Shadow Dancer

by Tom Bradby

  It gave him a sense of power. He knew the time was right, so he’d brought his man from London to Dublin to brief him away from prying eyes.

  He could tell that Eddie McIlhatton was nervous, but he wasn’t surprised. He’d grown used to being feared by his subordinates.

  He was direct and businesslike. ‘You have the passes?’

  McIlhatton pushed his hand into the coat of his jacket and pulled out a brown envelope. ‘The pictures the travel agency sent weren’t the best.’

  Gerry took the envelope and pulled out the white passes. There were three: one for him, one for Paddy and one for Colette. All had neck chains attached to them. ‘They’re OK. You used the man I said?’

  McIlhatton nodded.

  ‘Guns?’

  He nodded again. ‘I’ve had them for months. I can deliver them whenever you need them.’

  Gerry could tell there was something else on his mind. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘It’s just, I’ve heard nothing from anyone here in Dublin, that’s all.’

  Gerry turned to him, his voice icy calm. ‘You forget about that, you hear? You’ll take your orders from me and only me. There’s no need to have any connection with Dublin at this stage. I don’t want there to be any risk of this going wrong.’

  ‘But I should have heard something, shouldn’t I, I mean with the current climate and everything … they said no operations.’

  Gerry cut him off, his face twisting into a sneer as he spoke. ‘Forget Dublin.’

  ‘I just don’t want no trouble.’

  ‘Forget it. Drop it. You’ll take your orders from me.’

  The boy nodded glumly and Gerry went on, explaining that the operation would be carried out by himself and Paddy – both guns vital in the split second they would have – with Colette to cover them as they fired. He drove the boy through the many questions he needed to ask. He wanted to know how easy it would be to get in, what the layout was – exactly – and how they would get out.

  They were there for hours, the boy producing maps and diagrams of remarkable detail.

  Gerry thought he was just a boy. A shyster and a coward. But he had to acknowledge he’d done his homework and done it well.

  They summoned Paddy to a house in Ballymurphy. He was expecting Gerry and Mulgrew and the Belfast Brigade staff, and when he saw O’Hanlon standing in the kitchen he swore under his breath and looked down at the floor.

  He knew he should relax and play it cool.

  But O’Hanlon was the enemy.

  He didn’t have time to think. On instinct, he turned and ran, but Chico got to him before he reached the door. There was another man from east Tyrone whose face he recognized and they kicked his legs out from under him, took hold of his hair and pushed his face into the grey carpet. He heard O’Hanlon’s voice in his ear. He whispered, ‘Big mistake, McVeigh. Big mistake. Only the guilty run.’

  They carried him up the stairs and this time he didn’t fight. He knew what was happening now – he could scarcely believe it, but he was too old and experienced to kid himself about what it all meant – and he decided to save his strength. He had a nasty feeling he might need it.

  They took him to an upstairs bedroom and tied him to a small wooden chair. Chico pulled the ropes tight and he winced with pain. They were taking no chances.

  The man from east Tyrone sat silently opposite him and smoked. Paddy could hear Chico and O’Hanlon talking in the room below.

  Paddy’s initial reaction was anger rather than fear. He knew he had impeccable credentials and he could still scarcely believe he was being held by a jumped-up lowlife like O’Hanlon. He promised himself several times that, as soon as he got out, he’d finish O’Hanlon for good, no matter what the consequences.

  The man from east Tyrone sat and watched him, resting a Browning pistol on his knee with the barrel pointing towards his stomach.

  Paddy ignored him.

  But as the minutes stretched into hours, the silence began to grate on his nerves. Doubt began to creep into his mind. He’d assumed Gerry would arrive sooner or later and the whole thing would be quickly sorted out, but now he began to wonder where Gerry was. He thought Gerry and Colette might already have left Dublin for Paris.

  And there was another thing; he thought this might all be tied up with what they’d been planning, in which case they’d been betrayed. But, he asked himself, by whom? Only the three of them knew the operation was underway, and the idea that Colette would have betrayed them was quite unthinkable.

