It was raining. George Blackmore looked to the heavens and uttered an obscenity. Kissing his wife on the cheek, he made off into the gloom, promising to be home in the late afternoon. She knew something was about to happen, sensing the familiar tension in her man, which mysteriously manifested itself periodically, only to disappear without rhyme or reason. She had become accustomed to his mood swings, choosing to ignore them rather than argue. Her husband was not an easy man to live with and was not averse to lifting his hand when pushed into a corner. Still, he was a good provider and thankfully his aggression was usually short lived. George had made love to her, in the early hours, with the intensity of a raging bull. She resented the way he entered her without ceremony, hardly waiting for her to stir. Thrashing away in a frenzy until he was sated then casting her aside like a ten-pound whore. His wife smiled as he set off down the street knowing, that when he returned, he would be plain George again. Violation of her body usually heralded the end of his foul mood. She tingled with anticipation assured that her man would be receptive to her advances, their lovemaking had never been an earth shattering experience but in his own way he tried to please her, showing a tenderness which, at times, made her yearn for more. Frequently she had, as the magazines put it, faked an orgasm. Clara smiled at the thought, making a mental note to try and inject some excitement into their nocturnal activities.
Blackmore’s face was set in an expression of deep concentration. He had allowed himself enough time to make it to Carlisle Circus where his accomplices had arranged to meet him. Nodding grimly as the car pulled up beside him, he sauntered toward the vehicle. ‘Great fuckin day for it, eh lads,’ he groaned, as he entered the rear of the vehicle. ‘How are yous all doin?’ he enquired.
‘No probs.’ replied Neil.
‘Same here,’ added Harris but Houston the third man just stared grimly through the window’
I asked ye a fuckin question,’ growled Black-more, gripping Houston’s shoulder and shaking him angrily.
‘For fuck sake I’m OK, if I wasn’t I wouldn’t be here. Take it easy wud ye, ye nearly dislocated me fuckin shoulder,’ grumbled Houston.
‘Aye take it easy George, sure this is a walk in the park, didn’t ye say so yerself’?’ interjected Harris, attempting to calm Blackmore’s mood.
‘Sorry, I’m a bit tense you know how it is.’Neil nodded sagely in agreement.
‘Did yous have any trouble half-inchin the wagon Bruce?’
‘Naw’, replied Neil. ‘Piece of piss really. Some bastards shouldn’t be allowed to own a car. Do ye know, the door was ajar and the parking ticket was sittin on the dash. Mind ye I had te pay thirty bob to the wee man at the kiosk. Do ye think I can claim expenses?, he joked, relieving the tension that they shared collectively.
‘Ye can take it out of the proceeds,’ laughed Blackmore. ‘We’ll be there in about ten minutes. Yous all know the score. Run it by me one last time. You first Houston.’
We pull up outside the Post Office I’m out of the car and pulling me weapon. I shout, down if there’s a queue. If not, I allow you to open the door first and follow ye in. If anybody tries to be a hero I waste them givin ye the time te reach yer man.’
‘Good,’ said Blackmore. ‘Now what about you Harris?’
‘I follow the two of ye and guard the door in case we get visitors,’ answered the third. ‘Great, now all we have to do is send Mr. Riley to hell,’ exhorted Blackmore, visibly relaxing now that the operation was underway. His change of mood was infectious. The others began to settle and George Blackmore smiled inwardly. It’s gong to be like falling of a log, was his last indulgent thought, as the car pulled up outside the Post Office. There were four people outside the shop. The rain must have kept some customers at home. Four pensioners braving the weather to collect their weekly allowance. Three got down in the wet as the hooded man shouted the order. The other, a seventy-five year-old ex-army sergeant, tried to intervene only to be contemptuously swept aside. Houston feigned to the left and brought the butt of his rifle across the old man face sending him reeling. It was as if the scene was being filmed in slow motion, the old man covering his face with both hands, blood gushing between bony fingers that he kept clamped to his face as he tumbled to the ground. Blackmore was through the door in a flash.’Get the fuck down, on your fuckin faces,’ he screamed. As he had predicted there was utter chaos. Panic-stricken mothers blindly thrashed around trying to locate their offspring. ‘Get fuckin down, or by Christ ye’ll all get it,’ he screamed again. This time the message got through. People threw themselves to the ground as if pole-axed by some giant invisible hand. ‘Right you fill the fuckin bag now. Come on hurry up, hurry fuckin up.’ Riley grasped the bag and began to fill it working feverishly to comply. ‘Everything,put it all in, stamps, postal orders hurry the fuck up,’ screamed Blackmore, becoming more agitated.
