‘Sorry for the inconvenience son, but we can’t be too careful eh! I sense that you resent having to wear the blindfold Billy. It is as much for your protection as my own.’
‘Aye I know what ye mean,’ was Clements grudging but unconvincing reply. For his part, the commander chose to ignore the younger man’s tone.
‘I hear you are taking a wee trip Billy.’
‘Aye John, is there a problem?’ replied Billy defensively.
‘Steady now Billy, there’s no problem. The only complaint that I have is communication, or should I say the lack of it. What I am trying to say son, is that we have procedures. It takes serious study to set up an operation. Planning can be tedious and take weeks to finalise. We have such a project pending. You Billy were to be heavily involved and my only concern is that the forward planning could have turned out to be an exercise in futility. The whole operation could have been seriously jeopardised if news of your excursion had not came to light when it did.’
‘I didn’t think I was doing any harm,’ replied Clements morosely.
‘No Billy, no harm at all. It is after all, your first trip abroad. You weren’t to know about the possible repercussions of your actions.’ Reassured, Billy apologised and asked if his trip would be cancelled. ‘No no son, on the contrary. You can still go and kill two birds with one stone; as a matter of fact I have a wee package that I want you to deliver. It’s a letter and it is addressed to a chap in Belgium. For security reasons it would be better if it was dispatched from Spain, that’s all.’
‘I see, what’s in it?’
‘Oh just correspondence Billy, a greeting between friends.’
‘Where is it?’
‘All in good time boy, all in good time. You remember Stan Curtis from the Ballygomartin?’
‘Aye he’s got a wee fruit shop, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes indeed, that is the very man. I want you to visit his establishment on Tuesday morning. Ask him if he has any Spanish oranges. He will reply no but I’ve got some nice Jaffas. Buy four and leave, OK?’
‘Is that all John?’
‘Champion Billy.’
‘I mean, is that all your goin to tell me?I ask for oranges that presumably accompany a letter. I take the letter and post it in Madrid.”
Hundred per cent Billy,’ affirmed the commander. ‘Do I detect a note of derision son? You seem a bit, put out?’
‘Put out, is it? Ye’d think I was goin to the sweetie shop for Smarties John. You’re the head of intelligence. I am a man who is about to turn twenty-nine,’ growled Billy with undisguised frustration.
‘Easy now son, you have me at a loss here. Don’t be talking in half sentences boy, spit it out,’ snapped John.
‘Okay ye asked for it, so here it is. I have been a member of this organisation for fourteen years. I have robbed and killed because I believe in what is right. What I am tryin te say is that I am not a child. I can kill for ye but I can’t even have a gander at yer face. Ye trust me te do yer biddin but ye don’t trust me enough te tell me what is in the package I’m carryin.’
‘Enough Billy, I don’t have to explain myself to you. My methods have kept our cell clean; not one operative has been arrested. No other team has a record for security like ours. The blindfold is your insurance Billy. If the RUC pick you up during an op., you will be grilled for days at the ‘Castle,’ and what the eye doesn’t see. The Castle is a nickname for the Castlereagh Holding Centre Belfast where terrorists are interrogated. Well, enough said. Furthermore Billy, in future don’t go booking holidays without letting me know in advance,’ he added, menacingly. ‘You are not stupid Billy, you know as well as I do, how to pass on info. Just think in future. Now have a pleasant trip and we’ll say no more.’ He tapped the now subdued Clements on the shoulder and led him back to the car. As on other occasions Billy was left feeling vulnerable and alone as he stood blindfolded and shivering in the driving rain. The Vauxhall rolled noiselessly to a halt beside him and the driver got out. Considerably more deferential but still smarting from his earlier rebuke, he assisted his passenger into the car. After insuring that Billy was comfortably ensconced, his conveyer began opening the driver’s door but before he could enter the vehicle he was brought to a halt by Johns voice.
‘Ray,’ he called, ‘Come over to the fence.’ A powerful beam blinded him. Reflexes forced the driver’s hand up automatically to protect his eyes from the torch’s offensive glare.
