The Trojan boy

SIX

Avedissian found himself drawn to Kathleen O'Neill. At first he managed to convince himself that his concern was medical and then, as the bruising disappeared, that it was pity he felt for her. But while it was true that she had lost more than anyone should at the one time, for she was to receive a new identity and leave the only country that she had ever known, it was also true that Avedissian felt a strong personal attraction towards her. As her injuries healed he was struck by how beautiful she really was. He knew about her hair and deep green eyes but the soft lines of her face, which had been obscured by the swelling after the beating, were a revelation and afforded her an air of serenity that he found totally captivating.

It was also clear that Bryant and Jarvis did not share his regard for Kathleen, apparently crediting her with the sins of her family. In her absence Bryant always referred to her as the O'Neill woman. Paul Jarvis was ever civil but made no overtures of friendship towards her.

Although not permitted to leave the precincts of the building the limits of their 'house arrest' did allow Avedissian, Jarvis and Kathleen the use of the garden, something that Avedissian and Kathleen made full use of while Jarvis tended to confine himself to using a small gymnasium on the top landing in his continual quest for fitness.

Avedissian's attempts to get Kathleen to speak of her family background and the philosophy behind her regard for her brother had been largely unsuccessful. He tried again as they walked together in the garden. 'You wouldn't understand,' she said, to Avedissian's annoyance.

'Why not?' he asked.

'You have no understanding of our history.'

'History!' exclaimed Avedissian. 'It's always "history".'

'It's important.'

'I would have thought that the future was a damned sight more important,' said Avedissian.

'A nice, comfortable view,' replied Kathleen.

'I want to understand. I really do,' said Avedissian.

Kathleen smiled and said, 'Let's stop talking politics shall we?'

Avedissian hesitated for a moment then agreed. He said, 'Tell me about your teaching. You are a teacher aren't you?'

Kathleen spoke readily of her job at the High School. She was obviously fond of children and her career had clearly been important to her, maybe even as important as his had been to him. Her enthusiasm made him wonder if she had yet faced the fact that it was probably over. But to point this out was something that Avedissian found he had no heart for. Instead he smiled and laughed at the tales of the High School and its pupils. 'You never married?' he asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

'No. You?'

'She died.'

'I'm sorry.'

Avedissian found himself taken unawares when Kathleen started asking him about his own life and career. Up until then she had been content to let Avedissian make all the running in their talks and he had come to accept that as the norm. Now he felt the need to become evasive and did not enjoy the feeling.

'Did you always want to be a doctor?'

Avedissian considered taking the easy way out and saying yes but did not. For some unaccountable reason he felt that he did not want to lie to Kathleen. 'No,’ he replied, hoping that the inquiry would stop there. 'That came later.'

'Later than what?'

Avedissian took a deep breath and said, 'I was in the army.'

Kathleen looked at him with surprise on her face. 'But not here?'

'Yes, here. I was an officer in the Paras.'

Kathleen looked away and they continued their walk. They had come to the rose bushes and she stopped to examine a giant yellow bloom before she asked, 'How did you like that?'

'I didn't,' replied Avedissian.

'So you became a doctor?'

'Yes.'

'Good for you.'

Avedissian was left with the feeling that he had learned nothing about Kathleen from the exchange. They returned to the house, unaware that Bryant had been watching them from a first floor window for some time.

Seeing Avedissian and the O'Neill woman walking together in the shrubbery had given Bryant an idea. Kathleen O'Neill had been his biggest stroke of luck since taking on the Irish problem and she could not have happened at a better time. Perhaps she could still be of use.

The triumph over the INLA at the very inception of a new IRA-INLA pact had made Bryant look good and it had vindicated his view that the fight should be taken to the enemy, not the other way round. Waiting to be hit first before retaliating was a schoolboy concept, a stupid public schoolboy concept. That was the trouble with the Service, he reckoned, it was full of old fools like Montrose who had never really left their bloody public schools. Still… Montrose was no longer a problem. If he could pull this operation off successfully he could circumvent the lot of them and rise to the very top, then they would have to do things his way. He asked to see Kathleen O'Neill.

