Several months passed without incident. An uneasy calm fell over those involved. The RUC. had questioned all relevant witnesses. Dave Simmons, Una Breen’s friend, was suspected briefly but was released without charge. Word was released to both factions that he was blameless and this was duly accepted. Clements had questioned informants from all Belfast districts and surrounding areas. A few suspects had been lifted or dragged from their homes but all proved to be completely innocent. Unfortunately some were beaten because people refused to accept their right to be different. The frustrations of Black’s hunters spilled over into violence against Belfast’s gay community.
Nathan Black was uninterested in the plight of these innocent victims. To him they deserved what they received. After all they were only Paddies. Eventually he decided the time was right for another mission. He had sifted through his database and chosen a family living in Sydenham, which was an affluent suburb of Belfast. The family was young; indeed the mother was only twenty-one years and due a birthday two weeks hence. Her husband Alex Foster was currently serving life for his part in a series of sectarian killings. They had three children, twin boys of two years and a three-year-old girl. Black had come to know Belfast well. It was the young couple’s address that had drawn his attention.
‘Perfect and so very convenient,’ he smirked. How does a fucking boy such as he afford a house in a suburb like this? Their fate was sealed.
‘Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Edna. Happy death day, to you,’ he cackled. As always he was meticulous with his preparations. Watching the house for a few days before the chosen date, considering all options before deciding his course of action. The dwelling was quite old and stood on a couple of acres of land. ‘Perfect,’ he purred, after viewing it for the first time. A two storey, Victorian detached home, bordered by towering hedges, which in turn were guarded by massive oaks on either side. No problems at all with this one, he decided. He watched as the family went about their daily routine. The young mother, except for her brood, was completely alone. On one occasion he had actually stopped the woman in the local park complimenting her on her beautiful brood. ‘I just adore twins,’ he informed Edna. ‘And so well behaved, you are a very lucky young lady. Bidding her good-bye, he doffed his hat, leaving the unsuspecting mother flattered and in a considerably better frame of mind. Not many men paid her attention nowadays. Too bloody scared, she mused whimsically. ‘God he was a handsome one eh kids?’ she laughed. The twins giggled up from the stroller affected by her mood.
Edna’s birthday drew nearer. It would be her second birthday alone and she was determined to enjoy herself. Her twenty-first had been a disaster, spent at her parents who told her what an idiot she was to have got mixed up with a no account. She felt a sense of great loneliness as she reflected upon that evening. ‘Not this fucking time,’ she said out loud. ‘No fucking way Jose.’ Edna Foster decided to invite a few friends around for a hen party. She vowed that this was going to be a night to remember.
The Foster household was a buzz with excitement. The kitchen exuded the tantalising odours of home baking. Edna had left the children with her mother in order to have her hair done. She treated herself to a facial, donned a new dress that she had purchased especially and looked stunning. After picking the children up she returned home busying herself with the preparations for the evening’s festivities. Everything went like clockwork. The cake was iced; the lasagne was in the oven and Edna, drink in hand, sat waiting for her guests to arrive. Her first guest arrived a few minutes before seven thirty as promised. It was her best friend Lily whom she had known since nursery school days. Lily naturally had agreed to help with the food and drinks. By eight fifteen the kids were sound asleep.As nine o’clock chimed on her imitation grandmother clock Edna Foster’s celebrations were in full swing. Six young women having a good natter and getting slightly tipsy.
Black skulked in the shade of an oak at the rear of the house, taking in the scene through the kitchen window. Two of Edna’s guests were in the kitchen dallying with the food as the others danced to a Take That hit. It was a pleasant evening, unusually warm for the time of year and Nathan was having a wonderful time contemplating the events the evening held in store. Unaffected by the scene he watched as the revellers giggled and doubtless gossiped about boyfriends or the like.An evil smile creased his cheek as they marched into the lounge with the candles glowing proudly on the cake. ‘Ah, now is the perfect opportunity,’ he whispered. Unhesitatingly the killer strode across the lawn. The back door was ajar. ‘Silly girls,’ he uttered smirking. The strains of Happy Birthday filtered from the lounge. ‘Happy birthday dear Edna. Happy Birthday to you. Face sternly set he removed the automatic pistol from his inside pocket and briskly entered the lounge. ‘Surprise, surprise,’ he shouted. At first there was confusion but this emotion quickly turned to one of panic. One girl began to scream. The gun gave a phut, jerked in his hand and the girl was silent. Overwhelmed with terror the others mouth’s fell open. Zombie-like they watched their young friend’s body contort and slam against the wall before sliding to the floor.
