Ten-Thirty-Three

by Nicholas Davies

  Agent Ten-Thirty-Three was almost unique in the annals of Northern Ireland security. Never before had the RUC Special Branch or Army Intelligence had such a good source in such a vital position, throwing down challenges each and every week to the Provos in a way which the forces of law and order could never, for one moment, consider carrying out themselves. This, of course, was recognised by the FRU handlers but they would complain that Brian Nelson had become so arrogant that he had started to take decisions which, rightly, should have been taken by them. Dealing with Nelson was becoming increasingly difficult – at times almost impossible – for he would now accept little advice, believing that he was so knowledgeable about what was going on that he was best-suited to make all decisions.

  Nelson had always been known as a heavy drinker but now he appeared to be more addicted to alcohol than ever and this was worried Military Intelligence. Increasingly, he would telephone his contact number and, following the normal procedure, would ask one of four questions which the telephone operator would know from his notes suggested the urgency, or otherwise, of the call. He would be asked to hold a moment while his handler was contacted but would instantly start to be abusive to the telephonist, demanding to be put through immediately, berating the telephonist if there was a delay of more than a few seconds. And this would happen at all hours of the day and night. Handlers would have to be woken and told their informant was on the phone demanding to speak to them. They had to be available to their touts twenty-four hours a day, fully realising that if their contact phoned during the night it must be because vital information was being passed on as a matter of urgency. On such occasions, the handler would take the call and deal with the situation even if it meant clambering out of bed and arranging a rendezvous at four o’clock in the morning.

  But when Nelson began phoning in the middle of the night, he was usually the worse for drink, often barely able to speak coherently. And, more often than not, the handlers could tell from the background noise that Nelson was in some club or drinking-den where it must have been possible for people to overhear his conversation. Worse still, Nelson would begin talking about planned operations and past missions or boast about the intelligence work he was carrying out on behalf of the UDA. And he would issue orders over the phone as though talking to some underling. Although most of what he talked about was incomprehensible because he was incapable of stringing a sentence together, his boasts over the telephone sometimes concerned real on-going operations and the targeting of named individuals which he and handlers had been discussing in their safe-house meetings around Belfast. These were highly secret intelligence plans which should never have been discussed outside the confines of the safe-houses, and certainly not blared aloud in a pub or club so that everyone could hear. It was this aspect of Nelson’s drinking habits that so deeply concerned his handlers, and they frequently warned their superiors of the danger of continuing to use Ten-Thirty-Three as a high-grade informant. Despite their appeals, no instruction was ever forthcoming from FRU senior officers, or those in the JIS who must have been made aware of the situation, ordering the down-grading of Nelson or cutting off the supply of secret Military Intelligence material that his handlers had been providing him with.

  The handlers knew that Nelson was simply showing off to his mates or some woman whom he was trying to impress with his exploits as the chief intelligence officer of the UDA. In such circumstances, which were soon occurring on a weekly basis, they would try to quieten the loquacious, drunken Nelson before he revealed any secrets. But time and time again the same situation would happen and the subject of Ten-Thirty-Three would be raised in discussions at the highest level within the Force Research Unit. Those with experience of drunken touts knew there was a real possibility that the relationship with Nelson would end in severe embarrassment to Military Intelligence and a number of handlers urged their senior officers to dump Nelson before it was too late.

  Throughout 1989 the RUC Special Branch, who had dealt with members of the UDA for nearly twenty years, were increasing concerned about the relationship between Nelson and the FRU. Many RUC officers had friends or even relatives who were members of the UDA and knew a great deal about its workings and internal politics. Those Branch colleagues suspected that Brian Nelson was the man primarily responsible for the information supplied to the UDA leadership and they had been led to understand that his source was the Force Research Unit. These Special Branch officers were constantly warning their counterparts in the FRU that they should get rid of Nelson as soon as possible because they feared he would bring Military Intelligence into disrepute. Branch officers also realised that such a close involvement with the UDA gunmen could result in the same sort of political trouble that the infamous ‘shoot-to-kill’ rumpus had a few years earlier.

  The RUC Special Branch had been very worried about the growing number of Loyalist attacks on members of the Catholic community. They had studied in detail many of the killings carried out by UDA gunmen and had come to the conclusion that Brian Nelson, whom they knew to be the UDA’s chief intelligence officer, was the linchpin between the UDA and British Military Intelligence. Special Branch investigations had shown that when the Force Research Unit asked the TCG to declare somewhere out of bounds for a particular period, such requests coincided with attacks on Provo, Sinn Fein or Catholic targets. As a result of top-level discussions with senior RUC officers, unofficial approaches were made to Military Intelligence chiefs alerting them to the fact that their Number One agent was now believed by the authorities, including senior RUC officers, to be a vital link in the on-going campaign of murder.

  But the FRU still needed Ten-Thirty-Three as a go-between and as a vital source for gathering information and rumours from street level.

