Drink with the Devil

‘Of course,’ Keogh said.

Ryan held out his hand and Keogh shrugged, opened his reefer and took a wallet from his inside pocket.

‘There you go. Ships’ papers, union card, the lot.’

The girl poured tea and Ryan examined everything closely. ‘Paid off the Ventura two weeks ago. Deck hand and diver. What’s all that?’

‘The Ventura’s a supply ship in the North Sea oilfields. Besides general ship’s duties, I did some diving. Not the really deep stuff. Just underwater maintenance, welding when necessary. That sort of thing.’

‘Interesting. A man of parts. Any special skills from the Parachute Regiment?’

‘Just how to kill people. The usual weaponry skills. A considerable knowledge of explosives.’ Keogh lit a cigarette. ‘But where’s all this leading?’

Ryan persisted. ‘Can you ride a motorcycle?’

‘Since I was sixteen and that’s a long time ago. So what?’

Ryan leaned back, took out a pipe and filled it from an old pouch. ‘Visiting relatives, are you?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Keogh said. ‘A few cousins scattered here and there. I came back on a whim. Nostalgia if you like. A bad idea really, but I can always go back and get another berth.’

‘I could offer you a job,’ Ryan said and the girl brought a taper from the fire to light his pipe.

‘What, here in Belfast?’

‘No, in England.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Why, the kind of thing you did tonight. The kind of thing you’re good at.’

It was very quiet. Keogh was aware of the girl watching him eagerly. ‘Do I smell politics here?’

‘Since nineteen sixty-nine I’ve worked for the Loyalist cause,’ Ryan said. ‘Served six years in the Maze prison. I hate Fenians. I hate the bloody Sinn Fein because if they win they’ll drive us all out, every Protestant in the country. Ethnic cleansing to the hilt. Now if things get that bad I’ll take as many of them to hell with me as I can.’

‘So where’s this leading?’

‘A job in England. A very lucrative job. Funds for our organization.’

‘In other words we steal from someone,’ Keogh said.

‘We need money, Keogh,’ Ryan said. ‘Money for arms. The bloody IRA have their Irish American sympathizers providing funds. We don’t.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m not asking you for patriotism. I’ll settle for greed. Fifty thousand pounds.’

There was a long pause and Ryan and the girl waited, her face sombre as if she expected him to say no.

Keogh smiled. ‘That’s a lot of money, Mr Ryan, so you’ll be expecting a lot in return.’

‘Back-up is what I expect from a man who can handle anything and, from the way you’ve carried yourself tonight, you would seem to be that kind of man.’

Keogh said, ‘What about your own people? You’ve as many gunmen out on the street as the IRA. More, even. I know that from army days.’ He lit a cigarette and leaned back. ‘Unless there’s another truth here. That you’re in it for the money, you’re in it for yourself.’

Kathleen Ryan jumped up. ‘Damn you for saying that. My uncle has given more for our people than anyone I know. Better you get out of here while you can.’

Ryan held up a hand. ‘Softly, child, any intelligent man would see it as a possibility. It’s happened before, God knows, and on both sides.’

‘So?’ Keogh said.

‘I can be as hungry as the next man where money is concerned, but my cause is a just one, the one certainty in my life. Any money that passes through my hands goes to the Protestant cause. That’s what my life is about.’

‘Then why not use some of your own men?’

‘Because people talk too much, a weakness in all revolutionary movements. The IRA have the same problem. I’ve always preferred to use what I call hired help and for that I go to the underworld. An honest thief who is working for wages is a sounder proposition than some revolutionary hothead.’

‘So that’s where I come in?’ Keogh said. ‘Hired help, just like anyone else you need?’

‘Exactly. So, are you in or out? If it’s no then say no. After what you did for Kathleen tonight you’ll come to no harm from me.’

‘Well, that’s nice to know.’ Keogh shrugged. ‘Oh, what the hell, I might as well give it a try. A change from the North Sea. Terrible weather there at this time of the year.’

‘Good man yourself,’ Ryan smiled. ‘A couple of Bushmills, Kathleen, and we’ll drink to it.’

‘Where are you staying?’ Ryan asked.

‘A fleapit called the Albert Hotel,’ Keogh told him.

‘Fleapit indeed,’ Ryan toasted him. ‘Our country too.’

‘May you die in Ireland,’ Keogh replied.

‘An excellent sentiment.’ Ryan swallowed his Bushmills in a single gulp.

