Peter Corrigan - Bandit Country

‘They were meant to be. I’m trying to give you a bit of street cred in the Republican community. Also, we need to talk.’

Early looked at the third occupant of the Landrover. The vehicle was lurching, starting and stopping. The shouting outside continued.

‘Who is this, then?’

‘Lieutenant Charles Boyd, Ulster Troop,’ the young man said. He had a public-school accent and didn’t look old enough to grow a beard, but his eyes were cold and eager. They reminded Early of Eugene Finn’s. There was no humour in them.

‘So you’re my back-up,’ Early said. ‘Hooray.’

Boyd frowned but Cordwain cut short any riposte.

‘Charles here is one of the best young officers we’ve got,’ he said. ‘You may have heard of the incident in Tyrone a few days ago. Textbook stuff. Now you and he are going to do the same thing to the South Armagh Brigade.’

‘The Armagh lot is a different kettle of fish. Since that fiasco at Loughgall in ’87 they’re tighter-knit than ever.’

‘Oh, we know. But you seem to have started out on the right foot, becoming buddies with the biggest player in the area. My congratulations, John. You’ve been here less than a day and already you’re rubbing shoulders with the head honcho.’

‘Let’s cut the crap, James. I can’t sit in here in the middle of a riot all night. Give me the gen.’

‘All right. The situation is as follows. I have most of the Group in Bessbrook at the moment, and 14 Company’s people have covert OPs going in tonight. The riot is their cover. We’ll search a few houses, insert the teams in the confusion – the usual thing.’

‘How did you know I’d be in the bar?’ Early interrupted.

‘Hell, John, you should know better than that. You’ve been tailed ever since you got on the bus in Armagh.’

Early felt slightly annoyed with himself, for he had not noticed.

‘We’ll have the bar, Finn’s house and McLaughlin’s house all covered. Charles’s boys will be looking after you. We’ll use the old dead letterbox system for messages. Out beyond the centre beyond the town. You go out on the Castleblaney road, past the sports ground, and there will be an old milk churn in the ditch on the left-hand side. We site vehicle checkpoints there all the time. Leave your first comms there. We’ll get word to you where the second will be. You should be able to go for a walk now and again – it’s only a ten-minute stroll. In a place this small, we can’t have the stuff that works in Belfast. Do you want a panic button installed? We could get it in your room tonight.’

Early shook his head. ‘I want you to keep your distance as much as possible. These guys are nervous as cats already.’

‘Have it your way, then. We’ve fibre optics, laser microphones, the whole heap, but you’ve got bugger-all but your wits and that peashooter you carry.’

‘Suits me. Now I think it’s time I was on my way, don’t you?’

Cordwain listened to the commotion outside. It showed no signs of abating. ‘Yes. There is one more thing though: we have to make it all look convincing. Nothing personal, John.’

Early cursed. ‘Get on with it, then.’

Boyd punched him on the eye once, twice, three times. Early remained still, though the third punch produced a stifled groan from his lips.

‘Lie down on the floor,’ Boyd said in that plummy accent of his.

Early did so, and Boyd went to work on him with his boots. After a particularly savage kick in the ribs, Early vomited helplessly. Boyd grimaced. He was out of breath.

‘Sorry, old chap. Got a bit carried away.’

Early spat out blood. ‘I’ll bet you did. Now throw me the fuck out of here.’

The rear door of the Landrover swung open and Early was pitched out head first. He hit the tarmac of the square heavily, coloured lights dancing brightly in his head, and for a moment could do nothing but lie there in the reek of the vehicle’s exhaust fumes. There were feet around him. The tarmac was covered with fragments of glass and broken stone, and the sound of the crowd yelling seemed to hurt his very brain.

Strong hands grabbed him and hauled him away from the Landrover.

‘Look what the fuckers did to him! The rotten bastards! Sure, he’s never hurt a fly – only got here this afternoon.’

Early looked up painfully. It was Brendan Lavery, and beside him, Maggie. Her eyes were full of concern.

‘Jesus, my head hurts.’

‘They’ve split your head. Here, hold that hanky there. We’ll get you inside. They did the same to Eugene. What a fucking wonderful country!’

He was dragged back to the bar, through a milling crowd of shouting people. The riot was impromptu, not staged like so many were, but it seemed no less vicious for all that. Soldiers were swinging batons, and Early heard the hollow boom of a plastic bullet being fired. Then there was a flare and a hiss, and the crowd was scattering. They were using CS. It was a hell of a way to rig up a meeting. He suspected that Cordwain and Boyd enjoyed it – it was just their fucking style.

People were coming back inside now, coughing and spluttering. Several of the pub’s windows had been smashed to smithereens. Early noted the thick, flesh-coloured cylinder of a plastic bullet rolling on the floor, but the noise from outside was lessening. The CS had done the trick. His own nose began to tingle and he realized that the gas was seeping into the pub. A last trio of figures staggered inside and then the doors were closed. People pulled the curtains across the shattered windows, coughing, eyes streaming.

‘How’s your head now? Jesus, Dominic, you’re going to have a hell of a shiner in the morning.’ Maggie was looking at Early solicitously. There was dirt on her cheek and her hair was all over the place.

‘I hope the dinner’s not burned,’ Early said, which got a laugh from her.

Suddenly Finn was there too, squatting down beside Maggie. His face was a mass of rising bruises and his lip was split and still oozing. But he grinned at Early.

‘Didn’t I tell you not to provoke them now? And there we are – a babe in arms taken out by the big bad soldiers and given a wee kicking. That’s life in Cross for you, McAteer. Still want to stay?’

‘Those bastards aren’t getting rid of me. I hope the fuckers get shot,’ Early croaked. And thinking of Boyd, he almost meant it.

Finn had become very grave. He wiped his split lip. ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Do you see now, Ballymena man, what we’re up against down here? There’s no law in Cross except what we make ourselves. Those thugs can’t represent the law or the government. How can they? The law operates by the consent of the governed, and we withhold our consent. They’re as good as criminals.’

‘Now, Eugene, don’t you start,’ Maggie admonished him. ‘The man’s just after getting beaten up and you’re talking to him about politics.’

Finn rose, smiling. The smile still did not reach his eyes.

‘You and me will have a wee talk about this another time, Dominic, after you’ve seen Eoin Lavery and got yourself that job. It’s a desperate shame when the Brits pull in a man like yourself and give him the once-over; a man who’s never been part of anything no doubt, a man as innocent as the day is long. You take care now, and watch this wee girl. I think she has an eye for you.’

Maggie swatted Finn with the cloth, and he laughed. Then he touched his bruised face tentatively.

‘Have they made a right mess of me then, Maggie?’

‘No more of a mess then there was before,’ she retorted.

‘And here’s me going to be playing the bodhran down in Kilmurry this week, with me face looking like a potato. I doubt none of the local lassies will be giving me so much as a look.’