  He was confused. He couldn’t think clearly, but it was getting dark and his instincts told him to get out. He looked at the man from east Tyrone, who was still smoking. ‘Give us a smoke,’ he said.

  The man thought for a minute before picking up the gold packet of Benson & Hedges, lighting a cigarette and putting it gingerly in his mouth. He was a big man, fat even, with sorrowful eyes and pink cheeks. Paddy spoke quietly. ‘You’ll be dead when I get out of here.’

  The man’s voice was soft and slightly camp. ‘Who says you’ll be getting out?’

  Paddy shivered involuntarily. He felt the first pangs of fear. ‘Don’t be an arsehole.’

  ‘It’s not my business, I’m not the boss, but from what I hear this is going to be a one-way ticket for you.’

  Paddy had wanted to be angry. He had wanted to frighten the man, to intimidate him and use him to get out, but he felt the certainty draining out of his body. He was beginning to feel genuinely afraid. ‘Untie my hands. I need a piss.’

  The man shook his head slowly. ‘You think I was born yesterday?’ He gestured with the pistol. ‘Piss in your pants.’

  Paddy fell silent. He knew this was serious. There was no respect and no caution. He thought the man was right; this was going to be a one-way ticket. But he was confused and uncertain. If they knew about the attack in London, had they taken Gerry and Colette too? He didn’t think they could kill them all. He didn’t think they could get away with killing Gerry.

  The night came on quickly and nobody inside the house turned on any lights. As the darkness descended, Paddy’s fear gathered force and, by the time they came for him, all the early defiance had disappeared. They put a hood over his head and retied his hands carefully before helping him down the stairs and pushing him roughly onto the floor of a van. Paddy felt one of the men climb in beside him and he felt his sphincter muscles weaken as his fear grew again. He felt like he was swimming in darkness and his mind already seemed to be spinning out of control.

  As the van started off he wanted to scream, but he knew it would be useless.

  He knew the game and tried desperately to keep himself under control.

  He told himself he was a big wheel. He told himself they’d no proof of anything. He told himself he was a hard man and this was just like the peelers: say nothing and they’ll prove nothing. But whatever he tried to think, he couldn’t convince himself he wasn’t frightened.

  O’Hanlon drove fast and Paddy began to feel the first waves of sickness. He didn’t know where they were going, but he thought they would take him to south Armagh.

  That is what he would have done. South Armagh was the safest. Wherever it was, he was sick long before they arrived, the liquid dribbling down his chin and the smell festering and foul.

  Eventually, they seemed to pull off the tarmac road and onto a potholed track. After a few uncomfortable minutes, they stopped. Paddy heard the doors open and felt the hands taking hold of him.

  They dragged him inside and strapped him to a chair. There was no heating in the house and it was extremely cold. They pulled down his trousers and his underpants, but left the hood on. He was still feeling groggy and he didn’t fight. They left him for a while and he heard them unloading the van. He heard a few bottles clinking together and he thought they must have brought supplies with them. He thought they might be preparing for a long stay.

  They came to him later, though Paddy had no notion of the time. When he heard O’Hanlon’s soft
voice, he felt a brief surge of anger. He tensed his muscles, as if consciously trying to break loose. ‘Go fuck yourself, O’Hanlon,’ he said quietly.

  Inside the hood the smell was overwhelming and he had to stop himself from retching again.

  The voice was steady, soft and pedantic. ‘That’s not the right way to talk, Paddy. That’s not going to help, is it?’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’ He felt dizzy again.

  ‘Look, we want to make this easy on you. Just tell us everything and we will. Don’t be hard on yourself.’

  ‘Fuck off.’ Every time he spoke, Paddy breathed in deeper and almost retched.

  ‘Easy, Paddy, easy. We’re going to be here a long time, you and I. We’ll start with the simple. You talk nicely and we’ll take off the hood. You go on like this and we’ll keep it on. See?’

  Paddy was silent for a moment. ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘OK, so the hood stays on. We’ve got plenty of time, Paddy. Plenty of time.’