‘Take your hand away from your face son,’ commanded the voice. Ray obediently complied. ‘That’s better. Now, you seem to have a little difficulty interpreting your station in life boy. I am going to advise you free of charge. You must have some idea who you are speaking to. Is that right son?’ The driver answered with a timid nod. ‘I see that you do. It should be obvious, even to the likes of you, when someone is summoned to see me, it would follow that they are of some import and therefore command a degree of respect. Have you ever been summoned to a meeting with me?’
‘No sir,’ replied the man warily.
‘Enough said, now you just drive this gentleman back to where he can catch a taxi home, you follow?’
‘Yes John,’ he answered, glad to be dismissed. That wee prick Billy must have squealed on me, the man known as Ray erroneously assumed.
Jesus he must be a bit special all the same. They drove in silence back to North Street, where Billy left without a word to catch a loyalist Black Taxi up the Shankill road.
CHAPTER 7
Maurice Scott was tall, thin, sallow and slightly stooped. Unfortunately for him, he had a demeanour that matched his appearance. He also endured the misfortune to be born with distinctively rat-like features. An elongated nose gave the impression that it was a weapon of mass destruction to be avoided at all costs. The chin was equally tapered adding to his woes. A humourless man, who was a source of derision in his place of work, Scott had no friends amongst his colleagues and to their knowledge, none outside. To put it bluntly, he was a social leper with little to no chance of ascending the ladder of success in his chosen profession. The RUC is a very tight knit organisation and if a man does not have contacts or membership of the right lodge, he would have more chance of winning the national lottery than gaining promotion. Such was the case with Maurice Scott. He had long since accepted his fate, having been frequently passed over for promotion. An embarrassment to his superiors, Maurice had been shunted into a niche known as, ‘The Labyrinth,’ or criminal records branch at Castlereagh Holding Centre. The man was, in essence, the perfect choice for the job. His one passion was the computer and he never tired of using one. His modest three-bedroom semi was a monument to information technology. It was his greatest love forsaking all others, including women. One bedroom was a library containing every relevant textbook on the subject of computers. Another was filled with the latest IBM equipment, which he constantly upgraded. He subscribed to virtually every magazine dealing with the subject and most of his leisure time was spent experimenting with his system. A man of regimen, Maurice followed the same procedure every evening. At the end of his shift he meticulously cleaned and covered his terminal, returned each disc to its appropriate receptacle and never left a door or drawer in his domain unlocked. At six thirty precisely, he arrived at The Stormont Inn where he would consume one pint of Guinness and a large Jameson’s Whiskey. Maurice Scott was troubled. Lately he had become disillusioned with his lot. To relieve tension he browsed through the Belfast Telegraph, which he bought at Anne’s Newsagents, as he had done six days a week, for the past sixteen years. ‘More fucking riots,’ he read, silently. ‘Both sides are fucking idiots. If they’re not burning buses up the Falls, they’re throwing stones on the Shankill.’ His eye caught sight of an angry youth in the top right hand corner of a picture featuring rioting taking place somewhere in West Belfast. Maurice smiled ruefully having recognised the boy, ‘Christ there’s
<
br /> that wee bollocks O’Feagh right in the thick of it,’ he smirked aloud.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Nathan Black.’
‘What?’ asked Maurice, looking up to see a strange face smiling back at him.
‘Oh sorry, I was just thinking out loud,’ replied Scott.
‘Happens to the best of us,’ sympathised Nathan amiably.
‘Aye,’ agreed Maurice, returning to his paper.
‘It’s awfully quiet in here. I suppose it livens up later,’ said Nathan, trying to draw the other into conversation.
‘I wouldn’t know. I only come in for a pint after work,’ came the surly reply. The man was obviously uninterested in making a new acquaintance. Black shrugged and went back to his novel. Scott left the bar shortly after with no further acknowledgement of Nathan who chuckled inwardly thinking, what a prick. A similar reaction as most people had upon encountering the unfortunate Scott.