‘Yes, yes just calm down, I’ll give you it all but please don’t harm the people now,’ begged Riley.
‘Shut up and work or your fuckin dead,’ growled Blackmore. Finally James Riley completed his task and handed the bag to the assassin. ‘Here that’s all there is, please leave.’ he pleaded.
‘That’s not all by a long chalk,’ mouthed Blackmore. ‘Ye’ll not be sendin any more cash to yer murderin cronies,’ scowled the terrorist and with that he raised the gun and shot James Riley through the temple. The man was flung backwards. What was left of his head smashed against the tiled floor. Blackmore took a long look at his victim, slowly took aim and calmly fired another into the helpless victim. He smiled wickedly, turned on his heel and calmly retreated through the door. The three loyalists entered the car, which with a squeal of burning rubber hurtled away from the scene. As the car turned the corner it came directly into the path of an army troop carrier. The young driver, seeing the masked men, spun the vehicle sideways causing Neil to swerve violently to the left. He could not recover quickly enough to avoid hitting a wall driving the steering column up through his sternum killing him instantly. Houston rolled unsteadily from the wreckage still holding his weapon. ‘Drop your weapon and lie face down,’ ordered an unmistakable Liverpudlian accent. Ignoring the warning Houston tried to bring his weapon to bear but was cut down by a single burst. ‘Out of the vehicle with your hands up,’ shouted the soldier. Receiving no response the patrol slowly edged forward fully alert to pending danger. As they inched painstakingly closer it became apparent that the occupants of the vehicle were either dead or unconscious. An ambulance was summoned and the terrorists were rushed to a nearby hospital. Three were pronounced dead on arrival, the soul survivor being George Blackmore. His wounds were superficial and he was kept under police guard until he was able to be removed to a holding cell.
Martha Blackmore in anticipation of George’s better mood had left the children with her mother. Unaware of the morning’s events she had set about making herself ready for her husbands return. Her hair was in curlers, her face expertly made up and a new frock, which she had purchased the previous Saturday, lay casually across the settee. She was in the process of finalising her preparations when the front door exploded. RUC. constables were through the house like a tornado. ‘What is it, why are you doing this. Stop, please stop,’ she begged.
‘Are you Mrs. Blackmore, Mrs. George Black-more?’ asked a tall, balding man, in a grey suit.
‘Ye, yes,’ stuttered Martha. ‘What’s wrong? Has something happened to George?’
‘We have a warrant to search these premises. Please do not attempt to deter the officers. Constable Wilkie will take care of you during the performance of our duties Mrs. Blackmore,’ she was casually informed. The security forces ruthlessly ransacked the house leaving a distraught Clara Blackmore weeping in the centre of the lounge, which by now resembled Beirut. After gutting her home the police left as quickly as their arrival, giving no explanation for the invasion. Two hours later the phone rang informing her that her husband had been arrested and advising her to call a lawyer. WPC. Violet Bonner had taken pity on her, imparting the knowledge of her husband’s arrest before ringing off. Martha was thankful for the call but never discovered who had made it.
‘What a fucking mess, Christ a simple hit and we have lost three volunteers.’ Starrett was beside himself. ‘I want to know who is responsible. I want a complete shutdown of all operations. I want a meeting with Wilberforce the day after to-morrow. If there was a leak, I want to know about it. The tout must suffer for this. Do you understand me?’ he growled. His second in command nodded his approval.
‘I’ll get on te it right away John. What about Blackmore?’
‘Oh yes, send word to his wife that George has friends. Tell her not to panic and not to worry about a lawyer. Let her know that she has friends who will help her through the crisis. Oh by the way Tommy, find out if George was into pillow talk. See just how much Mrs. Blackmore knows about his involvement. I don’t think she
will know anything but better be safe than sorry eh.’
‘Good as done John. I’m on my way.’
‘Good man Tommy. Call me in two hours.’
