Seeds of Evil

by Robert Kitchen

  Connor Tullen was summoned to a meeting similar to that of Clements’, In fact the context was virtually identical. He too voiced his doubts as to the council’s interpretation of the events at the post office. His superior listened intently to what he had to say and agreed with most of Tullen’s misgivings but retained an open mind, refusing to disregard the collective experience of so many leading lights in the movement. ‘The one that survived Con, yer man Blackmore, he’s connected. Word is that he was involved in a couple of murders. It seems that the peelers have been watchin the bastard for a while now. By all accounts he’s a right slippery bugger. Seems he was able to give them the slip on several occasions. Question is, why did they single out Riley? A bloody civilian postman, the guy was a nobody?’

  ‘Do ye think Riley could have been a tout?’ offered Tullen.

  ‘Now there’s an interestin suggestion,’ replied Daley, tugging at his neatly trimmed beard. ‘It certainly is Con. That would explain a lot. Let me have a wee word with intelligence, see if they can come up with anything fishy regarding the deceased. Maybe somebody he was close to in the organisation got topped. Yes that is a possibility. Yer not just a pretty face now are ye? In the meantime, we’ll put out a statement, letting the public know that Riley was not and never has been a member. His family want to bury him in private. They have made it known that nationalists are unwelcome at the interment. We’ll just let the public know how sorry we are that an innocent man was brutally murdered by sectarian thugs. That we fully understandand comply with the widow’s wishes. What do you think?’

  ‘That should be worth a few dollars when we pass the hat round in Boston,’ quipped Tullen.’

  ‘Yer one of life’s sceptics Connor me boy but yer dead right, so ye are. Aye there wont be a dry eye in the house when the Yanks read how an innocent Catholic was gunned down by the hated Loyalists,’ chuckled the commander.

  CHAPTER 20

  Moira had accompanied Tullen on the drive back to Belfast. They had made love in a field at the top of the Glenshane Pass. As he held her close she sensed a tension in her man. The unavoidable had arrived. She owed him an explanation and the time had come to deliver. Hopelessly she waited, praying for her lover to speak but his silence was like a rock pressing on her soul. ‘Connor darlin I had te go,’ she began. As Tullen turned to face her she held her fingers to his lips. ‘Please don’t speak until I have said what I have to say. I have loved ye from the first day that we met. Ye stole me heart when ye were hoppin around like a scalded cat. Remember, after I kicked ye?’ Connor nodded smiling. Dreading what he might hear, he tried to speak.

  He wanted to assure her that his forgiveness was unconditional. The past was over. It would not have mattered if she had been the cause of the great famine but again she silenced him. ‘Shush my love. This is hard for me and I want it out of the way today. I don’t want us ever te speak of it again. Tullen squeezed her hand assuring her of his fullest attention. ‘I left because I was afraid. There was so much I wanted te do with me life. My love for ye was a threat to my ambitions. I knew that if I told ye face to face, me resolve would weaken. Our life together would have become unbearable and I did not want te go through it blamin ye for holdin me back.’ Connor rankled at the suggestion but she ignored his protests and forged on. ‘Ye must understand Con, all my life was spent under pressure. From as far back as I could remember I was taught te distrust, even hate, people that I had never met. I was confused with the bigotry and violence. I felt deep down, what they were telling me just wasn’t true. Oh for sure there are evil people amongst the Protestants but we have as many on our side as well. Do ye hear what I am sayin Con? I could count on one hand the number of them that I ever came into contact with and do ye know something, not one of them harmed or even threatened to harm me. In fact a couple gave me assistance when I needed it. Do ye see where the confusion was comin from? On the one hand I was bein bombarded with the same auld war cry about how they hate us all. How they want te cow us down and treat us second class. Ireland for the Irish, day in and day out. Aye and readin in the papers about some poor soul gettin killed or maimed. Or someone bein burned out of their home just because they happened to have been born in the wrong bed. Deep down that’s all it amounts to, a quirk of fate. I hate it Con, I hate the death and destruction. I despise the bastards in the paramilitary organisations. That is why I left Con. To see a place where people wake up in the morning without worryin about what religion the person standing next to them in a bus queue is. I could not foresee a future for you and I, bringing up children in such a terrible atmosphere. They would grow up in the same quagmire with the same prejudices. If that happened I would never forgive meself or you either Con. I would have grown te hate ye, probably blamin ye for my own inadequacies. I loved ye then Con and God knows I never stopped lovin ye but I must ask ye. Are ye involved in the madness? Because I could not bear to read about ye lyin in some gutter or rottin away in prison. If ye are caught up in it, I don’t want to hear about it but I beg of ye to give it up and if ye can’t, then walk away from me forever. Please don’t ask me to compromise my principals. With all my heart I pray that ye are not involved but for today I do not want to know. Hold me love. Let me feel your arms around me, keeping me safe for today at least. Tomorrow call me, I don’t care if ye lie te me, just tell me that ye were never in it and I shall believe ye. Only then can we think of building a future together.’ He held her tightly, his face a mask of compassion. Setting off from Derry that morning he felt that his life was finally falling into place, that it had a purpose. Moira was home and by the way she had given herself to him he was certain of her love for him. Within hours she had presented him with a paradox, he was torn between two loves. Erin was a demand-