Lifeless eyes stared at them in a pose utter surprise. ‘Ladies, as you can see I mean business. It was not my intent to kill any of you, at least without a formal introduction but regretfully I cannot stand screaming bitches. Furthermore I will not hesitate to silence the next one who utters a sound. Have I made myself understood?’ There was a deathly silence, then as shock turned to realisation; one of the women began to whimper. ‘I realise that this has come as a shock to you ladies and you are wondering what kind of man, a complete stranger, would come into one’s home and disrupt the celebrations in this manner? Be patient ladies, all as they say, shall be revealed. I must say, you are showing a marked degree of restraint Mrs. Foster. I suppose being the wife of a murderer you have had considerable practice.’
‘What do you want you evil bastard?’ asked Edna, through clenched teeth.
‘That, my dear lady, is a very pertinent question and if you will bear with me, I shall endeavour to answer but first I must ask for your co-operation. Complete co-operation from the entire gathering,’ added Black, sweeping his gun laden hand to emphasise his demand. ‘Right, down to business. This is a party, so we should be playing party games.’
‘What in the name of God, do you want?’ repeated Edna, mouthing each word as if she was addressing a foreign waiter.
‘You are such a party pooper Edna,’ goaded Black. The use of her Christian name had the desired effect. ‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’
‘My but you are the inquisitive one Edna. All in good time my girl but first let’s party. Some of you bitches are quite good looking. I’d like to see more.’
‘What?’ asked the whimpering girl.
‘I know you Paddies are thick but I find it hard to believe that you are complete imbeciles. Take your fucking clothes off,’ he snapped. Giving a startled jump, the girl began to comply.
‘Don’t you fuckin dare Jill Tammer. Fuck you, you perverted bastard,’ screamed another woman, seemingly the oldest of the group.
‘Well now, we appear to be having learning difficulties or is it deafness. I told you that I hate noise. It’s bad enough that you insult me, but to do it at the top of your voice is totally unacceptable,’ said Black matter of factly, before raising the gun and shooting the woman between the eyes. The others needed no further prompting, in record time the remaining women had complied without further argument. Forlornly, the group of terrified women stood shivering in various modes of underwear. ‘Don’t be modest ladies, you look wonderfully trim, I’d like to admire as nature intended. Furtively stealing glances at one another they removed the remaining garments and stood cowering embarrassed by their nakedness. ‘God what a shower,’ said Black cruelly, before reaching into his knapsack. ‘Two dead, four very much alive. If you wish to remain in that condition I advise you to comply with my wishes fully. Is that quite clear?’ Three of the women nodded timidly. Edna stepped forward. ‘Please don’t hurt them Mr., I’ll do anything you wish, just don’t hurt the others,’ she volunteered.
‘What a brave, kind little slut you are Edna.’ She bridled at the stranger’s insult but held her tongue. ‘What I want from you Mrs. Foster, is to tie the ladies up tightly. I have no interest in them I can assure you.’ Edna gave an involuntary shiver before taking the proffered rope from Black’s hand. Grudgingly she quickly did as she was ordered, apologising to her friends as she did so. ‘Very good, at last we are getting somewhere,’ said Black. After checking that the women were securely bound and gagged, the intruder’s attention returned to the host. ‘Now Edna, let’s you and I go upstairs and get acquainted shall we?’
Resigned to her fate she slowly turned and headed for the stairs, followed by Black. ‘Take me to the master bedroom Edna, you and I are going to have some serious fun.’ With a heavy heart; she advanced on tiptoe trying desperately not to disturb the children. Fearing the worst, she resolved that her innocents would not to be subjected to their mother’s assault. ‘That’s a good girl Edna and you can rest assured that you are in for a real birthday treat. I want you to lie on the bed spread-eagled, like the slut you are. With robot movements Edna did as she was told staring at the ceiling. In an instant her molester was upon her, binding her hands and feet to the bedposts. Brutally he slapped a strip of masking tape over her mouth. Edna stared at the ceiling, wondering what it would be like to be raped. Fearfully she awaited the beast to pounce on her, violate her, and slate his lust. Then what, what will he do when he has taken her dignity? Timorously she waited, listening intently for the rustle of clothing, which would confirm her fears. But no sound came; the monster had left the room. Tentatively she raised her head. The beast was nowhere to be seen. What was he up to? Oh God no, the children, he was going to harm the children. Realisation dawned. Dear sweet Jesus please let me be wrong. It can’t be the madman. Frantically she tugged at her bindings but it was no use, they merely tightened and cut deeper into her slender wrists. Edna lay perfectly still straining her ears, trying to pick out exactly where the murderer was what he was doing. It was no good she could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart.
