Chapter 84

 

Northern Ireland, 1984

 

The high uncut grass hid the four men as they lay on their bellies enjoying the show. They were aware that these soldiers had disappeared several hours earlier while on patrol. Their own radios kept them informed about the kidnappings and the search in progress. Their abductors had driven them here in the burned out van that sat abandon in the field, then forced them naked into the old well.

The soldiers, to escape their dirty prison, were now using a simple process. One crawled up the bodies of his mates and over the top. He then dropped on his stomach to reach in and aid another companion who stood on the shoulders of the one still in the well. By the first holding the ankles of the second man out, they were able to pull the last man to freedom.

The young men cursed angrily as they attempted to remove some of the slime from their bodies with torn up handfuls of grass. Suddenly they froze at the sound of guns being cocked.

“Nice show laddies,” came in a half-laughed, half-sneered, voice from a sandy-haired man as he and three comrades rose from kneeling positions to level their rifles at the helpless soldiers.

Silently praying he has not mistaken the accent, one soldier said, “We’re British soldiers.”

But no further protests were allowed to escape the military mouths as four rifles spoke spontaneously and the three young men crumbled with a look of bewilderment etched on their faces.

“Nasty job them Papists pigs pulled this time.” The stocky sandy-haired fellow said. “Mind ya, strippin’ these lads and leaving ‘em thinking they’d live. Returning to shoot ‘em.” Calmly he joined the others in reloading. Then said, “Best call the Army. Let ‘em know where their boys are at.”

“Sure, now, Mason,” another agreed. “The IRA’s gonna be right proud of this night’s work.” He used the toe of his shoe to turn one young face out of the mud. “Nice looking young bloke-make a grand hero.”

Leisurely they walked to a car, tossed their rifles in the boot, and withdrew handguns before the sandy-haired fellow barked into a mike. “Three bodies. No ID but it’s a good bet they’re yours. They shot ‘em naturally. Flesh still warm.” And he finished by giving directions.

~~~

 

Dan Mitchell knelt in the mud and watched one of the young lives struggle not to end.

Roger Monaghan knelt beside him. Knowing it was only a matter of minutes, still he continued to work on the soldier near the well. He had brought back a semblance of consciousness to this one; for the others he could do nothing but close their frozen stares.

“Lad, can you hear me?” Mitchell asked and the pale lashes fluttered. Weak words formed but they were all disjointed “IRA-left-alive-alive-u—shot-wh…” Blood stopped leaking from the side of his mouth and his eyes froze open.

The doctor confirmed the obvious. “He’s gone.”

Mitchell got to his feet. “Doesn’t make sense. Why bother to strip them, burn their clothing, obviously hold them in the well and then kill them. You shot?” He shook his head.

“Maybe he meant shoot? Maybe he wants you to return the favor.”

And the inspector nodded in the negative. “I think he was trying to ask why at the end.”

“If I was nineteen, lying naked and dying on some foreign real estate,” Roger Monaghan said in disgust. “I might be inclined to ask why.”

~~~

 

Megan O’Donnell, quite safe across the border, had been following the stories of kidnapped soldiers and forming her own whys.

Seamus had been gone most of the night and now he didn’t even mention the fact. The man was becoming comfortable with her—in fact they all were. Young Colin, had just now asked her, not his uncle, if he could drive into Dublin with David Martin. This was not good, she complained to herself, as she watched the man continue with his breakfast.

“Seamus, I’m leaving for New York this afternoon.”

“Holy hell! Why?”

“I came here to get a story. Obviously the first one I tried didn’t get printed. And everything I send back now appears to be suspect. My editor is cutting my copy with a razorblade. I have to go home and try to save my career.”

“I would wager your first film never left Dublin.” Seamus smiled. “And for that, this lad is grateful.”

“You’re grateful?”

“Lass, don’t take this wrong, for what it’s worth those pictures may have saved my worthless hide. As a silent tool they were grand.” Seamus reached over and squeezed her arm before he went on. “But to see himself splashed on the telly being thrashed by the law would do damage to this bloke’s self-image. Where ever that film ended up, I hope it stays permanently.”

“Well I need a good story or my editor is going to take my expenses out of my hide and I’m not going to write it sitting here. With Walsh’s bunch kidnapping and murdering soldiers—”

“They didn’t do it.” He seemed to be contemplating. “Makes no sense. Kidnapping, yes, they needed something for a distraction. Walsh was sitting on all those dollars that were never meant to end up North. He couldn’t change them there. He needed a diversion so he could get the money back across the border. Kidnapping soldiers would set the Army’s priorities to hunting for their lads. But Walsh had nothing to gain by ordering them butchered like they were and Martin wouldn’t have stood for it. Davy’s not one for actual murder.”

Megan almost disagreed. Then she remembered; Martin had been fighting for their lives, and he hadn’t participated in the torture. “If not Walsh,” she asked, “who?”

“Lass, the games have a lot of players. The only ones I’d rule out are the Army—they don’t kill their own.”

And she grinned as she accused, “For someone so innocent, you appear to possess tremendous knowledge?”

“Sure, it’s a gift lass.” He said then capturing her hands his lips moved over them and he pleaded softly, “Don’t leave.”

But this time Megan O’Donnell was prepared. She had already made her decision.

If I have to sneak out in the dark of night, she told herself, I’m out of here.

