‘Stella!’ cried Alice, crossing the noisy schoolyard. It was the first morning break at Loreto Convent, and Alice made for her friend, hoping to lift her spirits. Monday morning was always a bit lack-lustre, but this morning Stella had been more downbeat than usual. It was hardly surprising, Alice thought, what with her grandfather being ill in Canada. Alice and her mother had prayed for him at Mass the previous day, but Stella had said that Granddad was in a coma and wasn’t expected to regain consciousness. Now as Alice drew near her friend, she was excited to have news that should distract her.
‘What is it?’ said Stella.
Alice realised that her excitement must be showing. ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ she said.
‘Try me.’
‘I bumped into Esther Moore at the toilets.’
‘And?’
‘She said she saw Johnny on Saturday.’
Stella looked startled. ‘Really? Where?’
‘In Dublin. Esther went up on the train with her mother. She saw Johnny on O’Connell Bridge.’
‘And she’s sure it was him?’
‘Did she talk to him?’
‘No, she couldn’t. He was working.’
Alice could see that Stella was taken aback, but at least the news had shaken her friend from her melancholic mood.
‘So the postcards from Tipperary were a red herring,’ said Stella.
‘Looks like it. Though in fairness to Johnny, he wouldn’t lie to us unless he really had to.’
‘When you think about it, that’s not reassuring.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ conceded Alice.
‘What was he working at?’
‘Esther said he was in the uniform of a telegraph boy.’
‘Yeah? How do you suddenly go from a bar in Tipperary to delivering telegrams in Dublin? And if there’s a good reason, why lie to us?
‘We could…we could always ask him,’ suggested Alice.
‘How?’
‘We know where he works now. If we went to Dublin next Saturday we could visit the telegraph office. We could say we’ve an important message for Johnny Dunne, and we need to see him.’
Stella looked thoughtful, and Alice knew that her friend’s mind was racing. Even though the news about Johnny was worrying – Alice feared he was involved again with the rebels – it was still good to see Stella more animated than she had been since getting the news about her grandfather.
‘What do you think?’ asked Alice.
‘We’d have to come up with a story, to get permission to go to Dublin.’
‘So we’ll invent something. And we’ll promise to be careful and all that. But you’re on to try and track him down?’
Stella nodded. ‘I hope there’s an innocent explanation. But if not, and he’s with the rebels again, I need to know.’
‘Me too.’
‘Let’s do it then.’
‘Right,’ said Alice. ‘We’ll make up a story, and go to Dublin on Saturday.’
* * *
Johnny strode along Dorset Street. The dog he was exercising pulled him ahead, straining at the leash. It was a cool autumn morning, and it was a novelty for Johnny to walk a dog, something he had never done in either the orphanage or when working at the Mill Hotel. It was a change too to be dressed in high-quality clothes, but Mrs Hanlon had kitted him out in an expensive boy’s suit and a smart gaberdine overcoat. She had explained that in today’s bid to rescue Mr O’Shea, Johnny’s role would be to pose as a posh schoolboy.
Johnny was excited to be involved, and flattered that he had been given a key task. He knew that Mrs Hanlon had been pleased with his tracking of Lt. Colonel Jennings three days previously, but it was still a boost to his ego to be trusted in the attempt to free Mr O’Shea.
‘Easy, Rex!’ he cried now as they turned into Western Way and the dog tried to surge ahead. He made his way expectantly towards Broadstone Railway Station. In the ten days since moving to Dublin he had settled well in the boarding house, started his cover job delivering telegrams, tracked British agents around the city, and now he was preparing to help free a prisoner.
It was lonely not having friends to talk to, but he accepted that that was the price of serving Michael Collins. On several occasions he had played football on the street with boys from nearby Mountjoy Square, but he knew that for the next couple of months he couldn’t get too friendly with anyone – not while carrying out his mission. He drew nearer the station now, his excitement building. Calm down, he told himself, nothing will be happening just yet. Still, it was better to be in place in plenty of time. And part of the plan called for the dog to be straining at the leash, so he didn’t want to tire him out by walking for too long.
He looked at the animal admiringly. It was a large German Shepherd, fully grown, but still young enough to be energetic. In one way it was surprising that he had been provided with a German Shepherd. Mrs Hanlon had told him that Michael Collins was a dog lover who was promoting the breeding of Kerry Blues. For years the Irish Wolfhound had been the dog associated with Ireland, but the British Army had adopted the wolfhound as the mascot of their Irish Guards, and so Collins had championed the Kerry Blue as the breed to represent the new, nationalist Ireland.