  ing mistress playing second fiddle to no one or no thing. He was overcome with a terrible dread. Worry gnawed and churned in his stomach. She was asking him to forsake everything that he believed in, an impossibility. Yet the risk of losing her was beyond comprehension. Perhaps he could explain that they would never be happy existing in an oppressed society. That for them to have peace of mind, Ireland must be free but her words came flooding back. The contempt she held for the IRA. was unshakeable. One way or another he had to make a choice. To be with the woman he loved would mean leaving his beloved country. To remain a member of the organisation meant losing her forever and committing emotional suicide by confining himself to a living hell. There was no contest, he could not bear to lose her again.

  They drove on in silence each contemplating what the morrow would unfold. She had arranged to stay with a friend and as he pulled to the kerb, pecked him on the cheek before hurrying from the car. He caught her before she reached the door. ‘I don’t want ye to come in darlin,’ she whispered, brushing her lips across his cheek. Slowly Moira raised his hands to her lips. She looked into his eyes as if searching his soul, then after placing a note in his hand she tenderly kissed his mouth. ‘It’s the number for here Con. Make your decision and call me in the mornin. I pray to God that is the right one for I couldn’t bear te lose ye again.’ Without giving him a chance to reply she turned and was gone. His stomach churned as he drove home to his uninvitingly empty flat. Tullen the man in control was once again ensnared in the net that was Moira Lavery but this time there was a difference, she had placed him at a fork in the road and allowed a mere twenty four hours to decide their destiny.

  CHAPTER 21

  Approaching the Blackmore’s home for the second time filled Nathan with an air of excitement. Delving into an over-laden satchel he produced a small hammer. Breathing in the evening air he stood momentarily unmoving, listening for anything untoward. Thankfully it had not rained but the cold was almost palpable, a natural deterrent to those citizens who enjoyed an evening stroll. The wind swept down from the north keeping the local populace indoors huddled by their cosy firesides. The weather was no hindrance to Black, in fact he found the gale’s howling invigorating, an a
dded bonus. The would-be assassin was overjoyed to see the street once more in a state of desertion. The rear door was constructed with a series of small glass panes roughly eight inches square. He covered one of them with masking tape. Giving the panel a sharp blow he smashed through the window. There was little or no noise but he listened intently for a sign that his efforts had been detected. For five excruciating minutes he waited but the area remained as silent as the grave. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, he set about clearing the shattered edges from the frame. With deliberation he probed his hand through the vacant orifice feeling for the key. Deftly he slid his hand toward the lock, smiling as his fingers came into contact with the implement. Turning the key proved a little difficult as he had no experience of working in reverse but eventually he managed to complete the task. The temperature was only slightly higher than the outside but it felt considerably warmer out of the icy north wind. A boyish grin parted his lips as he stood with his back to the door. He had done it, he was in the murderer’s home. He waited for a few minutes pumped up by the adulation of his success. ‘In my next life I am coming back as a burglar, it’s bloody easy,’ he quipped. With relish, he set about cleaning up the mess at the foot of the door. Black was leaving nothing to chance, making certain that there was no evidence of the illegal entry. Unsure as to the exact time of Clara’s return, Nathan had prepared for a long wait. Feeling peckish the Englishman moved to the kitchen table where he feasted upon a snack which he removed from the satchel. The consumption of cold meals had been deemed prudent thereby eliminating the possibility of his prey, he had started thinking of the family as prey, being alerted by cooking smells. ‘The cow wont know what has hit her,’ he remarked callously, as he awaited to fulfil his destiny. The hours ticked torturously by with no sign of the family’s return but Black remained patient. He slept fitfully, unable to settle, afraid that they may surprise him thereby eluding their fate.

  Clara was exhausted and more than a little afraid. Taking her pal’s advice she had journeyed to London. She had toyed with the idea of going alone but cowardliness decreed that she relent. The children’s familiar sounds would help her face the upcoming ordeal more easily. With trepidation she checked into the hotel. The receptionist informed her that they were expected and dinner was already booked for herself and the children. They were shown to their rooms, where they showered before seeking out the dining room. Unsure of what was expected of her she decided to eat quickly before retiring to her room to await developments. Fortunately she did not have long to wait as her nerves were in tatters. The phone rang minutes after she entered the room. ‘I hope that the accommodation is to your liking Mrs. B. Are the wee ones happy with the room we got for them ? Can you hear me Mrs. B.?’ enquired the familiar Belfast brogue.

  ‘Yes, yes I can hear you, sorry.What is it you want from us? Who are you?’

  ‘All in good time love but first you can help by answering a few of my questions, okay. ‘Firstly are the children out of earshot.’

  ‘Yes I told them to go to bed early as we are going to the tower of London tomorrow,’ she answered nervously.

  ‘That’s great, now myself and a colleague will visit you in your room later. There’s no need to be scared, we only want to help you with this bit of trouble that you are in. We are friends of George, understand?’

