Drink with the Devil
When Ryan suggested the drink, Tully decided it was time to go. He opened the back door, closed it softly behind him and started across the yard. It was then that he blundered into the trash can, dislodging the metal lid which clanged as it fell to the stone flagging. He carried on, got the gate open and ran along the alley. As he reached the far end Keogh emerged into the alley but by then it was too late as Tully crossed the busy main road and was lost in the evening crowd.
When Keogh returned, Bell had turned on the yard light and was standing at the back door with Ryan and the girl.
‘Was there someone?’ Ryan demanded.
‘Oh, yes,’ Keogh said. ‘And you’re not going to like it one little bit. I just caught a glimpse of him as he turned into the road. It looked remarkably like Tully to me.’
‘The bastard was checking up on us,’ Ryan said and led the way back into the parlour.
‘So what do we do now?’ Bell demanded. ‘This blows everything.’
‘No, I don’t agree,’ Keogh said. ‘He wants to see the affair go through because he wants the rest of his money.’
‘That makes sense.’ Ryan nodded.
‘I’d say he was simply sniffing around to find out more.’
‘Which means he’s a shifty swine,’ Kathleen put in.
‘Who now knows more than he did before, if he overheard our discussion.’ Keogh pulled on his reefer coat.
‘Where are you going?’ Ryan demanded.
‘Back to the Irish Rose.’ Keogh took out his Walther and checked it. ‘I’m going to do some sniffing around myself.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Ryan told him.
‘No need, I can handle it.’ Keogh smiled. ‘After all, that’s what you’re paying me for.’
As he turned for the door, Kathleen Ryan said, ‘Take care, Martin.’
‘Ah, but I always do, girl dear.’ He smiled and went out, there was the sound of the yard gate opening and closing and he was gone.
It was raining again as Keogh paid off the taxi and turned along Cable Wharf. It was a place of shadows, a touch of fog in the air. He kept to those shadows by the old disused warehouses and paused when he was close to the gangway. There was no sign of life. He thought about it for a while then decided to take a chance and darted across to the stern of the ferry which at that point was lower than the wharf.
He dropped down to the deck, paused for a moment, then moved through the darkness to where the central section and the wheelhouse reared into the night. There was a light up there. Keogh went up an iron ladder to the landing below the wheelhouse, then approached, crouching. He could hear voices, smell cigarette smoke. They were all in there, Tully and his crew. Keogh stood, protected by a life raft, and listened.
He heard the man Dolan say, ‘Gold? Are you kidding us, Frank?’
‘No. I’m bloody not. The truck that we pick up at Marsh End will be loaded with the stuff. They’re going to knock it off on its way to the smelters in Barrow-in-Furness.’
‘But who are they?’ Dolan demanded.
‘Well, they’re Irish, that’s for certain. I’d have said IRA, but I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Two things. Our destination, Kilalla. That’s Ulster, not the Republic. Another thing. The William & Mary in Kilburn. That’s a Prod pub, not Catholic. I think they’re probably the other side.’
‘Loyalists?’ Dolan asked.
‘Same difference, as far as I’m concerned,’ Tully told him. ‘I couldn’t care less which side they’re on. All I’m interested in is that gold.’
There was a stirring amongst the crew. Dolan said, ‘You mean we’re going to knock it off?’
‘Who knows?’ Tully laughed. ‘After all, lads, anything can happen at sea, but let’s get moving. Prepare to cast off. We’ve only got two days to get up there.’
Keogh crouched behind the life raft as the crew emerged and descended to the deck. He stayed there thinking about it then stood up and moved to the wheelhouse door.
Tully, leaning over the table, was aware of a small wind that lifted the chart for the Cumbrian coast a little. He looked up and found Keogh leaning against the door lighting a cigarette.
‘As they used to say in those old Agatha Christie plays, all is revealed. I was outside, old son, and I heard your little speech to that motley crew of yours.’ Tully tried to open a drawer and Keogh’s hand came out of his pocket holding the Walther. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
Tully glowered at him. ‘What do you want?’
‘Well, I know you were at the William & Mary. By rights I should put a bullet between your eyes, but I’ll settle for the fifty thousand pounds Ryan gave you earlier.’
‘You can go to hell.’
Keogh raised the Walther and fired. There was the usual dull cough and the lobe of Tully’s right ear disintegrated. He cried out sharply and clutched at the ear, blood spurting.
‘That was for starters,’ Keogh said. ‘Come on, the envelope.’
