republican west Belfast. Colette felt the fear grow still greater within her, but there were no security checkpoints and they drove past the Westlink and into the centre of town.
Next to her, Paddy seemed confident, and she tried to draw strength from it. Then she remembered what they were going to. For one brief, fleeting moment, she felt a sense of relief that the young man would probably be killed, but it was quickly gone.
She looked at Paddy again and wondered how he could seem so calm. She wanted to scream at him and plead with him to stop. She thought he looked like he was out for a Sunday-school drive.
They passed the city hall. The square that surrounded it was bustling with life, people hurrying to work with the early morning sun lightening their step. She looked at their carefree faces.
They turned onto the bottom of the Newtownards Road and entered the heart of Protestant east Belfast. Colette read the Loyalist graffiti on the wall to her left. ‘Our message to the Irish is simple,’ it said: ‘Hands off Ulster.’
At the top of the road, the houses were bigger and the hedges neater. They turned into Winston Gardens and Colette could see the red Sierra up ahead. The street was deserted but for an old woman walking her dog. She looked at her watch. It was eight twenty.
Paddy pulled the van into the side of the road, opposite the red Sierra, and quietly told Colette to move across to the driving seat. He clambered into the back. Colette did as she was told and then looked across at McGirr, who nodded, started up his engine and moved forward fractionally, so they were ready to stop Henderson’s Granada in front of the van. Paddy and Sean Campbell had taken out and loaded the AKs. Paddy pushed the back door slightly open. The old woman was moving slowly towards him.
The sound froze them all. It was from a window above. It was loud, the voice amplified by a megaphone.
‘You are surrounded. Please put down your weapons.’
Nobody moved. The street was eerily quiet. It was too quiet to be normal and Paddy swore at himself under his breath.
‘I repeat that you are surrounded. Please give yourselves up and we guarantee nobody will be hurt.’
Next to Paddy, Sean Campbell was breathing heavily. ‘The fuckers, the lousy fuckers. Somebody must have bloody touted.’
Paddy looked cautiously out of the back window. The old woman was still there, frozen.
The voice coming through the megaphone was calm and measured. ‘You cannot escape. You are surrounded on all sides. Please give yourselves up immediately.’
Paddy looked out of the window again. The street was deserted save for the old woman.
‘Please give yourselves up immediately. You cannot hope to escape. We know there are five of you, so please come out slowly with your hands raised clearly above your heads.’
In the front of the van, Colette sat absolutely still, unable to move, her mind and body paralysed. She wanted to scream at Paddy, but the words died before they reached her throat.
Beside Paddy, Sean Campbell was panicking, and with one sudden movement he threw the van doors open and dived out onto the street. The sound of the gunfire was deafening and he was dead before he hit the ground. Paddy lay flat on the floor and, as he did so, the guns sought out the van, peppering its thin metal sides with bullet holes. Then silence, the van still rocking gently from the force of the gunfire. Paddy turned to Colette. ‘Don’t move,’ he whispered.
The back of the van was open and Colette turned to see Campbell’s body lying still on the ground. The old woman was standing there, paralysed. She watched as Paddy lunged forward. The old woman was only yards away, but the few seconds it took him to get there seemed to last a lifetime. She thought every step should be his last.
Then suddenly, miraculously, he was there. The bullets stopped. He held the pistol to the woman’s head. ‘Stop. Stop, or I’ll kill her.’
They could have shot him clean. But their orders were to be careful. Nobody fired.
‘Let the van go.’
Silence.
‘Let the van go, or I’ll kill her.’
The street was eerily quiet again.
‘I don’t know where you are, but let the van go.’
Colette watched, transfixed. She hadn’t expected him to live. She knew they were dealing with the SAS and thought they would shoot him at any minute. He shouted at her, but she didn’t hear him.
‘Start the van.’
Still silence. She didn’t move.
‘Start the van.’
She didn’t react. Paddy started to pull the old woman slowly towards the van. He looked naked and vulnerable, but he shouted again, ‘For Christ’s sake!’ She stared at his back. She could almost feel the gunsights trained on him. She couldn’t understand why they were letting him live. He shouted again. ‘Start the fucking van!’
He edged slowly forwards. He could see Colette now sitting hunched over the wheel.
‘Start the bloody van. Start the van. START THE BLOODY VAN!’
Colette came alive. She fumbled for the keys in the ignition and started it up. The van limped forward.
Paddy waved at her. ‘Go on. Drive on. Get out.
He gestured to McGirr and began pushing the old woman towards the car. The red Sierra’s windscreen was peppered with bullet holes. The youth had been hit and looked as if he might be dead.