'You wanted me,' said Kathleen O'Neill putting her head round Bryant's door.

'Come in. Sit down,' said Bryant in what Kathleen thought were much warmer tones than usual. 'It's about your new identity…'

‘There's a problem?'

'Not exactly,’ said Bryant, obviously stalling.

Then what?'

'I wondered how you would feel about helping us further?'

'I've told you all I can.'

Bryant raised his hand and said, 'Yes, I know, it's just that I've had an idea.'

'Go on.'

'You know just how important it is that we get the child back safely and without anyone knowing? Important for Ireland as much as anything?'

Kathleen nodded.

'Our people will need all the help they can get in bringing this off.'

'Where do I come in?'

'You know a lot of faces in the IRA. If you were on the spot it could be a tremendous help.'

'You mean I should go with the doctor and Captain Jarvis wherever it is they are going?'

'In a word, yes. The fact that you're a woman is also to our advantage.'

'How so?'

'A child travelling with a man and a woman is much more inconspicuous than a child travelling with two men,’ said Bryant.

Kathleen swithered and said, 'I'd like to know what the others think.'

'We can ask them.' Bryant picked up the phone and asked that Avedissian and Jarvis join them.

Avedissian thought that it was a good idea. Jarvis said merely that it made sense.

'Well?' asked Bryant.

'I agree,' said Kathleen.

'When is something going to happen?' asked Jarvis when the hubbub had died down.

'Almost immediately,' replied Bryant. 'We know roughly where the boy is. You, Jarvis, will be leaving tonight, the other two tomorrow afternoon.'

Jarvis asked where he would be going.

'The United States,’ said Bryant.

'How do I make contact with the team?' asked Jarvis.

'I will brief you when we are alone,’ replied Bryant. He turned to the others and said, The operation will be conducted on a need-to-know basis. No member will be told anything that he or she does not absolutely need to know. It's safer that way. You can't be betrayed by someone who doesn't even know who you are or what you're doing,’

'But…’ began Avedissian.

'When the time comes you will be contacted,’ said Bryant, discouraging any more questions about procedure.

'And if something goes wrong?' insisted Kathleen.

'You will be given a telephone number to call. Now you really must excuse me.’

Avedissian and Kathleen said goodbye to Paul Jarvis just after nine and came indoors to eat on their own. By mutual agreement they moved the table closer to the window where they could see the garden in the twilight of what had been a long summer's day. Avedissian found himself taking continual sidelong glances at Kathleen and was caught doing so on one occasion. 'Is anything wrong?' she asked.

'I was just thinking how well you had recovered from your injuries,’ replied Avedissian settling for the half-truth.

'Thanks to you,’ said Kathleen. 'I'm grateful.’

'I did very little,’ said Avedissian.

Kathleen walked across the room and Avedissian noticed that the stiffness had left her limbs. She exuded the kind of exciting sensuality that seemed to him to be peculiar to certain women in their early thirties when experience, personality and an understanding of men combine to endow them with an attractiveness that captivates men of their own age and can prove almost irresistible to boys on the verge of manhood. The Indian summer of Kathleen O'Neill, thought Avedissian.

'What are you thinking about?' asked Kathleen, returning to the table with wine glasses.

'I was wondering when you were last truly happy,’ replied Avedissian.

Kathleen looked surprised but did not fend off the question. 'I suppose it must be ten, maybe twelve years. I've had the occasional day, of course, but for a period of sustained happiness or contentment, which I assume you meant?'

Avedissian nodded.

'It is certainly all of that. Why do you ask?'

'I wanted to know.'

'Trying to find out if I have a conscience?'

'Maybe, I don't know. I just wanted to ask you.’

'I suppose, being a doctor, you sleep the sleep of the just every night with a conscience whiter than arctic snow?'

'I am a struck-off doctor. They say I murdered a child. My wife committed suicide in the aftermath.’

'My God,’ said Kathleen. 'I had no idea. How awful.’

'Perhaps I shouldn't have said that all at once. Your jibe about my conscience got through.'

'Will you tell me?'

Avedissian told Kathleen O'Neill of the past three years.

'So happiness is not a prominent feature in either of our lives,’ said Kathleen when he had finished.