Tully got the drawer open with his free hand, took out the envelope and tossed it over. Keogh put it in his pocket. Tully took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his ear.
‘My God, look what you’ve done.’
‘So what’s the difference?’ Keogh said. ‘You couldn’t look worse than you do.’
‘Fuck you.’ Tully opened a cupboard one-handed, took out a bottle of Scotch and pulled the cork with his teeth. He took a long swallow. ‘Now what?’
‘Now nothing,’ Keogh told him. ‘I’ll see you at Marsh End on Friday.’
Tully looked astonished. ‘You mean it’s still on?’
‘Too late to get anyone else now,’ Keogh told him. ‘This is what I call an “I know that you know that I know” situation, so behave yourself and you’ll get this envelope back plus the other fifty thousand pounds when we reach Kilalla.’
‘Sod you!’ Tully said.
‘Yes, I know that,’ Keogh told him, ‘but you will be at Marsh End on Friday.’
‘Yes, damn you, I will.’
‘Good man yourself. Now you can escort me to the gangway and we’ll say goodnight.’
The engines rumbled into life at that moment. Tully led the way out, negotiating the ladder with difficulty, blood streaming from his ear. Only Dolan and the German, Muller, were working on deck. Muller was casting off and Dolan was about to haul in the gangway. He looked up in astonishment.
‘Here, what’s going on?’
‘What’s going on is that you leave the gangway alone until I’ve gone down it,’ Keogh said.
Dolan tried to rush him and Keogh swiped him across the face with the Walther. Dolan staggered back with a cry of pain and Keogh went down the gangway. He turned at the bottom and smiled up at Tully.
‘To our next merry meeting at Marsh End.’
‘Bastard!’ Tully called.
Keogh laughed and walked away through the rain.
Jack Barry was sitting at the desk of his study when the portable phone went.
Keogh said, ‘It’s me.’
Barry said, ‘Where are you?’
‘Wapping High Street in old London Town.’
‘So what’s happening?’
‘You were right about the gold.’
‘Is that a fact? Tell me.’
‘It’s complicated, but here goes,’ and Keogh went through the whole business step-by-step.
When he was finished, Barry said, ‘Christ, but it’s the ruthless bastard you are. Will Tully play?’
‘He will. A hundred thousand pound pay day. He isn’t going to turn that down.’
‘Right. Let’s say everything works. What happens on board the Irish Rose once you put to sea? They’ll try to take you.’
‘Of course, but we’ll be prepared.’
‘You, Ryan and his niece? God save us all.’
‘Oh, He will, He will. What about the Kilalla end?’
‘Oh, I think I can promise you an interesting reception. A considerable contribution to IRA funds. It could win us the war.’
‘Just think of that,’ Keogh told him, ‘and it’s only taken seven hundred years.’
Barry laughed. ‘Go on, dark hero, get on with it and keep in touch,’ and he switched off his phone.
In the parlour at the William & Mary, Ryan and Kathleen sat at the table and listened to what Keogh had to say. Keogh helped himself to a Bushmills on the side.
Bell said, ‘You shot him?’
‘Only a little.’ Keogh sipped a little Bushmills. ‘The lobe of his right ear.’
Kathleen’s face was infused with excitement. ‘That taught the bastard a lesson.’
Ryan said, ‘You think he’ll still come?’
‘Of course he will. He wants his hundred thousand pounds.’
‘But he’ll try for more on the run to Ulster?’
‘Yes, well we know that so we’ll just have to be prepared, won’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’ Ryan took a deep breath. ‘We’ll catch the Glasgow Express in the morning. We’ll leave at Carnforth and take the local train to Barrow.’
‘Then what?’
‘We’ll be met,’ Ryan told him. ‘Something else I didn’t tell you. I have a cousin who runs a sheep farm in the Lake District not far from Ravenglass. But enough of that now. I’m for bed. We’ll need an early start.’
As the Irish Rose moved down the Thames, Tully stood at the wheel, his head disembodied in the light of the binnacle. His right ear was covered by a taped bandage. The door of the wheelhouse opened and Dolan entered with a mug in one hand. He put it down by the wheel.
‘Tea,’ he said. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ Tully told him.
‘So what about that little bastard?’
‘Oh, when the right time comes I’m going to cut his balls off.’ Tully reached for the mug and drank some tea. ‘There’s an old Sinn Fein saying: Our day will come. Well mine certainly will where Keogh’s concerned.’