News of the incident reached Connor Tullen exactly twenty two minutes after it’s conclusion. He was summoned to a meeting in a republican, drinking club on Belfast’s Falls Road. At the assembly Tullen was in the company of some of the highest, ranking members of the movement. Their purpose was to ascertain a reason behind the assassination of an innocent member of the public. Tullen was invited merely as an observer and acted accordingly. He listened intently to all that was said and it became abundantly clear that no member of the organisation had heard of Riley. The civil servant’s killing was purely sectarian had been the general consensus of opinion but Tullen was a long way from being convinced. If it was as they deduced, why stop at Riley?Why would he be singled out and shot in what was obviously a professional manner?No this had the hallmark of a hit, the robbery was just a bonus. He had formed his own opinion but opted for anonymity for the present. After the conclusion of the meeting Tullen decided to have a discussion with his brigade commander. He needed time to ponder on what facts he had gleaned at the meeting. Arguably everything pointed to a sectarian killing but questions gnawed away at him. He decided to sleep on it and discuss his apprehensions fully the following evening.
There was no doubt in Billy Clements’ mind, he knew for certain that the job was a hit. It had all the hallmarks of earlier projects and he had been involved in a similar incident the previous year. No doubt Riley was a target. He was sure that he would find out soon enough why the man had to die. But the cost was too great. Three men dead and one in custody. ‘What a fuck up,’ he pronounced.
Maurice Scott listened to the communications between the patrol and the powers that be. Witnesses were being gathered and their statements recorded. He listened to the speculation amongst his colleagues. The majority had come to the conclusion that the motive was robbery. Bunch of lazy bastards, he thought, discernibly smirking as a detective sergeant nodded agreement with his subordinates. This will be very quickly wrapped up. It’s as straightforward a case as I have dealt with in many a year. Pity the Brits. hadn’t topped the lot of them. It would have saved us a great deal effort not to mention paper work. What’s the survivors name again? Aye Blackmore, I think we have a file on him. Bit of a would be UDA man isn’t he?Ah yes,’ he blustered, pompously punching the keys of his terminal. ‘George Blackmore, here he is. Member of the UDA for at least five years. Arrested for causing a riot at Ballyhackamore in nineteen ninety-two. Three months is all he got. Well I think he’s going to get a bit more time on this one eh,’ he bellowed. The rest dutifully laughed at their superior’s remark. ‘Yes indeed, armed robbery and murder to boot. Quite a packet he’s copped for himself there.’ Scott had heard enough, deliberately he sidled from the room and made for his own little sanctum. He, as Tullen and Clements had done, concluded that this was no armed robbery. There was a hell of a lot more to it that that. Blackmore had been under observation for some time. Maurice knew the man’s history. He had been seen in the company of many known members of the organisation and had changed his allegiance to the UVF. Our George is no petty criminal, no sir, Blackmore is one crafty wee bugger, mused Scott. Surveillance on the man had to be aborted on countless operations because the trailing officers had been slipshod and easily eluded. Reports also stated that he seemed to enjoy stringing the surveillance crew along. Sometimes acting suspiciously darting down alleys, fleeing through back doors of retailers, only to enter a betting shop or bar without meeting a sinner, then calmly walking up to the officer with a greeting or simply smiling as he passed. To Blackmore the RUC special branch carried no threat, if anything they seemed to be a source of amusement. I’m sure if the smug bastard had wanted to commit a robbery he would have picked a more lucrative business.
Definitely a hit. I wonder how many more our George has been involved in?Scott’s thoughts turned to Black. He was obsessed with the idea that Nick, as he knew him, would become his partner. The big policeman daydreamed of the possibilities such a partnership could aspire to. Scott thought of the unsolved murders he and his friend would finalise. Perhaps between them they could write a book and in so doing, expose the incompetence of his superiors. The notion was almost erotic. He was disturbed in his reverie by the loud clump of case files landing on his desk. A grinning youth shook his head and walked away without so much as a greeting. ‘This is what I have come to,’ he grumbled sourly. ‘One of these days I will command respect. I’ll show these pricks what a real detective is.’ Discarding the incident he allowed his mind to return to his English friend. ‘Yes I’m sure that Nick will join me.’ Realising that he voiced his opinions audibly he looked up from his VDU. and smiled in relief at finding himself alone.
Nathan Black watched with interest as the television anchorman relived the attack and subsequent demise of the perpetrators. He was losing interest when the reporter divulged that a senior spokesman for the RUC had described the crime as non-political. The contact was described by the reporter as a lucky break for security forces. By sheer coincidence a crack team fortunately, happened to be in the area at the time. He went on to say that this was a rare event as the village was a peaceful haven that had been kept free from violence for more than two decades of unrest. Indeed it was thought that the military patrol, having had their route planned for the day, were actually re-routed. A common occurrence designed to keep the soldiers alert and ready for rapid deployment to any area at a moment’s notice. Black picked up the phone in order to quiz Scott about the incident and was told that the subject could not be discussed publicly. ‘I’m intrigued,’ purred Black. ‘Would it be convenient for me to pop round this evening? I have been giving your proposition some thought and I really would like to hear more.’
