Ten-Thirty-Three

by Nicholas Davies

  ‘Have it your way,’ said the senior handler. ‘But you don’t frighten us one bit. And don’t forget one very important point. We’re acting under orders – you’re not.’

  That seemed to throw Nelson somewhat. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, but he wasn’t convincing. The handlers were sure that Nelson would do nothing to stop the UDA’s campaign of targeting ordinary, decent Catholics who were not in any way involved in the clandestine war raging between the Provos and the Loyalists.

  Behind the scenes, two different schools of thought were being argued by opposing camps in the Force Research Unit and among the MI5 officers of the Joint Irish Section. The political pressure was still on to continue the war of attrition against the Provos, to keep them guessing, to press them as hard as possible and make their attempts to win power by the bomb and the bullet a useless aim, convincing them that such a victory could never be achieved. The other school of thought believed the IRA Army Council may have come to realise that they could not win power by violence alone. Other ways had to be examined, including the political route which some Sinn Fein leaders believed was the best way to achieve the ultimate aim – a united Ireland.

  There was a growing feeling within MI5 that the Provos were feeling the squeeze, realising that they were under constant threat, their lives at risk by the British government’s heightened campaign against them. Never before had they lost so many activists; never before had the UDA gunmen proved so successful at tracking down and targeting their activists and bombers.

  And there was another worry to be considered by the Sinn Fein/IRA leadership. The very fact that ordinary, non-political Catholics were being targeted and killed revealed how impossible it was for the Provos to defend the Catholic minority. One of the proud boasts of Sinn Fein/IRA down the years was that only the Provos could protect their supporters while they were championing the Republican cause for a united Ireland. At weekends in and around Belfast and Derry the clubs and pubs, filled with ordinary people who played no part in the violence, would listen to traditional Republican songs castigating the English reign of terror throughout history and looking forward to the day when Ireland was free of British rule. But the previous three years had revealed a different, more disturbing reality. The Provos’ wild claims of protecting their Catholic followers had proved a nonsense, embarrassing the IRA leadership. With the escalating number of Loyalist killings on the streets and in the Republican housing estates, the Catholics of west Belfast in particular had come to realise that the Provos could not protect their own people from Loyalist attack. Every week, Republicans were being targeted, and every week Catholics funerals were taking place in Belfast and beyond, bringing home to the community that the all-powerful Provisional IRA were losing their grip. Indeed, Sinn Fein/IRA were beginning to lose the confidence of the people they claimed to represent.

  And there was another problem rapidly developing which all those who had knowledge of the true role and nefarious activities of Ten-Thirty-Three realised all too well could bring major embarrassment not only to Military Intelligence but also to the politicians at Westminster who knew the precise role of the Force Research Unit. It was recognised that the murderous relationship between the FRU, Ten-Thirty-Three and the UDA terror squads would come to an end sooner or later, because it was very unlikely that all the authorities would continue to turn a blind eye to what was going on. When that moment came, heads would roll, and the intense pressure that was being applied to the IRA’s throat would be eased.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Cover-Up

  As the killings continued in Belfast and beyond during the summer of 1989, a phone call from an officer in the RUC Special Branch to a handler of the Force Research Unit heralded the end of Agent Ten-Thirty-Three’s reign.

  The phone call appeared innocent enough but the conversation that followed over a pint of Murphy’s in the pub two nights later started alarm bells ringing that would bring an end not only to Brian Nelson’s nefarious career but also lead to the disbanding of the entire Force Research Unit.

  After the usual pleasantries, the FRU handler said, ‘Well, I doubt that you asked me for a drink just to say hello. What’s up? How can I help?’

  ‘You can’t,’ the Special Branch man replied, ‘but I might be able to help you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The cat’s out of the bag,’ said the Special Branch man, teasingly.

  ‘What cat? What bag?’

  ‘Brian Nelson,’ was the reply.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve known each other for some years now,’ said the Branch officer, ‘and we’ve always got on with each other. Now, I don’t know if you’re personally involved or not; you might not even have any idea what I’m talking about for all I know, but I’m here tonight because your name came up and these Branch people believe that you have been one of the men involved in running Nelson.’

  ‘I know about him,’ came the reply.

  ‘A lot?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘We’re on to Nelson,’ said the Special Branch man taking a large gulp of his beer and pulling hard on his cigarette.

  The FRU man could tell that his friend had not found it easy to broach the subject of Nelson with him, embarrassed that he might be poking his nose into matters that didn’t concern him. He understood the professional rivalry between the Branch and Military Intelligence.

  ‘I hear what you’re saying,’ said the FRU handler. ‘Go on. It’s all right. Tell me what you know and what they know,’ and he lifted his head as if pointing towards the Branch headquarters.

  ‘All right then,’ said his mate, taking a deep breath, ‘here goes. We understand that Nelson is more than the UDA’s intelligence officer. We understand, but we’re not yet certain, that Nelson is in fact being run by your lot. That in fact Nelson is one of your main contacts, ferrying info from your lot to the UDA.’