He swung the wheel and increased power.
3
The Glasgow Express wasn’t particularly busy. Keogh sat opposite Kathleen at a corner table. Ryan took the one opposite. Almost immediately he opened his briefcase and took out a file. He started to work his way through it, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
The girl took the copy of The Midnight Court from her carrying bag and an Irish dictionary which she put on one side. A strange one, Keogh thought, a strange one indeed. He sat there gazing out of the window wondering what she would say, what her reaction would be if she knew he was everything she hated. A Roman Catholic and an IRA enforcer. God, but the fat would be in the fire the day that got out.
About an hour out of London an attendant appeared pushing a trolley with tea, coffee, sandwiches and newspapers. Ryan stopped working and took a coffee. The girl asked for tea and so did Keogh. He also bought The Times and the Daily Mail and spent the next hour catching up on the news.
There wasn’t much on the Irish situation. A bomb in Derry which had taken out six shops in one street, a tit-for-tat killing of two Catholics on the Falls Road, retaliation for the shooting of a Protestant in the Shankill and an Army Air Corps helicopter flying in to the command post at Crossmaglen had come under machine-gun fire. Just another day, they’d say in Ulster.
And then, half-way through The Times, he came to an article entitled HOW LONG, OH LORD, HOW LONG? It was written by a retired Member of Parliament, once a Minister at the Northern Ireland Office, who not unreasonably felt that sixteen years of bloody war in Ireland was enough. His preferred solution was an independent Ulster as a member of the British Commonwealth. Incredible how naive on the subject even politicians could be.
Keogh closed the paper, lit a cigarette and sat back, watching the girl. To his amusement he saw that she frequently consulted the dictionary. She glanced up and saw him smile.
She frowned. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Not much. You just seem to be having some difficulty with that.’
‘It’s not easy. I only started learning three months ago. There’s a phrase here that’s damned difficult to work out.’
Keogh, a fluent Irish speaker, could have helped, but to disclose the fact would have been a serious error. People who spoke Irish were Catholics and Nationalists, it was as simple as that.
Ryan had finished the file, put it back in his briefcase and leaned back in the corner, closing his eyes.
‘He seems tired,’ Keogh observed.
‘He does too much, almost burns himself out. He’s a believer, you see. Our cause is everything to him. Meat and drink.’
‘You too, I think.’
‘You have to have something to believe in in this life.’
‘In your case, the death of your family gave you that?’
‘The murder of my family, Martin, the murder.’
There was no answer to that, could never be. Her face was white and intense, eyes filled with rage.
Keogh said, ‘Peace, girl dear, peace. Go on, read your book,’ and he picked up the Daily Mail and started on that.
Another half hour and the attendant returned. They had more tea, and ham sandwiches. Ryan was still asleep.
‘We’ll leave him be,’ the girl said.
They ate in companionable silence. When they were finished Keogh lit another cigarette. ‘Sixteen, Kate, and the whole of life ahead of you. And what would you like to do with it if peace ever comes to Ireland?’
‘Oh, I know that well enough. I always wanted to be a nurse, ever since my time in hospital after the bomb. I was at the Royal Victoria for three months. The nurses were great.’
‘Nursing, is it? Well, for that you need to pass your exams and you not even at school.’
She laughed that distinctive harsh laugh of hers. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong, mister. Most people do their ordinary level exams at sixteen. I did mine at fourteen. Most people do the advanced levels at eighteen. I did mine four months ago in English Literature, French and Spanish. I have a thing for languages, you see.’ There was a kind of bravado in her voice. ‘I’m qualified to go to university if I’m so minded and I’m only sixteen.’
‘And are you?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve more important things to do. For the moment, our struggle is all that matters. Now shut up, Martin, and let me get on with my book,’ and she returned to The Midnight Court.
They got off the train at Carnforth. It was desolate enough, hardly anyone about, rain drifting across the platform.
Ryan checked his watch. ‘There’s a local train to Barrow-in-Furness leaving in forty minutes. We’ll get a cup of tea. I need to talk to you both.’
The café was deserted, only an ageing woman serving behind the bar. Kathleen Ryan went and got the tea and brought it back on a tray.
‘I mind the time when this station was open for business twenty-four hours,’ Ryan said. ‘Steam engines thundering through one after another.’ He shook his head. ‘Everything changes.’
‘You know the area well?’ Keogh asked.