Nathan had tiptoed backward from the room, rapidly descending the stairs to re-enter the lounge. The remaining three ladies lay naked trussed like chickens, awaiting slaughter. There time had come. Black leaned over each in turn, kissed their foreheads and drew a blade across
their throats without uttering a word. Taking the stairs two at a time he hurried to infant’s room. ‘Are you ready Edna? Ready to party? She looked in horror as he stood in the doorway holding her little girl by the ankles. Frantically she wrestled with the rope pleading for a super human effort to help her break free. In horror she watched as the devil swung her child in an ark smashing her little skull against the wall. God this is some kind of nightmare please let me wake up. The thing, for that is how she thought of him now, cackled as he threw her little girl’s lifeless form across her naked legs. Edna Foster had no more doubts. The serial killer had come to her party. It was the madman on everyone’s lips. Here in her home, committing this wanton brutality. She relaxed accepting that her fate was sealed. ‘Please Lord let it be over quickly,’ she uttered a silent prayer. Edna from childhood could not take pain. So much as a pinprick had been enough to have her crying for hours. Silently she had to endure the same heinous scene three times as her tiny children’s hearts were so callously stopped from beating, by some anonymous monster. Finally it was over. Having neatly placed the corpses across their mothers’ legs, he knelt beside her, his mouth almost sensually caressing her ear. ‘You are the slut of a murderer Edna,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t allow the offspring of such an abomination to grow and produce future generations of scum. ‘He who sows the seeds of evil shall reap his harvest in hell. I want you to think about that as you slowly fade away Edna.’ With a slow steady motion Nathan Black drew the blade along her arm opening her main arteries, insuring her death. As the blood gushed from the wound he took a sponge from the bag. Deliberately he mopped the blood and used it to paint his grotesque warning on the Fosters’ bedroom wall.
The phone issued its annoying bleep, interrupting Walter Dane’s scrutiny of the evening news. Slyly he tried ignoring the intrusion hoping that his wife or daughter would answer. To his annoyance neither paid the instrument the slightest attention. With a resigned tut he arose to silence the unwanted agitation. ‘Dane’s home for infirm ladies, how may we help?’ he jibed. Both women glanced in his direction, smiled and returned to their television program. ‘Mr Dane,’ came the familiar hiss. ‘I was wondering if you would like to come to a party?’ whispered Black. Dane could hear him sniggering; a chill sent icy fingers down the journalist’s spine.
‘How did you get this number?’ asked Dane, the colour draining from his cheeks.
‘Please do not concern yourself with trivialities Mr. Dane. We have known each other for some time, I feel as if I am a friend of the family Walter. Do you mind if I call you Walter?Only I thought I could take the liberty seeing that I’m inviting you to a very special birthday bash.’
‘Yes, yes whatever you like,’ answered the journalist, regaining his composure. ‘And what do I call you sir?’ ‘Nice try Walter, we are not that close. Yet. You will come to know my title soon enough Walter, rest assured. By the way Walter, psychopath isn’t a very flattering address. I tend to think of myself as an avenging angel. Enough small talk Walter, you are missing out on the fun of the party. It’s young Edna Foster’s twenty-second birthday. She was bloody annoyed that you couldn’t make it,’ there it was again, that manic snigger. A constricting fear gripped the reporter, as the meaning of Black’s words hit home.
‘God no, not another massacre?’ he be-seeched but he already knew the futility of the prayer. Black recited the address.
‘And Mr. Dane, please give the story your usual professional touch.’ Dane stood, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the phone. ‘There is one last thing my friend, You asked earlier what my name is. Please refer to me as The Preacher. It has a certain ring don’t you think?’ The line went dead with the maniac’s laughter lingering long after the metallic click. Slowly he dialled Kiever’s number.
‘Hello, is that you James? Bad news I’m afraid, our friend has struck again.
Black sat in his hired Honda Civic, watching the police round the corner, sirens blazing. He gave a smug grin as he observed the reporter’s little car arrive shortly after. With one final glance at an ambulance that was hurrying to the crime scene, he turned on the radio. Humming a familiar seventies tune he pulled away from the kerb. Edna Foster was already a fading memory.
News of the most recent atrocity broke on the breakfast bulletins of the BBC. and ITV. networks the following morning. ‘The beast has struck again,’ announced the saddened face of a local newscaster. ‘In the early hours of yesterday evening the horror that is terrorising the people of our already beleaguered province once more manifested itself on an unsuspecting household in Sydenham. Police have revealed that the serial killer, who has requested to be referred to as, ‘THE PREACHER,’ struck again with frenzied brutality. The naked bodies of six young women and three infants were discovered in the Belfast suburb of Sydenham after the murderer had made a phone call to a local journalist late last night. The names of the victims will be released after relatives have been informed.’
