the Savage Day - Simon Vaughn 02 (v5) (10 page)

'Surprise, surprise,' Tim Pat said and he laughed. 'This just isn't your day, Major.'

'Did you have to do that to him?' I asked.

'A tough old bastard, I'll give him that, but then I wanted him to tell me where those firing pins were and he was stubborn as Kelly's mule.'

One of his friends came forward and ran his hands over me so inexpertly that I could have taken him and the gun in his hand in any number of ways, but there was no need.

He moved back, slipping his gun in his pocket, and the three of them faced me. 'Where's Binnie, then, Major?' Tim Pat demanded. 'Did you lose him on the way?'

The french windows swung in with a splintering crash, the curtains were torn aside and Binnie stood there, crouching, the Browning ready in his left hand.

There was a sudden silence, the one curtain remaining fluttered in the wind, rain pattered into the room. Thunder rumbled on the horizon of things.

Binnie said coldly, 'Here I am, you bastard.'

Tim Pat's breath went out of him in a dying fall. 'Well, would you look at that now?'

One of the other two men was still holding his gun. Binnie extended the Browning suddenly, the revolver dropped to the floor, the hands went up.

'What about Mr Meyer?'

'Look for yourself.' I pulled Meyer's head back.

A glance was enough. The boy's eyes became empty, devoid of all feeling for a moment, the same look as on that first night in Belfast, and then something moved there, some cold spark, and the look on his face was terrible to see.

'You did this?' he said in a strange dead voice. 'In the name of Ireland?'

'For God's sake, Binnie,' Tim Pat protested. 'The ould bugger wouldn't open his mouth. Now what in the hell could I do?'

Binnie's glance flickered once again to Meyer, the man with his hands raised dropped to one knee and grabbed for his revolver. In the same moment, Tim Pat and the other man went for their guns.

One of the finest shots in the world once put five .38 specials into a playing card at fifteen feet in half a second. He would have met his match in Binnie Gallagher. His first bullet caught the man who had dropped to one knee between the eyes, he put two into the head of the other one that could not have had more than two fingers' span between them.

Tim Pat fired once through the pocket of his raincoat, then a bullet shattered his right arm. He bounced back against the wall, staggered forward, mouth agape, and blundered out through the french windows.

Binnie let him reach the bottom of the steps, start across the lawn, then shot him three times in the back so quickly that to anyone other than an expert it must have sounded like one shot.

Al Bowlly was into
Moonlight on the Highway
now. I switched off the cassette recorder, than I walked past Binnie and went down the steps. Tim Pat lay on his face. I turned him over and felt in his pocket for the gun. It was a Smith and Wesson automatic and when I pulled it out, a piece of cloth came with it.

Binnie stood over me, reloading the Browning. I held up the Smith and Wesson. 'Let that be a lesson to you. Never fire an automatic from your pocket. The slide usually catches on the lining so you can only guarantee to get your first shot off, just like our friend here.'

'You learn something new every day,' he said.

From inside the house the phone started ringing. I went back in at once and found it in the darkness of the hall on a small table.

I lifted the receiver and said, 'Randall Cottage.'

Norah Murphy's harsh, distinctive voice sounded at the other end. 'Who is this?'

'Vaughan.'

'Is Meyer there?'

'Only in a manner of speaking. I'm afraid the opposition got there first. Three of them.'

There was silence for a moment and then she said, 'You're all right - both of you?'

'Fine,' I said. 'Binnie handled it with his usual efficiency. I hope our friends have got funeral insurance. This one's going to be expensive for them. Where shall we meet?'

'Back at the boat,' she said. 'I can be there in fifteen minutes. We'll talk then.'

The receiver clicked into place and I hung up and turned to Binnie. 'All right, back to Stramore.'

We went out into the rain and I paused beside the van. 'Are you okay? Do you want me to drive?'

'God save us, why shouldn't I, Major? I'm fit as a hare. You sit back and enjoy your cigarette.'