‘Oh, yes, I’ve visited the Lake District a number of times over the years. I was up this way only four weeks ago.’
His niece said in genuine surprise, ‘I didn’t know that, Uncle Michael.’
‘You thought I’d gone to Dublin,’ Ryan said. ‘Well I didn’t. I was up here arranging things, and there’s a lot more you don’t know and now is the time for the telling.’
‘Go on,’ Keogh told him.
Ryan produced the Ordnance Survey map of the area which they had consulted in London and unfolded it.
‘There’s Ravenglass on the coast. A bit of a winding road from Barrow to get there. Maybe thirty-five miles. Marsh End is about five miles south of Ravenglass.’
‘So?’ Keogh said.
‘See here, to one side of Ravenglass, the valley running up into the mountains? Eskdale, it’s called. I’ve got what you might call friends there.’
‘But you never told me that,’ Kathleen Ryan said in astonishment.
‘I’m telling you now, am I not? Now, this is the way of it. My own cousin, Colin Power, had an English wife, a farmer’s daughter from Eskdale. Colin was a tenant farmer in County Down, but when her parents died, the farm in Eskdale was left to his wife, Mary.’
‘So they moved over?’
‘Exactly. This was twenty years ago. They brought with them a young boy, Colin’s nephew, Benny. He had brain damage from birth. His parents wanted to put him in a home, but Mary, having no child of her own, took him on and raised him.’
‘And they’re up there now in Eskdale?’ Kathleen demanded.
‘Right at the head of the valley. A remote, desolate place. Folly’s End, it’s called, and that’s an apt name for it. Too much rain, too much wind. The sheep don’t thrive.’ Ryan shrugged. ‘It was too much for Colin. He died of a heart attack five years ago. Only Mary and Benny to run the place.’
‘A lot of work for two people, I would have thought,’ Keogh said.
Ryan laughed out loud. ‘Just wait till you see Benny.’ At that moment the local train pulled in at the platform and he glanced through the window. ‘That’s us. Let’s get moving,’ and he stood up and led the way out.
There were only a handful of passengers getting off the train at Barrow-in-Furness. They went through the ticket barrier, passed into the concourse and stood outside.
A voice called, ‘Uncle Michael, it’s me,’ the words heavy and slurred.
There was an old Land Rover parked on the other side and the man standing beside it was quite extraordinary. He was at least six feet four in height and built like an ox with enormous shoulders. He wore a tweed cap and a shabby tweed suit with patches on the elbows. He rushed forward eagerly, a childlike expression on his fleshy face.
‘It’s me, Uncle Michael,’ he said again.
Michael gave him a brief hug. ‘Good man yourself, Benny. Is your aunt well?’
‘Very well. Looking forward to seeing you.’
The words came out with difficulty, slow and measured.
Ryan said, ‘My niece, Kathleen. You and she will be second cousins.’
Benny pulled off his cap revealing a shock of untidy yellowing hair. He nodded, beaming with pleasure. ‘Kathleen.’
She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘It’s good to meet you.’
He was overcome, nodding eagerly and Ryan introduced Keogh who held out his hand. Benny’s grasp was so strong that Keogh grimaced with pain.
‘Easy, son – easy does it.’ He turned to Ryan. ‘I see what you mean about running the farm. This lad must be up to the work of ten men.’
‘At least,’ Ryan said. ‘Anyway, let’s get going.’
Benny took Kathleen’s suitcase and Ryan’s and raced ahead to the Land Rover. Ryan said to Keogh and Kathleen, ‘He could beat five men in any bar-room brawl but in the heart of him he’s a child. Mind that well and give him time when he speaks. Sometimes he has difficulty getting the words out.’
Benny put the luggage in the back and Keogh slung his duffel in. Benny ran round to open the front passenger door. He pulled off his cap and nodded eagerly again to Kathleen.
‘In you go, Kate,’ Keogh told her. ‘Make the big fella’s day. We’ll sit behind.’
They all got in and Benny ran round and climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine and Ryan said, ‘A great driver, this lad, make no mistake:’ He patted Benny on the shoulder. ‘Away we go, Benny. Is the truck all right?’
Benny nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’
He turned into the main road and Ryan’s niece said, ‘What truck would that be?’
‘Later girl, later. Just sit back and admire the scenery. Some of the best in England.’
When they reached the coast road it started to rain. Ryan said, ‘It does that a lot up here. I suppose it’s the mountains.’