  There was a silence for a full minute, both men looking at each other, wondering how to take the conversation forward and contemplating whether anything more should be said. The Branch man knew that if he had not hit the nail on the head he was very close to it in the accusation he had made.

  ‘Anything else?’ asked the handler.

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘What on?’

  ‘On your answer.’

  ‘I won’t say nothing right now,’ said the handler, ‘I prefer to hear what else you’ve got to say. But I get your drift.’

  ‘The Branch noted a year or so ago that UDA gunmen not only became more active but that most of their targets were people we too had been watching. Sometimes, indeed,’ and he chuckled at the thought, ‘we thought the UDA had been listening in to our frequencies, reading our notes or whatever, because their targeting and hit rate was spot on.’

  ‘Before you continue,’ said the man from the FRU, ‘I need another pint. Will you have one?’

  ‘Never say no,’ said the Special Branch man handing over his glass.

  On his return the handler came straight to the point, asking, ‘How much is known?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Shit,’ said the handler speaking slowly and obviously thinking hard. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Most of those who should know, like the top brass, but not the great majority of Branch men. They’ve little or no idea. But Nelson has been watched by our lot for some time. We know he works for the FRU and we know he is employed by the UDA. They pay him a regular wage.’

  The other man nodded, saying nothing.

  ‘Do you want me to continue?’

  ‘Aye,’ came the somewhat disconsolate reply.

  ‘We’ve listened to Nelson in Loyalist clubs boasting about his role as the UDA’s intelligence officer, talking about the contacts who provide him with top-secret material which he acts upon. He’s boasted about some of the jobs too, in front of groups of people as though trying to impress them with his knowledge.’ He stopped for a moment to let all this sink i
n. Then he went on: ‘Listen to me; I’ve stood in a bar and heard Nelson boasting in front of some women about his job, his contacts, the fact that he is the man responsible for organising many of the attacks on the Provos. And they lap it up; they love to hear this brilliant, brave man telling them how the UDA are hitting back at the Provos. He gets off on it, I’m sure.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said the handler, ‘that’s very useful to know. Anything else while we’re on the subject?’

  ‘Aye,’ came the reply, ‘I promise you, I’m advising you as a mate, I’m pleading with you to bring this to a halt before the roof comes fucking crashing down on all of you. I don’t know the others, but you and I have been mates for some years, and there will be hell to pay for all this. I promise you that the shit is about to hit the fan and when it does you know where the buck will stop.’

  The Special Branch officer had now thrown all caution to the wind and was simply trying to persuade his friend to see what would happen if the Force Research Unit continued running Nelson. ‘You and I are the fucking worker bees and we are always the ones who get the shit when anything goes wrong. I am telling you all this because I fear what will happen to you and the fellas like you when all this comes crashing around your heads. You know the guys at the top will run for cover and you’ll be left holding the fucking baby. You and your lads are the ones who get the shit thrown at them.’

  The handler didn’t know how he should respond to this warning. His friend was giving him advice which he knew to be true, advice which he knew he would now have to address and take up with FRU senior officers, warning them of what might be about to hit the whole unit. Before the meeting that night the handler had believed that Nelson’s work had been contained inside Military Intelligence. Now he realised that the Special Branch knew everything that was necessary if they ever wanted to pull the rug from under them.

  He thought it was time to change the subject. He had heard enough to satisfy himself that the FRU would now have to change tack, perhaps get rid of Nelson and move on despite the success that the relationship had brought during the previous two years.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, firmly shaking the Branch man’s hand. ‘I mean it. I was afraid that one day it might come to this, but now I know the moment has arrived. You’ve been a real mate.’

  ‘If you want another chat,’ volunteered the Special Branch man, ‘you know my number.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ said the FRU man. And he was gone.

  Within a few weeks of that conversation, a murder would take place in Co. Down which would bring to centre stage Nelson’s involvement as the link between British Military Intelligence and the UDA.

  One of the Provos’ intelligence officers in Co. Down, a man by the name of Loughlin Maginn, had been watched for some time by the Force Research Unit. His name kept cropping up among contacts of Provo leaders and Sinn Fein activists, and the FRU, relying on source reports, became convinced that Maginn, a poultry dealer in his twenties who was married with four children, was in fact a man with close ties to the Provisional IRA. The more they watched him, the more certain they became that Maginn used his job dealing in poultry as an excuse to reach contacts, organise Provo active service units and target potential victims throughout the county.

  During one meeting between Ten-Thirty-Three and his handlers in a safe-house outside Belfast, Nelson was asked if he knew anything about John Anthony Loughlin Maginn who lived in Rathfriland, Co. Down.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ replied Nelson.

  ‘We suggest you take a closer look,’ he was advised by one of his handlers. ‘We believe he is a keen Provo with responsibility for Co. Down.’

  ‘Do you have a P-Card?’

  ‘Aye, we do,’ said the handler. ‘And there is a great deal of evidence suggesting that Maginn, while driving around the area selling poultry, also uses his time to target UDR soldiers, RUC men and prison warders in particular.’

  ‘Any photos?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘Yes,’ said another handler, ‘we have a montage of him, shot from various angles. All black and white, of course.’