  Another problem facing the FRU was the jealousy the Unit inspired in the other security services working in Northern Ireland. They were well aware that the FRU officers were treated as the elite, with higher pay, better conditions and accommodation and more expensive cars. One of the consequences of this jealousy was that personnel attached to other undercover agencies kept a close eye on the Force Research Unit, wondering why they had been handed such privileges and debating among themselves whether there were indeed highly secret activities going on to which they were not privy. That was one of the reasons why the rumours about the activities of Brian Nelson and his UDA gunmen created such interest.

  As the death toll of IRA members and Republican supporters grew, the RUC chiefs responsible for tracking down, arresting and bringing Loyalist killers to justice found themselves more and more inclined to believe that Brian Nelson, the UDA’s chief intelligence officer, was involved. But there was no proof against Nelson, no proof at all. The RUC also faced a major problem: there was an unwritten agreement between the various intelligence services operating in Northern Ireland that one agency did not steal another service’s agents or informants. As a consequence, the very fact that the RUC understood Nelson was working directly with Army Intelligence meant that he was ‘off-limits’ to their detectives investigating Loyalist killings. By 1988, senior RUC Special Branch officers were certain that Nelson was indeed working for Military Intelligence and they had to presume that he was under the control of the FRU. Before Ten-Thirty-Three’s career with Military Intelligence was brought to an abrupt halt, though, there would be more conspiracies and more killings.

  The murder of Ian Catney, a twenty-seven-year-old Catholic, was typical of the random killings being carried out by Loyalist gunmen, who seemed hell-bent throughout the late 1980s on causing as much fear and strife as possible in the Catholic community. Not all these killings were the result of intelligence gathered from the Force Research Unit. It was well known that Ian’s mother ran a shop in Smithfield Market and that Ian, hard-working and conscientious, also worked there with her. It was also a recognised fact that many Catholics worked in the markets area, a place the RUC Special Branch and Military Intelligence saw as a favourite recruiting ground for Provos and S
inn Fein supporters. To many a staunch UDA member, any young man working in the markets area was automatically assumed to be a Provo activist and, therefore, could be targeted and shot at will.

  One such target was Ian Catney. On the morning of Wednesday, 18 January 1989, the young man was sitting in his mother’s shop in Belfast’s new Smithfield Market complex drinking a cup of coffee. A customer was looking around the shop shortly after 11 a.m. when two men walked in.

  Catney looked up to see them standing in front of him, both wearing face masks and combat jackets, and carrying guns. One held a light machine-gun, or machine pistol, while the other appeared to gave a handgun. Before he could move, the gunmen fired six or seven shots at point-blank range into his body. They turned and walked out of the shop. Not a word was spoken and the cold-blooded murder was over in seconds.

  But the shots had been heard by other traders near by and they ran out to see what was happening. They saw the two men walk out of the shop and then sprint out of the complex. The traders gave chase but the two killers made good their escape, jumping into a red car and speeding away. Traders managed to take down the registration number but the car was found later that day abandoned in Boundary Street off the Shankill Road. Police and troops immediately cordoned off the markets area and forensic police examined the shop.

  The Ulster Volunteer Force, the hardline Loyalist terrorist group, claimed responsibility for the shooting, but the killers were never traced and no one was ever charged for the murder.

  Ian Catney, of Springhill Park, west Belfast, described by other traders as ‘a quiet, easy-going young man who troubled nobody’, was shot simply because he was a Roman Catholic. He had, in fact, been shot at once before, during the INLA feud of early 1987, when he was targeted because of his family connection with Kevin McQuillan, a leading member of one of the feuding parties, the Irish Republican Socialist Party. On that occasion he was in his car when gunmen approached and fired at him but he suffered only superficial wounds.

  Such callous sectarian shootings continued to drive a wedge between the two communities. At the funeral the Revd James Donaghy of the local church said that Catney had been shot ‘just because he was a Catholic’.

  And there were other murders which were planned and executed by the UDA with the help of Brian Nelson and the knowledge of the Force Research Unit.

  The murder of Anthony Fusco was a good example of the relationship between the FRU, Brian Nelson and the UDA. Fusco, a thirty-three-year-old married man, who worked at Smithfield in Belfast and lived in the Lower Falls area, had been born into a staunch Republican family and many of his relations had been associated with the Republican movement. The FRU were aware of his possible links with the IRA. One day Brian Nelson was invited to a meeting and asked if knew anything about Fusco.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ was Nelson’s reply. ‘What does he do? Where does he live?’

  One of the handlers showed Nelson a photo of Fusco, telling him that from sight reports Military Intelligence had established that a considerable number of Fusco’s associates were members of the Belfast Brigade of the Provisional IRA and some names were mentioned. The officer did not in fact refer to any specific terrorist activities in which Fusco had been involved but it was nevertheless implied that he was guilty simply by association.

  ‘Just the sort of man were after,’ agreed Ten-Thirty-Three, becoming more enthusiastic.

  ‘Good,’ replied the officer, ‘we’ll leave him to you, then.’

  ‘Do you have an address? Do you know where he works?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘Yes, he works in Belfast’s Smithfield Market every day. You should be able to identify him from the photo we’ve given you.’

