Echobeat (26 page)

‘Lot of people there.’

‘It’s an expensive place, isn’t it?’ Duggan had never been there. ‘Surely there’s lots of room between the tables.’

‘Maybe. I haven’t been there before.’

‘And if that doesn’t work, do it in the cab on the way home.’

‘Maybe.’ Sullivan looked undecided.

‘Show me the ring. You got it there?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Congratulations anyway.’

‘She hasn’t said yes yet.’

‘Why wouldn’t she?’ Duggan smiled. ‘Aren’t you good for the widow’s pension?’

‘Jaysus,’ Sullivan gave a mirthless laugh and checked his watch again. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck.’

Sullivan left, like a reluctant volunteer going on an unwelcome mission. Duggan shook his head with a smile, wondering why Sullivan was so uncertain about it. If I was heading off to propose to Gerda I’d be in seventh heaven, he thought. He looked at his watch and considered calling around to her. But he couldn’t afford to leave the phone unattended. He had better wait for a couple of hours anyway. And, by then, it would be too late to call on her.

He lit a cigarette, tipped back his chair, threw his feet up on the table, and watched the smoke curl to the yellowed ceiling. Wouldn’t it be great if they could just go out on a date, he thought. Without work or Glenn or the German internees or the war hanging over their every meeting. It was never far away, even when they were lost in each other. But then he would never have met her. The real her, the one she kept hidden from everyone.

He inhaled some smoke and let it drift back out of his mouth. The thing now was to get her away from all of that as soon as possible, help her to forget her own past. And protect her public identity. The moment of truth was probably coming in the war. In the spring. When the Germans made their next move. Which would have to be the invasion of Britain. And maybe of Ireland. But they wouldn’t even need to invade Ireland if Britain fell. Unless it could all be decided in North Africa. But that was unlikely. It would have to come back to Europe. And if Britain fell the Germans could just dictate terms to
Ireland. Which would leave Gerda in a dangerous position if her real identity was known to many people. Who knew who would side with the new order once it became established?

The only way to protect her was to get her away from the Glenn business as soon as possible and as discreetly as possible. And the only way to do that was to wrap it up quickly without the involvement of anyone who didn’t already know her true identity. Which, as far as he knew, was only McClure and probably the colonel. And the intelligence officer in Southern Command who had first put them onto her.

He leaned forward to stub out the butt in the metal ashtray and a thought struck him. He pulled the phone over by its cable and asked the switchboard for the main telephone exchange. When he was put through he asked for the supervisor, identified himself, gave the supervisor Gerda’s office number.

‘Is there an intercept on that line?’ he asked.

‘Hold on,’ the man said.

Duggan twisted the phone cord around his finger while he waited for him to return.

‘No,’ the man said when he came back. ‘Will you be wanting one on it?’

‘Ah, no,’ Duggan said. ‘Thanks.’

At least Anderson hadn’t gone that far in his pursuit of Gerda. There was no need to worry that he would overhear any arrangements she made with Glenn.

He dropped his feet to the floor, stood up and went to a cupboard to find the Ordnance Survey map covering the Sandymount area. It took him a while to find the address of the house for rent that Gerda had given him. He memorised its location and how to get there and decided to drive by it later. It was better than sitting here, just waiting. And it was never any harm to reconnoitre the ground.

‘Flights are resuming from Foynes to Lisbon tomorrow morning,’ Pól Ó Murchú said in the formal manner of a head waiter laying out the evening instructions for staff. He was in a brisk mood this morning, no longer under the burdens that seemed to have oppressed him during their last meeting. ‘Mr Aiken will be on the first flight out, stay a day or two in Lisbon and be in Washington at the start of next week.’

‘Yes, sir,’ McClure said. He and Duggan were across the desk from him, in their usual chairs in his office.

‘His main task is to buy the weapons and military supplies and ships we need. But,’ Ó Murchú picked up the copy of the letter from Churchill to Roosevelt, ‘his most difficult task will be to counter the British attempts to get the US to put pressure on us over the ports. We know from some of our friends in the Democratic Party that the President is somewhat impatient with our position. Even though it’s the very same as his own official position, neutrality. Mr Aiken will have his work cut out to explain it to him.’