‘So what happens now?’

‘I’ll tell you in London. We’ll fly there – you, me and Kathleen. There’s someone I have to see.’

Keogh turned to the girl. ‘An activist, is it? A little young, I would have thought.’

‘They blew up my family when I was ten years old, Mr Keogh,’ she said fiercely. ‘I grew up fast after that.’

‘A hard world.’

‘And I’ll make it harder for the other side, believe me.’

‘You hate well, I’ll say that.’ Keogh turned back to her uncle. ‘So that’s it, then?’ He shook his hand. ‘What am I really getting into? I should know more.’

‘All right, a taster only. How well do you know the north-west of England? The Lake District?’

‘I’ve never been there.’

‘A wild and lonely area at this time of the year with the tourists gone.’

‘So?’

‘A certain truck will be passing through there, a meat transporter. You and I will hijack it. Very simple, very fast. A five-minute job.’

‘You did say meat transporter?’

Ryan smiled. ‘That’s what this truck is. What’s inside is another matter. You find that out later.’

‘And what happens afterwards?’

‘We drive to a place on the Cumbrian coast where there’s an old disused jetty. There will be a boat waiting, a Siemens ferry. Do you know what that is?’

‘The Germans used them in the Second World War to transport heavy equipment and men in coastal attacks.’

‘You’re well informed. We drive on board and sail for Ulster. I’ve found a suitable spot on the coast where there’s a disused quarry pier. We drive the truck off the boat and disappear into the night. All beautifully simple.’

‘So it would seem,’ Keogh said. ‘And the crew of this Siemens ferry? What are they doing?’

‘Earning their wages. As far as they are concerned it’s just some sort of illegal traffic or other. They do it all the time. They’re those sort of people.’

‘Crooks, you mean.’

‘Exactly. The boat is tied up near Wapping at the moment. That’s why we’re going to London. To finalize things.’

There was a pause and then Kathleen Ryan said, ‘What do you think, Mr Keogh?’

‘That you’d better start calling me Martin as it seems we’re going to spend some time together.’

‘But do you think it would work?’

‘Its greatest virtue, as your uncle says, is its simplicity. It could work perfectly, just like a Swiss watch. On the other hand, even Swiss watches break down sometimes.’

‘Oh ye of little faith.’ Ryan smiled. ‘Of course it will work. It’s got to. My organization needs the means to buy arms for our people. It’s essential. There’s a passage in the Koran that says there is more truth in one sword than ten thousand words.’

‘I take your point.’ Keogh stood up. ‘It’s late. I’d better get back to my hotel.’

‘Join us here for breakfast in the morning,’ Ryan told him. ‘We’ll catch the noon plane. I’ll take care of the tickets.’

‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

‘The bar is closed. Kathleen will let you out. I’ll keep your Walther here. No way of passing through airport security with that, but it doesn’t matter. Our London connection will provide any weapons we need.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

The girl opened the door and rain drove in on the wind.

‘A dirty old night,’ she said.

‘You can say that again.’ Keogh turned up his collar. ‘An Ulster fry-up will do me fine for breakfast especially if you cook it yourself. Two eggs and don’t forget the sausage.’

‘Go on, get on your way.’ She pushed him out and laughed that distinctive laugh of hers and closed the door.

Keogh had difficulty finding a phone box. Most of them seemed to be vandalized. He finally struck lucky when he was quite close to the hotel. He closed the glass door to keep out the rain and rang the Dublin number. Barry was seated at the desk of his small study with his Chief of Intelligence for Ulster, a man named John Cassidy, when he took the call.

‘It’s me,’ Keogh said. ‘Worked like a charm. I’m in it up to my neck. Ryan’s taken me on board.’

‘Tell me everything.’

Which Keogh did in a few brief sentences. Finally, he said, ‘What could be in this meat transporter?’

‘Gold bullion if it’s the job I’m thinking of. It was put to the Loyalist Army Council about a year ago and thrown out as being too risky.’

‘So Ryan has decided to do it on his own initiative.’

‘Exactly, but then he always was the wild one. That’s why I wanted you in there when I got the whisper through an informer that he was up to something.’

‘Up to something big,’ Keogh told him.

‘That’s right. Stay in close touch. You’ve got those alternate numbers for the mobile phone and watch your back.’

Barry leaned back thoughtfully and lit a cigarette. Cassidy said, ‘Trouble?’