‘What’s the world coming to?’ said Starrett’s wife, as she observed the early morning broadcast. ‘If you ask me the RUC. haven’t an iota of a clue how to catch that wicked, wicked man.’
‘Do you know something dear? I believe you are one hundred percent correct,’ answered her husband. His wife smiled at her man obviously pleased that he agreed with her assessment. John wasn’t one to seek his wife’s advice on any subject and a show of tenderness cast in her direction gratefully accepted. ‘I shall have to go out today dear,’ he informed her. ‘Some urgent business has cropped up. Don’t worry about supper, I shall probably be away until tomorrow. I’ll call you as soon as I know exactly when I shall be home.’
‘Oh what a pity John I had hoped we could pop into town. We have to buy some odds and ends for your grandson’s birthday. You haven’t forgotten have you?’ she admonished gently.
‘Sorry dear, no I have it all recorded in my organiser. Tell you what. I’ll cancel all my appointments for Thursday, okay. We can go into Belfast then, and you can shop till you drop, promise.’
‘Very well love, Thursday it is,’ agreed his spouse happily. Starrett’s mind was not focused on presents or trips to town, he was troubled, and he was in a serious bind. This maniac was causing mammoth problems. He feared the worst when he heard the location of the Preacher’s latest visitation. Sydenham was a Protestant enclave and no doubt if the madman was true to form, the victims would be relatives of a volunteer. His leadership was in question and he felt that a threat to himself was a threat to the cause. Boasting an ego of gigantic proportion he really believed that he, John Starrett, was the only man capable of holding the organisation together. But lately there were rumblings in the ranks, questioning his ability to solve the present crisis. There was always some young pretender waiting to fill the shoes of one who has failed to fulfil expectations. A fear was eating into his core like a cancer. This bastard had to be caught and dealt with before he had time to set up another attack. Drastic situations required equally drastic solutions and Starrett was about to embark on a journey that would either make or break him. If he misjudged the situation, not only would his command be relinquished, he knew he in all probability that his life would be forfeit.
The commander’s first move was to call a meeting, inviting the major players to attend. To bring together the heads of the Derry, Belfast, Newry, Enniskillen and Ballymena commando was no easy task. Attending the meeting as representatives of his unit, would be Tommy Cairns and Billy Clements. Topic for discussion would be the Preacher. Solutions to the problem would be tabled but he felt that no one would contemplate what he had in mind.
The seven men gathered in Starrett’s safe house. Clements reflected on the many occasions that he had sat blindfolded in this very room, merely a bit player in the scheme of things. For years he was never permitted to see the face of his leader yet here he was in the presence of the most powerful men in the loyalist paramilitary fraternity. Billy sat in awe as introductions were made. Delegates viewed him suspiciously and the representative for Derry asked why he was present at all. Security was seemingly being thrown out the window. Clements bristled. Seeing the young man’s heckles rise his superior intervened, astutely answering the question. ‘Well now Brian, it seems to me that a man would weigh a situation up before making a comment. Young Clements here is my most trusted man. He was ordered by myself to attend this meeting. Exposed to strangers, people whom he knows nothing about save the fact that I have vouched for them. If he can trust you on my word then good taste dictates that you should extend to him the same courtesy.’
‘I suppose so, sorry Billy, things are a bit dodgy up my way at the minute. The man was referring to an undercover agent who had infiltrated the Derry organisation bringing about the arrest of several volunteers. Clements merely nodded. Satisfied that honour was restored, Starrett brought the meeting to order.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began. ‘I am about to table a suggestion, which will make me the most unpopular man in the room. Furthermore, what I am about to say will in some areas brand me a traitor. All I ask is that you hear me out. If you disagree with what I suggest, I shall have no alternative but to step down as commander of the Belfast battalion.’ There was a collective intake of breath as the impact of Starrett’s words hit home. Eagerly the group leaned forward giving John their fullest attention.’Firstly,’ he continued, ‘I suggest that we call a cease fire.’There was an instant rush of comment and disagreement. ‘Gentlemen please,’ shouted John, banging the table with open palms to bring them to order. ‘Please let me say what I have to say, then we can discuss the merits or pitfalls of my proposal.’ The gathering reluctantly quietened. Some delegates were seething but all were eager to hear more. ‘This killer, this maniac, the one they call the Preacher, is undermining our authority.How long do you think it will be before the people lose faith in our ability to protect them against the IRA? if we can not protect our own from one bloody psychopath?’ Heads nodded in agreement; at last Starrett felt that he was making headway.
‘How can a cease-fire help us to catch yer man,’ asked the delegate from Ballymena.