  Paddy felt the anger beginning to fade and the horror return, but he forced himself to sound defiant. ‘You’re fucking dead, O’Hanlon. You’re fucking dead.’

  The voice was icy in the darkness. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Paddy heard them go and, as the minutes ticked by, he tried to keep a check on the time. It was so hard to keep a sense of perspective on anything in the darkness, but he’d received his anti-interrogation training from the IRA and he knew he had to keep track of the time and of what they were trying to do to him. He knew he had to concentrate on their tactics and fight them minute by minute. He began to believe he might yet win. He was sure they had no proof and, even if they did, he didn’t think it was likely to be that serious an offence. He didn’t think they’d get away with killing him.

  The thoughts came tumbling through his mind; perhaps O’Hanlon was a police or MI5 agent and had been tipped off by them. Perhaps one of his conversations with Gerry had been recorded and O’Hanlon had been instructed by his handlers to remove the plotters by any means available. His confusion and uncertainty grew.

  He thought they had been gone about two hours – that was his guess – and when they came back, the voice in his ear was just the same. ‘I hope we feel a bit more co-operative now. I hope we’ve had time to think things through.’

  The stench was worse than ever. ‘Gerry’ll skin you alive.’

  The voice was sarcastic, mocking and self-satisfied and it sent a shiver down his spine. ‘Gerry? Gerry? I don’t think so. Gerry’s been helping us. Gerry helped us with the last little test.’

  Paddy’s fear was real now.

  ‘Gerry was very concerned about it all. Indeed he was. Didn’t believe it was you, of course. No, don’t worry, he was very loyal. Going to be very hard for him to accept his brother’s a tout.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  The voice was even more pedantic now, as if he were a child. ‘Tut, tut. Let’s give up the pretence, shall we? Gerry was very helpful. He told you about an arms movement into Hugo Street, but the mistake you made was that he only told you. Nobody else knew about it because it wasn’t really happening. It was a test, Paddy, a test. Your handlers weren’t very clever, I must say, staging a roadblock like that right next to Hugo Street and telling the media it was a chance discovery. Our little dickers, they saw it all. Dear me no, not very bright. I don’t think they can care much about you, Paddy, because they weren’t very subtle …’

  Paddy tried to shut out the voice. He wanted time to think. Nothing made any sense.

  They still waited. Colette stood up again and lit another cigarette. They’d been here two hours now and her nervousness had increased with every passing minute.

  She could see the truth written on Gerry’s face. There was trouble. Something had happened. Paddy wasn’t coming.

  It was almost warm in Paris, the late evening sun filtering through a straggling cloud and falling upon the left side of her face.

  She watched the children playing in the small sandpit in front of her and without realizing it she found herself smiling. She’d never been to Paris before and she was overwhelmed by what she’d seen: the beautiful boulevards, the cafés spilling out onto the streets, the noise and the bustle. She sat back down on the bench and listened to the heartbeat of the city.

  There were few people in the small garden at the bottom of rue Mouffetard and she got up again to wander past the fruit stalls that seemed to run all the way up the centre of the avenue. Gerry watched her go, but said nothing.

  As she walked, she found herself fantasizing about being here without fear and panic. Maybe just shopping, or … even just walking around. Maybe with the Brit…

  Stupid notion.

  She turned round and, when she got back to the garden, Gerry looked irritated and nervous. They walked to the hotel in silence and returned to their room.

  They sat on the bed and played cards until it was dark outside. Gerry said little, but he was being kind to her. Eventually, as she was picking up a card, she asked him, ‘Are we going to die?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘It’s not a suicide mission?’

  ‘I don’t believe in them.’ He looked at her (she noticed how dirty his glasses were again and thought they hid so much) and raised the corner of his mouth, as though not quite able to smile. ‘You’ve got responsibilities, so have I. I wouldn’t do it to you.’

  ‘I don’t think I could stand going to prison again,’ she said.

  ‘You won’t have to.’