‘Never mind him sir,’ chirped the barman, whose name was emblazoned on a pristine tunic. Giles, it heralded, making sure that every patron was on first name terms with their cheery attendant.
‘Strange chap isn’t he, er Giles,’ replied Black, pointedly reading the stewards decal. ‘Is he one of your regulars then?’
‘That he is sir but don’t judge the rest of us by that auld sod. And in answer to your question, yes it does liven up. Around nine o’clock or so the pun… I mean patrons start coming in.’
‘I see, thank you Giles. Look, why don’t you have one on me,’ added Nathan generously, warming to the lads pleasing manner.
‘Thanks sir, I’ll have an orange if you don’t mind. I’m like auld Maurice, can’t drink on duty.’
‘Maurice?’ inquired Nathan.
‘Yes, the old blurt who just left,’ smiled Giles.
‘Oh sorry, I was miles away. On duty you say. What is he a traffic warden or something?’
‘Shit no, sorry, no he’s in the RUC.’
‘Your joking. He doesn’t look like a policeman.’
‘I know what you mean. I think he works in records or something.’
‘Oh I see, put the drinks on my bill please Giles. I’m in room three zero two and here’s a fiver. Have a drink when you’re off duty. Perhaps I’ll see you later?’ added Nathan, waving over his shoulder, as he exited the bar.
‘Thank you sir, see ya.’ Interesting thought the young barman as he watched Black depart.
Nathan Black could not believe his luck, here he was scarcely two days in the city and already he had made contact with an RUC man, from criminal records no less, things were on the up and up. Their contact had been peripheral and fleeting but it was an icebreaker and the lad did say that he was a regular. Not very security conscious for a policeman but fortunate all the same.
CHAPTER 8
Preparations for the trip had gone well and Tullen was feeling pleased with himself. ‘Four days away from this shit heap is just what the doctor ordered,’ he enthused, grinning at the thought. ‘Auld Gerry wouldn’t be too pleased at Erin being described as a shit heap.’ Still chuckling, he continued with his task. Packing, as with every undertaking, was approached with meticulous detail. Each item had a place and this was adhered to with a precision bordering on obsession. He committed to memory the exact location of each garment or toiletry. Tullen was a suspicious man and by his own admission a loner, affording few an insight to his personal life. He was a mirthless individual whom, to the casual observer, remained aloof. To many of his acquaintances he was, by all intents and purposes, a snob. His one real passion was football, secondary only to the ultimate cause. Tullen was determined to see Ireland united under democratic rule. His goal was to see the people of Ireland integrated as one nation. He held no truck with the Catholic Church and determined that its influence would wane once independence was achieved. The British could call it what they liked, to Connor Tullen it was war and a war that would be won in his lifetime. If he were to die bringing about that aim so be it but he would not be compromised by the mistakes of a third party. Hence the attitude of mistrust toward his peers. Connor was a planner, involved in decision making. He was aware that his life belonged to the movement therefore, unlike Clements, he had informed the supreme council of his travel plans well in advance. Clearing his overseas trip was a priority to Tullen, who left nothing to chance.
As if by clockwork, Maurice Scott tramped into the lounge positioned himself at his usual seat and ordered his usual drink. As always, he opened the daily at the small ads section. Scanning the column dedicated to computers he barely acknowledged Black’s greeting, grudgingly returning it with a disinterested nod. Christ this isn’t going to be easy, thought Black. This has got to be one of the most obnoxious creatures that I have ever had the misfortune to deal with.
‘Sorry to be a nuisance but I could not help noticing that you have opened your newspaper at the small ads section.’
‘Yes,’ answered Scott dryly, dismissing the Englishman as if he was a fly whose sole purpose in life was to annoy the paying public. Ignoring the other man’s off handed reply, Nathan ploughed on. He was not about to be outdone by this unreceptive oaf. ‘I don’t mean to be rude but I am in a bit of a quandary.’