‘Good question and that brings me to the hard part. I know that you wont like my second proposal but bear with me.’ There was a nervous rustling as the men sat forward enthralled; hanging on John’s every word. I am seeking your agreement to a joint operation with the IRA. In order to snare the Preacher.’
‘Ye must be out of yer fuckin mind,’ was the reaction from the rear of the room. The venom was mouthed by a stocky man boasting a Newry accent that one could cut with a knife.
‘Fuckin right, we’ve spent a lifetime tryin to keep the bastards at bay and you’re askin us to go to bed with them. What is this, some kind of sick joke?’ added the representative from Enniskillen. John held both arms aloft palms outward, appealing for order.
‘Please gentlemen, I predicted what your reaction would be. Please let me finish what I have to say before discarding the idea out of hand. Believe me the idea is as repugnant to me as it must be to you but these are desperate times and must be solved by equally desperate measures. The killer is an Englishman, we are certain of that fact. He is indiscriminate in his choice of victim, catholic or prod to him is the same prey. In other words gentlemen, according to the Preacher, we are all tarred with the same brush, whether we like it or not. Starrett paused awaiting the impact of his words to take affect. His gamble paid off, he had judged correctly. Slowly but surely the inevitable hubbub began to subside. ‘The man has access to privileged information,’ he continued, raising his voice to counter the din. ‘He knows the names and addresses of the families and volunteers from both sides. I can not see any other way to catch him. Every member of every family of the political prisoners is at risk while this maniac is at large, and although it pains me to say it, we have to put our differences aside in the interests of both communities. If we join forces we can put a dragnet throughout the whole of the UK which has at least a realistic chance of bringing about a result. We don’t have to be looking over our shoulders for the old enemy and we can pool our resources. It is our best chance of finding a solution to this problem, quickly and completely. I am asking for your support in this matter and am suggesting that we call a meeting with the IRA as soon as possible. With your backing I can put the idea to them and if they concur we shall issue a joint statement that a cease-fire will begin immediately. The statement to the press will be that we have called a cease to hostilities as a mark of respect to the families of victims of the killer known as the Preacher. The cease-fire shall remain in place until the murderer is apprehended or terminated. I see this as a way forward and that our political representatives should take this opportunity to bring about a permanent end to hostilities in the province. Thank-you gentlemen, that is all.’
Starrett’s final entreaty brought another cacophony from the seething crowd.
‘Please men this harangue is serving no useful purpose, I beg you to sit back and take stock of the situation and you will see that we have no alternative. When we volunteered to join the organisation, we vowed to protect the community. For God and Ulster, do you remember the oath we took to defend the province against the papist cause?’ His question had a calming effect and once more a hush descended as the crowd waited for him to explain his last words.
‘To defend Ulster has always been our mandate and at first, that is exactly what we did but look at us now. We have lost sight of our great endeavour and resorted to killing for killing’s sake. We are destroying the economy; the very fibre of our existence is threatened. I am referring to Ulster’s youth, surely you must see that we cannot afford another generation of death and destruction. A man would have to be blind to think that the British would not sell us down the river if they could think of a way to justify their actions. It is my firm belief that the only way for us to strike a fair deal with the Republic is to enter the political arena first. Hold out the hand of friendship and beat the bastards at their own game. Get world opinion on our side for a change. We must look to the future gentlemen and in it there is no place for the bomb and the gun.’ The shouting had ceased, being replaced by a subdued murmur. This had came as bombshell to the audience, it was not what they had expected to hear and they needed time to digest what had been proposed to them. Starrett was aware of their perplexity and took full advantage. Before they could raise any argument to his suggestions he called for a recess, informing them that he would leave them to mull over what he had said but adding that he knew that they were clever enough to come to the correct decision. With that said he rose quickly and rushed from view.
A heated discussion ensued with a few hardliners refusing to listen to reason. The decision was swayed in John’s favour by a representative who relived the Enniskillen remembrance day bomb. He painted a picture of devastation and despair describing the destruction of the town centre. ‘I lost a cousin in the explosion and have nothing but hatred for the bastards who planted it but John is right, the more we kill the worse it becomes. Who would have believed that the troubles would be with us for nearly thirty years and not a glimmer of hope for a solution? We have tried everything else why not do as Lennon says and give peace a chance. Someone has to make the first move and I for one am behind Starrett one million percent. Shit what do we have to lose? If the other side breaks the ceasefire we can always go back to the status quo.’ Not all were convinced but agreed grudgingly that something extraordinary had to be done to rid the province from the terror caused by the Preacher.
