James Benn - Evil for evil

"All my men are accounted for," Carrick said, in a quick, clipped tone. He tried to hide his relief.

"I ran into Sergeant Farrell," Masters said. "They found a nest of four IRA men, right at the bend in the road. Two sets of BARs pointed in each direction. He's got three of them tied up and guarded."

"The fourth?" Carrick said.

"Farrell said three of them gave up easy, one went for his weapon. He had to use his knife."

"Where are your men now?" Uncle Dan asked.

"I've got two groups making a sweep of the perimeter, just inside the tree line. The rest are close, in case something happens here." He nodded his head slightly, indicating the trees nearest the house.

"Unfortunately, we don't know where O'Brick and the rest of them may be," Carrick said. "We've searched the house thoroughly, and your men are taking care of the grounds. Where could they hide?"

"Cold feet?" Uncle Dan said, without much enthusiasm.

"They wouldn't have left the rear guard behind," I said.

"We'll search the house again, but forty men armed with Browning Automatic Rifles can't be easily hidden," Carrick said.

"Did you check the tunnel?" Masters said.

"What tunnel?"

"You know, the one I told you about. Lord Brownlow's tunnel, the one he had built so he could sneak out on his wife. Supposedly it leads into the town somewhere."

"Good lord, I'd forgotten about that completely," Carrick said. "It's been sealed up for years."

"So it hasn't been checked?" I said.

"No, I doubt any of my men even know of it. How did you learn of it, Lieutenant Masters?"

"A chaplain told me. He'd been studying the history of the building."

"Very well," Carrick said, with an edge of suspicion in his voice. He didn't care for a Yank showing him up on the details of Brownlow House. "I think I remember where it is."

DI Carrick led us to a set of double wooden doors at the far side of the building, away from the main entrance and stone veranda. It was built for everyday use, not show. He pointed to tire tracks in the grass, where a vehicle had pulled close to the doors. They opened into a short hallway, with rubber boots and tools lining the sandstone walls. Cans of oil were stacked next to a large red can marked PETROL. Another set of doors led down thick wooden steps into the dank and musty smell of a basement. Carrick pulled a string hanging over the steps and a single lightbulb cast a yellow, feeble illumination into the low-ceil-inged room. Masters had a flashlight and searched the far corners of the cellar with its beam. Sagging shelves choked with cobwebs, dust-encrusted barrels, three-legged chairs, and the debris of decades crowded each wall. Carrick pointed and Masters followed with his beam. It found a door less than five feet high, thick oak secured by cast-iron bands and heavy nails. It looked hundreds of years old, as did the sliding bolt lock, left open. Masters pointed the flashlight in front of the door. Prints and scuff marks of many feet were visible on the hard-packed dirt floor. Carrick put his finger to his lips, and we all backed out into the first room.

"We have them," he said in barely a whisper.

"The trick is, to get them out. Where does the tunnel lead?" Uncle Dan said.

"In the old days, it ran to Castle Street, but it's been caved in for years. I can send some men over there, just in case. But it's likely we have them boxed in. If I were that evil fellow in Mr. Poe's 'Cask of Amontillado,' then I'd say seal up the door and be done with it."

"A creative approach, Hugh, but Billy needs his BARs back. Why not let me talk to them?"

"It is my responsibility, Daniel, but thank you all the same."

"Now listen, Hugh," Uncle Dan said, turning away from Masters and me to face Carrick dead on. "You're an excellent police officer. But I nearly fell down laughing when you ordered Taggart to give up in the name of the Crown. Not that he had any notion of giving up at all, but if he had, any mention of the Crown would have driven it out of his Red Republican head. Give me a chance to talk to these lads for only a minute. If I don't have them out as meek as lambs in short order, then you go ahead and tell them the king orders them to surrender." He ended with a laugh, to show it was all a matter of tactics, nothing personal.

"All right. I'll send a squad over to Castle Street. Lieutenant Masters, bring up that squad you have close by; we'll need them if Daniel gets lucky."

"Yes, sir," Masters said, running off. Carrick left at a more sedate pace. I drew my. 45, realizing we were the last line of defense.

"Luck will have nothing to do with it, Hugh, my friend," Uncle Dan said to himself as he picked up the can of petrol and gave it a shake, a good healthy slosh showing it was more than half full. I followed him down the steps but not too closely.

"If any of you boys are smoking in there, which I doubt, you'd best put them out," he said loudly as he poured out the contents of the can at the bottom of the door. The gasoline went glug glug glug and disappeared beneath the door frame. He slid the bolt shut, locking them in. "And don't even think of firing a shot or you'll set off the fumes and be roasted alive." Shouts and pounding echoed from inside the tunnel, the words barely understandable through the heavy door.

"What if the other end is open?" I asked.

"Then Hugh better hurry. I couldn't wait. He'd never let me do this. Worth a chance, Billy, don't you think?" He had to holler over the noise, now more frantic.

"Quiet down and listen," he said, his face up against the door. "One man talk to me. Now."

"Jesus, let us out of here, we can't breathe," came a faint voice. The sound of panic rose behind it.

"I'll be happy to, one at a time, hands on your head. First man to come out any different gets a bullet, and that will be the end of you all. OK?"

"Yes, yes, let us out!"

"Everyone in there agrees?"

"Yes, please, we agree!"

I heard the sound of boots behind me and saw Masters and a couple of men behind him. Uncle Dan nodded and I readied myself, automatic raised, dreading what might happen if I pulled the trigger. He opened the door, and one man came out, reeking of gasoline, gasping for air, his hands gripping his hair. They all followed, leaving their BARs behind, clambering over each other, retching, falling, all the while clasping their heads in their hands. I watched them, looking for Grady, wondering if he'd been overcome in the tunnel. As Sergeant Farrell got the last of them out of the cellar and up to the lawn, I took the flashlight from Bob Masters and aimed it inside the tunnel. It was small, no more than four feet wide and five high. Ancient timbers supported the walls and ceiling, and about twenty yards back, a collapse had totally blocked the tunnel. No wonder they'd emerged so quickly, they'd been crammed in like sardines. The fumes were thick and I gagged. But Grady wasn't there, just piles of BARs on the ground and bandoliers of ammo strewn about.

I went out for some relatively fresh air, then ducked back for a minute to count BARs. I came up with thirty-six. Six had been taken at the bridge, and four here in the woods. That left Grady O'Brick and four Browning Automatic Rifles unaccounted for.

I couldn't wait to get out into the open. Taking in a lungful of air, I saw Masters's men standing guard over the recent residents of the tunnel, now sprawled on the ground. Gas fumes seemed to rise off them, and some rubbed at their eyes while others retched and spit.

"You could have gotten yourself blown up, not to mention burning down Brownlow House, and I haven't even begun to think about what laws you may have broken. What if they'd come out shooting, did you ever think of that?" DI Carrick stood with his hands on his hips, bawling out Uncle Dan. Then I saw him glance at the prisoners, and I knew his heart wasn't really in it.