Paddy held the old woman tightly and threw himself backwards into the car. McGirr revved the engine furiously and slammed his foot on the accelerator. They lurched forward, bouncing off the line of cars ahead of them. Nobody fired.
Colette only got a few hundred yards. She turned left into Green Road and drove straight into one of the back-up platoons. Two soldiers were crouching by the side of the road and stood up as she approached. She brought the van gently to a halt, slowly opened the door and got out, with her hands pointing straight to the sky.
She moved forward gingerly, nervous until she heard a familiar voice.
‘Take it easy, lads.’
Ryan emerged and walked towards her. He took hold of her arm and gently guided her to the waiting car.
Inside,
she put her head in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably. Ryan drove off, but stopped a few streets further on.
She could feel him watching her, but he said nothing.
‘Bastards,’ she muttered, under her breath.
The air was still damp and Colette shivered. Mulgrew pointed at the house – number ten – though it was pretty obvious which one it was. The others all looked inhabited.
They were in New Barnsley, a collection of streets close to Fort Whiterock, beneath the mountain.
Mulgrew fumbled for the keys and she bent to pick up a little tricycle that lay abandoned at her feet. A few yards away, two stray dogs were dancing round each other, but other than that the street was deserted. She looked back to see the mountain above them and, just at that moment, two young boys came tearing down the road, one chasing the other and both screaming.
Mulgrew finally managed to find the right key and ushered her in. The damp inside was overwhelming. He pointed to the left and said, ‘Have a seat.’ There wasn’t much choice in the front room – a tatty brown sofa or a wooden chair that looked like it had been pulled out of a fire. She chose the chair and tried to ignore the smell of damp whilst she waited. The wallpaper and net curtains were filthy, the carpet worn through. She noticed the smell of the kitchen for the first time and tried to fight off the first feelings of nausea.
She waited, uncertain as to exactly what he was doing next door. She breathed in deeply and tried to think about what he was going to ask. She thought about what he had asked last time and shivered again.
She thought through how she had got back. She had walked. All the way? Yes, all the way. Avoiding the soldiers and patrols? Yes, coming slowly, taking the backstreets.
Of course, Mulgrew would have been waiting. She should have expected it. She wished now she had been less shocked. What in the hell was he doing next door? She breathed in deeply again and wondered what had happened to Paddy.
Mulgrew came in and smiled at her. He sat on the sofa – slightly lower than her, despite his greater height. He radiated friendliness this time and she found she had the strength to hate him. He was so smart, so trusted. I bet you’re a bloody tout, she thought.
‘What went wrong?’
She tried to concentrate, the hate suddenly evaporating. ‘I don’t know. I did what I was told, but they were waiting and … it was chaos … everything was confused. I—’
‘You abandoned the van?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Er … I don’t know. A few streets away. I thought they would be looking out for it. I thought I would be safer on foot.’
‘The area was crawling with soldiers.’
‘I know, that’s why—’
‘And none of them saw you? You didn’t run into any of them?’
‘I took the backstreets … I didn’t think they would be looking for someone on foot.’
‘Which streets?’
‘Er, I … from the city centre I could tell you, but not over there. I was kind of panicking. Wasn’t really thinking too clearly—’
‘You’ve no idea how you got out?’
‘I came down a lot of residential streets … big houses. I – I thought I was getting lost, but I kept going until I came to the top of the Castlereagh Road.’
‘And you didn’t see any soldiers.’
‘Saw a few Land Rovers racing past. But I kept me head down and kept walking.’
He shifted in his seat. ‘You weren’t down to be involved in this operation. When was the first you heard of it?’
She shivered. Paddy. ‘Is Paddy OK?’
‘Paddy’s fine. He got out too. I’ve spoken to him. When was the first you heard of this operation?’
A trap? I’ve spoken to him. What did he say? She could feel the adrenalin in her system. She shivered again.
‘Come on, Colette. It’s a simple question.’
‘What was it?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes. Sorry, it’s been a … I was just worrying about the kids, that’s all.’
‘I know, it must be difficult.’ A gentle voice now. ‘I was just asking you when you first heard of this attack.’
‘This morning. Paddy came to my room and woke me. I was dead worried about the kids and—’
‘That was the first time you heard?’
She nodded.
‘And nobody had mentioned anything before that?’
‘Not that I remember, no.’
‘Not that you remember?’
‘No, nobody said anything.’
Mulgrew smiled softly. ‘Thank you, Colette.’
O’Hanlon put up his hand. He was short, fat, ugly and bald. He was trying to be conciliatory. ‘Gerry, I’m not saying you have a tout. I’m not saying that. But you won’t deny it looks that way.’
