Monday crawled at a snails pace for George Blackmore. He was due to meet the man at nine thirty. Frowning he observed the minute hand of his imitation Rolex. This was it, tonight he would submit his plan to John. There was no way that his superior could abort the operation. Had he not gone over it a thousand times? His head was buzzing with detail. He had discussed every aspect of the attack with the other three, going over the plan again and again for what seemed like a million times. No he had left nothing to chance. Blackmore was adamant. The place had been under observation for two weeks, any longer would cause suspicion. There had been no army patrols and few RUC. It would be as easy as falling of a log, still he was uneasy, what if he had missed something? Some detail so simple yet critical enough to destroy the project. The hands on the clock face finally crawled to the appointed hour. Blackmore got to his feet, kissed his wife and set off for his rendezvous. He stood shivering in the north wind waiting to be picked up but was oblivious to the cold. His mind was reeling, recounting every component of the plan. So wrapped in his thoughts was George that he hardly noticed the car pull up beside him. ‘Excuse me mate!’ called the driver.
‘Eh, what?’ stuttered a startled Blackmore. He was still somewhat confused when the driver asked him if Rose Brennan lived on this street. ‘What?’ he repeated, giving the driver cause for concern. ‘Oh sorry mate miles away,’ he finally replied, only realising that he was being spoken to.
‘Rose you say, Rose Brennan. Agh sure she moved away a year ago. I think she lives down the road a bit, near the Arches. Aye that’s right I remember now, Cheviot Avenue but I don’t know the exact number.’
‘Thanks mate, I can always ask somebody when I get there,’ answered the driver.
‘Ye wouldn’t do us a favour and drop me off at the Arches, seein yer goin that way wud ye?’
‘Aye no bother,’ agreed the driver helpfully. ‘Hop in,’ he said, feeling more at ease. Proprieties of security completed, the driver mentioned that Blackmore had given him cause for concern.
‘Agh well no harm done, we’ll be off then,’ he was informed. At last Blackmore was on his way. Now that he was actually travelling to the meet his apprehension began to abate. No way, he told himself, my plan is foolproof there is no way in the world that John can knock it back. He was one hundred percent correct in his assumption. George laid out the plan in great detail, meticulously covering every aspect. From the pick up of the first stolen car, which would be parked a half-mile from the scene, through the change over to the car they would use to do the job. He covered all contingencies and had backup procedures for every foreseeable hazard. John asked a few questions pointed out some pitfalls but Blackmore had taken them all into account. The meeting ended with Blackmore being patted on the back, congratulated for his diligence and most importantly getting the affirmative go ahead. He was elated, to the point of being overly enthusiastic, so much so that that John felt it necessary to bring the man down to earth. ‘Steady now George son, remember this is a solemn occasion. You will be striking a blow for Ulster but let us never forget that you will be taking a human life. Be sure that your aim is true and remember the lives of your comrades are in your hands. I wish you luck on your mission and may God be with you.’
George Blackmore was awe-struck. Being in the exalted presence of such a man was a rare privilege, aye and by God he would do his duty. As the car pulled away, leaving him a solitary figure on the pavement, he looked skyward and thanked God for choosing him to be the instrument of his justice. The recently promoted cell leader swore before the almighty that he would defend the Protestant faith until death. He vowed to do everything in his power, with the aid of his comrades and the Lord’s help, strike another blow to wipe out the abomination of Catholicism.