‘You know where I live Nick. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, say eight o clock,’ babbled Scott, with unguarded enthusiasm. ‘I knew it, I knew it,’ he avidly chirped, punching his palm for emphasis. ‘I must make a really exciting presentation. I’m sure Nick will want to join me if I can appeal to his curiosity. Yes that’s it; I’ll tease him with snippets of information steering him to the correct conclusion. Once he has solved a crime himself, he will be hooked, I know it.’
Maurice Scott was bubbling with excitement. His elevated mood did not go unnoticed.Members of the department nudged and nodded in his direction. Maurice was actually humming. Speculation was rife, perhaps he
has a woman, ‘No way, the poor dear would have to be into medical research,’ observed one wit, “
‘Aye your not wrong Jim,’ agreed another, ‘only a mother could love that.’ Their crude attempts at humour passed unchallenged by Scott, which was par for the course. Normally he would treat their jibes with open contempt but today they were merely dismissed with a twisted smile. Some felt more than a little uneasy believing that Scott, their much-maligned colleague, had finally cracked. The shift ended and Maurice set off with a spring in his step, which was in itself, an action unparalleled. One colleague whom had known Maurice since school days could not remember the sergeant so animated. Something was definitely amiss but, the big man’s ability to keep a secret was legendary ergo, the reason for his present frame of mind would never be revealed. ‘Yes,’ he informed them sagely.
‘Our Maurice plays his cards very close to his chest. I’ve known that man for the best part of thirty years and I don’t think that I have ever had a personal conversation with him. That’s why he’s stuck in records,’ he added. ‘Old Maurice never really learned how to communicate with the public. Shame really but I suppose he is happy banging away at his computer. Solitude suits him and he is, brilliant at what he does.’
Eight o’clock chimed on the grandfather clock that adorned Maurice Scott’s entrance hall. Nervously he checked his watch, just to be absolutely sure that the timepiece was correct. He need not have bothered, the instrument had not missed a beat in seventy years and self-consciously Scott admonished himself for doubting its accuracy. The clock was as much a part of the house as the very foundations. Indeed, Maurice believed the old thing to be as old as the house itself, although he could not swear to it. His mind drifted to an occasion when he pondered exhibiting it on the Antiques Road Show only to dismiss the idea, at last moment, as fanciful nonsense. ‘No,’ he smiled, ‘I wouldn’t want to know how much you’re worth old boy. I would never want to be tempted into selling you.’ Tenderly he wiped a smudge from the clock’s face once more, through habit, glancing at his watch. Eight fifteen, Scott was beginning to worry. Perhaps Nick won’t call at all, maybe he has thought twice about getting involved. ‘Please,’ he implored, looking to the heavens. ‘Please God let him come tonight.’ His prayer was answered almost immediately as the doorbell heralded Black’s arrival. Scott was at the door in two bounds. Like a child on his birthday, he flung open the door and with similar excitement ushered his friend into his home. ‘Nick I’m so glad you could make it, I thought maybe you had changed your mind.’
‘Sorry old boy, unavoidably delayed. I ran into one of those blasted army checkpoints. Traffic was backed up for miles, okay a couple of streets but who’s counting. I have been thinking,’ he continued. ‘Your suggestion intrigues me so much that I can’t possibly resist the idea. It’s against my better judgement, I have to admit but what the hell, everyone needs a little excitement in their life.’
‘Don’t say another word,’ interrupted Scott, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm. ‘I have opened a bottle of Remy Martin, just for the occasion. Come through to the lounge.’ Black obediently complied and was handed a glass containing the golden spirit. ‘I wish to propose a toast to the success of Carven and Scott, private dicks,’
‘Carven and Scott, it does have a certain ring to it, so long as we don’t finish up like Burke and Hare,’ chuckled Nathan. ‘Why not Maurice, here’s to us,’ affirmed the Englishman’ raising his glass. ‘So, where do we start?’ inquired Black avidly.