Avedissian smiled and refilled their glasses. ‘To the future,’ he said, holding up his glass.

'To the future,’ replied Kathleen.

They had finished their meal and were drinking coffee when Bryant came into the room with some papers in his hand. 'Dr and Mrs George Farmer,’ he announced. 'Going on holiday to the States with their son David.’

'But who…?'

'David is the son of one of our people. You will meet him at the airport. He will fly out with you and enter the States on your passport then someone will take him from you and bring him back across the Atlantic. But, to all intents and purposes, Dr and Mrs Farmer will have entered the States with their son David. No one will be surprised when they leave with him.’

'Only it will be a different boy,’ said Kathleen.

Bryant nodded and said, 'Is there anything you would like before I say good-night?'

Avedissian, who had always replied no to this question before, said, 'Yes, yes there is. I'd like a bottle of Gordon's gin, a supply of Schweppes' tonic and one…’ He paused to look at Kathleen who nodded. 'No, two crystal glasses.’

'I'll see what I can do,’ said Bryant. 'Anything else?'

Kathleen shook her head. Avedissian said that there wasn't.

'How did you find out that the boy was in the United States?' Kathleen asked Bryant.

Bryant touched the side of his nose and said, 'Need to know… remember?' He left the room.

Five minutes later one of the staff entered with a tray carrying all that Avedissian had requested. Kathleen accepted her drink and said, 'What shall we drink to this time?'

'Let's just drink,’ said Avedissian.

In an hotel suite, less than five miles from where Avedissian and Kathleen sat with their drinks, Finbarr Kell raised a tumbler to his lips and took an angry gulp. 'Where is he, damn it?' he hissed, looking at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

'He should be here by now,’ said Nelligan unhelpfully. It only annoyed Kell more.

'I know he should be here by now!' he snapped. 'The plane landed two hours ago.’

Kell was approaching his irritable worst and it was at times like this that his disability rankled most. He wanted to pace up and down and vent his frustration through physical action, but instead, he had to wait in nail-biting inertia, trapped inside a legless torso.

The response to his insert in The Times had been a directive to send an agent to Amsterdam to receive further instructions and, to this end, he had activated a man with no previous record or history of sympathy with the Republican movement. He had activated the Tally Man.

To the world at large Malcolm Innes was a respectably dull accountant in his late thirties whose thinning hair and anonymous features had made him ideal for the purpose. Malcolm Innes was the man who lived up the street from everyone. Malcolm Innes was also the man who had left his brief-case in a public place on three separate occasions with devastating consequences. Malcolm Innes was the invisible man who, in the past, had come up behind five known traitors in the crowd and left them with an ice pick in the kidneys. Malcolm Innes was the Tally Man.

To Kell, at the moment, Innes was a link in a chain that was currently under strain for he was more than an hour late. His plans had allowed for a margin of ninety minutes at the most, for the Americans were due at eleven and he had to digest the information that Innes was bringing before they arrived.

As Kell could have predicted, the Americans had gagged on hearing the sum involved. They always preferred to deal in small sums at intervals rather than entrust control of large sums to the organisation itself, a constant bone of contention but one the IRA could do little about. If the Americans, who had insisted on crossing the Atlantic to discuss the present operation before making any commitment, arrived to find Kell without the facts at his fingertips it would give them the excuse they would be looking for to pull out. He would look like a bungling amateur and the Americans would take the first plane back. Kell threw back his glass and handed the empty to Nelligan. 'More,' he said.

As Nelligan refilled the glass a knock came at the door. Kell held up his hand and they both waited. A further three taps followed by another pause then two more.

‘Thank Christ,’ said Kell and Nelligan opened the door to admit Malcolm Innes.

Innes entered the room clutching his brief-case and wearing a harassed expression. He took off his glasses to wipe some drops of rain from them.

'Something's wrong?' said Kell anxiously.

Innes shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I just got stopped at Customs. I've never been stopped before but tonight of all nights I get the full treatment. They even took the lining out of my case.'

'They didn't have a reason to, did they?' asked Kell suspiciously. 'If I thought for one moment…'

'No, no,' Innes assured him. 'Unless you call ten cigars and a bottle of Advocaat a reason.'

