Skulduggery

Skulduggery

Belfast 1976

In the target, I waited. The shallow curtained alcove concealing me was claustrophobic. My nostrils itched from the dust in the air, but I resisted the urge to scratch. The curtain was a scant two inches from my chest; I couldn’t risk moving it. They would be watching.

 ‘Get there an hour or so before their team arrive, Jack, that should be time enough. I suggest covert entry from the rear, the back door has only an old mortice lock.’

Frank had started briefing me in his laid-back, understated manner, anyone would think this was a run of the mill surveillance job, not a mission to kill two people.

 ‘There’ll be a driver and a minder with the bomber, all will be armed’ he paused, glancing at his notes, ‘once inside the minder will stand at the door watching the street whilst the bomber is working if things follow the usual pattern. The driver will disappear until collection time. They don’t like risking him being spotted hanging around outside the target. That should give you plenty of time to do the job and get clear. OK so far?’

 ‘Fine.’

 ‘Apparently, it doesn’t take long to set the bomb so don’t hang around once they’re inside and the driver has left.’

 Frank looked ill at ease now, which was a first for him ‘I cannot stress enough the importance of placing your shots accurately, understood Jack?

 I nodded ‘Of course, Frank.’

 He glanced at his watch ‘Their Estimated Time of Arrival is oh two-thirty hours, but they are seldom on time, so you might have a  bit of a wait on your hands.’

 He paused, rubbing his chin, another sign of discomfort; that was another first for Frank.

 ‘Now for the bad news’ he said regaining his composure ‘the intel we have says they are very cagey about this job. They’ll scour the whole area before they approach so that means no backup, OK? If they suspect the smallest thing is wrong, they’ll abort, and god knows if we’ll ever get another chance. So, sorry Jack, but this is a solo mission.’

 Frank looked far from sorry. Behind his upper-crust veneer of impeccable manners, he was as ruthless as a vulture with fresh roadkill. If I got the job done, I could fry in hell directly afterwards for all he cared. He treated like shit. He was an Eton educated, Brigade of Guards, aristocrat on secondment. I was an orphan, an expendable commodity. There was no one to weep for me.

 Frank had never shown even a glimmer of embarrassment in previous briefings, it was very strange ‘anything else I should know, Frank?’

 ‘That’s all Jack, so go and get whatever you need.’

 I couldn’t put my finger on what was different. Was Frank holding something back or was it my paranoia? It didn’t make sense. I pushed the thought out of my mind and concentrated on the floor plan of the target.

 I arrived four hours before the ETA. I checked the place and surrounding area out carefully before entering.  The lock proved no problem. I entered and crouched, listening intently, smelling the damp odour of dereliction. The only sound was the faint hum of traffic up on the main road. I relocked the back door then searched the place from attic to cellar,

I thought carefully before choosing my hiding place. The curtained alcove behind the counter had shelves that were only resting on their supports. These I removed and hid them under the counter. The odds were the alcove had been searched and, because of the shelves, been ruled out as a hiding place. But that was far from certain.

 I watched through the small gap at the curtain’s edge where it didn’t quite meet the wall. This allowed a view of the glass door, half the shop window and the street beyond. I would have a clear shot at the minder when he took up his position.

  My mind went back to the briefing, running over it yet again. My suspicion that Frank had held something back returned like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

 “Deadly” Declan Dooley was Libyan trained and had set booby-trapped bombs that cost the lives of three bomb disposal experts. The shop was only the secondary target. The clever bomb was designed to kill the expert who tried to defuse it.

 Dooley came to The North when sent for, used his expertise and was spirited away again. He was one of the Provisional IRA’s greatest assets. If he hadn’t been screwing some IRA commander’s wife, I wouldn’t be waiting for him now.

 British Army Intelligence knew almost nothing about Dooley, they had no photos, just a vague description. Only his lethal work bore his unmistakable signature.

After two hours, a man came in the front door, using a key. He flashed a powerful torch around the walls, pausing on my hiding place. I drew my weapon and thumbed off the safety, sweat trickling down my back and my short hairs prickling. He checked the place rapidly, stumping upstairs then down to the cellar, rattling the back door handle in passing. He returned quickly to the door, flashing his torch around once more, dwelling on my hiding place. I listened for the sound of a cocking weapon, ready to tear away the curtain and start shooting.

  He left, locking the door and made his way across the road where he disappeared into a darkened doorway, watching.

 Another hour dragged by before the man emerged from the doorway and moved off.

 Ten minutes later a car drew up at the shop, three people got out. I drew my pistol.

 A massive man, his gun looking tiny in his huge fist, climbed out. The driver was the watcher I’d seen earlier. He unlocked the shop door then all three carried fertilizer sacks into the shop. No one spoke. The driver then drove off.

 The smallest of the trio, a slim silhouetted figure carrying a briefcase, shuffled forward clad in a baggy boiler suit and black beanie hat and knelt by the sacks out of my sight below counter level.