‘With a crime that was perpetrated four years ago. Firstly I will supply you with the facts, then we will sift through the relevant clues and finally with a bit of luck, no, luck won’t come into it. If I’m any judge, you will collar the bastard in record time,’ enthused the policeman, warming to the game. Just as he had promised, Scott force-fed Black with all the relevant details of the case. Statements from witnesses, suspects later eliminated, opportunity, in fact Inspector Clueseau would have found it impossible to botch the case, so painstakingly simple had Scott presented the facts. Notwithstanding, Black was ecstatic at solving the case and exposing the villain on the first attempt. Gleefully he clapped his hands together and bubbling with excitement. ‘I’ve done it Maurice, I’ve solved a crime which actually happened. You know something old boy, I can’t remember when I have had a more congenial evening, and I must say categorically Maurice, I’m hooked. When can we start with an unsolved case?’
‘All in good time Nick. You have to learn to walk before you can run. It’s like the old movies, do you remember when the hero, usually a detective inspector says, ‘Police work is a slog. It’s ninety-percent legwork and ten-percent luck.’ Black nodded his assent. ‘Well they were right but that’s where we are lucky, because the rest of the idiots have been doing the legwork. All we have to do is sift through reports and hopefully spot something that they may have overlooked. Glean important snippets of information from the fruits of some other bugger’s toil. Come with me to my boudoir,’ said Scott, seductively beckoning with a crooked finger. Black, infected by the other’s enthusiasm, gladly followed. After illuminating the study, Scott displayed his passion proudly with an expansive sweep of his huge arm. His guest was suitably impressed. Initially gasping before his smile developed into an appreciative grin. ‘Maurice,’ he began, ‘I’m lost for words. I was aware that you were a boffin but my lord this is simply amazing. I do not believe that a more comprehensive system exists outside NASA.’
‘Thanks Nick that’s praise indeed, coming from a man of your status.’
‘My status, God Maurice there you go again sounding like a Dickensien character. I am merely a salesman. Nothing special in that I can assure you. On the contrary you are the talented one, furthermore the force are guilty of underestimating your brilliance and ability. Let’s have no more false modesty or I shall lose patience with you,’ he commanded. ‘Now for God’s sake show me how to access this contraption before I burst.’ Scott’s demeanour took on a different aura. Nathan had cast a spell over the man, transforming him into a vibrant, self-assured human being. No longer did he just exist, for the first time in his life Maurice Scott was truly happy. Long into the night they sat at the keyboard unaware of the hour. Expertly the policeman’s fingers manipulated the keys, unfolding facts unknown to the man in the street. Forbidden knowledge that would condemn its subjects to certain death should it fall into the wrong hands, controversial, privileged and highly illegal material that should never have left the confines of the policeman’s place of work. It was almost four a.m. before Nathan realised it. ‘My lord! It’s nearly four. I’m so sorry Maurice I didn’t mean to keep you at to this hour.’ The apology seemingly passed to go unnoticed. For a moment the sergeant stared in confusion before coming out of a trance. He smiled and uncharacteristically winked, ‘Nice evening’s work but you can’t go home now my friend. I had an idea that this might happen and took the precaution of turning down the bed in the spare room. I wont hear tell of your leaving at this hour and if you set foot through the door, I shall have you arrested.’
‘How can I refuse officer?’ replied Black wearily, the fatigue of staring at the VDU for long hours, without a break, had taken its toll.
‘That’s the ticket, would you care for a warm drink before retiring? I usually have a cup of Horlicks, sends me right to sleep,’ advised the Irishman.
‘That’s very kind Maurice but if you don’t mind I’ll just crash, suddenly I feel all in.’
‘Not at all Nick, it’s first on your right at the top of the stairs. The bathroom is straight ahead, oh by the way; there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard. You’ll find a disposable razor there as well. Goodnight Nick, sleep well.”
‘Before I say goodnight there is one last thing. I hope you don’t think it an imposition but I was hoping to have a lie in tomorrow. I had planned to take the day off you see.’
‘Of course my friend, treat the house as your own. I shall be as quiet as a mouse in the morning, sleep as late as you wish. Unfortunately I have to go to work, duty calls.’
‘Can’t thank you enough Maurice, it was a wonderful evening. Your hospitality shall be repaid tenfold. Now I really must climb the stairs while I still have the energy to do so, good night.”