As we went down the farm track, his hands were steady as a rock on the wheel.

The green Vauxhall still waited on the grass verge at the side of the road as we passed, would probably stand there for some time before anyone thought to do any checking, although that was not all that probable in times like these.

About five miles out of Stramore we had a puncture in the offside rear tyre. Binnie managed to pull into a lay-by and we got out together to fix it, only to discover that while there was a reasonably serviceable spare, there was no jack.

He gave the offending wheel an angry kick. 'Would you look at that? Two quid that dirty bowser took off me. Wait, now, till I see him. We'll be having a word and maybe more.'

We started to walk side by side in the heavy rain. I wasn't particularly put out at what had happened. I needed a time to think and this was as good a chance as any. I had a problem on my hands - a hell of a problem. Meyer had been the pipeline to the Brigadier, had probably spoken to him as soon as he had heard from me if Tim Pat Keogh and his friends had given him time.

So now I was nicely adrift, for the Brigadier had made it plain that under no circumstances was I to get involved with the military. Whichever way you looked at it, it seemed obvious that if I was ever to get in touch with him at all, which seemed pretty essential now, I would have to disregard that part of my instructions.

I suppose we had been walking for about half an hour when we were picked up by a travelling shop. The driver was going to Stramore and was happy to take us there if we didn't mind a roundabout route as he had calls to make at a couple of farms on the way.

The end result was that we were a good two hours later into Stramore than I had calculated and it was past six o'clock when the van dropped us at the edge of town. We had to pass the garage on the way down to the harbour and as it was still open, Binnie went in and I waited for him. Five minutes later he emerged, face grim.

'What happened?' I asked him.

He held up two one pound notes. 'He saw reason,' he said. 'A decent enough man with the facts before him.'

I wondered if the Browning had figured in the proceedings, but that was none of my affair. We went down the narrow cobbled street together and turned along the front.

Binnie tugged at my sleeve quickly. 'The boat's gone.'

He was right enough, but when we went down to the jetty itself, we found the
Kathleen
moored at the bottom of a flight of wide stone steps on the far side.

'Now what in the hell would she do that for?' Binnie asked.

I led the way down the steps without replying. There was something wrong here, I sensed that, but in view of the time and place, it didn't seem likely to be anything to do with Frank Barry and his merry men.

We reached the concrete landing strip at the bottom and I called, 'Norah? Are you there?'

She screamed high and clear from inside the cabin, 'Run for it, Vaughan. Run for it.'

But we were already too late. A couple of stripped-down Land-Rovers roared along the jetty in the same instant and a moment later there were at least eight paratroopers lining the jetty above us plus the same number of sub-machine-guns pointing in our direction. Binnie's hand was already inside his coat and I barely had time to grab his arm before he could draw.

'I told you before, boy, no heroics. There's no percentage in it. There'll be another time.'

He looked at me, eyes glazed, that strange, dazed expression on his face again, and by then they were down the steps and on to us.

They put us up against the wall and none too gently, which was only to be expected, legs astraddle for the search. The sergeant in charge found the Browning, of course, but nothing on me.

After that, we waited until someone said, 'All right, Sergeant, turn them round.'

A young paratrooper captain was standing by the wheelhouse wearing red beret, camouflaged uniform and flak jacket, just like his men. He was holding the Browning in one hand. Norah Murphy stood beside him, her face very white.

The captain had the lazy, rather amiable face of the kind of man who usually turns out to be as tough as old boots underneath. He looked me over with a sort of mild curiosity.

'You are Major Simon Vaughan?'

'That's right, Captain.'

I laid a slight emphasis on my use of his handle which he didn't fail to notice for he smiled faintly. 'Your wheelhouse would appear to have been in the wars, Major. Window gone, wood splintered and a couple of nine millimetre rounds embedded in one panel. Would you care to comment?'