‘Oh,’ replied Scott, showing slightly more interest, he was a public servant after all. Encouraged Black forged on. ‘You see,’ he continued. ‘I’m in the computer business and I have to visit the province on a regular basis. Scott’s ears pricked and he rose to the bait like a demented trout. ‘Computers you say?’ bubbled Scott, at last giving Black his full attention.
‘Well yes,’ answered Nathan, in mock agitation. ‘But it is accommodation I wish to ask you about old man. It appears that I’ll be commuting between here and the mainland on a regular basis. Staying three or four days at a time. To tell you the truth I’m a little old fashioned and although this is a beautiful hotel,’ he went on, smiling apologetically at the barman. ‘It is just that, an hotel. I like to prepare my own cuisine on occasion, as well as preferring a modicum of privacy.’
‘Yes I appreciate your dilemma but I fail to see what it has to do with me,’ Scott informed him, losing interest and returning to his paper.
‘Please excuse my persistence but I really am in a bind. What I am trying so inadequately to ascertain is how well you know the area?’
‘I was brought up here. Know it like the back of my hand?’
‘Splendid, Carven, Nicholas Carven,’ lied the Englishman, extending his hand.
‘Maurice Scott,’ proffered his warily.
‘If you will please bear with me, I have a few addresses of private houses and I was wondering if you could steer me in the right direction.’
‘ Oh I see,’ said Scott, beginning to understand what was being asked of him.
‘Look, let my buy you another and perhaps we could browse through my list. I’d be awfully grateful,’ pleaded Black..
‘I don’t usually stay here long, I’m not really a drinker, if you know what I mean,’ replied Scott uncomfortably. Unused to being solicited by strangers, he wanted to terminate the discussion as soon as civility would permit.
‘Of course, of course Maurice. May I call you Maurice?
‘That’s all right, Mr. Carven.’
‘No please my name is Nicholas. At the risk of being too familiar, could you please call me Nick. My friends call me Nick and I do hope we shall be friends,’ pressed Black, sensing the Irishman begin to waver. In spite of himself Maurice Scott was flattered. He was unused to people treating him in this manner and he was actually beginning to enjoy the attention.
‘All right then,’ he agreed, dropping his guard with a reasonable attempt at a smile. ‘I’ll have another pint if you don’t mind.’ The young barman was flabbergasted. This guy must be the world’s greatest salesman, he mused, confining his thoughts to silence, altho
ugh he did permit himself a wry smile, as he continued with his chores in the usual practised manner. Today had been the first occasion that he could recall Scott pass the time of day with anyone and here he was actually being, for want of a better word, friendly. The policeman took a long swallow and holding out his large hand asked to see the list of possible addresses. ‘Now let me see,’ he began. ‘Hmm Ladas Drive that’s a bit noisy. Tends to be a busy sort of a road, car showrooms and the like. I don’t think you would want to stay there. One question, what kind of place did you have in mind? I mean are you going to stay in digs or is it a flat that you require. There are a few good guesthouses around this area.
‘As I was saying earlier, I was looking for a place with a kitchen facility, perhaps a one bedroom apartment.’
‘Well you need look no further, for right in this very vicinity there are numerous flats to let. As a matter of fact, you could take a walk with me right now and I’ll show you a few. That is if you have nothing on at the moment.’ Black feigned self-scrutiny.
‘Why I’m fully dressed,’ he chuckled.
‘No I meant if you weren’t doing anything,’ stuttered Scott, in obvious embarrassment.
‘Only joking Maurice, I know what you meant.’
‘Oh sorry, I’m not used to the English sense of humour.’ Black’s attempt at levity sailed inexorably over the policeman’s head.
‘On the contrary, it is I who should apologise. Here you are a complete stranger, willing to give up your time to assist me and what thanks do you receive, flippancy. Of course I’ll come with you and I can’t thank you enough for the offer. Lead on McDuff!’ he exclaimed jovially, before downing the last of his lager.
Seeds of Evil Page 3
