James Benn - Evil for evil

"A bomb," I said, not realizing I'd spoken. The stretcher was loaded into the ambulance. The breeze from the Irish Sea swirled the odor of burnt flesh around us, and I stood rooted to the spot, wondering who it was and hoping this was not the work of my childhood heroes.

"Aye, a bomb, sir," the corporal said once the body was on its way. "It blew up in his room. We think it was planted there earlier in the day."

"His? Who was that?"

"Sergeant Cyrus Lynch, Lieutenant. My sergeant. And what is your business here?" The corporal asked his question with a minimum of regard for my rank.

"My name is Boyle. I was to drive to Belfast today with the sergeant and Subaltern O'Brien."

"We've been expecting you. Did you tell anyone where you'd be meeting them this morning?"

"Who is 'we' exactly?"

"Special security detail, attached to MI-5. Please answer the question, Lieutenant Boyle."

"No. No one knew I was coming here this morning, and I didn't tell a soul where the meeting was."

"Very well. Please show me your identification." I showed him my orders and ID, which he went through carefully, studying my face as well as the paperwork. As he handed it back to me, I caught sight of DI Carrick.

"I'm not surprised to see you here, Boyle," he said. "Trouble seems to follow you about."

"I was supposed to meet someone," I said neutrally, glancing at the corporal.

"You can tell the bloody district inspector about it, especially since the bomb's already gone off," he muttered as walked away, "sir."

"Yes, I know. You seem to have entree into the secret world of MI-5," Carrick said, studying the corporal's back.

"More than you do?" I asked, craning my neck up to the blown-out third-floor windows.

"I'm sure you're aware that there are conflicts between agencies.

Sometimes their need for secrecy outweighs my need for information."

"Like Andrew Jenkins and his file?"

"Yes, like that. My presence here this morning is a formality. The RUC will not receive one ounce of cooperation from these louts."

"Louts? Aren't you on the same side? Don't you all go to the same church?"

"Subaltern O'Brien certainly doesn't, and I doubt these men have seen the inside of a church since baptism. Be careful, Boyle." Carrick spoke without looking at me, watching the flow of security men around us. I was surprised at his concern, until I thought about what he might need from me.

"You want me to snoop around for you, don't you? Try to find out what's so top secret about Jenkins."

"That would aid you in your investigation, wouldn't it?"

"It may confirm what I know already-that he's a thief, a black marketeer, and a killer."

"I'm already aware of that, and so is half of Ulster. What I want to know is why your Subaltern O'Brien deems him worthy of protection." I let the your slide by. I knew what he meant, and it was so ingrained I wasn't sure he was even aware of his implication.

"Fair question. If I find anything out, I may have some questions for you about your Constable Simms."

"What sort of questions?"

"For now, can you tell me if he's been assigned to any kind of undercover work?"

"No, he hasn't. What are the other questions?"

"Uncomfortable ones but I'm not ready to ask them yet. Until I am, I'd recommend not sharing any sensitive information with Simms. Keep him in the dark."

"I will let Constable Simms tend to his duties in Clough, which he does very well," Carrick said, folding his arms behind him and tilting his head back, the familiar anger and arrogance returning.

"I'll take that as agreement."

"As you wish."

"One more thing," I said.

"What is it, man?"

I knew he was frustrated at being frozen out by the security toughs, and by the fact that I had the ear of Slaine O'Brien. He couldn't take it out on them, and the act of being nice to me had drained him, so I made allowance for his irritated tone.

"They never took the guns into the Republic. They're close by."

"How do you know?"

Carrick sounded happier. I told him about the delivery of the empty truck the night of the theft to Warrenpoint. I didn't see much reason to tell him about Red Jack embezzling IRA funds; that had the feel of a family matter.

"There's a reason Red Jack is still around, and why they didn't want us to think the BARs were still in Ulster. That's what we've got to figure out." As well as who the mystery Yank was, what role Adrian Simms had played in the whole thing, if there were any Germans hiding in the woodwork, and who the hell else might be involved.

"Is that all?"

"Actually, it isn't. Do you know a banker named McBurney in Armagh? He's part of your Royal Black Knight outfit."

"Yes, what's he got to do with all this?"

"There's something strange going on at that bank. I think Red Jack may have stashed some money there for a rainy day."

"Taggart? But he's a wanted man and a Catholic! That bank is frequented by Protestants, good solid businessmen, not Republicans."

"Exactly." I let that thought settle, and as it did I saw that Carrick had put two and two together.

"Very well. I shall have a talk with Mr. McBurney. And I'll not tell Constable Simms about it. But I want to hear from you very soon if you have any evidence of his wrongdoing."

"The wrongdoing outweighs the evidence at the moment. But I'll do my best."

"I shall be at RUC headquarters if you find out anything. It's on Waring Street in Belfast center, near the Albert Memorial Clock Tower. Just ask, everyone knows where that is." With that, Carrick motioned to his men, and they went to their vehicles, leaving the investigation to the security force and me on my own.

I asked the corporal to take me to Subaltern O'Brien. He led me into the hotel past one guard and down a hallway with men posted at either end. He knocked on a door, two short raps that sounded like a signal. He entered, I followed.

Slaine O'Brien sat at a desk, facing the door. In one hand she held a telephone, in the other a revolver. Only after the corporal shut the door after himself did she set down the gun.

"Yes, he's here now. I'll tell him… yes. I understand… I'll ring you later." She hung up the phone and rested her head in her hands, the big black telephone and the handgun at each elbow. "It was supposed to be me."

"What was?"

"In that room. It was supposed to be me. Cyrus said he had a bad feeling about being here without an escort, and we should switch rooms. He was going to sit up all night, he said, with his Thompson, and wait for them."

"Why? I mean, why not go somewhere else or get new rooms?"

"Because it's what we do, Lieutenant Boyle. We hunt extremists. Cyrus thought they'd come during the night, and that he could take them. He was usually right about these things." She pushed back in her chair, taking a deep breath. She looked exhausted. She motioned to a chair.

"There's tea," she said, nodding to a tray. "Still hot enough, I think."

"No thanks," I said. "What did you mean about being here without an escort? How did that make Cyrus nervous?"

"The IRA has a price on my head. It was five hundred pounds, last I heard. To them I'm a traitor, and somehow they find the notion of a woman hunting them especially despicable."

"Then why didn't you have an escort?"

"Sometimes my job requires discretion. Sergeant Lynch was my bodyguard, and he was very good at it. I had to visit a few contacts, and a motorcycle escort would have attracted too much attention."

"Looks like you got someone's attention," I said.

"Evidently. Did Corporal Finch ask if you'd told anyone about meeting me here?"

"Yes he did. I was glad to be able to tell him I hadn't. He looks like a tough customer."

"Otherwise you don't survive long in this business."