Echobeat (24 page)

The waitress brought two plates with thick slices of boiled bacon
and a metal dish of cabbage and boiled potatoes. ‘Would you like apple sauce?’ she asked.

‘Lashings of it,’ Timmy laughed, inviting Duggan to help himself to the vegetables. ‘By the way,’ he said after she brought the apple sauce, ‘did your father ever get the petrol I told you about?’

‘I haven’t talked to him since.’

‘Well, it’s still there for him.’ Timmy piled the rest of the potatoes and cabbage onto his plate.

‘Have you seen the Doc again?’ Duggan asked casually, intrigued by Timmy’s change of demeanour. He wasn’t his usual blustering self, treating him more as an equal.

‘How would I see him?’ Timmy shot back. ‘When you fellas are chasing him from pillar to post?’

‘That’s only because we want to talk to him. About the bombings.’

‘I told you, he knows nothing about that. If they were German bombs.’

‘They still want to talk to him. Think he knows more than he says.’

‘Don’t we all?’ Timmy laughed. ‘Know more than our prayers.’

Behind him, Duggan heard the scrape of chairs on the floor and the conversation died and the room went silent with the bang of the door. He didn’t know whether the other two diners were still there or not. ‘Who was that with the Minister?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

‘Some of his old cronies from Louth.’

‘We were told he was busy with important government matters,’ Duggan said, deciding to offer Timmy some information.

‘You two were here to see Frank?’

‘Ahead of his visit to America,’ Duggan nodded. ‘But we didn’t get to meet him.’

‘I could’ve introduced you if you’d told me.’

‘Jesus, no,’ Duggan said with horror. ‘That wouldn’t have been right.’

‘No harm letting everyone know who you are,’ Timmy said. ‘Not just some young gobdaw up from the country.’

They ate in silence for a while and then Duggan asked if he’d ever come across Benny Reilly.

‘Keep away from him,’ Timmy sighed. ‘You’ll never have a minute’s peace if you have anything to do with him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s like a leech. Ask him for a little favour, do you a good turn, and he’ll suck the blood out of you forever after.’

‘He’s running some kind of black-market operation.’

‘What are you fellas doing with the likes of him?’

‘His name came up in relation to something or other.’

‘You met him?’ Timmy asked a direct question.

‘Just very quickly.’

‘He give you his “wise virgins” speech?’

Duggan shook his head.

‘Ask him where he got all the tea or cigarettes or petrol and he goes into this bullshit about how he saw the shortages coming and like the parable of the wise virgins he saved up everything and did without while everyone else was carrying on like there was no tomorrow. And now he’s got all this stuff and people keep asking him for favours and he can’t refuse them. For a price.’

‘You’ve had some dealings with him?’

‘I sent a man who was short of something to see him once. And the eejit mentioned my name to him. So he contacted me and wanted me to do some favours for him. I told him if he ever came near me or mentioned me again I’d wring his scrawny fucking neck and his body’d be found in the Liffey at low tide.’

Timmy drained his milk.

‘Why don’t the guards arrest him?’

‘They say they can’t get any evidence against him.’

‘Gives them his “wise virgin” speech,’ Timmy nodded. ‘And no one he’s done a favour for will give evidence against him. Of course, you’d have to be a right bollocks to do that.’

Duggan pushed on the pedals and swung across the thin film of surface water coming down the hill against him and slowed as he went through the gates of army headquarters and ducked under the pole as soon as a sentry raised the barrier high enough. Captain Anderson was coming around the corner of the Red House and raised a finger to stop him. Duggan slowed but didn’t stop.

‘Fuck you,’ Anderson growled, punching him in the shoulder as he went by.

The bike almost fell over as Duggan lost his balance but he got a foot on the ground and came to a halt. Anger smothered the pain in his shoulder as he turned back and shouted, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

Anderson stepped up close to him. ‘You shouldn’t go telling tales.’

‘And you shouldn’t go round spying on other people’s operations.’