Arrangements were made for a clandestine meeting between the heads of the two factions. The historic event took place on the British mainland the following Sunday. Security was tight with the identities of the representatives a closely guarded secret. Chairing the meeting was the secretary of state for Northern Ireland. Political representatives of both factions were also present; Starrett had demanded this as a prerequisite in order to give the peace talks a kick-start. The agenda for the initial meeting between the warring factions was restricted to one item, apprehension of the serial killer commonly known as the Preacher. Starrett being the instigator was invited to open the discussion. As he had previously pointed out, the biggest threat to the security of the civilian population of Ulster was the Preacher. He went on to say that a temporary end to hostilities and sharing of information was the best way to ensnare the killer. His suggestion that a select team made up of one person from each faction was treated with a certain amount of apprehension as well as surprise. It was tantamount to asking a man to stick his head in the lion’s mouth. He could give no promises for the security of the IRA operative accept his word but quickly added that he was willing to accept the assurances of his counter-part as to the safety of his man. The others listened intently to the remainder of his oration and to his surprise the IRA chief stood extending his hand without saying a word. Dumbfounded Starrett accepted the gesture noting the handshake’s firmness. Allowing the gravity of the occasion time to register the other spoke for the first time. ‘It must have taken a great deal of courage for you to bring about this gathering sir and I am sure that you have made a few enemies in the process. Indeed you may have put your life on the line for it’s purpose. I for one believe your intentions are honourable and give the endeavour my complete support. I shall convey to the army council your genuine proposal and call for a cease-fire. Let us pray that our political leaders can come to an amicable solution that will end the conflict once and for all. I am getting too old for this dangerous game. Let me confirm that I agree with your proposal and you shall have your answer before midnight tomorrow. I do have one stipulation. The RUC must be kept out of the affair. I may trust you but I will have no truck with them, agreed?’ he added, extending his hand a second time. Starrett hesitatingly accepted it and with a wry smile turned from his adversary. Politicians who had come prepared for a slanging match had the wind taken from their sails. The secretary of state stood open mouthed at the unexpected turn of events. Composing herself she said, ‘Gentlemen we stand on the precipice of an historic and momentous occasion. It appears that we have achieved more in a matter of hours than either side has done in the last three decades. I trust in God that the political representatives will take up the gauntlet and work to end the most torrid period in the history of your beautiful island. Thank-you gentlemen, I stand in awe at your courage and candour. I leave this place a more enlightened individual.’ The meeting was completed in exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes.
Confirmation of the cease-fire reached Starrett at ten o’clock the following evening. He allowed himself a smile for the first time in weeks as word came through that a temporary end to hostilities would come into effect at six am. on the following morning.
There were more punters than usual and the atmosphere in the club was light as Tullen occupied his usual seat in the corner. A youth with lank greasy hair and an intimidating attitude approached his table. ‘Your name Connor mate?’ he inquired brusquely.
‘Who wants to know?’ replied Tullen, matching the other’s aggression.
‘Hey take it easy big man,’ said the youth, showing considerably more respect. ‘I was asked te tell ye te call this number. A grubby hand proffered an even grubbier piece of paper.
‘So ye’ve delivered the message, now ye can fuck off,’ said Connor testily, snatching the scrap from the young man’s hand. The other turned on his heel and slunk away feeling exceedingly less cocky. Tullen recognised the number immediately. Downing his pint he quickly headed for the club’s side exit. On his way past he glared at the youth who stood sheepishly deflated at the bar. ‘Ah fuck him,’ he muttered as he felt the rains needles sting his cheek. Feeling miserable he strolled to the only public phone box that he knew would have escaped the attentions of local delinquents. Vandalism of this particular appliance would result in the person responsible obtaining a valid claim to disability allowance. He punched in the six digits and waited for the familiar voice to answer. ‘What?’ called the receiver.
‘Fuck me but ye have some way we words. Did ye never fancy goin in te tele-sales?’
“Ah Con how ye doin? Get yer wee fenian arse round here right away I’ve a bita news for ye.’
‘Aye right,’ replied Tullen wearily, he was not in the mood for cheery conversation. After replacing the receiver, he turned up his collar and trudged up the Falls Road. Ten minutes later he was in a safe location being offered a can of draught Guinness. ‘Christ ye have a face as long as a Lurgan spade. Get that down yer neck and sit down for I’ve some strange news te tell ye. ‘Are ye sittin comfortably?’ quipped Aherne, one of Daley’s lackeys. ‘Right then, I’ll begin. The army council has called a cease-fire. All hostilities ended last night but the announcement will be made at six tomorrow morning.’
‘Ye have te be fuckin jokin. Yer not are ye?’ observed Tullen incredulously. ‘And where exactly does that leave us? What’s it all about?’