'It was a rough trip,' I said. 'Or didn't you hear the weather report?'

He shrugged. 'Under the circumstances, I have no alternative but to take you all into custody.'

Norah Murphy said, 'I'm an American citizen. I demand to see my consul.'

'At the earliest possible moment, ma'am,' he assured her gravely.

Another vehicle turned on to the jetty and braked to a halt above us. I heard a door slam and a cheerful, familiar voice called, 'Now then, Stacey, what's all this? What have we got here?'

The captain sprang to attention and gave the kind of salute that even the Guards only reserve for very senior officers as the Brigadier came down the steps resplendent in camouflaged uniform, flak jacket and dark blue beret, a Browning in the holster on his right hip, a swagger stick in his left hand.

8
Interrogation

In happier times Stramore had only needed one constable, which meant that the local police post was a tiny affair. Little more than an office and single cell which from the look of it had been constructed to accommodate all the local drunks at the same time. It was clean enough, with green-painted brick walls, four iron cot beds and a single narrow window, heavily barred as was to be expected.

The door was unlocked by the police constable and Captain Stacey led the way in. 'I'm sorry we can't offer separate accommodation in your case, Dr Murphy,' he said. 'But it won't be for long. Tonight at the most. I would anticipate moving you first thing in the morning.'

Norah Murphy said calmly, 'I'm not going anywhere till I hear from the American consul.'

Stacey saluted and turned to leave. Binnie and I had both been handcuffed and I held out my hands. 'What about these?'

'Sorry,' he said. 'I've had my orders.'

The door closed, the key turned. I moved to the window, and tried to peer outside, but there was nothing to see for the glass was misted with rain and it was almost dark.

Norah Murphy said softly, 'Are we wired for sound?'

'In this place?' I couldn't help laughing. 'That only happens on stage six at MGM. Get me a cigarette. Left-hand pocket.'

She put one in my mouth and gave me a light, then took one herself. 'All right, what went wrong?'

'Tim Pat Keogh and a couple of Barry's goons were waiting for us.'

'What happened?'

'They killed the old man,' Binnie told her. 'Burnt his face with a cigarette-lighter to make him tell them where the firing pins were. And that bastard Tim Pat tried to justify it.' He spat in the corner. 'May he roast in hell.'

She turned back to me. 'What did happen to the firing pins, then? Are they still at the cottage?'

'They're in Scotland, sweetheart,' I said. 'That's the irony of it. In an old garage Meyer rented in Oban. We intended bringing them over with the rest of the stuff on the second trip if everything had gone all right this time.'

Her eyes widened in horror. 'Then Meyer died for nothing.'

'Exactly.' I moved to the window and peered out again. It was quite dark. 'Of course the really interesting question is how did they know where he was?' When I turned she was watching me closely, a slight frown on her face. 'Or to put it another way - who told them.'

Binnie had been sitting on one of the beds. He stood up quickly. 'What are you trying to say, Major?'

Norah Murphy cut him off with a quick gesture. 'No, Binnie, let him have his say.'

'All right,' I said. 'It's straightforward enough. I was the only one who knew Meyer's address until I gave it to you in the pub on a piece of paper Binnie didn't even see. In fact he didn't know where we were going till we were on our way. In any case, as he's knocked off four of Barry's men by now, he's hardly likely to be working for him.'

'Which leaves me?' she said calmly.

'The only possibility. You even knew there was plenty of time for action because Meyer didn't want to see me till three-thirty. A quick phone call was all it took. It also explains how they came to be waiting for us in Bloody Passage last night, which was also reasonably coincidental. I mean, we'd hardly advertised the trip, now had we?'

All this, of course, was right out of the top of my head. It made sense, there was a sort of logic to it and yet I was whistling in the dark to a certain extent, attempting, more than anything else, to provoke some kind of reaction.

I was totally unprepared for the violence of her reply. Her face was contorted with rage on the instant and she flung herself at me, one hand catching me solidly across the face, the other on the rebound, and she could punch her weight.

