by John Brady
"Car's through, maintaining speed. Roadblock in place-"
"What roadblock?" Minogue whispered.
Allen had the road to himself. Only one lorry passed him going south. No lights appeared in his mirror. He felt some relief that he wasn't being followed. He wondered why there were so few vehicles on the road. Ahead of him the lights of the Irish customs post formed an island in the darkness. The place looked deserted. Allen knew that this post here at Killeen had been blown up a half dozen times in the past. Often it was closed down at night. He could see lights on the far side of the border now. He slowed the car and let it coast up to the light. He knew he didn't have to stop. There was someone on duty in the office. Yellow glare filled the car interior. Agnes was squinting. Allen noticed an army Land Rover and several cars parked some distance behind the customs post. For a moment he felt a bolt of panic, but nobody was out on the road. There was no barrier. He drew abreast of the shed and looked in.
A customs officer looked out at the car through the grid of wire. Should he stop? The customs man made no gesture but continued looking dully out at the car. Allen's eyes were straining to see better.
"God, what a pack of ujits," Agnes said. "They don't know whether they're coming or going."
Allen was almost at a standstill.
"Go ahead" she said, "you don't have to stop, so you don't. It's just that everybody slows down to a crawl. If they want you, they wave."
Allen clutched into second gear.
"What roadblock? I don't see a roadblock," Minogue hissed. The car was pulling away from the customs post. Minogue saw a profile of the driver, yellow light on his shoulder. There was someone else too. Agnes. Minogue felt an aching in his shins and knees. His mouth was dry. The night was suddenly lurid to him with the lights and the evasions. He fixed his eyes on the red lights of the car drawing away.
The detective took out his portable, squelched it and handed it to Scully.
"Gone through now. Over," Scully said.
"What's going on?" Minogue said, louder.
"A success. That's what's going on. What do you want?" Scully said. Minogue looked at Scully's shadowed face. It confirmed what Minogue had felt from the voice: a changed man.
"Who's going to stop them?" Minogue said.
"The other crowd. The Brits," Scully replied. He turned and nodded to the others who began heading for the door of the customs post. Minogue overheard one of them saying 'big deal.'
Minogue grabbed Scully's arm. Scully's head darted around.
"It's a set-up, isn't it?"
Scully looked disparagingly at the hand holding him. He shook himself free.
"Your superiors didn't burden you with too much info. Leave well enough alone, now. Your job's done, so's ours."
"What's going to happen?"
"Look Minogue. There's reasons."
Minogue stood in front of Scully.
"I want to know, Scully. I'm involved."
Scully stared a hole in Minogue before replying.
"We have to give the Brits something. They're moaning about security this side. They're expecting this. We had that tip-off about the car and we passed the ball to them. It's a token. They get the credit and so do we for delivering. We'd have a job convicting them in the South probably. Trade, tit for tat," Scully said.
"But you would have missed the car if I hadn't come up with Allen," Minogue protested.
"If, if," Scully repeated, looking out into the darkness. "Fair dues to you, we would have missed him all right. I'm not saying we're not beholden to you for it. That's why you get to be here, sitting next to me," Scully murmured.
He turned abruptly to Minogue.
"A day here, a day there, what does it matter in the end? We're all on the same side, Minogue."
Panic ran up from Minogue's knees and prickled his scalp. He looked at the red lights of the car. He heard the engine pick up speed. Scully ignored Minogue and looked at the car too.
When Minogue heard himself speak, the voice seemed to belong to someone else. Scully's frown had eased as he stared at the small bowl of light in the distance.
"What if he tries to run it, Scully?"
"He'd want to be a terrible stupid gobshite to try that class of a stunt, I'm thinking," murmured Scully. "Their border lads are sharp little thugs."
Scully hadn't taken his gaze from the car lights ahead. Doesn't care, Minogue realised dully.
"The girl," Minogue said. "The girl in the car with him, she's-"
"The girl in the car is the girl in the fucking car, Minogue. For all you know, she's in cahoots with him somewhare along the line," Scully snapped. "Maybe you didn't twig to her."