Kell relaxed visibly. 'Bols,’ he said.

'It's the absolute truth, Mr Kell… Oh I see,' said Innes, unprepared for Kell's joke and sudden change of mood.

Kell checked his watch and said, 'We've got thirty minutes. Start talking.'

Nelligan handed Innes a drink and the man took a hasty gulp to wash down two indigestion tablets before starting to speak. 'I got into Schiphol on time and heard myself being paged on the public address system. I was directed by telephone to a particular taxi on the rank outside and the driver took me to a rendezvous about five miles from the airport. After about ten minutes

They were waiting to see if you were followed,' interrupted Kell.

'… a green Mercedes drew up alongside and a transceiver was passed in through the window of the cab. We conducted the conversation by phone.'

'Did you see who was in the Mercedes?' asked Kell.

'No, it had tinted windows.'

'But they could see you?'

'Yes.'

Kell smiled distantly and thought for a moment in silence before asking Innes to go on.

‘They want the ransom paid by credit transfer.'

'How?'

'An account is to be opened at this bank,' Innes handed Kell a slip of paper, 'and the money paid into it.'

'An account in whose name?' asked Kell.

'It doesn't matter but a confirmation password has to be agreed with the bank so that a check can be made that the money has been deposited.'

‘Then what?'

'A second password has to be agreed with the bank for the transfer of the money. When we have the child we give them the password and the money can be transferred into whatever account they please.'

'What's to stop us grabbing the brat and not giving them the password?' grinned Nelligan.

'I feel sure they have considered that possibility,’ said Innes coldly. They didn't strike me as being amateurs.'

‘But then neither am I,’ said Kell with a smile.

Innes continued, 'You are to have a man in Chicago within three days. He is to check in to Room 303 at the Stamford Hotel. It's been reserved.’

'Then what?'

'He will be contacted and taken to see the boy. The exchange is to take place within twenty-four hours after that.’

'Where?'

They will decide that.’

'Of course,’ said Kell softly as if something was amusing him.

They are calling the shots,’ said Innes.

'Of course they are,’ said Kell with an even broader smile. His eyes, magnified by the strong lenses of his glasses, blinked with the mesmerising regularity of a lizard as he considered what he had heard.

‘There will, of course, be the problem of getting the boy out of the country after the hand-over,’ said Innes.

Kell looked at him as if he were some kind of mental defective then said, 'Well, I'm sure our American friends can help there, don't you think?'

'If you say so, Mr Kell.’

At eleven precisely the coded knock came to the door again and three men were admitted to the room. There were handshakes all round and the three introduced themselves as Shelby, Bogroless and Roker. Kell, still holding a tumbler of whisky, offered the Americans a drink. Shelby, their leader, a short dark man wearing a grey suit and a yellow silk shirt that threatened to burst under the strain of his stomach, nodded to Kell's glass and said, I’ll have a drop of Irish, too.'

His assumption had been wrong. Kell turned to Nelligan and asked him to ring down for a bottle of Jamieson's. He raised his glass slightly in the direction of the American and said, 'Scotch.'

The American made a joke about Kell's taste in whisky and Kell pretended to share in the amusement for he was sizing up his guests. The request for Irish whiskey had been noted and the man classified by Kell as a Yankee Paddy, Kell's own derogatory term for Americans drawn to the romanticism of the idea of Old Ireland.

But it didn't matter what they were, only the money mattered. It was just a question of how best to deal with them. As the conversation continued it became clear that one of the others, Bogroless, fell into the same mould as Shelby. The third man, Roker, was not so easy to assess. He was not a Y.P. He was too quiet, too withdrawn, a bit like Innes really, a bit like an accountant. Chances were that's what he was. Kell decided that he was the one with the brains.

Shelby said, 'Commander, you have requested our co-operation in securing a great deal of money, an enormous sum of money in fact.'

'A free Ireland doesn't come cheap,' said Kell.

'You really believe that that is what it could mean?' asked Shelby.