‘It’s the preacher who’s caused it.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Con.
‘Fuck me Con, use yer loaf. The murderin bastard has become public enemy number one. We have te get rid of him as soon as possible. To that end yer presence is required. The big man wants te see ye at eight o’clock.’
‘What the fuck for, he cant have much use for the likes of me now?’
‘Search me, he didn’t say but he seemed a bit miffed. Says he’s had some kind of directive and doesn’t like it. Even he has te follow orders.’ Connor finished his drink, said his goodbyes and headed toward his rendezvous with Daley. ‘Ah Connor, there ye are. What about ye?’ Tullen was immediately on the defensive. Daley only used the operatives Christian name when something nasty was in the offing.
‘Hello Peter, things were going pretty well until ye called, how’s about yerself?’ replied Tullen, letting the other know that he was aware bad news coming his way.
‘Things were okay, what does that mean I wonder?’
‘Ye never call me Connor unless ye have some shite te throw my way.’
‘Aye ye always were the smart one there’s no denyin that. As usual yer right. I have a very dangerous job te hand out and you are the only man I can trust te bring home the bacon. Shite is the only way te describe this particular request. It has te do we the madman, the Preacher. Ye know the score; we are as close to catchin the bastard as Paisley has te becomin the next pope. The prods are in the same boat but between the
pair of us we may have enough information to point us in the right direction.’
‘So,’ said Tullen suspiciously.
‘The bosses had a discussion and it is part of the cease-fire agreement that we pool our information.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Fuck me, there’s no easy way te say it so here goes. They want one of our operatives to work with a UDA man and seein as ye were workin on the job anyway, ye Connor have been nominated as our rep.’
‘Ye’ve got te be jokin, say yer fuckin kiddin Peter.’
‘Sorry Con, I’m as serious as cancer.’
‘Ye know that my usefulness as an operative will be compromised, yer probably signin my fuckin death warrant.’
‘Sorry Con it’s orders.’
‘Orders me fuckin arse, the reason that I have been so successful is because of my anonymity. There’s hardly a sinner knows of my existence and ye want me to hang a sign around me fuckin neck sayin, meet Connor Tullen IRA. special branch. Fuck me, join up we the UDA, how long do ye think I’ll last Daley, eh?’
‘Yer as safe as houses Con, no sweat.’
‘As safe as houses, that’s a joke. I may be safe for the time bein but what happens after we catch yer man? If we catch him and that’s a fuckin big if. What then eh? There wont be a safe town in Ireland for me. I’m as good as dead.’
‘It’s not as bad as all that Con, there will only be one man workin with ye, that’s part of the agreement. Ye will both be workin independently of the two organisations; yer mate will be in the same boat as yerself. Ye make yer reports individually and only the guy yer workin with will see yer face. This operation is top secret. Only the people at the very top know of it’s existence.”
‘Is that a fact? I feel so much better,’ mumbled Tullen sarcastically. ‘And when does this debacle commence, or is that top secret information too?’
‘That’s the ticket. Tomorrow night, ye have te stand at the Belfast Telegraph building. At eleven o’clock the guy will pick ye up and head out of town in the direction of Carrick.’
‘That’s a comfort, thanks a bundle. What if this is a set up and the guy decides te drive by blastin?’
‘Watch the telly tonight at six. Ye’ll get yer answer then.’
A grim faced newsreader disclosed the names of the victims of the serial killer known as the Preacher, describing the scene as an abattoir. She went on to tell of an ambulance man who had to be relieved from duties, so harrowing was the experience of removing the innocents from the scene of the crime. Mass rioting had broken out in the Maze prison due to both loyalist and republican prisoners fearing for the safety of their loved ones. Nathan Black sat impassively watching the woman as she related the latest nightmare. ‘Loved ones, how very poetic. They should have thought about their so called, loved ones, before they made the decision to kill other peoples,’ he informed the lady conversationally. ‘For the first time in their miserable lives the bastards are aware of what it is really like to lose someone you love. Yes indeed I do believe that my campaign is having the desired effect,’ Having voiced his opinion to the oblivious newscaster he calmly finished his drink and retired to bed.
Tullen listened intently as he devoured his favourite meal of fish and chips, which balanced, precariously on his lap. Nine innocent people, he thought, as a pang of guilt tugged at his conscience. He believed truly that he and others of his ilk had brought about the tragic deaths of those poor people. As he followed the newsreader’s comments he reflected upon his own involvement. How he had been an instigator, possibly the cause of the horrific occurrences. Had he been the one to push the maniac over the edge? He reflected on the sorrow and misery that he himself had caused and for the first time he hated himself. ‘Legitimate targets,’ he growled, ‘What a fuckin cop out.’