 I heard the click-clack of locks springing as the briefcase was opened. The bomber’s torch cast a faint glow, I thumbed off the safety.

 The minder, instead of watching at the front door, started prowling the sales floor. I heard him opening cupboards, whistling tunelessly. What the hell’s he playing at I thought? He should be watching the street where I could place my shot with the required precision.

 Things were rapidly turning pear-shaped. The bomber wouldn’t take long and then the driver would be back. This was supposed to be a double execution, not the bloody OK Corral.

 Happenings like these are known as the “buggeration factor” in Army-speak. This was buggeration big time.

 The minder came behind the counter. I checked my breathing. Was his gun pointing to the front ready to fire the instant he saw me? I heard him pulling out the old-fashioned cash drawer. What the hell did he expect to find in there? His shoe scraped as he swivelled to the alcove and the curtain was jerked aside.

 A huge jowly face stared down at me in shocked disbelief, his weapon pointing ceiling-wards Hollywood style. He recovered quickly, but he was far too late. I rammed my pistol into his throat and fired.

 The guy’s eyes instantly went blank and his face sagged as he flopped, his weapon clattering on the floor. Quickly stepping over the corpse I leaned over the counter weapon pointing.

 ‘Don’t shoot. I surrender. You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed woman, would you?’ The tiniest of pauses then: ‘I’m pregnant’ her voice came with a heavy Dublin accent, urgent but not panicky.

 Declan was a woman? I was stunned, and I hesitated for a second.

She rose swiftly, and it looked for an instant like she was putting her hands up. Then her torch arced into my eyes and her right hand flashed into her pocket. I fired, half-blinded. Luck was with me and my bullet found her throat. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I would shoot you lady, pregnant or no’ I told her corpse. I knew the ‘pregnant’ claim was a lie added by a quick-thinking enemy desperate to gain another second. Instead, it had betrayed her deceit.

 ‘Shoot them in the neck’ Frank had briefed me, ‘that way when they’re blown to pieces there’ll be little chance of bullet holes being found.’

I saw the sense in that. Their limbs and heads would be torn off and mangled, however, even after suffering a huge blast, the torso tended to stay fairly intact. Bullet holes found post-mortem would make the bombers into martyrs.

 ‘And what if I can’t manage that Frank? It will be quite dark. That’s difficult shooting.’ I’d asked.

Frank’s icy blue eyes had glinted, his face set hard. ‘If you fail’ he said pointedly, ‘just get the buggers dead’ his voice radiated disdain. Clearly, he didn’t want his plan questioned.

 Yes, there had been an edge to Frank’s briefing. Now I knew why, and I was not happy.

I picked up her flashlight and examined the bomber’s equipment. There were three trembler switches, a mercury tilt switch, a pressure plate, several detonators plus a timer.

 Each device was interconnected so that cutting a wire on one would detonate the next. Once set, these devices were next to impossible to disarm. Switching off the timer would also cause detonation. On top of the fertilizer was a kilo of commercial plastic explosive, Semtex1A, a booster charge. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I cut the charge in two with my jackknife and pocketed half along with a detonator and the tilt switch.

I connected a detonator to the timer, switched it on, then pushed it into the remaining Semtex.

 Now for the timing. Three minutes would have to do. If I left it too long the driver might return, discover the bodies and flee. There could be no witnesses. I lifted the top bag, placing the Semtex beneath it, then I flicked the arming switch, and the countdown began.

 Making my way carefully down the alley at the rear of the shop I kept my pistol out and ready,  That there had been another watcher in the alley I hadn’t a doubt, although the odds were he would be long gone now.

 Reaching the end of the alley, I turned right along the gable end of the terrace of shops. Peering around the corner into the dimly lit street I was about to cross when the car suddenly returned. It pulled up outside the target; I was a scant fifty metres away, too damned close for comfort.

 A minute dragged by; I couldn’t move. If the driver saw me, he might take off and then there’d be a witness.

The man left the car, gun in hand. I watched him through the gap between the drainpipe and the wall as he checked up and down the street. He went to the shop door and knocked. As if in answer the bomb detonated.

 The sun-bright flash lit up the street, the pressure wave crushing my eardrums. I flattened myself hard against the wall. I was safe from the blast, but not from falling debris. A huge brick landed not a foot in front of me, shattering into fragments. It seemed an eternity before debris stopped falling. Sirens started in the distance. It was time to go.

*

 After going over the briefing yet again, I realised that Frank had never once used the name Declan, ‘he’ or ‘him’ always ‘the bomber’ or ‘the targets.’

 I slumped into an armchair as far away from Frank as I could get, staring defiantly.

I was ignored as Frank continued to write in a document folder with studied indifference. Finally, he looked up. ‘How did it go?’

 ‘Deadly Declan turned out to be Deadly Delores’ I said, carefully keeping my voice neutral. Frank’s eyes flicked away for a fraction of a second. It was the final proof that he had known. ‘But you knew that at the briefing’ I added.