  On the morning of Thursday, 9 February 1989. Anthony Fusco set off to as usual to West Street in Smithfield Market. On that cold, rainy morning he had not the slightest idea that two men watched him approach, as they had watched him on numerous other occasions. Twice before, while undertaking surveillance, the two UDA men on a motorcycle had ridden past him, verifying his identity. They wanted to make sure they had the right man and, for several days, they took note of Fusco, checking with the photo provided by the Force Research Unit. Only when they were certain that this was indeed the man they were after did they make arrangements to strike. Handguns were drawn from the UDA secret armoury and it was agreed that it would be better to take out Fusco using a motorbike rather than risk taking a car into the crowded Smithfield Market area.

  They decided to hit Fusco when he was on his way to work; they believed he would not be expecting an attack at that time in the morning and would, they hoped, be off his guard. The gunmen circled the area at least three times as they waited for their target to arrive. When they finally saw him walking along the street they followed him at first and then stopped a little way past him at the junction of West Street and Winetavern Street in the centre of the market. They watched him as he walked down the road towards them and waited until he had gone past. Then the rider, wearing a donkey-jacket and black helmet, turned the bike and followed him. When the riders were only feet away from the unsuspecting Fusco, the pillion passenger, who was wearing a white crash helmet, took a handgun from a shoulder holster and fired five times into Fusco’s back. Hardly stopping to see him slump to the ground, the motorcyclists accelerated away along Winetavern Street and within seconds were lost in the crawling traffic. The motorbike used by the killers was later found abandoned in Carlow Street off the Protestant Shankill Road.

  That night the BBC newsreader announced the cold-blooded murder of Anthony Fusco, explaining how he had met his death. Market traders interviewed for the programme demanded greater protection and claimed that their pleas for an increased police presence had been ignored by the authorities. Michael King, the chairman of Smithfield Traders Association, said that he had written to the City Council asking for their support for extra police protection in the area but the Council had not even bothered to reply to the letter. Fusco’s family protested that he was simply an ordinary Catholic who worked hard and led a good life. They claimed they had no idea why he should have been targeted as he had no connections with any paramilitary organisations. Later, the UVF would claim responsibility for the killing.

  The murder of Liam McKee, a thirty-six-year-old devout Catholic, angered not only the Catholic community but also McKee’s Protestant neighbours, as well as the officers of the Force Research Unit. Liam McKee was a quiet, gentle man who kept himself to himself. He had never married, preferring to stay at home and care for his elderly widowed mother. There could only have been one reason why McKee was murdered and that was because he was a Catholic living in a Protestant area. His cold-blooded killing was sectarian hatred of the worst kind.

  For forty years the McKee family had lived in the same terraced house in Donard Drive on the Tonagh Estate, Lisburn. Quiet and reserved, they were one of only a few Catholic families on the estate and lived surrounded by Protestants. But they got on very well with nearly all their neighbours, visiting each other’s houses, chatting whenever they met on the street, behaving to each other as good neighbours should. But one of Brian Nelson’s touts discovered that the McKee family were living in Protestant Lisburn and decided that the UDA should introduce their own brand of ethnic cleansing.

  This was really nothing new. Throughout the thirty years of the troubles large numbers of Catholic and Protestant families had been forced to move house if it suited the sectarian bigots. Whole communities were forced to move into their own ‘tribal’ areas, warned to get out for their own safety. Some were ordered out at gunpoint; others were threatened with a beating unless they moved; still more were advised by friends to pack up their belongings rather than take the risk of living among those of a different religion. Disobeying the orders of the paramilitaries nearly always resulted in a beating or a kneecapping. Since the early 1970s countless numbers of both Catholic and Protestant families who were good, close friends for years have been forced to move away bec
ause of the threat of the paramilitaries and the punishment gangs who roamed the streets.

  In 1987 the McKees’ home had been fire-bombed by Loyalists but Protestant friends of the family had persuaded them to stay. They thought long and hard and decided they did not want to be driven out of the home they had lived in for nearly forty years. Shortly after midnight on Saturday, 24 June 1989, however, a blue Vauxhall Cavalier, which had been hijacked a week before in Donegall Road, Belfast, pulled up outside the McKees’ home. Three masked men got out and walked up to the front door. Liam McKee and his mother had both retired to bed and the house was in darkness. Seconds later, neighbours awoke to the sound of wood splintering as the Loyalist thugs broke down the door with a sledgehammer. Two masked men ran in and up the stairs while a third stood guard outside. Liam McKee woke from his sleep, realised what was happening, leapt out of bed and ran into his mothers room in a desperate attempt to save her. The two of them went back into his room as the gunmen raced up the stairs and Liam tried in vain to barricade the bedroom door. Neighbours heard the sound of a shotgun being fired, then another blast. The gunmen had shot through the bedroom door and hit Liam McKee fully in the chest, killing him outright. The second shot grazed his mother’s arm but otherwise she was uninjured. The gunmen forced open the door, saw that Liam was slumped on the floor, turned and ran.