'I'll kill you for saying that,' she cried. 'I'll kill you, Vaughan.' She grabbed me by the lapels and shook me furiously.

I couldn't do all that much to defend myself, what with the handcuffs and the unexpectedness of the attack, but as she clawed at my face again Binnie moved in behind her, pulled her away with both hands and got between us.

He looked at me over his shoulder. 'You shouldn't have said that, Major. You've done a bad thing here.'

She collapsed on the bed, dry sobs racking her body, her face in her hands and Binnie crouched beside her like a dog, his handcuffed hands in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair. After a while she looked up. Her face was calm again, but the eyes were somehow weary and the voice was very tired.

'I spoke to the commander of the North Antrim Brigade of the official IRA this afternoon. He was the man whose people were waiting for us on that beach last night. As a matter of interest, he was notified within one hour of your friend Meyer's arrival at Randall Cottage yesterday, just as he's told immediately of any stranger moving into a house anywhere in his district these days. Unfortunately, Frank Barry and his organization hold just as much sway in this area.'

'And last night?'

'All right.' She nodded heavily. 'There was a leak, but at least twenty people were on that beach. It could have been any one of them. If I know my Barry he would be cunning enough to leave a sympathizer or two within the ranks of the official IRA when he broke away.'

It was all plausible enough. In fact, the truth of the matter was that it was beginning to look as if I had been about as wrong as a man could be.

I said, 'All right then. Did you speak to your uncle?'

'I did.'

'Where is he?'

The hate in her eyes when she looked up at me was really quite something. 'I'd burn in hell before I'd tell you that now.'

I don't know where the thing might have gone after that, but as it happened, the door opened and the police constable appeared.

'Would you be good enough to come with me, ma'am,' he said to Norah.

'Where are you taking me?' she demanded.

'To the nearest wall,' I said, 'where they have a firing party waiting for you. A bad habit the British Army have - or don't you believe your own propaganda?'

She went out fast, like a clipper under full sail, the police constable closed the door. When I turned, Binnie was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me.

'What did you have to go and say a thing like that for, Major?'

'I don't really know.' I shrugged. 'It seemed like a good idea at the time. There has to be some explanation.'

'She gave it to you, didn't she?' he said violently. 'Christ Jesus, but I will hear no more of this.'

He jumped to his feet, eyes staring, the handcuffed hands held out in front of him and for a moment I thought he might have a go at me. And then the door opened and the police constable appeared again, this time with the paratroop sergeant at his shoulder.

'Major Vaughan, sir. Will you come this way, please?'

Everyone was being too bloody polite to be true, but I winked at Binnie and went out, the police constable leading the way, the paratroop sergeant falling in behind me.

We went straight out of the front door and hurried through the teeming rain across the yard to what looked like a church hall. The entrance was sandbagged and a sentry stood guard beside a heavy machine-gun. We moved past him along a short corridor and paused outside a door at the far end. The sergeant knocked, and when he opened it I saw the Brigadier seated behind a desk in a tiny, cluttered office.

'Major Vaughan, sir,' the sergeant said.

The Brigadier looked up. 'Thank you, Grey. Bring the Major in and wait outside - and see that we're not disturbed.'

I advanced into the room, the door closed behind me. The Brigadier leaned back in his chair and looked me over. 'Well, you seem to have survived so far.'

'Only just.'

He stood up, got a chair from the corner and put it down beside me. 'Sorry about the handcuffs, but you'll have to hang on to those for the time being, just for the sake of appearances.'

'I understand.'

'But I can offer you a cigarette and a glass of scotch.'

He produced a bottle of White Horse and two glasses from a cupboard in the desk and I sat down. 'This place seems snug enough.'

He pushed a glass across to where I could reach it and half filled it. 'Used to be the Sunday School. This was the superintendent's office. Rum kind of soldiering.'