‘I’ll do whatever I think’s necessary to get the job done properly.’

‘Stick to your own job. Stop trying to fuck up other people’s.’

Anderson shook his head in wonder. ‘Have you stopped for a minute to wonder how she knew she was being followed?’

Duggan laughed in his face. ‘You haven’t a fucking clue what’s going on.’

Anderson raised a threatening finger and Duggan slapped it away,
hard. ‘Just mind your own fucking business,’ he snapped and pushed a pedal to coast away. In the background he caught sight of two privates at the sentry post smirking at the young officers’ spat.

His face was still flushed with anger when he got into their office and Sullivan gave him an enquiring eye.

‘Anderson,’ he muttered as he threw his overcoat on the table and slumped into his chair. At least, he thought, he really doesn’t know what’s going on. Thinks Gerda had spotted his surveillance on her.

‘Don’t give that fucker an inch,’ Sullivan said.

Duggan grunted and lit a cigarette. But he’s going to go on pushing things, he thought. Even though he must’ve been ordered to keep out of it. But it mightn’t stop him. He could always get some friendly guard to go on harassing Gerda. Even have someone pull her in, question her. The only way out of it was to bring the Roddy Glenn case to a quick conclusion. Find out what he was up to. And put a stop to it.

‘Your boyfriend left a message,’ Sullivan was saying. ‘Said your friend’s in the Bridewell.’

‘What friend?’

‘Didn’t say,’ Sullivan smiled. ‘Probably one of the friends you two know from the public toilet in College Green.’

‘Fuck off,’ Duggan muttered, in no mood for the usual banter. It couldn’t be Goertz, he thought, or Sullivan would know about his arrest. So it had to be Benny Reilly. Fuck. ‘Has he been arrested?’

Sullivan shrugged, turning his attention back to the file he had been reading.

‘Thanks,’ Duggan said, an oblique apology, and went to find Commandant McClure. Off to tell tales again, he thought. But he had to get Benny out of the guards’ clutches. Even if Benny was willing to cooperate in custody, Goertz would probably find out quickly that he’d been picked up and cut all links to him. Probably knew already.

McClure was on the phone, saying ‘Yes, sir’ as Duggan entered,
and raised the pen in his other hand to detain him as he went to leave again. ‘Safe journey, sir,’ he concluded and put the receiver down.

‘The colonel’s on his way back from London,’ he leaned back in his chair. ‘Top-secret meeting. With MI5. He asked them casually about a Mrs Agnes Smith in Chelsea who had come to our attention in passing.’ McClure threw his pen onto the desk and reached forward to replace it with a cigarette. ‘That apparently caught their attention. He wants to see us as soon as he gets back.’

Duggan gave a quiet whistle. ‘She’s one of theirs? So Glenn is one of theirs?’

‘I don’t know,’ McClure stood up and stretched his shoulders. ‘The colonel wasn’t very talkative on the phone. Made it sound like it was something very casual we’d come across that would require a little further investigation. But he did say,’ he reached for a sheet of paper on which he had written a date, ‘to check the newspapers for this date. There might be something relevant there.’

Duggan took the sheet of paper and glanced at the date: 8 November. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘Something relevant, he said. That’s all I know.’

Duggan folded the sheet of paper in half. ‘There’s something else. I think Benny Reilly might’ve been arrested.’

‘I’ve heard.’ McClure sighed a stream of smoke. ‘One hand not knowing what the other’s doing again.’

‘Can we get him out? I don’t think we’ll get anything out of him while he’s in the Bridewell.’

‘I’ve set it in motion,’ McClure nodded. ‘The powers that be have ordered a clampdown on the black market. Worried about popular unrest if people see others able to buy their way around the new shortages. All the main black marketeers were rounded up this morning.’

‘I’ll try and be there when he comes out,’ Duggan said. ‘Make it clear that he owes his freedom to us.’

‘Good idea. But don’t be too specific with him. About anything.’

‘No,’ Duggan nodded. ‘By the way, I hear that some guards are involved in the black market too.’