They lifted up on the right, a spectacular sight, the peaks covered by low cloud. On the left the sea was angry, rolling in fast, whitecaps everywhere, a heavy sea mist following.
‘The Isle of Man out there and then dear old Ireland,’ Ryan told them.
Keogh said, ‘I don’t know whether you’ve had a forward weather forecast for Friday, but one thing’s for sure. If it’s rough weather that Siemens ferry is in for one hell of a ride.’
‘We’ll just have to see, won’t we?’ Ryan told him.
About forty-five minutes out of Barrow they came to an area where there were marshes on their left stretching out to sea, vanishing into the mist. There was a sign up ahead and Ryan touched Benny on the shoulder.
The big man slowed down and Ryan said, ‘Marsh End. Let’s take a quick look, Benny.’
Benny turned down a track and drove slowly along a causeway through a landscape of total desolation, reeds marching into the mist. There was an old cottage to the right and then a jetty about one hundred yards long stretching out into the sea. Benny cut the engine.
‘So that’s it?’ Keogh said.
‘That’s it.’ Ryan nodded. ‘Only something like the Siemens with its shallow draught could get in.’
‘You can say that again. When the tide’s out I’d say it’s nothing but marsh and mud flats.’
Ryan tapped Benny on the shoulder. ‘Off we go, Benny,’ and the big man nodded obediently and reversed.
Towards the upper end of Eskdale Valley, mountains rearing before them, Benny turned into a broad track and dropped down into a low gear. There were grey stone walls on either hand, sheep huddled together in the rain.
‘A desolate sort of place,’ Keogh said.
Ryan nodded. ‘A hard way to make a living.’
They came to a wooden signpost that bore the legend Folly’s End. ‘And that just about sums it up,’ Ryan observed.
A moment later and they came to farm gates wide open and beyond it the farm, two large barns, the farmhouse itself, all built in weathered grey stone. Benny turned off the engine and got out. As they followed, the front door opened and a black and white sheepdog bounded out. A moment later a woman appeared. She wore a heavy knitted sweater, men’s trousers and green Wellington boots. Her hair was iron grey, the face strangely young looking. Ryan went forward as she held her arms open. They embraced warmly and he turned.
‘Here you are then, my cousin, Mary Power.’
The beamed kitchen had a stone-flagged floor, a wood fire burning in an open hearth. She served them herself, ladling lamb and potato stew from a large pot, moving round the table, then sat at the end.
‘It’s good to see you, girl,’ she said to Kathleen. ‘When you reach my age relatives are hard to come by.’
‘And it’s good to meet you,’ Kathleen told her.
‘And you, Mr Keogh, what would your speciality be?’ Mary Power asked.
‘Well, I like to think I can turn my hand to most things.’ Keogh spooned some stew to his mouth and smiled. ‘But I’ll never be the cook you are.’
Ryan pushed his plate away. Mary Power said, ‘More?’
He shook his head. ‘Tea would be fine.’
She got up and started to clear the plates and Kathleen helped her. Keogh said, ‘Could we all know where we stand here?’
‘You mean where Mary stands?’ Ryan said. ‘Simple. She’s backing me to the hilt on this. If things go well, she gets a hundred thousand pounds. That means she can kiss this place goodbye and go back to County Down.’
She showed no response at all, simply took plates to the sink then reached for the kettle and made tea. ‘Everything’s in order. The truck is in the back barn. I’ve aired the cottage at Marsh End and there’s a fire in the stove. Somebody will have to stay there.’
Ryan nodded and accepted a mug of strong tea. ‘Perhaps Kathleen could stay with you and Martin and myself could make out at the cottage.’
‘Fine.’ She opened a tin box and took out a cake. ‘Try this. I made it myself,’ and she reached for a knife and cut it into slices.
There was a motorcycle on its stand just inside the barn, a black leather biker’s jacket draped across it, and there was a helmet. Keogh recognized it at once. ‘Heh, where did you get this beauty, Benny, a Montesa dirt bike?’
‘You know this model?’ Ryan asked.
‘Of course. Spanish. They’ll do half a mile an hour over very rough ground if you want them to.’
‘And is that good?’ Kathleen asked.
‘It is if you’re a shepherd operating in hill country,’ Keogh told her. ‘These things will go anywhere.’ He turned to Ryan. ‘You bought this for Benny?’
‘Not really. A bit small for him. I thought it might suit our circumstances. I’ll explain later.’ He said to Mary, ‘Let’s have a look at the truck.’