Kell, adopting the rhetoric of the patriot, started selling the plan to the Americans. The longer he spoke the more he could see that he was convincing Shelby and Bogroless of the feasibility of the operation but he was worried about Roker. Roker had sat throughout with a complete lack of expression save for a cold, hard gaze that had never left Kell for a moment.

'Frankly, Commander, the sum of money involved is too large. Don't you have some other way of financing it?' asked Shelby.

'Twelve of our gallant lads went down in just such an attempt last Friday,' said Kell. 'Including a dear personal friend.'

'We heard,' Shelby sympathised. 'A tragedy, a tragedy.'

Bogroless nodded in agreement. Roker continued to watch Kell, apparently unmoved by what he had heard.

'I understood that it was INLA men who attempted the raids,' said Roker, speaking for the first time.

'Indeed it was,' said Kell. This operation is so important that we had decided to put aside our differences and work together. It's that big.'

Shelby said with an air of unease, 'Actually, Commander… it is just possible that we could raise such a sum but it would involve an all or nothing effort including a great deal of borrowing. Not to put too fine a point on it, it would bleed NORAID dry. If the operation failed there would never be any more…'

This will be the last operation for all of us,' said Kell.

That's what you have to convince us of,' said Shelby. 'Do you really believe that the British would pull out of Ireland in exchange for the boy?'

'Yes, I do.'

Roker interrupted. He had a cold featureless voice that matched his appearance. He said, 'Mr Kell, there is a school of thought that says that the British wouldn't stand for this and there would be a bloody civil war in Ireland instead of the triumph you suggest. What do you say to that?'

'I think that they are right,’ said Kell to everyone's obvious surprise. Even Roker permitted himself a raise of the eyebrows. Are you telling us that you would plunge Ireland into civil war deliberately?' he asked.

Kell shook his head slowly and smiled indulgently as if teaching a class of infants. 'No,' he said. 'A lot of people are missing the point. The British have covered the whole thing up. That works in our favour, don't you see? If the British agree to our terms then the boy could be returned to them without the press and the public ever knowing. They could save face as well as get their brat back and we all know how much that means to the British.'

The Americans saw the sense in what Kell was saying. Shelby said, 'You mean the world at large would never know that they had given in to blackmail?'

'Exactly,’ said Kell, as if a pupil had finally managed to get something right.

'What are the arrangements for the ransom?' asked Roker.

Kell told him.

'If we were to agree we would have to be involved at all stages and we would keep control of the money until we were completely satisfied,’ said Roker. 'We could work together,’ said Kell. 'Excuse us a moment, Commander,’ said Shelby. The three Americans moved to the adjoining room of the suite and talked in whispers while Kell, Nelligan and Innes waited.

'What was that about losing a dear friend in the INLA, Mr Kell?' whispered Nelligan quietly. 'Shut up,’ hissed Kell.

The Americans returned. Shelby stood in the middle of the floor flanked by Bogroless and Roker. 'We agree,’ said Shelby. 'We'll finance it.'

‘Then this calls for a celebration,’ said Kell. 'Nelligan! The glasses.'

It was decided that Roker would handle negotiations on behalf of NORAID and Innes would be sent to the States to represent the interests of the IRA. Kell suggested that Innes return with the Americans to their own hotel so that he and Roker could finalise details about the exchange.

‘To a free Ireland,’ proposed Shelby with the final toast of the evening. Kell smiled and raised his glass.

When the Americans had left, Nelligan asked if Kell wanted any more whisky. Kell shook his head and said, 'We've got work to do. I want to speak to Harrigan in England and then I want to see Reagan. But first, phone the Long House… find out if the woman has called.'

Avedissian found that he could not sleep. He tossed and turned for a while before getting up to look out at the garden. It was bathed in moonlight and pale shadow, like a scene from another planet where no man had ever trod. The flowers had lost their colour and the trees their true form to become abstracts in a dream. There was no sound.. save for a slight scraping sound, that came from be-hind him! He turned round and saw the handle of the door turn slowly.

Avedissian tip-toed quickly across the room to press himself to the wall beside the door and wait for it to open. His pulse rate was rising rapidly. As a shadowy figure entered the room Avedissian reached out his arm and circled it round the figure's neck in a head lock. What he touched was silky and soft and smelled sweetly of a perfume he recognised. 'Kathleen!' he exclaimed. He relaxed his grip and felt on the wall for the switch.