‘That’s being taken care of too. They’ve put in a senior officer to clean it up.’

Benny would know about that too, Duggan thought. Help him realise what a favour they were doing him. And that they expected results.

‘By the way,’ McClure said as Duggan head for the door. ‘Not a word to anyone about the colonel’s travels. I don’t need to tell you how sensitive that is.’

‘No, sir,’ Duggan said. He could imagine there’d be hell to pay if Timmy and some of his colleagues found out about it. Not to mention how the Germans might react if they knew. They could use the secret collaboration with the British as an excuse for an invasion if they wanted to.

Dangerous games, he thought as he collected the three daily newspapers for 8 November from the library, glancing at the front page of the
Irish Press
, the only one with news on the front, as he walked. ‘May Be Facing Crisis Says Taoiseach’ the main headline said, reporting de Valera’s reply to Churchill’s warning that the withholding of ports facilities in Ireland was a heavy and grievous burden.

Another headline above the fold stopped him in his tracks: ‘London Spy Trial Disclosures’ and underneath, ‘Secret USA Papers Stolen At Embassy’. He scanned down through the report quickly, thinking, that’s it. That’s where Glenn’s letter from Churchill to Roosevelt came from. The US embassy in London. So there’s no doubt about its authenticity. Glenn was part of some kind of spy ring involving the two people mentioned in the story, a Russian woman and a US diplomat. And trying to pass on the stolen information to the Germans in Ireland. Fucking hell.

He turned in to his office and Sullivan was on the phone. ‘Hold on,’ he said, looking up. ‘He’s just come rushing in. Can’t wait to talk to you.’

He handed the phone to Duggan. ‘Our friend’s about to be released,’ Gifford said in his ear.

‘Right now?’

‘Throwing the poor man out on the street without his dinner.’

‘Are you there? Can you delay it till I get there?’

‘How long do you want?’

‘Fifteen minutes,’ Duggan said, thinking. ‘I’ll be waiting outside for him.’

‘Okay, boss,’ Gifford sighed. ‘I’ll try to pull your rank.’

Duggan put down the phone and grabbed his coat off the table. ‘Don’t let anyone move those papers,’ he said to Sullivan as he pulled on the coat and turned to go.

Sullivan gave a silent two-fingered salute to his back as he left.

He cycled quickly along the quays, taking the longer route to give himself time to think about what he’d read, slotting all he knew about Glenn into the new context of the London trial. The day had brightened as the cloud base lifted and let more sunlight through. The weather was changing; the forecasters now thought it was only a matter of a day or so until it cleared from the west and the sky was open again to the air forces. As if to underline the thought, a rumble from the west grew into the drone of an aircraft coming from behind him. It passed almost overhead, a twin-engined Avro Anson, and he recognised it as one of the Air Corps’ patrol planes. He watched it follow the Liffey to the sea and then bank across the bay and head southwards along the coast.

Glenn was obviously an accomplice of the Russian woman, Anna Wolkoff, a daughter of a former Czarist admiral, who’d tried to send
secret documents from the US embassy to Lord Haw-Haw in Germany. And of the American diplomat with the triple name, Tyler something Kent, who’d given her the documents. Which must have included the letter from Churchill to Roosevelt, though the report didn’t mention it. Or did it? Details of the evidence given at the secret trail had not been reported, only the guilty verdicts, the judge’s comments and the jail sentences, ten years for her, seven for him.

He needed to read it again, more carefully. To try and tease out what was between the lines. And hear what the colonel had to say when he got back from London. Clearly, he knew something more about this secret trial. It all suggested that Glenn was an amateur agent. Which fitted in with everything they knew about him. Unless he was part of a double operation to sow disinformation among the Germans. In which case, he was a British agent. And Anderson would’ve been right. Partly. But not about Gerda. He was sure of that.