The newscaster’s mood brightened considerably as she introduced the next item. ‘An era of hope has begun. In the past twenty-four hours leaders of the two main paramilitary forces namely the UDA. and IRA. have called for a cease-fire and a halt to all hostilities. As a mark of respect to the families of the victims murdered by the Preacher both factions have called for a temporary end to the fighting. Representatives of both communities have hailed the decision and in a joint statement they have vowed to work toward a permanent cessation of the conflict. Politicians from both sides of the divide have conveyed their deepest sympathy to the families of the victims and shall do everything in their power to bring the killer to justice. A concerted effort is being made to ensnare the murderer before another drop of innocent blood is spilt. Furthermore the leaders and politicians from both factions have been given a mandate to come to an amicable agreement which is acceptable and fair to all, in order to bring about an end to three decades of bloodshed which has ravaged and scarred our small province. The cease-fire has already come into being. Let us hope and pray that it will bring about a permanent and lasting peace which in turn should generate happiness and prosperity to the whole of the community.’
Tullen slowly got to his feet. Appetite gone, he discarded the remains of his meal to the confines of the rubbish bin. An overwhelming feeling of elation had replaced the guilt that he had felt only moments earlier. He had been given the opportunity to make amends for his violent past and he was going to grasp it with both hands. Rushing to the phone he began dialling Moira’s number. His fingers fumbled across the keypad in his excitement inadvertently pressing two digits at once. Taking a deep breath he began again this time more deliberately. After four excruciatingly long rings her welcome voice came on the line. ‘Did ye see it Moira? The news, did ye see it?’ he babbled.
‘What are ye on about Con?’ she replied. ‘Is that any way te greet the woman ye love?’
‘Sorry darlin but this is important. The evening news on the telly, did ye catch it?’
‘Ach no, sure it’s always the same anyway, all doom and gloom. It depresses me te hear what yon monster has got up to next. Why? Have ye won the Irish lotto or somethin? She wagged.
‘No sweetheart it’s better than that.’
‘Better than winnin a million, what is it Con? Are ye gonna keep me in suspense forever?’
‘It’s a cease-fire, both parties have agreed to call an end to hostilities. They want an end to violence darlin, isn’t that great?’ There was no reply as Moira lowered herself into a seat in an attempt to digest the information that he just related.
‘Hello, hello are ye there love?’ he shouted. There was a crackling noise as she drew the receiver across the armrest of the chair.
‘Yes darlin I’m here, I just can’t believe it. It sounds just to good to be true. Are ye sure ye got the whole story?’
‘Oh ye can believe it’s true sweetheart for I’m still watchin it on the telly.’
‘What exactly does it mean love?’ she asked fighting to control her excitement.
‘For one thing it’ll mean a lot of redundant IRA men,’ he chuckled.
‘Please God let it be true Con,’ she uttered, as his news finally hit home. A tear formed and trickled down her cheek, the gravity of his words gave her a glimpse of their future together. ‘Con darlin please make it be true,’ she beseeched.
‘I’ll call ye later love, later in the week. I am goin to have a few things te sort out okay. Love you, talk to ye soon.’
‘God knows, I love ye too Tullen. Call me sooner rather than later,’ she commanded, before replacing the receiver.
A third party was similarly glued to the early evening news. Billy Clements did not share the others elation, on the contrary he was more than a little concerned with the strange turn of events. ‘Cease-fire me bollocks,’ he grumbled aloud. ‘It’s all very well for yon prick John to spout about peaceful solutions, he’s not the one meeting a fuckin IRA. man tonight. He’s not the one with his cock on a block. What if yer man’s a hard line nutter who doesn’t want a fuckin cease-fire? What then? Fuckin bang and yours truly gets a fuckin hero’s funeral, that’s what’ll fuckin happen. What’s the fuckin point anyway? Twenty-eight years of conflict and to what end? Do they really think the IRA are gonna say, fuck it lads we’ve failed, better luck next century? Let’s shake hands and have a pint, like fuck they will. They wont be satisfied until they have some bead rattlin bastard callin the tune from Dublin. Ah fuck it, who cares anyway? He could hardly be worse than Thatcher or yon fucker Kermit the frog, what’s his name Major.’ Having given the television a piece of his mind he flicked the off button and morosely began to prepare for an unwanted meet with the enemy. ‘Wonder what he’s like,’ thought Clements aloud. ‘Who’d have thought that I’d be workin we a fuckin provo.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘He may be the smart one but he sure as fuck wont look as good as you,’ said Billy, smiling into the mirror.