the Savage Day - Simon Vaughn 02 (v5) (4 page)

'Pick him up,' she said.

The injured boy's companions did as they were told, holding him between them while she examined the hand. I poured myself another Jameson and joined the group as she opened the case. The most interesting item on display was a stethoscope and she rummaged around and finally produced a large triangular sling which she tied about the boy's neck to support the injured hand.

'Take him into Casualty at the Infirmary,' she said. 'He'll need a plaster cast.'

'And keep your mouth shut,' Binnie put in.

They went out on the run, the injured boy's feet dragging between them. The door closed and there was only the silence.

As Norah Murphy reached for the case I said, 'Is that just a front or the real thing?'

'Would Harvard Medical School be good enough for you?' she demanded.

'Fascinating,' I said. 'Our friend here breaks them up and you put them together again. That's what I call teamwork.'

She didn't like that for she turned very pale and snapped the fastener of her case together angrily, but I think she had determined not to lose her temper.

'All right, Major Vaughan,' she said. 'I don't like you either. Shall we go?'

She moved towards the door. I turned and placed my glass on the counter in front of the barman, who was standing there waiting for God knows what axe to fall.

Binnie said, 'You've seen nothing, heard nothing. All right?'

There was no need to threaten and the poor wretch nodded dumbly, his lip trembling. And then, quite suddenly, he collapsed across the bar and started to cry.

Binnie surprised me then by patting him on the shoulder and saying with astonishing gentleness, 'Better times coming, Da. Just you see.'

But if the barman believed that, then I was the only sane man in a world gone mad.

It had started to rain and fog rolled in across the docks as we moved along the waterfront, Norah Murphy at my side, Binnie bringing up the rear rather obviously.

Neither of them said a word until we were perhaps half way to our destination when Norah Murphy paused at the end of a mean street of terrace houses and turned to Binnie. 'I've a patient I must see here. I promised to drop a prescription in this evening. Five minutes.'

She ignored me and walked away down the street, pausing at the third or fourth door to knock briskly. She was admitted almost at once and Binnie and I moved into the shelter of an arched passageway between two houses. I offered him a cigarette which he refused. I lit one myself and leaned against the wall.

After a while he said, 'Your mother - what was her maiden name?'

'Fitzgerald,' I told him. 'Nuala Fitzgerald.'

He turned, his face a pale shadow in the darkness. 'There was a man of the same name schoolmaster at Stradballa during the Troubles.'

'Her elder brother,' I said.

He leaned closer as if trying to see my face. 'You, a bloody Englishman, are the nephew of Michael Fitzgerald, the Schoolmaster of Stradballa?'

'I suppose I must be. Why should that be so hard to take?'

'But he was a great hero,' Binnie said. 'He commanded the Stradballa flying column. When the Tans came to take him, he was teaching at the school. Because of the children he went outside and shot it out in the open, one against fifteen, and got clean away.'

'I know,' I said. 'A real hero of the revolution. All for the Cause only he never wanted it to end, Binnie, that was his trouble. Executed during the Civil War by the Free State Government. I always found that part of the story rather ironic myself, or had you forgotten that after they'd got rid of the English, the Irish set about knocking each other off with even greater enthusiasm?'

I could not see the expression on his face, yet the tension in him was something tangible between us.

I said, 'Don't try it, boy. As the Americans would say, you're out of your league. Compared to me, you're just a bloody amateur.'

'Is that a fact now, Major?' he said softly.

'Another thing,' I said. 'Dr Murphy wouldn't like it and we can't have that now, can we?'

She settled the matter for us by reappearing at that precise moment. She sensed that something was wrong at once and paused.

'What is it?'

'A slight difference of opinion, that's all,' I told her. 'Binnie's just discovered I'm related to a piece of grand old Irish history and it sticks in his throat - or didn't you know?'

'I knew,' she said coldly.

'I thought you would,' I said. 'The interesting thing is, why didn't you tell him?'

I didn't give her a chance to reply and cut the whole business short by moving off into the fog briskly in the general direction of Lurgan Street.

The hotel didn't have a great deal to commend it, but then neither did Lurgan Street. A row of decaying terrace houses, a shop or two and a couple of pubs making as unattractive a sight as I have ever seen.

The hotel itself was little more than a lodging-house of a type to be found near the docks of any large port, catering mainly for sailors or prostitutes in need of a room for an hour or two. It had been constructed by simply joining three terrace houses together and sticking a sign above the door of one of them.

A merchant navy officer came out as we approached and clutched at the railings for support. A girl of eighteen or so in a black plastic mac emerged behind him, straightened his cap and got a hand under his elbow to help him down the steps.

She looked us over without the slightest sense of shame and I smiled and nodded. 'Good night,
a colleen.
God save the good work.'

The laughter bubbled out of her. 'God save you kindly.'

They went off down the street together, the sailor breaking into a reasonably unprintable song and I shook my head. 'Oh, the pity of it, a fine Catholic girl to come to that.'

Binnie looked as if he would have liked to put a bullet into me, but Norah Murphy showed no reaction at all except to say, 'Could we possibly get on with it, Major Vaughan? My time is limited.'

We went up the steps and into the narrow hallway. There was a desk of sorts to one side at the bottom of the stairs and an old white-haired man in a faded alpaca jacket dozed behind it, his chin in one hand.

There seemed little point in waking him and I led the way up to the first landing. Meyer had room seven at the end of the corridor and when I paused to knock, we could hear music clearly from inside, strangely plaintive, something of the night in it.

Norah Murphy frowned. 'What on earth is it?'

'Al Bowlly,' I said simply.

'Al who?'