News of the post office raid was filling the media. The usual condemnation of the cowardly murder was being voiced by all and sundry. Two days had passed since the incident and the first news that an East Belfast resident was helping police with their enquiries had been announced. George Blackmore the only surviving member of the gang who carried out the robbery was in a comfortable condition in the Royal Victoria hospital. As usual apathy greeted the news of the attack. Slight speculation as the motive behind the attack and the fact that three of the culprits had died during the incident, had spurred some public interest but only minimal. Another opportunity to further his quest for revenge had fallen neatly into his lap. Black could not believe his good fortune. The policeman trusted him implicitly and Nathan intended to utilise the situation to the fullest. Deftly he positioned himself at the keyboard and began to punch in the password. With precision he applied the knowledge accumulated from his session with Scott the previous evening. Ecstatic that he had been able to master the program in such a short space of time he set about his task with relish. ‘ Welcome,’ announced the computer. ‘How can Agatha be of assistance?’ Leering at the screen he typed in the name Blackmore. ‘Searching,’ he was informed then suddenly there it was. Everything that he had dreamed, a likeness of the man followed by his complete criminal history. A suspected terrorist’s life story was laid bare for anyone with access to read, every detail, including his bank statements, debts, address and family members. Surveillance reports, suspected criminal activities, indeed the dossier was so comprehensive that it made George Blackmore look like public enemy number one. Scrolling through the transcript, Nathan was astounded to see that Black-more was linked with several unsolved murders and regarded as a very dangerous type. That he was affiliated to the outlawed UVF was beyond question, although he had never been officially charged through lack of concrete evidence. The file went on to list the names of two men currently serving life sentences on the mainland and Blackmore’s suspected assistance in their crimes. Filled with a new sense of purpose, he poured over the file’s contents. Last known address, family members but his heart pounded as the name leapt out at him. The pain was as tangible as a knife twisting in his gut. Blackmore had a son and daughter. The boy’s name was Jason. Why did scum like that have to give his offspring the same name as his beloved? It was as if the devil himself had conspired to make a mockery of their union. Jason was cold in his grave while the son of a murderer walked free, oblivious of his torment.
It was at that precise moment that the idea germinated, impregnating his soul with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, corrupting his conscience and turning him into a monster. Nathan Black had discovered how to exact retribution from the terrorists of Ireland. His initial plan was to hunt them down. To extract information by torture and hopefully uncover the name of Jason’s assassin. Upon reflection he had decided that it was a pipe dream. How could he, a businessman with no expertise in this field, hope to accomplish what professionals could not. Impossible, yet here he was with all the ammunition required to achieve just such an aim. Providence had decreed that he should be the instrument of their destruction. His destiny was to watch them suffer as he himself now suffered. Images of terrorists begging for mercy swam before him. He was filled with so much emotion and hatred that tears formed and spilled from his cobalt eyes. Through the mist of his tears floated the name Jason Blackmore. Meeting Scott had been no coincidence it was destiny. ‘My duty is clear,’ he whispered, as he stared at the screen. Reverently he turned from the computer uttering a prayer of thanks for the guidance he had received. His path was destined, his resolution steadfast and the path would be etched in blood. Revenge would be swift; it’s application slow and merciless. God had shown him the way and he must set the wheels in motion immediately. Not a moment should be wasted. He vowed that Black-more and others similarly inclined could not suffer more if they were being dragged through the very pits of Hades. ‘Yes Mr. Blackmore, while you wallow in gaol, I am going to take from you what has been stolen from me. Problem is, one is never enough.’ Nathan had decided to destroy Blackmore by murdering his entire family. He was going to mutilate them so that the terrorist would suffer in guilt for his past transgressions. He would have to spend the rest of his life in the knowledge that, because of his actions, his family had suffered humiliation and agonising death. ‘As God is my judge I swear it,’ he murmured. Having decided on a course of action, Black began to download every snippet of data from the computer. Thousands of man-hours spent gathering the confidential information had been compacted into a few tiny discs. Nathan toiled for most of the day, stopping for nothing, driven on by his terrible obsession. Glancing at his watch a feeling of panic seized him. Scott would be home within the hour. Feverishly he set about completing his task with renewed fervour. As if by a miracle the task was completed. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before calmly ordering a taxi. In a jubilant mood Nathan set about clearing up the mess. Scott must never suspect that he had stolen the files. Ten minutes after its request the taxi’s a horn sounded, his mode of escape had arrived. Laden with the policeman’s life’s work, which was concealed in a buff envelope, the Englishman left the house whistling. Always the gentleman, he left a message on the mantle thanking Maurice for his hospitality and promising to be in touch very soon.
‘Ha!’ exclaimed Clements, ‘George fuckin Blackmore, I knew it. No way was this a robbery.’ He was voicing his opinion to another loyalist member of the organisation. ‘Question is, why were the Brits there?’ queried the other. John thinks that there was a leak. What do ye think Billy?’