 Frank started a denial. I cut him off abruptly ‘don’t bullshit me, Frank, OK?’ God, I wanted to punch the devious bastard.

‘They thought you might not do the job if you knew’ he said lamely ‘Declan was killed in a drink driving incident a week ago, but the job had already been scheduled. He’d taught his sister all he knew so she took his place. The PIRA didn’t announce the death to keep his legend alive.’

 ‘So, that’s why you didn’t give the job to the SAS, eh? Most of ‘em are known to be squeamish about killing women.’

 Frank’s face reddened ‘Sorry Jack, they ordered it.’

 My temper snapped ‘who the hell are “They” Frank?’ I yelled ‘When you recruited me to the hit team, I told you I would only work for you and not for any damned buck-passing committee.’

 ‘Aw, c’mon Jack, everybody has a boss, you know that. I…’

I got up and crossed rapidly to Frank’s desk, the fist I wanted to slam into his face I slammed onto the desk instead.

 ‘Those reptiles in Whitehall are too interested in their own careers to give a shit about us blokes in the field, Frank. You should have told me. The job is dangerous enough without my own side playing me.’

  It was a betrayal, and he was siding with the interfering bastards.

 ‘Again, all I can say is sorry, now, can we press on?’ he said impatiently. He was trying to brush it all aside like my life didn’t matter. Well, it mattered to me.

 ‘No, we can’t’ I shouted, ‘sorry isn’t good enough Frank. I will not be manipulated by a bunch of Whitehall wankers who know three-fifths of fuck-all about life in the field. Well, you can find yourself another man, I resign…. as of now.’

 ‘Be reasonable Jack, it was only a small omission’ he said.

 ‘Small omission my arse, Frank, it was a breach of trust. Surprise damn near got me killed.’

 ‘Believe me, Jack, it’ll never happen again.’

 ‘Too right it won’t, there’s no such thing as ninety-nine per cent total trust, Frank. You’ve blown it.’ I turned and walked swiftly to the door, my piss still boiling.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going, Sergeant Major? This meeting isn’t over yet.’

 I turned, ‘yes it fuckin’ well is’ I said, ‘and don’t pull that rank shit on me, Major Frank.’ I marched out, slamming the door.

 In our unit, we never addressed each other by rank for practical reasons. If we were working undercover together, we couldn’t afford any slip-ups like calling someone sir. Frank had deliberately reintroduced rank, trying to intimidate me.

 In my room, I pulled out a bottle of Bushmills and poured myself a stiff one, my thoughts dark. Resigning from the two-man hit team was a big no-no. Once in there was no way out until you either stopped a bullet, or they released you.

Our unit rarely killed anyone, only those otherwise untouchables, the ones beyond the law. Frank wouldn’t give up.

 14th Company was an off-shoot of the British Army Intelligence Corps that did the dirty, deniable stuff. Our main task was gathering intelligence to brief the Special Air Service on covert ops. We also spread half-truths and subtle lies. The IRA and the Provisional IRA were deeply suspicious of one another, we exploited this. If they were busy fighting amongst themselves, they would have less time to kill soldiers and policemen.

 Captured, Dooley would have been a hero, imprisoned, he would have passed on his knowledge. Now, he was just another failed bomber who’d made his last mistake. The legend was ended. No propaganda victory for the IRA, no cloak of victimhood to be paraded in America to raise funds.

 Frank would leave me alone tonight; he wouldn’t report my insubordination until his routine visit to Army HQ two days hence. In the meantime, he’d try to win me round. They couldn’t afford a loose cannon in their midst. If it got out what we were doing, the repercussions would echo around the world, generating huge sympathy and funds for the enemy.

 Receiving duff information at a briefing was a common enough occurrence and I accepted that, but deliberately omitting vital information went beyond the pale. If I allowed the bastards to get away with it this time, they’d do it again.

 I threw back my drink and poured another. ‘Fuck ‘em all to hell’ I muttered.

 Frank called me in the next day ‘You thought any more about what you threatened last night?’

 ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘my decision stands.’

 He let out a long sigh ‘Look, man, they’re not going to let you resign, you must know that, surely?’

 We bandied the issue about for a few minutes before he said ‘I’m sorry Jack, but I’ll have to report this. I’ll leave it to the last minute until I go to HQ tomorrow, but then my hands will be tied.’

 ‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll think on it’ knowing I wouldn’t. Sure, they’d find a way to take me out and they had a lot more resources than me, however, I had a plan.

I was waiting by the gate as Frank drove up. ‘You got something to tell me, Jack?’

 ‘Yeah’ I said, ‘will you drop me at the convenience store?’

He looked surprised ‘Get in.’

We drove the half-mile to the shop in silence, he was expecting me to tell him I’d changed my mind.

  ‘Thanks, Frank’ I grabbed my rucksack from behind his seat. ‘You make that report.’

 ‘Jack, don’t do this.’

 ‘Bye Frank.’

  He drove off, I watched him turn up the hill towards HQ. I heard the boom as the Semtex exploded. HQ wouldn’t get his report now.