He paused and looked at them in silence for a moment. ‘You have nothing more to add to this document?’

‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ McClure said. ‘We were hoping to get further information, documents, but that now appears unlikely. But we may be able to learn some more from the source of this letter.’

‘Like what?’

‘We don’t think he has access to any more similar documents but he may have seen some others. Or at least heard people talking about them.’

Ó Murchú gave that a moment’s consideration. ‘In what way do you think he might add to our knowledge about the situation?’

‘I can’t say, sir,’ McClure shook his head. ‘I can’t even be sure that he will add anything to our knowledge. All we have confirmed at this stage is that the letter to President Roosevelt is genuine.’

‘We’ve assumed that all along,’ Ó Murchú sighed with disapproval at their failure to tell him something new. ‘It chimes with everything we know about both Mr Churchill and President Roosevelt. Anything new on this German parachutist?’

‘We’re hoping for a breakthrough in the near future.’

Ó Murchú gave a harrumph.

‘Christ,’ McClure sighed as they sat into the car and lit cigarettes. ‘Just as well we’re not looking for promotion in the foreseeable future.’

‘Maybe we should’ve told him about the Right Club and all that,’ Duggan ventured as he did a U-turn and headed back the way they had come.

‘You heard what the colonel said,’ McClure shrugged. ‘And it wouldn’t have been of any practical use to him or Mr Aiken. The Americans obviously know all about it already. And they might be none too happy to have us sticking our oar into it. Until we have something definite to contribute. Like Glenn.’

The thaw was now well established, turning the air raw with dampness and the streets into a shallow stream of muck. The few pedestrians about crossed the streets paying more attention to where they put their feet than to the sparse traffic.

‘I’m going to meet Glenn myself next time he contacts Gerda,’ Duggan said, deciding it was time to tell McClure. ‘That’ll speed things up. Get us the answers we need from him.’

‘Good idea,’ McClure said. ‘We’ll work out a plan.’

‘I already have one.’ Duggan spelled out what he intended to do.

McClure went into one of his silences. They crossed O’Connell Bridge and turned onto Bachelors Walk. Peter Gifford was just turning into Bachelors Way, leading down to Benny Reilly’s place in North Lotts. Duggan let the car coast to the pavement and told McClure why. ‘I’ll just go check with him for a moment,’ he said. McClure nodded.

Duggan tossed his half-finished cigarette away and went after Gifford. He found him hammering on Benny’s door. ‘Fucker’s disappeared,’ Gifford said, giving up as Duggan reached him.

‘Fuck,’ Duggan echoed.

‘Last seen in Hughes’s pub last night. Pissed out of his mind. Tried to pick a fight with some of the lads from the Bridewell. Singing, “Take it Down from the Mast, Irish Traitors”.’

‘They didn’t throw him in a cell somewhere?’

‘They threw him into the street. Hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Fuck,’ Duggan repeated.

‘Didn’t go home last night. No sign of him at his usual haunts.’ Gifford kicked the door of the garage for emphasis.

‘Hope he didn’t fall in the Liffey.’

‘No bodies washed up yet,’ Gifford said, cheering up as they turned away. ‘Anyway, life goes on, whether Benny remains in the land of the living or not. Sinead wants to meet this friend of yours. Give her the once over. See if she passes muster.’

Duggan couldn’t help laughing at the sudden change of mood. ‘We’ll get together at the weekend.’

‘No can do.’

‘She’s going home for the weekend?’

‘Yes,’ Gifford dragged the word out and raised the first two fingers of each hand into inverted commas. ‘She’s going “home” for the weekend.’ He dropped his hands. ‘Which means she won’t leave the flat for a minute in case anyone sees her. And I’ll be as limp as a wet rag by Monday.’

‘Better start building up your strength.’

‘We could do it tomorrow night. Before she goes.’

‘Sure,’ Duggan said. ‘I’ll let you know if that’s okay.’

They came back onto Bachelors Walk and Duggan pointed to the car. ‘Want a lift?’