‘Michael Ryan up to his old tricks.’ He ran through what Keogh had told him.

Cassidy said, ‘My God, if it is gold bullion, the bastards would have enough money to arm for a civil war. What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t need to do a thing except have a suitable reception committee waiting when that boat delivers the truck somewhere on the Ulster coast. Then we’ll have enough money to start a civil war.’

‘And you’re certain of knowing the time and place?’

‘Oh, yes. The man on the other end of the phone just now is one of our own. He’s infiltrated under a false identity. He’ll be going along for the ride every step of the way.’

‘A good man?’

‘The best.’

‘Would I be knowing him?’

Barry told him Keogh’s real name.

Cassidy laughed out loud. ‘God save us, the Devil himself, so God help Michael Ryan.’

There was no one at the reception desk when Keogh entered the hotel. He went up the stairs quickly and unlocked the door to his room. It was unbelievably depressing and he looked around with distaste. It certainly wasn’t worth taking off his clothes. He switched off the light, lit a cigarette, lay on the bed and went over the whole affair.

The astonishing thing was, as had been said, the simplicity of it. He’d have to consider that again once Ryan had taken him fully into his confidence, of course. Not a bad fella, Ryan; a man hard to dislike. And then there was the girl. So much hate there in one so young and all blamed on the bomb which had killed her family. He shook his head. There was more to it than that, had to be, and, finally, he drifted into sleep.

Kathleen Ryan took a cup of tea in to her uncle just before she went to bed. Ryan was sitting by the fire smoking his pipe and brooding.

‘You think it will work?’ she asked.

‘I’ve never been more certain, and with Keogh along…’ He shrugged. ‘Fifty million pounds in gold bullion, Kathleen. Just think of that.’

‘A strange one,’ she said. ‘Can you trust him?’

‘I’ve never trusted anyone in my life,’ he said cheerfully, ‘not even you. No, don’t you fret over Keogh. I’ll have my eye on him.’

‘But can you be sure?’

‘Of course I can. I know him like I know myself, Kathleen, my love. We’re cut from the same bolt of cloth. Like me he’s got brains, that’s obvious. He’s also a killer. It’s his nature. He can do no other, just like me.’ He reached up to kiss her cheek. ‘Now off to bed with you.’

She went out and he sat back, sipping his tea and thinking of a lonely road in the Lake District, a road that not even his niece knew he had visited.

LONDON

2

If there is such a thing as an Irish quarter in London it’s to be found in Kilburn along with a profusion of pubs to make any Irish Republican happy. But there are also the Protestant variety, identical with anything to be found in Belfast. The William & Mary was one of those, its landlord, Hugh Bell, an Orange Protestant to the hilt, performing the same function in London for the Loyalist movement as Sinn Fein did for the IRA.

In the early evening of the day they had arrived in London, Ryan, Keogh and Kathleen sat with him in a back room, an assortment of handguns on the table. Bell, a large, jovial man with white hair, poured himself a whiskey.

‘Anything you like, Michael and there’s more where that came from.’

Ryan selected a Browning, hefted it and put it in his pocket. Keogh found a Walther. ‘Would you have a Carswell for this?’ he asked.

‘A man of taste and discernment I see,’ Bell observed. He got up, went to a cupboard, rummaged inside and came back. ‘There you go. The latest model.’

Keogh screwed it on to the end of the Walther. ‘Just the ticket.’

‘And the young lady?’ Bell asked.

‘My niece doesn’t carry,’ Ryan told him.

The girl bridled instantly. ‘I’m as good a shot as you, Uncle Michael, and you know it. How am I expected to protect myself? Kick them in the balls?’

Bell laughed. ‘I might have a solution.’ He went back to the cupboard and returned with a small automatic. ‘Colt .25, quite rare. Slips in a lady’s handbag or stocking quite easily.’

‘And no bloody stopping power,’ Ryan told him.

‘Enough if you’re close enough,’ Bell said.

The girl took the weapon from him and smiled. ‘This will do me just fine.’ She slipped it into her handbag.

Ryan said, ‘All right. What about the Irish Rose?’

‘Siemens ferry, tied up in Wapping near the Pool of London. Captain Frank Tully, but you know that. The kind of rat who’ll do anything for money. The worst kind of drugs, anything that pays. He’s twice run arms for the IRA to the Republic.’

‘What about his crew?’