He turned into Church Street, following the track cleared in the slush by a heavy vehicle, and crossed the road onto the footpath beside the Four Courts. He chained the bicycle to the railings and checked his watch. Five minutes to go before Benny Reilly was released if Gifford kept to their timetable. He walked around the corner towards the Bridewell garda station and leaned against the railings across the road from its entrance and lit a cigarette, still thinking about Glenn and Gerda and how to make sure she wasn’t exposed to Anderson’s blundering.

A line of empty carts went by, heading back towards the country from the markets up the road, their drivers well wrapped up and probably half-drunk after spending the morning in the area’s early opening pubs. He watched the building, idly trying to translate the Latin inscription under its pediment. Something about letting the heavens fall.

Benny Reilly appeared on the steps, blinking in the dull brightness, and looked from side to side as if he expected an ambush. A cart
carrying empty milk churns clanged by with two young boys scutting on its tailgate and they caught each other’s eyes across it. Duggan raised his cigarette hand and Benny crossed to him, taking his time.

‘You’re a lucky man,’ Duggan said.

‘How’s that?’ Benny stopped in front of him.

‘The government’s locking up all the black marketeers.’

Benny turned and spat into the gutter. ‘Very foolish of them. They’ll have riots in the streets if people can’t get a little extra tea here or there for special occasions. From people who saw all this coming and were wise enough to put some aside.’

‘And you’re one of the wise virgins,’ Duggan laughed. ‘And one of the lucky ones. Because it’s more important that you stay out of jail. For the moment.’

‘I don’t know where he is,’ Benny gave him an anguished look. ‘I swear to God.’

Duggan shrugged and flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter beside Benny’s spit. ‘Enjoy this little taste of freedom,’ he straightened up. ‘It could be your last for a while.’

‘Ah, Jaysus,’ Benny shook his head. ‘I’d help you if I could. But, honest to God, I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere by now.’

Duggan repeated the phone number he had given him before and walked away. Benny looked after him for a moment and then went in the other direction. He was going into Hughes’s pub on the corner of Bull Lane as Duggan went by on his bicycle on Chancery Street. There was a horse and cart tied to a lamp post outside it. Give him another day, he thought. Two at the most. If he didn’t come up with something by then he never would.

He headed for the city centre, freewheeling through the water and slush beside the markets where a man was washing out the floor, forcing out a pool of water with a heavy yard brush. He went on up to
Middle Abbey Street and turned into O’Connell Street and cycled up to Gerda’s office. He clumped up the stairs but the door at the top was locked. Gone to lunch, he realised, retracing his steps. He stopped on the footpath, wondering where she might have gone, and went up to the Monument Café. There was a queue inside the door and he scanned the crowded tables but saw no sign of her. He went on up past the Carlton cinema to the Cabin Café and tried to look through its steamed-up window. He stepped inside the door but she wasn’t there either.

He went as far as the Aer Lingus office and couldn’t see any more cafés. He crossed the street to Findlater’s, weaving his way through the bicycles and drays, and went down past the Gresham Hotel and into the Savoy restaurant above the cinema but she wasn’t there. He gave up the search and went back towards her office and waited outside the Carlton a few doors away for her to come back. The footpath was crowded and he only caught sight of her as she turned into her office, a shopping bag swinging from one hand. He scanned the people behind her but there was no point trying to spot if anyone was following her: there were too many people around, most moving with purpose, some idling by windows and bus stops. Besides, there was no need for anyone to follow her here: the guards would know as well as he did that she’d come back to work.

He hurried after her and she heard the front door open and close as she was halfway up the stairs. She glanced back and a smile softened her face. ‘Well, hello,’ she stopped and he went up to the step below her. She leaned down to kiss him, then continued up to her office. Inside, they kissed again.

‘When will he be back?’

‘Any minute,’ she said, breaking apart and taking off her coat and hanging it on the back of the door.

‘I don’t know where you go to lunch.’

‘I didn’t today,’ she said, putting her shopping bag under her desk. ‘I went shopping instead.’

‘What’d you buy?’

‘You’ll see,’ she gave him a coquettish smile. ‘Sooner or later.’