Gifford lowered his head and squinted at the car. ‘You’ve got a passenger. And not one of the fairer sex.’

‘My boss.’

‘No thanks,’ Gifford shivered. ‘Two intelligence men together. That’d fry my brain.’

‘Check the morgue,’ Duggan said as he left him. He sat into the car and told McClure about Benny.

‘Christ,’ McClure muttered.

They remained silent until they passed the Four Courts. Ahead of them, the sky was lightening to the west, the first breaks appearing in the clouds.

‘You should have some back-up when you meet Glenn,’ McClure said.

‘I don’t think I need any,’ Duggan said, as casually as possible. ‘Especially now that we know that he’s not anybody’s agent. I mean, a real agent.’

‘Still. We don’t know that he won’t be armed.’

‘It’s unlikely.’

‘True. But there’s no harm in being careful.’

‘I’d rather do it alone,’ Duggan said, concentrating on the road
ahead and hoping that McClure was not going to insist on sending someone with him. ‘I’d like to keep this operation as small as possible. Keep Gerda’s involvement within the circle of people who already know about her. She’s very nervous about people discovering her true identity.’

McClure said nothing until they stopped at the barrier to headquarters and waited for it to be raised. ‘What about your Special Branch friend? Does he know about her?’

‘No.’

‘You trust him?’

‘Yes,’ Duggan let the clutch up.

‘Does he know about this operation?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe he could back you up.’

In their office Sullivan was whistling some jaunty tune that Duggan thought he should know but couldn’t name. ‘You did it,’ Duggan nodded to himself. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ Sullivan bowed his head in formal acknowledgement.

‘When’s the wedding?’

‘There’s no hurry.’

‘But she won’t get the widow’s pension if she’s only a fiancée.’

‘Ah, would you stop that,’ Sullivan said. ‘That joke’s worn thin.’

What joke? Duggan wondered, refraining from pointing out that it was Sullivan himself who had ascribed that motive to Carmel. But things had clearly changed and he thought he knew why. He smiled at the thought, covering it with another question. ‘When did you pop the question?’

‘In the restaurant. It’s overpriced if you ask me. But it worked out very well. The waiter noticed me doing it and next thing two glasses
of champagne arrived on the house. They did it very discreetly. No fuss. Nobody said anything.’

‘Carmel was impressed?’

‘Yeah,’ Sullivan laughed. ‘Especially as she thought I’d arranged it all beforehand.’ He paused. ‘Listen, we’re going out to celebrate at the weekend. You should come along. I’ll get you another date with one of Carmel’s or Breda’s friends.’

‘Thanks. But I might have a date myself.’

‘Even better. Bring her along.’

‘It might be a bit soon for that,’ Duggan said. ‘It might frighten her off to meet all you lot in one go.’

Sullivan narrowed his eyes. ‘This is a real date? Not with your homo friend?’

‘That joke’s wearing thin too,’ Duggan said. ‘He’s got his girlfriend staying with him for the weekend.’

Sullivan widened his eyes. ‘How’d he manage that?’

‘His charm, I suppose.’

‘What about his parents?’

‘He lives in a flat.’

‘What about her?’

‘What about her?’

‘She’s willing to stay with him for the weekend?’

Duggan nodded.

‘How’d he manage that?’

Duggan shrugged and his phone rang. The orderly on the switchboard said in a flat voice, ‘your batman’.

‘Speak of the devil,’ Duggan said to Sullivan as he waited for the call to be put through.

‘No new stiffs in the morgue,’ Gifford said on the phone.

‘That’s good.’

‘Unless he’s still floating down to sea.’

‘Will you drag the Liffey from’ – Duggan paused – ‘I don’t know, where does it start? From there down to the bay and back again.’

‘I’ll just go get my fishing net, general.’

‘By the way,’ Duggan said, looking at Sullivan. ‘One of the staff officers here wants to know the secret of your success with women.’

‘Well, finally,’ Gifford snorted, ‘military intelligence gets around to seeking answers to matters of real importance.’

‘What’ll I tell him?’