Seamus, conceding to Megan wishes, drove her to the airport himself.

~~~

 

Sean O’Donnell was resting on a lounge.

   “Sure was an easy victory.” David Martin, leaning on a wall, shook his head in disgust while they discussed football and Dublin’s win over Antrim.

Suddenly he pushed away from the building. His hand streaked to the revolver in his pocket as he ordered, “Get inside!” and he broke into a run. The speeding car kicked up gravel as it spun off the road on to the long driveway.

Sean only went as far as the front hall from where he could watch through the glass doors. Several men rapidly approached the car as it bucked to a halt just short of the house. Sunlight caught the shine of copper hair as the girl slid from behind the wheel to confront a fuming David Martin.

Sean recognized her. O’Neill? The lass they had sent him to find. He shoved the door open yelling, “Davy, it’s all right! I know her!”

Laughing, Deirdre dodged past the men and eluded capture by Martin as she headed for the boy. “You remember me?” she said as the unruly hair slapped against her face. Her rapid breathing caused sharply pointed breasts to push against the thinness of her blouse.

“Sure,” the youth grinned, “but you’re not an easy one to forget.” Then he blushed, for Deirdre, seeing the direction his eyes had taken, deliberately drew in her breath and held it.

A converging Martin was scowling as he glanced from one young culprit to the other. Concerned that the man might send the girl away, Sean declared again, “I know her. We met in Belfast.”

“I know her too.” Martin snapped. “That’s what bothers me. Seamus will have my ass, I let you mess with the likes of her.”

Turning her captivating smile on Martin, Deirdre promised. “I’ll behave, Davy, and I’ll only stay a little while.”

“Lad’s had a rough go,” he grumbled. “I told you that. I told ya to stay away. I must have been out of my skull to even tell you who he was.” Deirdre’s smile had him weakening fast and Sean’s pleas won him over. He yelled a warning at the backs of the retreating teenagers, “None of your damn games Dee, I’ll be watching.”

~~~

 

A few hours later when Sean came in for sodas, the angry voice of his uncle drew him to the library. “Of all the girls in the fuckin’ world, O’Neill! You let her come here?”

Martin yelped. “Christ! Seamus! I didn’t bring her. She just showed up. The lad remembered her.”

Sean hurried into the room determined to take up the struggle. “Please, Seamus,” he begged. “Dede’s no bother. She’s great with Colin. Look.” He moved to the window to press his point. Outside the girl could be seen engaged in a tennis match with the younger boy. Stubbornly, Sean continued in her defense. “What harm has she done by coming here?”

“You’re fond of the lass.” O’Donnell’s eyes reflected his uneasiness. Suddenly he thought about Emanon O’Neill and his humor surfaced as he kidded the youth. “Suppose her uncle would be right proud of you both. Emanon use to warn me I was raising a stud when you were no more’n a wean.” He threw an arm affectionately across Sean’s shoulders. He had made a pledge to himself and the God he didn’t usually believe in that he would never lose his temper with Sean again.

Sean reddened as he said, “You’re both of an evil mind,” denying his own feelings. “Dee and I are just friends. She’s with Colin as much as me. With him tagging us, not likely we’ll do so much as hold hands.”

“Will ya listen ta the pup?” O’Donnell slapped at Sean’s butt. “You’d think he knew what he was about.”

Martin grunted. “Not surprising, being your blood kin. Sure, I’d not be one to question an O’Donnell’s ability along those lines.”

“Davy, don’t ya be giving the lad ideas.”

“Suppose you did that long time ago.”

“Pay him no mind, Sean. That’s the voice of jealousy.” Then O’Donnell’s tone turned stern as he warned, “You go easy, lad, you’ve still some healing to do.”

Sean’s eyes shifted back to glance at the two men before he slipped out the door. The youth often wondered but never asked what their commitment was to each other. It seemed odd that the two should be friends.

As he stepped through the patio doors and watched a newly revived Colin, who’d been a sulky brat since his accident, completely enraptured by the attractive Deirdre O’Neill, Sean smiled. His memory slid back to a few weeks ago…

~~~

 

His eyes opened a crack. He watched in the mirror as the warm washcloth passed over his naked flesh. The nurse caught him and smiled while Sean blushed. “Now, lad, you’re just getting a bit of washin’ up. You’ve had a nasty time of it, but you’re home now.”

“Home?” Was a mumbled question.

“Bray, of course. We figured you’d be coming round soon. Your uncle only stepped out for a bit. He should be back shortly.”

Seamus? His head ached as he tried to remember. Colin? He grew frightened. Something happened to Colin? Seamus will kill me sure this time. “Colin?” he mumbled.

“Now don’t you go frettin’ ‘bout him. The lad’s here and doing fine.”

Straightening his bedclothes she pulled the covers over him and said, “I’ll let him come see you, but only for a sec.”

Though he rambled on in his childish way, Sean sensed, Colin was somehow different. “Davy got us out. He said for you to keep shut on most things. Pretend you don’t remember.”

Try as he might Sean didn’t remember. Here and there a few pieces came together but most of it remained a hazy, horrible, nightmare. “Seamus?”

His brother was quick to assure. “He’s not mad at you anymore.”

Sean doubted this but then his uncle was there rushing into the room. Moisture glimmered in the big man’s eyes. Shocking the teen, he gathered him into his arms like he was a wee babe. “I’d have sold my soul to the devil for sure,” he whispered into the boy’s hair, “if God failed me this time and I lost you.”