For the rescue plan, however, they wanted a dog that would be big and obvious, and so a sympathiser had lent Rex for today’s mission. The mission itself involved risk, but Johnny saw that they had chosen a good spot to carry it out when he arrived at the junction of Western Way and Constitution Hill. A vehicle coming up the hill wouldn’t be travelling at high speed, and the road narrowed where the Foster Aqueduct carried the Broadstone Branch of the Royal Canal over the road and into Broadstone station. Broadstone Harbour had long since been filled in, and the former aqueduct was now just a bridge, but it was a pinch point at the top of Constitution Hill, and Johnny admired the planning that had gone into choosing the site for the rescue bid.
Mrs Hanlon had explained that their informants in the legal system had tipped them off that O’Shea was being sentenced this morning. The shortest route from the courts to Mountjoy Prison was via Constitution Hill and Phibsboro Road, and so the plans had been made accordingly.
Johnny loosened the lead slightly and allowed the dog to pull him. He started down Constitution Hill towards the gardens of the Kings Inns law complex, then met Mrs Hanlon as she strolled out the gate. She stopped and admired the dog, quietly speaking from the corner of her mouth.
‘You’re early, Johnny.’
‘I know.’
‘Stroll around for a few minutes, but don’t wander off. We’ve someone on a motor bike who’ll let us know when they’ve left the courthouse.’
‘OK.’
‘Right. Good luck, then.’
‘You too,’ said Johnny, then he loosened the lead again and let the dog pull him away.
* * *
The October air was gusty, with the first leaves of autumn swirling along the ground. Johnny had been glad to wear the heavy gabardine overcoat, but now he felt a film of perspiration on his brow. He lifted the expensive schoolboy cap that he was wearing and mopped his brow.
What had felt like the longest half hour of his life had elapsed, but now the advance warning had been given by the motorbike rider, and Johnny walked with the dog towards the Foster Aqueduct. Roadworks were being carried out, and a large group of workmen were digging up the nearby pavement. Johnny swallowed hard, knowing that he had to get the timing of his move just right if the plan was to work. He stopped at the side of the path, reining in the dog. Mrs Hanlon stood beside him, appearing to chat to another woman that he had never seen before.
Johnny heard the sound of approaching engines, then Mrs Hanlon spoke in a soft but urgent tone.
‘We’re on, Johnny, this is them!’
‘OK.’
Johnny looked down Constitution Hill and saw two black police vans climbing up the hill. Just as they were reaching the summit he flicked the leash. ‘Go, Rex!’ he said.
The German Shepherd didn’t need further encouraging. He immediately lunged forward, appearing to pull Johnny out onto the roadway after him. Johnny knew that everything depended on the split-second impression that the driver of the first van got. Would he see an immaculately dressed, respectable boy whose dog had pulled him into danger – in which case he would surely brake? Or would he be on guard for an ambush and liable to accelerate around Johnny or perhaps even at him?
Johnny’s every instinct was to get out of the way of the van, but he forced himself to pull on the leash, slowing the progress of both himself and Rex. Time seemed to stand still, then he heard the screech of brakes. Johnny stood unmoving for a moment, as though paralysed by shock, but from the corner of his eye he saw that the second van had braked to a halt also. Immediately all of the workmen that had been digging the pavement swarmed around the two vehicles, their tools suddenly dropped and with pistols in hand.
There were screams and shouts, and what Johnny hoped were warning shots, as the rebels held up the police convoy. But Johnny’s instructions on what to do now had been crystal clear. He sprinted away with the dog, resisting the temptation to look back, and making sure not to show his face. He quickly mounted the steps leading up to Royal Canal Bank, then ran into the maze of streets that surrounded the City Basin. Rounding the corner into Fontenoy Street, he passed the dog’s lead to a waiting man who instantly headed off with Rex in the opposite direction. Johnny whipped off his cap and gabardine overcoat, then jumped into the back of a waiting car that pulled off at once.
In the distance he heard more shots, then the car accelerated further. Johnny’s heart felt like it would explode. He sat back in the seat, mouthing a silent prayer, and hoping fervently that their rescue had succeeded.