  ‘Great,’ replied Nelson examining the photographs. ‘With that little lot we should have no problem.’

  He was also provided with Maginn’s home address and was told that the target was married to a woman who was also in her twenties. It was understood the couple had a young family, but the officers weren’t sure whether they had three or four children.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ commented Nelson, ‘this should be a piece of cake but we’ll have to check out the area first. Do you know if he’s got any protection?’

  ‘Not as far as we know,’ he was told, ‘but he may well carry a handgun or, as he deals in poultry and moves around the country, he may have a shotgun.’

  ‘Great,’ replied Nelson. ‘I’ll inform my people and let you know what success we have.’

  Shortly after midnight on Friday, 25 August 1989, while watching a late-night movie on television while lying on the sofa in the living-room of his home, Loughlin Maginn heard the sound of breaking glass. As he got to his feet to see what was going on at that ungodly hour he was hit by a burst of fire from two masked men standing in the garden outside the window and firing indiscriminately into the room. In a bid to escape his attackers, the wounded Maginn stumbled upstairs as the men clambered through the window and chased after him. On the landing he turned towards the killers as though inviting them to shoot him, and was hit several times in the chest.

  His wife Maureen, woken up by the gunfire, rushed out of her bedroom to see what was happening only to find her husband crumpled on the landing floor, almost motionless, his body covered with blood. The shots had also woken the couple’s children. They ran out of their bedrooms to see what was happening and were confronted by the sight of their father’s bloodied body lying on the floor. The children became almost hysterical, running around the house screaming and crying, shocked and terrified by the sight of their dying father and shouting ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy’ over and over again.

  Neighbours, woken by the shooting and the screaming, ran in their pyjamas to the house after seeing a car with three men inside drive away. They found Maureen Maginn in a state of shock, unable to take in what had happened to her husband and fearful for her screaming, hysterical children whom neighbours had difficulty in calming as they waited for an ambulance.

  A woman who went to help said, ‘It was a dreadful heart-rending scene with poor Loughlin lying dead on the floor of the landing, his face and body covered in blood and the children screaming for their daddy. I have never seen a family so torn apart like this; it was truly awful. God, may the men who did this rot in hell.’

  Other neighbours reported that for three or more years Maginn and his wife had been subjected to almost constant harassment by the army and the RUC. A friend of the family, who did not wish to give his name, commented, ‘Loughlin made official complaints about harassment both to army commanders and senior RUC officers but it didn’t stop them. They never left him alone. They would stop him at vehicle check-points and insist on searching his car; they would repeatedly stop him and ask questions about reasons for his journey, the people he was meeting, the places he was visiting, as though trying to catch him out. They deliberately went out of their way to make his life impossible, harassing him at every turn. And Loughlin would tell me that he had no idea why he was constantly being targeted by the army and the RUC. The only possible reason was the fact that he was a Catholic. He was not a Provo and I’m sure he had never been in any sort of trouble. He was a happily married family man who worked hard for his wife and kids. I feel that he was murdered simply because the army and police were always harassing him and the UFF came to hear about it and put two and two together. If that is the case then both the army and the RUC have a heavy responsibility for they would have been directly responsible for his murder. They must be fucking crazy to kill an innocent man like this.’

  So thrilled were they at taking out a man they
believed to be a Provo liaison officer that the UDA issued a statement not long after Maginn’s murder in which the organisation’s leadership boasted that its intelligence material was now of such a high calibre that they ‘only’ murdered Republican terrorists. Their claim was, of course, untrue – they had murdered many an innocent man, including a number of taxi-drivers and some embarrassing ‘own-goals’. In a bid to prove their claim of only targeting terrorists, the UDA, incredibly, published a confidential file belonging to the security forces that identified Maginn as an IRA intelligence officer.

  The political response was dramatic and immediate. After discussions between the Northern Ireland Office in London and the Joint Irish Section, the RUC top brass announced they were setting up an official inquiry into allegations that the security services were colluding with Protestant paramilitaries to assassinate Republicans. At that time – the autumn of 1989 – no one outside a small nucleus of senior officers in the security and intelligence services knew of the existence of the Force Research Unit because, officially, it did not exist.

  On 15 September 1989, John Stevens, then deputy chief constable of Cambridgeshire Police, was appointed to head the inquiry. He would have a far-reaching remit to question and examine every branch of the security and intelligence services in Northern Ireland which he believed might be relevant to his inquiry. Every branch of the security forces, including the army, the RUC, the Special Branch and Military Intelligence, was expected to cooperate fully.

  But the initial inquiry by John Stevens and his team (which included a number of lawyers and senior police officers) held no real concern for the officers and handlers of the Force Research Unit because the Ministry of Defence lawyers – who represented the FRU officers – had no reason to discuss with them the work of the aggressive secret organisation nor of their agent in the field, Ten-Thirty-Three. As a result, FRU handlers were ordered to continue their work as usual but to take extra care when dealing with their primary agent. They were also urged to impress on the overconfident Nelson that he should take great care when going about his business with the UDA.