Chapter 50
Belfast, Northern Ireland, 1983
The terminal stood like an inhospitable symbol instead of a cheerful beacon to welcome the traveler as most busy airport terminals did. The sight of military machines and soldiers was enough to deter the hope of a pleasant visit. Brian Fitzgerald saw Belfast’s very lack of commotion as eerie. Only five other passengers disembarked from the shuttle. He held back as he watched them rush off to their intended destinations.
The last couple of days had been an ordeal for the American teenager. It wasn’t so much that he disliked his adult relatives; it was more the requirement that he maintain a proper behavior in front of the Connors’. When the boys planned this sojourn the whole idea was to have fun. A night in London, with Jason’s older brother, then a quick flight to Belfast while RJ was at the office on Friday. A call to explain where they were and a promise to return Sunday morning—RJ would cover for them.
Brian was less concerned with the trouble he was buying himself when his Uncle John discovered he’d left London on his own. He’d let Jason face the heat on that one. After all it was his parents’ decision to wreck their plans by tagging along. A frown stiffened his face. This whole thing was months in the making…a lark cooked up by Deirdre O’Neill.
The unfriendly terminal, with its grim faced soldiers, was depressing enough without thinking about the wretched encounter he was headed for. Dee’s gonna be royally pissed, he thought. Why didn’t he just call her from London? Tell her they couldn’t make it. Shit! She would have really blown a gasket then!
He covered the distance to the reception area in a slow shuffle as he apprehensively eyed a group of soldiers headed for a lorry. Must suck living here, he thought as he stepped through the guarded doorway. Then he caught sight of the girl waving to him. He couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. She was showing something to a soldier and now grabbed it back and raced towards the youth. “Brian?” She squealed and nearly collided with him. Her eyes darted around him and she said, “Sure’n where’s Jas?”
“He couldn’t come.”
“Ouch! Dede’s gonna be right pissed-off!”
“Suppose.” As she took his arm Brian decided, this might not be such a drag after all. The girl’s hazel eyes were set widely apart on an ivory face of delicate features. Inky-black hair swirled about her shoulders as her head swung back and forth with bits of spontaneous laughter. She had a pink bud of a mouth that begged to be tasted. He was immediately captivated by the voice sparkling with an effervescent personality.
Her lips spread over small white teeth. “Name’s Bridget Monroe. I’m your chauffeur.”
~~~
The sun came up and the lush green of the countryside belied the troubled lands they drove through. They yapped away like any teenagers and their rapid trip was far too short for Brian.
For when it was over he was facing an irate ginger haired bitch.
“Damn Jas.” Deirdre O’Neill’s husky sputter had barely allowed the youth to finish his explanation, that Jason Connors had been prevented from making the trip by the unexpected plans of his parents. “He was supposed to come with you. I have things all set.” Her purple eyes flashed with anger. “Papa’s away ‘til Sunday morning, we got it figured out…Damn! Damn! Damn! We been planning this for months.” She was slamming her fists against her hips, while her booted left foot kicked at the innocent earth.
Her entourage was made up of youngsters who showed no surprise at their leader’s over reaction.
“Ah, Dee. Let the fellow finish.” A dark haired boy stepped up to offer Brian his hand. “Name’s Carey, Neil Carey,” He said. “I think we’ll survive with one less Yank.”
But she interrupted any further explanation by Brian with the demand, “Can you fly a chopper?” She knew Brian could fly his older brother’s Cessna but was rarely allowed too and never alone.
“Sure, but where do we get one?”
“Out at the hanger. Papa bought one from the Army last summer. Don’t know why? Maybe he wanted to feel important; he hardly flies the friggin’ thing.”
“I can fly it but is he going to let me?”
“Who’s gonna ask. Jas was supposed to do the flying but as long as you can.” She grinned in relief. “He won’t be missed. Let him party with his poppy and mommy like a good little boy.”
~~~
The hour was half four on Sunday morning when five slender figures boarded a helicopter in Killyleagh and whirled their way south. Black nylon covered the lower half of their faces while black grease paint circled their eyes and was plastered on their foreheads. Tight black stretch caps hid their hair while their bodies were encased from ankle to neck in black jumpsuits. To complete the outfits they wore black leather gloves and boots. A plan of action agreed on in advance, they were unusually quiet.
~~~
The General Post Office fronts on O’Connell Street in the heart of Dublin. The old sacred building alive with ghosts from history. It was here in 1916 Irishmen bled for the grand cause of liberty. On this early Easter morning of 1983, before daylight, the flag they died for drooped—deprived of even a gentle breeze. In the sky directly above hovered a modern ‘Bird’.
The mission required only five, one at the helicopter controls, two to manage the pulleys, two to go down in the slings.
Working as rapidly as the situation would allow, Kevin Henry removed the tri-color flag from its place above the GPO and stuffed it in his shirt; much too large, the orange, white, and green banner hung pathetically. With one arm encircling the pole, he steadied Deirdre’s sling while she attached the replacement. In minutes the deed was accomplished, the slings drawn up, and the chopper was once more winging its way north.
~~~
Deirdre had pretty much inherited ownership of the children’s apartment of her grandfather’s home. This once thriving branch of the O’Neill heritage had dwindled noticeably in a single generation. It now appeared only two granddaughters would carry Liam O’Neill’s genes into the future. Amy visited rarely and then only when accompanied by her parents.
Deirdre rubbed cold cream on the boys’ faces until they burned. “Damn!” Brian swore as he stared in the mirror at the smeared gray mask obscuring his features.
“Butter,” Bridget Monroe squealed and was joined by her cousin Neil Carey in her flight to the kitchen.
“Fun! Say What!” Deirdre snickered as she nipped at Brian’s ear.
“Fun, hell, I nearly filled my pants. This was scarier than anything you’ve dreamt up. When you said lark, you never mentioned army craft. They could have blown us right out of the sky.”
“So you was shit-scared, Yank?” Kevin Henry seemed to find this amusing.
“Suppose you weren’t?”
Deirdre cut in, “Can it. They didn’t see us. Besides, if they did, they would have questioned us first. Your Yankee voice on that radio would have kept them from firing.”
“Fun and games.” A returning Neil grinned as Brian submitted to Bridget’s attention while he in turn passed out the butter to his other friends.
Fun and games, Brian thought. Fool nonsense that can get people killed his father was always saying. Still, it had been exciting. Dee’s stunts usually were and they’d done nothing all that horrible. “Fun and Games.” He found himself laughing with the other teenagers.
~~~
Not many miles away an angry Southern Irish populace awoke this Easter morning to a well-remembered flag fluttering on the roof of the GPO. High in the center of Dublin Town waved the red, white, and blue, of the British Union Jack.