‘There’s four.’ Bell opened a drawer and took out a piece of paper. He put reading spectacles on the end of his nose. ‘Mick Dolan and Jock Grant – they’re from Liverpool. Bert Fox from London and a Kraut named Muller – Hans Muller. They’ve all got form – all been inside.’

‘Well at least we know what we’re dealing with,’ Keogh observed.

‘That’s right,’ Ryan told him. ‘Just your average scum.’

Bell said, ‘These aren’t good people, Michael. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘I usually do.’ Ryan grinned and took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. ‘These are my requirements. See if you can fill the bill.’

Bell had a look. ‘Stun grenades, smoke grenades. That’s fine. Two AK assault rifles. OK. Semtex? Is that essential?’

‘I might have to blow my way into my target.’

‘All right, I’ll see what I can do.’

‘That’s it, then.’ Ryan smiled at his niece and Keogh. ‘Something to eat and then we’ll go and see Tully.’

It was very cold on the Thames, Tower Bridge on the right and the floodlit Tower of London just beyond it. A couple of ships passed from the Pool of London, red and green lights clear in the evening darkness as the taxi stopped at the end of Cable Wharf and Ryan, Kathleen and Keogh got out. The taxi moved away and they walked along the waterfront.

The ferry was moored at the far end, cables reaching to the pier and in the sickly yellow light of two lamps they could see the legend on the stern plain. Irish Rose.

‘Enough to make a man feel at home,’ Ryan said.

‘I’m not sure that’s the right word for it,’ Keogh told him.

They started up the gangway and a man in reefer coat and peaked cap appeared. ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ he asked in a hard Liverpool voice.

‘We’re expected,’ Ryan said. ‘Tell Captain Tully.’

The man laughed out loud. ‘Captain Tully? Is that what he calls himself?’ He laughed again. ‘All right, this way.’

The boat was very flat, the central section including the wheelhouse rising up from the deck three quarters of the way along. She was about five hundred feet in length.

‘What do you think?’ Ryan whispered to Keogh as they followed.

‘That they weren’t designed for heavy weather,’ Keogh told him.

They went up a ladder to the wheelhouse, stopped on the landing below. Their escort opened a door and stood to one side.

‘Here we are then.’

‘Thank you, Mr Dolan.’

The man who sat behind the chart table wore a seagoing officer’s coat, had hair down to his shoulders and a face that was so ravaged by drink and bad living that it was impossible to determine his age.

‘Mr Ryan, here we are again.’ He stood up and extended his hand. ‘And who might this gorgeous young lady be?’

‘My niece, Captain Tully. You might well remember that. This is my associate, Martin Keogh.’

‘Mr Keogh.’ Tully shook his hand enthusiastically. ‘A real pleasure.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Keogh told him.

‘To business then,’ Tully said.

Ryan opened the briefcase he was holding and took out a folded chart. ‘There is your destination. Marsh End, south of Ravenglass on the Cumbrian coast. You have two days. Can you manage that?’

Tully unfolded the chart and examined it. ‘No problem. What then?’

‘I’ll arrive by truck which we’ll take across to Kilalla on the coast of County Down.’ He took out another chart. ‘There’s a disused quarry pier there. We put the truck on shore and you sail away.’

‘We do indeed, Mr Ryan. There is, of course, the small matter of recompense.’

Ryan took a large envelope from the briefcase and passed it across. ‘Fifty thousand pounds there. Another fifty on the termination of the contract at Kilalla. Satisfactory?’

‘Oh, very, Mr Ryan, I can assure you of that.’

‘Excellent, then we’ll see you on Friday morning at Marsh End.’

‘No problem,’ Tully said. ‘We won’t let you down.’

‘Good. We’ll be off then.’

As they walked along the waterfront Kathleen Ryan said, ‘I didn’t like anything about that bowser.’

‘You aren’t expected to.’ Ryan turned to Keogh. ‘What about you?’

‘He’ll cut your throat if he thinks there’s a pound in it.’

‘Which is why I have you along, so let’s get back,’ and Ryan walked to the corner and waved to a taxi.

The man who had greeted them at the gangway was Dolan. When he went back into the chartroom he found Tully examining the charts Ryan had given him.

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s big,’ Tully said. ‘Fifty thousand now and another fifty when we hit the Ulster coast. Whatever is in that truck must be worth more.’

‘So?’