‘No way mate,’ replied Clements with a shake of his head. ‘No there’s no chance of the word gettin out on an op. this big. Christ you know how paranoid the boss is on security. You and me have worked on jobs together and only the people involved knew the exact dates and locations right.’ The other nodded in puzzled agreement. ‘Ye don’t get what I’m sayin Tommy,’ observed Billy, seeing the blank expression on his friend’s face. In frustration he held out his hand, fingers spread. Slowly he began to itemise his reasons against the possibility of treachery. Bending one finger at a time to emphasise a point he began to explain, using monosyllables, as if speaking to a child. ‘One, the full crew never has access te details of a job until maybe three days before the time. Two, only one man is put in the picture, the one in charge. He and only he is privy te where and when the job will take place. He then formulates a plan before submitting it te the boss. Three, the big man gives the okay and four the hand picked crew are then informed of the action. The whole op. is on a strictly need te know basis. Christ Tommy, three days is the maximum time that all concerned know the full detail of the plan. That lets out the four men who carried out the operation. I can hardly see one of them touting to the Brits, then carrying on with the job. Bad and all as they are the army are not in the habit of toppin their informants. That only leaves the boss and his sidekick and if we cant trust them we might as well start learnin Pope-speak.’ Clements was elated, he had convinced himself that the operation was simply botched by bad workmanship. ‘Blackmore fucked it up, either by bad luck or more probably bad planning. Shit!’ he exclaimed.
‘What is it?’ asked his colleague excitedly, infected by Clements’ mood.
‘Ah nothin,’ lied Billy but the penny had finally dropped. He now realised why his superior was giving him a rough ride recently. John had wanted him to head up the operation. Be that as it may, why was Riley singled out for special attention apart from the fact that he was a Catholic? He parted company with a wry smile leaving his companion even more confused.
‘Ah fuck it. I’m glad that I wasn’t picked to go on that bit of business,’ muttered Tommy, before turning his attention to the racing form.
A familiar envelope nestled among the junk mail on the mat in Clements’ hallway. He had trodden upon them as he entered the flat. Giving an exasperated curse he stooped to pick them up. ‘Another message from me old chum in England. Fuck that’s cuttin it fine, John wants to see me tomorrow night. Can’t be another job already. I’ll find out soon enough,’ he concluded, dismissing the communication from his mind.
An overnight bag sat packed by his bed. After much soul searching Tullen had decided to visit Derry for the weekend. His stomach churned at the thought of meeting her again. A vision of the woman he had loved so intensely flashed before him. She was smiling with her head tilted as she always did. Snowy white teeth gave angelic serenity that belied her fiery disposition. With a shake of the head he tried to clear the vision from his memory. Impossible, she was perched on a ledge in the far reaches of his soul; his heart ached yearning for a single glimpse, a hint of her perfume, the brush of her lips. Had she changed or did she still possess those same impish qualities that had first drawn him to her. Connor hated her for leaving but he knew that she only had to smile to have him grovelling at her feet, like an abandoned puppy. As he drove onto the West Link which by-passes Belfast city centre and would lead him onto the motorway to Derry, he pondered on the magnetism which was drawing him inexorably toward her.
A tormented hour and a half later, he drew up outside the door of his friend Gerry’s house. A smile as broad as a Belfast accent stretched the expansive face of his old pal. ‘How’s about ye brother? Long time no see,’ bawled the big man, almost squeezing the life’s blood from Tullen’s body.
‘Take it easy wud ye, I’ve only one set of ribs,’ screamed Connor, playfully.
‘Agh ye townies are all the same, weak as a bride’s first brew.’
‘Aye that’s somethin ye’ll hardly find out about. Sure how in God’s name wud an ugly bugger like yerself find a woman, other than a school for the blind? Christ ye wudn’t even find one there, her guide dog wud bite the arse of ye.’
‘Ye came up eh? Couldn’t stay away from the wee woman.’ Tullen bridled at this, muttering an obscenity before brushing past his friend and entering the house.
‘Ye know where the room is. I have to run a message. I’ll be back in an hour. Why don’t ye take a shower for ye look like shite.’ Tullen laughed, shook his head and made for the stairs. Smiling, he reflected upon his relationship with the gentle giant. Try as he might, he could not remain angry with Gerry for any length of time.
