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

  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 he
ld out her hand. 'We'll see you next Thursday in Oban then, Mr Meyer.'

  Meyer sighed, waved his arms about helplessly, then took her hand. 'You're a very determined young woman. You will not forget, however, that you owe me four thousand pounds.'

  'How could I?' She turned to me. 'When you're ready, Major.'

  Binnie opened the door for us and I followed her out and as we went down the corridor Al Bowlly launched into Goodnight but not goodbye.

  4

  In Harm's Way

  As we went down the steps to the street, a Land-Rover swept out of the fog followed by another, very close behind. They had been stripped to the bare essentials so that the driver and the three soldiers who crouched in the rear of each vehicle behind him were completely exposed. They were paratroopers, efficient, tough-looking young men, in red berets and flak jackets, their sub-machine-guns held ready for instant action.

  They disappeared into the fog and Binnie spat into the gutter in disgust. 'Would you look at that now, just asking to be chopped down, the dumb bastards. What wouldn't I give for a Thompson gun and one crack at them.'

  'It would be your last,' I said. 'They know exactly what they're doing, believe me. They perfected that open display technique in Aden. The crew of each vehicle looks after the other and without armour plating to get in their way, they can return fire instantly if attacked.'

  'Bloody SS,' he said.

  I shook my head. 'No, they're not, Binnie. Most of them are lads around your own age, trying to do a dirty job the best way they know how.'

  He frowned, and for some reason my remark seemed to shut him up. Norah Murphy didn't say a word, but led the way briskly, turning from one street into another without hesitation.

  Within a few minutes we came to a main road. There was a church on the other side, the Sacred Heart according to the board, a Victorian monstrosity in yellow brick which squatted in the rain behind a fringe of iron railings. There were lights in the windows, the sound of an organ, and people emerged from the open door in ones and twos to pause for a moment before plunging into the heavy rain.

  As we crossed the road, a priest came out of the porch and stood on the top step trying to open his umbrella. He was a tall, rather frail-looking man in a cassock and black raincoat and wore a broad-brimmed shovel hat that made it difficult to see his face.

  He got the umbrella up, started down the steps and paused suddenly. 'Dr Murphy,' he called. 'Is that you?'

  Norah Murphy turned quickly. 'Hello, Father Mac,' she said, and then added in a low voice, 'I'll only be a moment. The woman I saw earlier is one of his parishioners.'

  Binnie and I moved into the shelter of a doorway and she went under the shelter of the priest's umbrella. He glanced towards us once and nodded, a gentle, kindly man of sixty or so. Norah Murphy held his umbrella and talked to him while he took off his hornrimmed spectacles and wiped rain from them with a handkerchief.

  Finally he replaced the spectacles and nodded. 'Fine, my dear, just fine,' he said and took a package from his raincoat pocket. 'Give her that when you next see her and tell her I'll be along in the morning.'

  He touched his hat and walked away into the fog. Norah Murphy watched him go then turned and tossed the package to me so unexpectedly that I barely caught it. 'Four thousand pounds, Major Vaughan.'

  I weighed the package in my two hands. 'I didn't think the Church was taking sides these days.'

  'It isn't.'

  'Then who in the hell was that?'

  Binnie laughed out loud and Norah Murphy smiled. 'Why, that was Michael Cork, Major Vaughan,' she said sweetly and walked away.

  Which was certainly one for the book. The package was too bulky to fit in any pocket so I pushed it inside the front of my trenchcoat and buttoned the flap as I followed her, Binnie keeping pace with me.

  She waited for us on the corner of a reasonably busy intersection, four roads meeting to form a small square. There were lots of people about, most of them emerging from a large supermarket on our left which was ablaze with light to catch the evening trade, soft music, of the kind which is reputed to induce the right mood to buy, drifting out through the entrance.

  There was a certain amount of traffic about, private cars mostly, nosing out of the fog, pausing at the pedestrian crossing, then passing on.

  It was a typical street scene of the kind you'd expect to find in any large industrial city, except for one thing. There was a police station on the other side of the square, a modern building in concrete and glass and the entrance was protected by a sandbagged machine-gun post manned by Highlanders in Glengarry bonnets and flak jackets.

  Norah Murphy leaned against the railings, clutching her case in both hands. 'Occupied Belfast, Major. How do you like it?'

  'I've seen worse,' I said.

  Two men came round the corner in a hurry, one of them bumping into Binnie, who fended him off angrily. 'Would you look where you're going, now?' he demanded, holding the man by the arm.