‘Tell him to change uniform. Join the Garda Síochána, a body of men whose uniform stands for uprightness, helping old ladies and children across the street. Not like that mucky green thing worn by lowlifes who hide behind ditches and snipe at innocent people.’

Duggan replaced the receiver and said to Sullivan, ‘He says join the guards. Women can’t resist their uniform.’

Sullivan rolled his eyes.

Duggan reached over and lifted the receiver of the special phone and listened to its hum for a moment.

‘Still working?’

Duggan nodded. ‘But our man’s gone missing.’

‘Another great plan down the Swanee,’ Sullivan said in a contented tone.

‘We’ll see.’ Duggan pulled a newspaper over and the phone rang. ‘A lady for you,’ the switchboard operator said.

‘Paul?’ Gerda said, her voice hushed with excitement. ‘He’s called.’

‘And?’ Duggan prompted.

‘He’ll meet us at that place at eight o’clock.’

‘Great. Did he say anything else?’

‘No. It was very short.’ She was still whispering.

‘Okay. I’ll call around to you after work.’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve agreed to go out to eat with the girls from the digs.’

‘Can’t you skip it?’

‘They’ve been talking about this for a long time and I kept putting them off. They’ll think I’m a right bitch if I don’t come.’

‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll pick you up at half-seven. Will it be over by then?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Clerys restaurant.’

Duggan replaced the receiver and clapped his hands. ‘Another plan is working,’ he beamed at Sullivan.

‘That didn’t sound like work,’ Sullivan smirked.

‘It’s work, all right. God never closes one door but he opens another.’

‘You know we’re on standby here tonight? In case the bombers come again.’

‘I know,’ Duggan said with a hint of impatience. ‘But this is more important.’

Sullivan gave him a sceptical look.

Gifford was doing his impersonation of a corner boy again, standing with a sneer on his face at the corner of Bachelors Walk and O’Connell Street. He spotted Duggan’s car behind the swarm of bicycles and the row of carts and horse-drawn cabs waiting at the junction and sauntered down and got in just as the line of traffic began to move.

‘Anything?’ Duggan asked.

‘Not a thing. You’d think the place had been deserted since the dawn of time.’

‘He’s cleaned it out?’ Duggan glanced at him.

‘Don’t know. I couldn’t see in. We’ll come back when it’s dark. See if there’s any light inside. Maybe find him hiding in the tea chest.’

Duggan turned his attention back to the traffic on Eden Quay, ready to speed up and change gear at the first chance to get past everything
that was keeping them to a cycling pace. He saw his opportunity on Amiens Street and raced away with a roaring engine.

‘Tut, tut,’ Gifford murmured. ‘Getting impatient are we?’

‘Listen,’ Duggan ignored him. ‘I need your help tonight.’

Gifford listened in silence until Duggan had finished telling him the bare outline of the plan. ‘Very fishy,’ Gifford observed.

‘What is?’

‘That none of your lads are involved.’

‘There’s a reason why not many people know about it. And why it has to be kept that way.’

‘You sure you’re not off on another of your solo runs, are you?’ Gifford gave him a squint-eyed look. ‘That’s going to get a poor innocent policeman into trouble?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Nothing to do with your mad relatives?’

‘Nothing,’ Duggan laughed.

‘And this woman who’ll be with you? She’s not your cousin?’

‘Jesus, no.’

‘She’s the mysterious girlfriend? That some of your fellows want our fellows to follow?’

‘Look,’ Duggan said. ‘I can’t tell you at the moment. But I’ll explain later.’

‘Need-to-know, huh,’ Gifford nodded to himself. ‘So that I can’t reveal anything when I’m caught and tortured.’

Duggan laughed. ‘You’ve been going to too many pictures.’

‘I’ll get to meet her later? The girlfriend?’

‘Maybe. But you’ll meet her tomorrow night anyway. Is that still on with Sinead?’

‘Yeah. She can’t wait.’

They went by Fairview and under the railway bridge onto Clontarf Road and the sky brightened out over the bay.

‘Very flattering, I suppose,’ Gifford said in a discursive tone. ‘That the security of the state rests on my ability to follow this guy through empty suburban streets all on my own without him seeing me.’