They were walking up Whiterock. They had met outside the Rock Bar and had turned right up the hill, past the Sean Graham bookie’s shop. They were silent for a few moments as a man and a woman with a pram approached on their side of the pavement. The man said, ‘Morning, Gerry,’ and that was oddly satisfying. He couldn’t remember the man’s name.
But, as they turned right onto a piece of wasteland, he felt angry. This morning’s operation had been a fiasco, certainly, but the men from the IRA’s notorious ‘nutting squad’ had wasted no time. It wasn’t any of their bloody business, but he knew he was going to have to be tactful and that was the worst of it.
He stopped and they gathered in a tight circle. ‘It’ll take time to look into,’ he said. ‘Paddy’s in hiding. We think he might have been tailed beforehand.’
‘Well, we’ll wait. But this morning was a disaster,’ O’Hanlon said.
‘I don’t believe there’s a tout in Paddy’s unit.’
‘Oh, come on, McVeigh. Just because he’s your brother.’ O’Hanlon’s voice was taunting. Gerry’s instinct was to hit him, but he held his arms by his side. O’Hanlon was a leadership man, after all. Not long now, Gerry told himself.
‘We’ll look into it,’ he said.
‘Nobody is above suspicion, Gerry,’ O’Hanlon said. ‘Nobody.’
At that moment, there was the blast of a siren and two police Land Rovers charged up Whiterock. They were low on their wheels and Gerry could tell they were heavily laden. Without a word, they broke up and dispersed to different corners of the wasteland, away from the road.
They’d been waiting a few minutes and conversation had petered out. They were at Castlereagh, waiting to see the head of the source unit. A man turned into the corridor and slowed as he approached. He obviously knew Allen.
‘You waiting to see the chief inspector?’ He was pointing at the door.
Allen nodded, sniffing as he did so. ‘He’s taking his time.’
The man was tall – in fact, Ryan noticed, they were all about the same height. He had dark hair, a moustache and a large nose that had very obviously been broken several times. He looked at Ryan. ‘Is this your friend from MI5?’
Allen gestured at him with an open palm. ‘David Ryan – Johnny Brogan.’
They shook hands and Brogan turned back to Allen. ‘He’ll be all over you like a rash. The chief has already been on the phone to him—’
At that moment, the door opened and a man came out. Ryan missed what he said and found himself concentrating on the look on Allen’s face. It was something between shock and surprise. The man who had come out was obviously pleased and he disappeared off down the corridor with Brogan as Allen and Ryan were taken in. Ryan didn’t think about it further. The chief inspector was, as Brogan had said he would be, all over them like a rash.
Afterwards, Allen suggested they go for a drink and, as he drove out of Castlereagh, Ryan thought he looked pensive. He was silent until they were crossing Albert Bridge.
‘Did you see the man who came out before we went in?’
‘Yes. He looked pretty happy.’
‘He’s a handler.’
&nb
sp; Allen said that with such certainty and weight that Ryan felt he should understand exactly what he meant. He waited, hoping Allen would expand.
‘Now why would he be so bloody happy today?’
‘Perhaps he was in about something else,’ Ryan said.
Allen looked at him and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
They went for a drink in Cutter’s Wharf, a bar by the edge of the Lagan. It was big and modern inside and they took a table by one of the windows in the corner. Ryan watched as two rowing boats raced past. It was an odd sight, he thought. It didn’t fit with his mental image of Belfast at all.
Allen was distracted and conversation was hard going. Ryan thought about what Allen had said. He’s a handler. Now why would he be so bloody happy today?
Ryan thought it was better to look stupid than fail to understand. He asked Allen what he had meant. Allen paused for a few seconds before answering, his face thoughtful.
‘Well, the thing is. We have a source, right? We get some information and we prevent an attack and everyone thinks we’re bloody wonderful. So far so good. But then we see that another handler is being congratulated.’
Allen looked round to check that no-one was listening before he continued. ‘Another handler means another source. The fact that he is being congratulated today, about the same attack, means there is every chance the other source is close to ours.’
Allen leaned forward and Ryan smelled the beer on his breath. ‘Is the other source better or worse, that is what you have to ask. And if suspicion grows, will they get rid of one to save the other?’
‘Who is the other?’
Allen laughed. ‘We’re not likely to find out. Someone close to her? Could be. Local quartermaster supplying the arms? You’d never know.’
Ryan looked round again. It was still early and they were on their own in the corner. He felt queasy now and wondered if all this was just paranoia. He was relieved when Allen said he had to get home. He finished his bottle of Budweiser and said he would walk.