"She's not, I tell you," said Minogue hoarsely. "I know she's not."
"We'll find that out then, won't we? Let them sort it out."
Minogue grasped Scully's arm. He felt the muscle tense. Scully turned to him.
"Get your shagging hand offa me or I'll drop you, Minogue."
"These are cowboys, these border patrols, Scully. You know that. They're trigger-men. They're volunteers, they're just itching to take the law-"
"Get back in the car, Minogue. I've had enough of this rubbish. I'm going to lodge a slip on you for this. Shut up and get-"
Then Minogue ran.
He heard Scully's shout hang in the air behind him as the night air brushed over his face. With the glare ahead, Minogue was running blind. The road thumped the soles of his leather brogues. His coat flapped behind him. The raised voices behind him mixed with the sounds of air rushing into his nostrils. His shins cracked with each slap of his |eet on the tar. Beneath him was darkness and all around darkness, just the glow of light ahead, like a magnet drawing him. It occurred to Minogue that he might well be shot at. The night seemed full of his breathing and flapping. Ahead of him the tail-lights glowed stronger as the brakes were applied.
Minogue prayed for the brake lights to stay on. He saw a figure step into the light ahead. It looked like the figure was carrying a stick, a hurley maybe. Minogue's chest was bursting, his legs jellying. Old, old. He was slowing. Spots of light danced all around him, a crazy swirl swarming around the lights ahead too. As though floating, Minogue took note of the low hedge running along beside him. For an instant Minogue thought the dream would end. He was getting no nearer the lights. It was an endless treadmill where he lost ground quicker than he gained it. He hoped he wouldn't trip. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk if he caught up to the car and that could be dangerous. The thing was, he must get her out of the car.
Allen felt as if his chest was being squeezed. From the recesses of his mind, he observed himself there in the car, slowing. He saw the soldier bulked with a flak jacket step into the light. Allen wondered where the RUC were. The soldier was holding the automatic rifle almost level. Off to his left Allen caught a glimpse of a vehicle in the ditch, a Land Rover. Where were the RUC?
Agnes turned around and looked out the back window.
"Do you see it?" she said.
Allen was rolling down the window. She looked at him and he turned to her. He saw her frown and her face go loose. Now she knows, he thought. This is it, all of it. She tried to say something but couldn't. Her back pressed into the door, looking across at Allen.
There was no traffic. The car was rolling to a halt, endlessly. Allen felt blood rush around his head. He looked out at the soldier who was not moving toward the car. Allen could see the kid's face clearly. He was no more than twenty-five. He wore his beret low on his forehead. Allen grasped the slicked wheel with both hands. His upper arms began to tremble. He thought something passed behind the car, a flicker in the mirror. The car stopped and rocked back slightly as the suspension returned it level after the braking. All Allen could hear was the regular infuriating tick over of a well-tuned car.
"Switch off the engine. Then step out of the car," the soldier said. Allen couldn't take his eyes off the rifle.
"Surely-" he began.
The soldier looked over th
e roof of the car. He glanced at Allen again.
"Out."
"Really," Allen said. "Is this neccessary? Don't you-"
"There's something out there," Agnes whispered.
The soldier backed away from the car and levelled the rifle.
"Out of the car!" he shouted.
Allen saw the soldier look behind the car again, frowning. Time stopped for him. A rush of understanding settled on him. He felt a finality, close. Something was wrong. He could feel Agnes' alarm. It was dark outside this bowl of light. Was there nothing outside this terrifying oasis? He laid his hand slowly on the gearshift and looked to his right.
Minogue wondered why nobody had stopped him. Each of his feet was landing flat and heavy now. His breath was in hoarse gasps. Maybe if he shouted, they'd hear him from there. A stitch like a cold knife was slicing under his ribs, jabbing. He saw the man with the stick move back from the car. Another two men came up behind the car, sticks raised to their shoulders. Minogue stopped. He was within a hundred yards of the car. He saw the back of the car dip. The tires squealed. Minogue shouted with all the wind he could hold. The light was pulsing in front of him. He swayed with the effort.