  ‘Please tell me what to do. I don’t know about any of this.’

  ‘Now now Clara easy girl, I want you to calm yourself and don’t be upsettin the kids. Make sure they are next door when we come. Put the T.V. on for them. As I was sayin before, we need a bit of privacy to discuss the problem. It’s not really for the ears of innocents. We’ll be with you at eleven o’clock. Put you in the picture so to speak.’ Warming to the consoling voice Clara agreed to the meeting,’ she was anxious to get things back into perspective. She was still apprehensive but knew that she had no choice if she was ever to get to the bottom of recent events. As expected the children protested about being locked up together so early but Clara lied that she was very tired and needed a good night’s sleep, if she was to be at her best in the morning. After some bribery and diplomacy they finally agreed, television in bed was a good compromise. A visit to the tower of London was the only incentive required to make them settle. At precisely eleven there was a knock on the door. It was hardly discernible and if she had not been expecting it she may well have missed it. Nervously she drew the door toward her but was unprepared for size of the visitor. Standing before her was what could only be described as a giant.

  Carter Fairchilds was six foot seven inches in his stocking feet with a frame to match. A wicked grin distorted the contours of a face that boasted a square jaw. He was a formidable character and one that she was unprepared to find standing in her doorway at such a late hour. ‘Thank-you for accepting our invitation Mrs. Blackmore.’ Unbelievably the smooth voice that she had conversed with earlier belonged to the hulk now towering over her. ‘Smith is the name,’ John Smith,’ he volunteered, proffering a hand whilst smirking at the obvious lie. Clara took his hand amazed at the gentleness in the huge man’s grip. ‘And may I introduce my colleague, Mr. Brown,’ another lie but this time it was accompanied by a slight grimace. We have no wish to alarm you or insult your intelligence with such obvious fictitious names but I assure you that they are necessary in the interest of security. You do understand?’ he said, allowing the smaller man to enter the room before closing the door behind him. Clara nodded but was completely unprepared for what happened next. In an instant Fairchilds was upon her lifting her high into the air as if she were a doll. ‘What would you know about security bitch?’ he snarled, hurling her onto the bed. ‘Tell us about George,’ he snapped, as he drew back a meaty fist. Clara attempted to scream but it came out as a squeak because a huge hand had clamped tightly over her mouth. Effortlessly she was raised high into the air once more. ‘If you try to make a sound those brats next door will be flying home unaccompanied,’ he snarled, gesturing toward the adjacent room.

  ‘Put her down you fuckin ape,’ ordered Clements. He was standing behind the giant with a nine-millimetre handgun pressed into his temple. Very carefully a confused Clara Blackmore was grudgingly lowered to the floor.

  ‘That’s very good Mr. Smith, now ye can plant yer fat arse in yon chair whilst I have a word with the lady. Without another word her assailant did as he was ordered all the time glaring at his smaller companion, who merely shrugged before inviting Clara to be seated. Happy to put distance between herself and the ogre she quickly complied. ‘Thank-you Mrs. Blackmore. Firstly let me begin by apologising for my colleagues bad manners, his treatment of ye is inexcusable. Secondly I must apologise for my bad language, alas it is the only form of communication that he responds te. He has been burdened with an atrociously bad temper and an inherent distrust for the whole of mankind. In a case like this it is difficult te know where te begin. Anyway here goes, what do ye know about yer husband George’s activities? Apart from the obvious that is.’

  ‘Are you asking me, do I know anything about the trouble he’s in?’

  ‘No what size are his fuckin Y. fronts,’ barked Fairchilds.

  ‘Shut it you,’ said Billy calmly. ‘Yes Clara, what do ye know about the raid?’

  ‘Nothing, I had no idea that he was involved in anything until you people contacted me.”

  ‘How did ye know that the money came from us?’

  ‘Clara ye just said that we contacted ye. It therefore stands te reason that we are the people who sent the tickets, since we are here talkin to ye but ye implied that ye knew where the money had come from before-hand.’

  ‘Oh is that what you are getting at? That’s easy,’ smiled Clara, relieved that she understood at least what was being asked of her and even more so that she knew the answer. ‘My friend Sadie, her husband’s in the Kesh doing life. Well, when the tickets arrived I was scared. I had no idea what it was all about so I t
hought of her. We went to school together you see.’ It all came spilling out as if a dam of information had burst in her head. ‘Sadie told me that George was probably in the UDA or something because they contacted her when her man was lifted. She said that this was probably the same, that you people look after your own,’ she spat. Having regained her composure the woman was angry at being treated like some kind of spy. ‘Jesus if he is a member, is this the thanks he gets for throwing away his life? He has not even been released from hospital yet and you people are threatening his family behind his back. Fucking loyalists, what about a bit of loyalty for us?’ she cried, the tears trickling from her weary eyes. ‘I don’t know a fucking thing except that I shall have to raise those poor children without a father.’

  ‘I am really sorry about all this Clara but we have te find out whether George was betrayed or not. Just a couple more questions and we will leave ye be, okay. Did he ever mention about the organisation te ye or to anyone else in yer presence?’