'No, don't put on the light.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't realise…'

'It was my fault. It was a silly thing to do.'

'Are you all right? Did I hurt you?' whispered Avedissian, still holding her shoulders.

'I'm fine. I just feel stupid that's all.'

'But why? Why did you…?'

Kathleen looked up at Avedissian so that he could see her face in the moonlight coming from the window. 'It's silly. I couldn't sleep. I thought we might talk, then I realised that you would probably be sleeping so I thought I would look in on you quietly to see.'

Avedissian smiled in the darkness and told her that he hadn't been able to sleep either. He had been looking out of the window.

'May I join you?'

'Of course.'

'It's peaceful,' murmured Kathleen.

'Just what I was thinking,’ agreed Avedissian. 'But when there is nothing to distract you all your past mistakes return to haunt you.

‘The accusation of silence,’ said Kathleen.

'But now we each have a confessor,’ said Avedissian.

Kathleen smiled and pointed to a cat that was stealing across the lawn in pursuit of some unseen prey. They paused in their conversation to watch it then, when it had disappeared into the bushes, Kathleen said, 'Me first?'

'If you like.’

'I wouldn't know where to begin, "Father", for I am guilty of so many things. I feel sometimes as if I have lived my entire life as a victim of circumstance. A willing victim for I did nothing to change it.’

'Does that make you guilty of anything?' asked Avedissian.

'I think so. I think if you see harm being done and do nothing to prevent it it's almost as bad as doing it yourself, perhaps even worse because then you can pretend that you're entirely innocent.’

'Are you talking about your brother?' asked Avedissian.

'I suppose so. Don't get me wrong, I'm for a free Ireland as much as he ever was. I want to see an end to all the injustices of the North and I want to see the British out. It's just that I lack conviction when it comes to the crunch.’

'I don't understand.’

'When Martin came to me, as he always did when he needed someone, I was always there, but not because, as he imagined, I shared his enthusiasm for what he was doing but simply because he was my brother and I loved him.'

'That doesn't sound so bad to me,’ said Avedissian.

'But it was. Don't you see? I let him think that I agreed with him that there was no other way to achieve our ends, because my head told me that he was right, and still does. It's just that my heart always told me that it was wrong and it was a dreadful sin. I never told him that. I never tried to convince him that I might have been right. I just opted out and played the dutiful sister.'

'You are doing something positive now,' said Avedissian.

'I'm just a victim of circumstance again.'

'You needn't have agreed to come along,' Avedissian pointed out.

Kathleen looked at Avedissian and smiled distantly. She said, 'You are a nice man, Avedissian. What kind of a name is that anyway?'

'Armenian grandfather,' replied Avedissian.

'And what sins are you guilty of?' asked Kathleen.

Avedissian shrugged. 'Arrogance when I'm winning, weakness when I'm losing.’

'You sound like the human race,’ said Kathleen.

'It's just a question of degree.'

Kathleen shivered and Avedissian put his arm round her. He did it unsurely and there was an instant when she stiffened, but it passed. She relaxed and laid her head against his chest. 'It's been a long time since anyone held me,’ she said.

I’m sorry. That shouldn't be.'

'Do you find me attractive?' Kathleen asked, sounding vulnerable.

'More than attractive. You’re beautiful.’

'I'm thirty-four years old.’

Avedissian kissed her hair and repeated what he had said.

'You see, there has been no one to tell me that for such a long time.’ Kathleen looked up and Avedissian brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her gently and feeling her lips part, warm and moist.

Kathleen drew away slightly and put her hands against Avedissian's chest. 'I'm going back to my room now,’ she whispered. 'Thank you for talking to me.’

Avedissian smiled and whispered, 'Good-night, Kathleen O'Neill.’

He watched the door close and turned again to have a last look at the garden before returning to bed. It had started to rain, a few spots at first, then steadily. He got into bed and listened to the sound of the drops striking the leaves. Somewhere in the night an owl hooted but Avedissian felt warm and comfortable and out of its reach.