"Wait! Police!" he shouted. "Wait!"
The soldiers turned and crouched. Minogue shouted again. One of the soldiers turned back and Minogue heard the pop pop, a staccato. Minogue dropped to the ground. Seconds ticked by. He heard more shots. The car lights were moving from side to side. Then, lazily, the tail-lights straightened out their course. Minogue heard shouting. The lights leaned to the left and followed, shuddering, the grass highlighted by the beams ahead of the car. Floodlights froze the slowing car in their glare. Minogue leaned on his elbows in the road, dumbfounded. The red lights leaned more as the car mounted the ditch and came to a standstill.
Figures ran to the doors and pulled them open. Minogue saw them pull the two passengers out to the ground. He heard more shouting. Suddenly he was blinded by light.
"Stay where you are," he heard the English accent through the loudspeakers. "Do not move or you will be fired on."
Minogue heard the siren warbling stronger from behind. He felt completely vulnerable, spreadeagled on the road. He waited for the whack of a bullet. Minogue thought of all the minute indentations in the tar. It smelled of petrol and rubber and farms. He closed his eyes. A car pulled up behind him.
"Police!" someone shouted, an Irish voice. "One of ours! Police!" Minogue heard footsteps in the ditch next to him.
Again the voice, "Police, don't shoot!"
A faint blue light swept around in the glare. To his left Minogue saw a British soldier. He looked around and saw Scully cupping hands to shout again. The soldier's face was blackened. He was squinting down the sights of the rifle. Under his eyes, the small black hole of the muzzle seemed to rest on his hand. Minogue wondered if this boy was going to shoot him. He couldn't miss. Minogue could hear the boy's breathing.
The soldier said, "O.K." and lowered his rifle. "O.K."
"He's one of ours. He's O.K."
"O.K.," the soldier said. "Just get the bastard out of here. Just get him out of here."
Minogue elbowed onto his knees. The soldier was shaking his head. Another soldier appeared from outside the glare.
"Get up, Minogue," Scully's voice, thickly.
"John fuckin' Wayne," the soldier said.
The boat train to Dun Laoghaire was only three minutes late. It emerged from between the houses and gardens by Merrion Gates at a rush, rumbled over the level crossing and seemed to relax as the bay opened up to to east. Howth with its necklace of lights shouldered out into the sea across the bay from the swaying train. Three men sat ahead of him. They looked like navvies on their way back to England. They smoked constantly and spoke little.
He tried to maintain the appearance of a tired tourist. He had held off the bouts of panic, but the effort left him jittery. He tried to block out images which were coming to him constantly now. He saw the playwright, that expression of disdain on his face, talking to a policeman. Then he saw that cop's hands reaching for his chest as he lay on the ground. It looked like he was trying to pull the slug out. The cop's head arching back, digging into the ground and then falling back as the hands went limp.
"That's the end of the holidays now, hah?" a navvy said. "Back to the grind, hah?" he added, and returned to staring out through the grass.
The tanned man tried to smile and he nodded. He was relieved to have escaped wordless from this. Then it occurred to him that he might be passing up something. In his caution he might be losing out on an advantage. If he got in with these men, it might help him. They might adopt him if he bought them some drink. It would take effort, but it would be worth it.
"Excuse me but are we close to Dun-Dunleery?" he said.
"I'm telling you now, Minogue. When we go over you better mind your p's and q's. You're bloody lucky you didn't collect another hole in your arse off those fellas," Scully said.
Minogue's legs were cramping, but his breath was back. He felt like an errant schoolboy sitting in the back of the car with the big detective eying him.
"Seems to me it's your arse is in the sling, Scully," Minogue said quietly. Scully turned to look at Minogue. His eyes flickered to the detective and then back to Minogue.
"You've said enough, Minogue. You're a loose cannon. Bloody ujit, you nearly banjaxed the whole thing."
"You're forgetting something, Scully. I have a mouth on me. You're just the pot-boy with the piss-bucket here along with these cowboys. The arrest should have been made here. You know and I know that the Brits are trigger-happy. They've been given the green light. They're just itching to have a go at anyone. You threw those two to them," Minogue said.