Taking his friend’s advice he unpacked and stepped into the shower. The hot water had the desired effect. As the warmth enveloped him his earlier tension quickly drained from his weary body. Eyes closed and the needles of hot moisture, stinging his flesh Con’s thoughts turned to Moira. Hot water soothed his fatigued body. He gently massaged the lather between his legs. Feeling himself stir at the erotic memory of their lovemaking, he was startled at the sound of the shower’s plastic curtain rustling. His eyes flew open as a strange hand gripped firmly around his erect penis. ‘Jesus,’ he screamed pulling away but at the same time raising an arm to defend himself.
‘Ye’ll go blind doin that,’ whispered a familiar voice from the past. Trying to focus through eyes stung by soap, Con was taken aback, her unmistakable laughter made him gasp involuntarily.
‘What the fuck’s goin on,’ he yelled.
‘Christ but ye’re a wee charmer,’ laughed Moira, still gripping him tightly. ‘I remember the time when ye didn’t have te ask what was goin on. Do ye mind if I join ye?’ Tullen was confused, she always had the ability to surprise him and here she was doing it again. He had driven nearly a hundred miles to instigate a confrontation yet here he was allowing her to manipulate him like always. Hungrily he grasped for her, pulling her to him. He smothered her with kisses speaking her name as if it was a deity. Unable to control his emotions he impaled her thrusting angrily until he exploded inside her. Connor opened his eyes to see the beautiful face of his beloved. He began to speak, wanting, no needing to chastise her, to punish her for the sorrow that she had inflicted upon him but the words dissolved like a pleasant dream. Moira pressed her fingers to his lips, ‘Not now,’ she beseeched. ‘Let me feel your body close to mine. God ye don’t know how much I missed the strength of ye holdin me. Leave the questions for tomorrow darlin. I beg ye. Please don’t spoil the moment that I have prayed for.’ They stood entwined, a single entity. It was as if they had never been apart. Connor’s anger dissipated, banished to another time to be replaced by feelings of joy and hope. How could he castigate the woman he adored, this beautiful vulnerable creature. She was back in his life casting her spell upon his soul. Tullen realised that his need for her was greater than ever before. He was forced to admit that he could never deny his love for this woman, he was hers to control. He would do whatever she desired. For the first time in six long years, he was no longer afraid and he wanted to shout it from the roof tops but instead, merely gazed into eyes, as emerald as the land that he had been willing to die for and whispered solemnly, ‘Welcome home me darlin Moira. Promise me that ye’ll never leave me again.’ Tears welled as she buried her face in his shoulder and cried. Huge heaving sobs which threatened to tear her apart. Not knowing what to do he tenderly held her to him, waiting for her tears to subside. ‘God, I was so afraid that ye wouldn’t forgive me. Thank-you for being so understanding darlin. Brushing the back of her hand across his shoulder she became aware of the ugly scar. ‘Oh holy mother, what has happened my love?’ Uncomprehending, he held her from him smiling into her beautiful face, ‘What, what’s wrong love?’
‘Yer poor shoulder, what has happened?’
‘Oh that,’ he replied casually, ‘I had a wee accident. I’ll tell ye about it some time but not right now. We must get dressed, Gerry will be back any minute.’
‘No he wont, yer friend has other fish te fry tonight.’
‘Why ye crafty wee bitch. Are ye telling me that you and yon bugger Graves hatched this up between ye?’
‘Sort of,’ she answered, her eyes twinkling. ‘Actually it was me who cajoled him into it. How is a girl supposed to get the attention of a busy man such as yerself? He wont be back until the morrow, I hope you don’t mind?’ she grinned, in her own special way.
‘Mind, why should I mind? Here I am, a man totally in charge of his own destiny, then you walk back into my life and take over,’ he growled in mock horror. ‘I love it. Just promise that ye’ll stay.’ At that moment Connor Tullen’s future took a turn for the better. With a knowing glance she took his hand, guiding him toward the bedroom.
Their lovemaking was slow and honest with a passion that Con thought he had lost forever. They laughed, talked and lay content in each other’s arms. There was no mention of past indiscretions, which would keep for another time. Tullen had never experienced such unmitigated happiness. Later, he lay beside her, watching the rise and fall of her unblemished breasts. Silver shards of moonlight glistened on her body. The sight of her beautiful form made his heart swell. Carefully, so as not disturb her slumber, he lowered his head to brush his lips across her brow. It was at that moment that he vowed never to lose her again. Content with this solemn promise he relaxed and drifted into a dreamless sleep.