'I suppose so.'

He leaned across the desk to give me a cigarette. 'You'd better fill me in on what happened on the run from Scotland.'

Which didn't take long in the telling. When I had finished he said, 'And when you got in this morning you phoned Meyer?'

'That's it. He told me he'd get in touch with you straightaway. He asked me to be at the cottage by three-thirty.'

'Was he dead when you arrived?'

I nodded. 'You've been there?'

He opened the bottle of White Horse and splashed more whisky into my glass. 'I arrived at Randall Cottage at four-twenty precisely, which was the earliest I could manage. I'd told Meyer to hold you till I got there.'

'And all you found was a butcher's shop in hell.'

'Exactly. I hoped you'd gone back to the boat, naturally.'

'With the pipeline cut it seemed the only thing to do.'

'Which was why I phoned through to Captain Stacey who's in charge here and got him to lay on a reception party for you and your friends. An elaborate device for getting us together again, but there didn't seem any other way and time is of the essence, after all. Who were the other three at the cottage, by the way?'

'Some of Barry's men. They were after the firing pins.'

'Which explains the condition of poor old Meyer's face.' He nodded. 'I see now. Did you kill them?'

'No, the boy took care of that department. He didn't like what they'd done to Meyer.'

'He's that good?'

'The best I ever saw with a handgun. The complete idealist. He honestly thinks you can fight this kind of a war and come out of it with clean hands.' I swallowed my whisky and shook my head. 'God help him, but he's going to get one hell of a shock before he's through.'

'You sound as if you like him.'

'Oh, I like him all right. The only trouble is that one of us will very probably end up by knocking off the other before this little affair is over.'

'There was a bad explosion in Belfast this afternoon in one of the big public offices.'

'Many casualties?'

'Thirty or more. Mostly young girls from the typing pool and half of them were Catholic, there's the irony. The Provisionals have already claimed credit, if that's the right word. A nasty business.'

'Binnie Gallagher would be the first to agree with you.'

Which seemed to have little or no effect on him, for he sat staring down at the desk, whistling softly to himself while he traced complicated patterns on a memo pad with a pencil.

I said, 'Look, I'm not too happy about what you might call the security aspects of the affair. The fact that Barry and his men were waiting for us out there in Bloody Passage. The way they turned up at Meyer's cottage just like that.'

He looked up. 'Have you any ideas on the subject?'

I told him about my confrontation with Norah Murphy and when I was finished he shook his head. 'Michael Cork's niece selling him down the river? It doesn't make any kind of sense.'

'What does then?'

'The girl's own explanation. What I told you about IRA splinter groups at your briefing in London is absolutely true. They're not only having a go at the British. They're fighting each other. Each group has its own spies out, believe me. On top of that, it's almost impossible to keep any kind of security the way things are. There isn't a post office or shop or telephone exchange in the country that doesn't have sympathizers working in it. Ordinary, decent people on the whole, who probably hate the violence but are willing to pass on interesting information, for all that. And then there's always intimidation.'

He poured me another whisky and sat back, holding his glass up to the light. 'On the whole, I'd say things are going very well. You've got Frank Barry and one of the most wanted terrorist squads in Ireland sniffing at your heels, and as long as you stick with the girl you've a direct line to the Small Man himself. Do you think she knows where the bullion is?'

'My hunch is no, but I couldn't be definite at this stage. You could always try pulling out her fingernails.'

'Your sense of humour will be the death of you one of these fine days, Simon, just like your father. Did I ever tell you that I knew him back in the old days in India?'

'Several times.'

'Is that so?'

He dropped into that brown study of his again. I said patiently, 'All right, sir, what happens now?'

He drained his glass, rolled the last of the whisky around his tongue. 'That's easy enough.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's just after seven-thirty. At nine o'clock precisely, I'm taking the three of you back to Belfast with me, escorted by Captain Stacey and Sergeant Grey.'