'You mean you've never heard of Al Bowlly, Doctor? Why, he's indisputably number one in the hit parade to any person of taste and judgement, or he would be if he hadn't been killed in the London Blitz in 1941. Meyer listens to nothing else. Carries a cassette tape-recorder with him everywhere.'

'You've got to be kidding,' she said.

I shook my head. 'You're now listening to
Moonlight on the Highway,
probably the best thing he ever did. Recorded with the Joe Loss orchestra on the 21st March, 1938. You see, I've become something of an expert myself.'

The door opened and Meyer appeared. 'Ah, Simon.'

'Dr Murphy,' I said. 'And Mr Gallagher. This is Mr Meyer.' I closed the door and Meyer, who could speak impeccable English when it suited him, started to act the bewildered Middle-European.

'But I don't understand. I was expecting to meet a Mr Cork, commanding the official IRA forces in Northern Ireland.'

I walked to the window and lit a cigarette, aware of Binnie leaning against the door, hands in his pockets. It was raining harder than ever outside, bouncing from the cobble-stones.

Norah Murphy said, 'I am empowered to act for Michael Cork.'

'You were to provide five thousand pounds in cash as an evidence of good faith. Where is it, please?'

She opened her case, took out an envelope and threw it on the bed. 'Count it, please, Simon,' Meyer said.

Al Bowlly was working his way through
I double dare you
as I reached for the envelope and Norah Murphy said quickly, 'Don't waste your time, Major. There's only a thousand there.'

There was a moment of distinct tension as Meyer reached for the tape-recorder and cut Al Bowlly dead. 'And the other four?'

'We wanted to be absolutely certain, that's all. It's ready and waiting, no more than ten minutes' walk from here.'

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded briefly. 'All right. To business. Please sit down.'

He offered her the only chair and sat on the edge of the bed himself.

'Will you have any difficulty in meeting our requirements?' she asked.

The rifles will be no trouble at all. I am in the happy position of being able to offer you five hundred Chinese AK 47's, probably the finest assault rifle in the world today. Extensively used by the Viet Cong in Vietnam.'

'I'm aware of that,' she said a trifle impatiently. 'And the other items?'

'Grenades are no problem and we can offer you an excellent range of sub-machine-guns. The early Thompsons still make a great deal of noise, but I would personally recommend you to try the Israeli Uzi. A remarkably efficient weapon. Absolutely first class, don't you agree, Simon?'

'Oh, the best,' I said cheerfully. 'There's a grip safety which stops it firing if dropped, so we find it goes particularly well with the peasant trade. They're usually inclined to be rather clumsy.'

She didn't even bother to look at me. 'And armour-piercing weapons?' she said. 'We asked for those most particularly.'

'Rather more difficult, I'm afraid,' Meyer told her.

'But we must have them.' She clenched her right hand and hammered it against her knee, the knuckles white. 'They are absolutely essential if we are to win the battle in the streets. Petrol bombs make a spectacular show on colour television, Mr Meyer, but they seldom do more than blister the paint of a Saracen armoured car.'

Meyer sighed heavily. 'I can deliver between eighty and one hundred and twenty Lahti 20 mm semi-automatic anti-tank cannons. It's a Finnish gun. Not used by any Western Powers as far as I know.'

'Is it efficient? Will it do the job?'

'Ask the Major. He's the expert.'

She turned to me and I shrugged. 'Any gun is only as good as the man using it, but as a matter of interest, someone broke into a bank in New York back in 1965 using a Lahti. Blasted a hole through twenty inches of concrete and steel. One round in the right place will open up a Saracen like a tin can.'

She nodded, that hand still clenched, a strange, wild gleam in her eye. 'You've used them? You've had experience of them in action, I mean?'

'In one of the Trucial Oman States and the Yemen.'

She turned to Meyer. 'You must guarantee competent instruction in their use. Agreed?'

She didn't look at me. There was no need. Meyer nodded. 'Major Vaughan will be happy to oblige, but for one week only and our fee will be an additional two thousand pounds on that agreed for the first consignment.'

'Making twenty-seven thousand in all?' she said.

Meyer took off his glasses and started to polish them with a soiled handkerchief. 'Good, then we can proceed as provisionally agreed with your representative in London. I have hired a thirty-foot motor cruiser, berthed at Oban at the present time, rigged for deep-sea fishing. Major Vaughan will leave next Thursday afternoon at high tide and will attempt the run with the first consignment.'

'And where is it to be landed?' she asked.

Which was my department. I said, 'There's a small fishing port called Stramore on the coast directly south from Rathlin Island. There's a secluded inlet with a good beach about five miles east. Our informant has been running whiskey in there from the Republic for the past five years without being caught so we should be all right. Your end is to make sure you have reliable people and transport on the spot to pick the stuff up and get the hell out of it fast.'

'And what do you do?'

'Comply with my sailing instructions and call in at Stramore. I'll contact you there.'

She frowned as if thinking about it and Meyer said calmly, 'Is it to your satisfaction?'

'Oh yes, I think so.' She nodded slowly. 'Except for one thing. Binnie and I go with him.'

Meyer looked at me in beautifully simulated bewilderment and spread his hand in another of those Middle-European gestures. 'But my dear young lady, it simply is not on.'

'Why not?'

'Because this is an extremely hazardous undertaking. Because of an institution known as the British Royal Navy which patrols the Ulster coast regularly these days with its MTBs. If challenged, Major Vaughan still stands some sort of a chance of getting away. He is an expert at underwater work. He carries frogman's equipment. An aqualung. He can take his chances over the side. With you along, the whole situation would be different.'

'Oh, I'm sure we can rely on Major Vaughan to see that the Royal Navy don't catch us.' She stood up and held out her hand. 'We'll see you next Thursday in Oban then, Mr Meyer.'