‘The number he gave me to contact him. It’s a pub in Kilburn called the William & Mary, I think I’ll go up there and have a nose around.’ He folded the charts. ‘You look after things here.’ He moved to the door and turned. ‘This could be a big pay day, Mick.’

‘Well I’m with you on that,’ Dolan said. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘Good man,’ Tully said and went out.

The saloon bar of the William & Mary was packed, men standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar as they drank. It was a cheerful enough scene and very noisy as Tully peered in through one of the windows.

He decided to take his chances round the back and followed a narrow alley that brought him to a high wall, a gate opening into a yard. There was a chink of light showing at a window, curtains partly drawn. He approached cautiously and peered inside.

Ryan, Bell and Kathleen sat at a table, a map unfolded before them. Keogh stood by the fire. Ryan laughed as Bell said something to him, but Tully couldn’t hear what it was. It was then that he noticed the back door in the shadows. He tried the handle gingerly and the door opened to his touch.

He found himself in a narrow corridor. There was no light on and he groped his way forward, aware of coats hanging from a peg rack. At that moment a door opened, light flooding out, and Bell appeared. Tully froze, trying to bury himself in the hanging coats and Bell called, ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

He went down the corridor, opened a door and went inside. A few moments later there was the sound of a toilet flushing. He returned, went into the back room and closed the door. Tully went forward and put his ear to the door and was instantly aware of everything being said inside.

‘Right, then, cards on the table,’ Ryan said. ‘It’s time you knew what the rest of us do, Martin.’

‘I’m all in favour of that,’ Keogh told him.

‘I put this job together a year or so ago. Hugh here helped with the planning of the English end of things. Unfortunately the Army Council turned it down flat, thought the whole thing too risky.’

‘Bunch of old women,’ Bell said.

‘So what’s it all about?’ Keogh demanded. ‘What’s on the meat transporter?’

It was Kathleen who answered. ‘Gold, Martin. Gold bullion. Fifty million pounds.’

‘God save us,’ Keogh managed to look astonished. ‘And why would it be transported in such a way?’

‘Let me explain,’ Ryan said. ‘Bullion used to be landed at London Docks on the Thames, but over the past twenty-five years the waterfront has been in decline. Shippers prefer Amsterdam. However bullion deliveries were rerouted to Glasgow.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Five years. Ever since they built a new smelter at Barrow-in-Furness. See it there on the map right at the bottom of the Lake District? Mainly shipbuilding there. The latest atomic submarine came out of their yards.’

‘So what’s the smelter got to do with things?’

‘They melt the gold down and re-process it into smaller ingots. The banks prefer it that way. Gold is heavy stuff.’

‘I see,’ Keogh said.

Ryan continued. ‘The transporter travels from Glasgow to Carlisle then cuts across to Maryport on the coast and follows the coast road down to Barrow.’

‘And we hit it somewhere on that road?’

‘Exactly. This coming Friday.’

‘But how do we stop it and, what’s more to the point, how do we get in?’

It was Bell who answered. ‘It’s no ordinary truck. There’s a driver and two armed security guards in the cabin behind him. The truck looks standard, but it’s reinforced in every possible way and there’s a battery of electronic security devices and a first-class radio system.’

‘And how do you handle that?’ Keogh asked.

Bell opened a drawer in the table and took out a black hand-held computer with several rows of buttons and a read-out screen.

‘I know this looks as if you use it to turn your television on and off, but it’s a bit of pure genius called a Howler. You see, privileged information again, we know the code for the security system of the truck. The Howler has already selected it. You press the red button three times and the entire security system in the truck, electronic door locks, radio, the lot, are neutralized. That means the doors are open.’

‘And where in the hell did you get that?’ Keogh asked.

‘Oh, a young electronic whiz kid at Queen’s University in Belfast who is sympathetic to our cause.’

Keogh nodded slowly. ‘And the driver and the guards? What happens there?’

‘A stun grenade should take care of them.’ Ryan looked bleak for a moment. ‘Mind you, I’ll kill them if I have to. This is serious business.’

Keogh nodded. ‘All right, what happens after the heist?’

‘We drive it to Marsh End where the Irish Rose will be waiting.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll be well out to sea and on our way and the police running round in circles.’

There was a long silence while Keogh brooded. Finally he nodded. ‘You know, you’re right. It could work.’

Ryan laughed delightedly. ‘Good man yourself, Martin. Let’s have a drink on it.’