  He was not much older than Binnie, with a thin, narrow-jawed face and wild eyes, and he wore an old trilby hat. He carried an attache case in his right hand and tried to pull away. His companion was a different proposition altogether, a tall, heavily built man in a raincoat and cloth cap. He was at least forty and had a craggy, pugnacious face.

  'Leave him be,' he snarled, pulling Binnie round by the shoulder and then his mouth gaped. 'Jesus, Binnie, you couldn't have picked a worse spot. Get the hell out of it.'

  He pulled at his companion, they turned and hurried across the square through the traffic.

  'Trouble?' Norah Murphy demanded.

  Binnie grabbed her by the arm and nodded. 'The big fella's Gerry Lucas. I don't know the other. They're Bradys.'

  Which being the Belfast nickname for members of the Provisional branch of the IRA was enough to make anyone move fast. We were already too late. A couple of cars had halted at the pedestrian crossing and a woman in a headscarf was half-way across pushing a pram in front of her, a little girl of five or six trotting beside her. A young couple shared an umbrella behind.

  Lucas and his friend reached the opposite pavement and paused behind a parked car, where Lucas produced a Schmeisser machine pistol from beneath his raincoat and sprayed the machine-gun post.

  In the same moment, his friend ran out into the open and tossed the attache case in an arc through the rain and muffed things disastrously, for instead of dropping inside the machine-gun post, the case bounced from the sandbags to the gutter.

  The two of them ran like hell for the shelter of the nearest side street and made it, the Highlanders being unable to open up with their machine-gun for the simple reason that the square seemed to be suddenly filled with panic-stricken people running everywhere.

  The case exploded a split second later, taking out half of the front of the machine-gun post, dissolving every window in the square in a snowstorm of flying glass.

  People were running, screaming, some on their hands and knees, faces streaming with blood, cut by the flying glass. One of the cars at the pedestrian crossing had been blown on to its side, the crossing itself had been swept clean.

  Norah Murphy ran out into the square in what I believe was a purely reflex action and Binnie and I followed her towards the car which had turned over. A man was trying to climb out through the shattered side window, his face streaked with blood. I hauled him through and he slipped to the ground and rolled over on his back.

  The woman who had been pushing the pram on the pedestrian crossing, was sprawled across the bonnet of the second car, half the clothes torn off her. From the condition of the rest of her she couldn't be anything else but dead. The young couple who had been behind her were in the gutter on the far side of the road, people clustering round.

  The pram was miraculously intact, lying against the wall, but when I righted it, the condition of the baby still strapped inside, was beyond description. The only good thing one could say was that death must have been instantaneous.

  Norah Mu
rphy was on her knees in the gutter beside the little girl who only a few moments before had gaily trotted beside her sister's pram. She was badly injured, smeared with blood and dust, but still alive.

  Norah opened her case and took out a hypodermic. As troops emerged cautiously from the police station she gave the child an injection and said calmly, 'Get out of it, Binnie, before they cordon off the whole area. Get to Kelly's if you can. Take the Major with you. He's too valuable to lose now. I'll see you there later.'

  Binnie gazed down at the child, those dark eyes blazing, and then he did a strange thing. He reached for one of the limp hands and held it tightly for a moment.

  'The bastards,' he said softly.

  A Saracen swept into the square on the far side and braked to a halt, effectively blocking the street.

  'Will you get out of it, Binnie,' she said.

  I jerked him to his feet. He stood looking down for a moment, not at her, but at the child, then turned and moved across the square away from the Saracen without a word. I went after him quickly and he turned into a narrow alley and started to run. I followed at his heels and we twisted and turned through a dark rabbit warren of mean streets, the sounds from the square growing fainter although never actually fading away altogether.

  We finally came to the banks of a narrow canal of some description, moved along the towpath past an old iron footbridge and turned into an entry. There was a high wooden gate at the end with a lamp bracketed to the wall above it. A faded sign read Kelly's for Scrap. Binnie opened the judas and I followed him through.

  There was a small yard inside, another lamp high on the wall of the house giving plenty of illumination, which made sense for all sorts of reasons if this was a place of refuge, as I suspected.

  Binnie knocked on the back door. After a while, steps approached and he said in a low voice, 'It's me, Binnie.'

  A bolt was withdrawn, the door opened. An old woman stood revealed, very old, with milk-white blind eyes and a shawl across her shoulders.