"Watch who you're calling a piss-boy, Minogue. We heard about you." Scully's voice rose.
"This was a planned operation-"
"— And you're just here to execute it. Or them," Minogue said.
"— so get it through your head!" Scully shouted.
"So what are you going to say to them? You don't even know yet if Allen was shot or what happened," Minogue retorted.
"Was that the deal? You throw them to the wolves for public relations and the Brits let you question him for ten minutes. If he's still alive. And the passenger?" Minogue continued.
"You don't get holy on me, Minogue. I'm doing this stuff every day of my working life and more besides. Don't give me the innocent bystander bit. They're all at it."
"I'm telling you that she's not involved!"
Was that himself shouting, Minogue wondered. How long since he had shouted at someone?
"Look, Minogue. All I know about you is that I'm to assist in you getting an interview with this Allen fella. I don't know or care who your mother is or whether you're the full shilling or even whether you got your arse shot off or not. If I have to revoke this because you've gone off the deep end, I will, and I can live with the bloody consequences."
Before Minogue could reply, headlights flashed twice ahead. The driver flashed back and accelerated toward the light. Minogue looked behind as the car started off. He saw men in battle dress in the ditch. Back at the customs post, blue lights whirled.
Ahead of them, Minogue saw three vehicles blocking the road. One was an ambulance. As they slowed, the ambulance moved off. A soldier waved them down. Scully rolled down the window.
"We're to see a Sergeant Davies," said Scully.
The magenta Cressida stood like an abandoned toy. The doors hung open and the lights were still on. The back window had been shot out. Minogue saw a half-dozen holes in the boot and a ding in the bumper. Scully stepped out of the car and Minogue followed him. Minogue realised there were people standing off in shadows, soldiers. Two cars started up almost simultaneously beyond the floodlights. A Land Rover equipped with a crane drove slowly toward them. It turned away from them and began reversing into the ditch behind Allen's car. More soldiers and men in plain clothes appeared out of the darkness. Minogue tho
ught that there must be a lot more of them out in the fields too. Behind them, their car with the two detectives still in it, backed slowly to the side of the road, followed by the soldier who had waved them down, cradling a rifle.
Two men in plain clothes approached Allen's car and looked inside. One of them walked to the back of it. He bent over, his face inches from the back lights, examining the boot lid. Then he closed the doors slowly. He guided the Land Rover in. The other man walked over to Scully and Minogue. Minogue felt nervous and exposed.
Sergeant Davies was a slight man with pale features which were whitened further by the glare off the lights. His hair was neatly trimmed. He wore a v-necked jumper over a collar and tie. Minogue guessed him to be in his early forties. Looked like he had just put down the paper after tea and come out for a stroll. His face suggested a minimum of surprise at guesting these coppers from the Free State.
"Davies," he said.
Minogue wondered why he had not learned to distinguish regional accents in the North. For an instant he was back watching the news at home, listening to the inquiring and querulous tones of the North. Another shooting, more condemnation, more bile. Why did he feel they were so foreign?
"Detective Sergeants Scully and Minogue," Scully said. Minogue nodded. There were no handshakes. No love lost here.
"In the van here," Davies said.
Minogue's heart was pounding. He had restrained himself from asking about the ambulance. He noticed his hands were in fists.
"What was that little problem ye had there with some fellow running along the road?" Davies asked.
Scully paused a moment before answering:
"Nothing to it. It's settled now."
"Uh," Davies said. He stopped at the back of a Sherpa van. "Ten minutes or so. We have to get out of here. Too much lights, do ye know. It's not the safest of places," Davies said.
Allen's face was white. Minogue crouched for a few seconds,' paralysed, at the door. Allen's shirt hung out over his pants. He was shivering. Looking at Allen's strained and damp face, Minogue doubted that he was the same man he had spoken to recently.
Davies leaned in the doorway. Scully sat down opposite Allen. Minogue noticed flecks of blood on Allen's face. There were cuts on the back of his hands. He looked out under his eyebrows and the toss of hair at Minogue, then at Scully.