  ‘I think I want this to be the last, you know …’

  He nodded. ‘You’ve done your shift.’ He chucked down his card and touched her shoulder. ‘We need’, he said, ‘to get some sleep.’

  She went to brush her teeth – Gerry didn’t bother – and then stripped down to her T-shirt and knickers and came to lie next to him on the bed, pulling the sheets and blanket over her and trying not to touch his body. It was cold and she found herself shivering. Gerry was already asleep, or seemed to be, and she could hear him snoring gently.

  She found herself thinking about being here without him. She thought about being in this room with the Brit. She wondered what he was doing.

  She wondered if he knew she’d gone yet. She considered his anger and didn’t know how it affected her.

  She got up and looked back at the bed. Gerry was still sleeping, naked but for his underpants and lying face down, with the sheet and blanket wrapped loosely around him. She put on her sweater and went to the window and looked down on the rue des Gobelins. It was deserted and quiet. She stared out across the dilapidated rooftops for several minutes and then she turned back to look at Gerry.

  Justify yourself, you bastard, she thought.

  She wondered if he was the price of freedom, but knew in her heart that it was so much more than that. So much history. She thought of the dreams that had plagued her and tried to get some kind of picture of what she was. She felt a deep sense of fatalism again and wondered if it was best that way.

  She was frightened about tomorrow and yet a part of her said, You can save yourself.

  Another part told her that it was over. ‘You’re a dead woman,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PADDY TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT, BUT HE COULDN’T TEAR HIS mind away from the fact that he needed a piss.

  He felt like an idiot, sitting there with his trousers and underpants round his ankles. He couldn’t see his naked legs, but he felt the humiliation. It was a small thing, but it lowered his resistance and made him feel vulnerable.

  He needed a piss and he was hungry – and cold. It was unbelievably cold. He could only guess at the time. It was morning, perhaps. He thought it had to be morning because he was very tired. He desperately wanted to sleep, but every time he tried to find something to rest his head on, somebody shook him and pushed him back into the chair.

  More than anything, he hated the darkness of the hood.

  He decided he could
hold it in no longer and he let the water come gushing out of his penis in a thick warm stream which he could feel splashing against his legs. Just as he finished, he heard the voice again. ‘Dear oh dear. No self-control, have we?’

  He didn’t respond. He felt weak and confused and the nighttime hours had brought little enlightenment.

  ‘Are you going to help us now? Can we conduct this in a civilized fashion? I think we probably can. Take off the man’s hood, Chico, and let him see daylight.’

  Paddy felt a huge surge of relief as the sack came off and he was able to breathe in clean, cold, fresh air. For a moment, he kept his eyes shut and savoured the sense of freedom. He opened them slowly. All three of them were there, O’Hanlon standing in the centre of the room in front of him, his legs apart and his hands on his hips. He waved one hand in front of his nose. ‘What a smell.’

  Paddy saw he was in a bedroom. O’Hanlon sat down on the small double bed, crossed his legs, lit a cigarette and looked at him. ‘Now I hope we are feeling co-operative – or that sack goes right back on again.’

  Paddy looked at him blankly. He was still relishing the fresh air and didn’t trust himself to speak without causing offence. O’Hanlon took a drag on his cigarette and then waved it in Paddy’s direction. ‘Let us start at the beginning. When were you recruited?’

  Paddy stared at him without speaking. O’Hanlon’s expression betrayed a flash of irritation. ‘Let’s get on with it, or the sack goes on again – for good.’

  He was speaking to him as if he were a child, but for the moment Paddy felt too tired to be frightened. Against his better judgement, he found himself saying, as he shook his head, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  O’Hanlon leaned forward, his face suddenly animated and alive. ‘I want to make this easy for you, Paddy, believe me I do. But you’re making it very hard. You’re going to make me hurt you and I don’t want that. I’ll ask the question again. Who recruited you and when?’

  Paddy shook his head. ‘Look, you can go on like this, you can finish me off, but you’ll not get nothing out of me, because there’s nothing to tell.’