Bandit Country. Peter Corrigan
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looks, but no one said a word.
A soldier stopped in front of Finn and Early. He had a corporal’s stripes on his arm.
‘Hello, Eugene, me old mucker,’ he said brightly. ‘How’s things, then?’
Finn looked him in the eye. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Brit.’
The corporal grinned, his teeth bright in his darkly camouflaged face. ‘Who’s your friend? Any ID, mate?’
He was addressing Early. The SAS man tensed, then said clearly: ‘Fuck off, you Brit bastard. Why can’t you leave us alone?’
The soldier’s grin vanished.
‘That’s not very polite, Paddy.’
‘My name’s not Paddy.’
‘Give me some ID now, you fucking mick,’ the corporal snarled.
Early produced his fake ID, a driver’s licence issued in Coleraine. The corporal looked it over, then stared closely at him.
‘You’re a long way from home, Paddy.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
The soldier nodded at Finn. ‘I’d keep better company if I were you.’
‘I’ll keep the company I fucking well choose to. This is my country, not yours.’
‘Have it your own way, arsehole. Outside now – and you too, Eugene. We don’t want your friend getting lonely.’
Finn looked weary. ‘Why don’t you just drop it?’
The corporal gestured with the muzzle of his SA-80. ‘Fucking outside – now. You can get there on your own two feet or you can be carried out – it’s your choice.’
For once, Early was unsure what his reaction should be. He hesitated, but Finn gripped his arm again.
‘Let’s get it over with. Sure, all this wee shite wants it to put the boot in, and there’s no point in wrecking Brendan’s bar.’
‘Don’t you worry about my bar, Eugene,’ Brendan called out. ‘I’ll claim the fucking lot back in compensation.’
But Finn and Early trooped out unresisting into the night. Army vehicles were parked there, their headlights blindingly bright. A hand shoved Early in the small of his back.
‘In the fucking wagon, mick.’
Someone tripped him and his palms went down on the tarmac. A boot collided with his backside, sending him sprawling again. He felt the first stirrings of real anger. These pricks would certainly win no hearts and minds in this town.
He was pushed and shoved into the dark interior of an armoured Landrover. He heard Finn shouting, the sound of blows, and was dimly aware that people were pouring out of the pub into the square. There was a ragged surf of shouting, the beginnings of a mob. Then the metal door of the Landrover was clanged shut behind him.
A light flicked on. Sitting in the vehicle grinning at him was Cordwain.
‘Well well, John,’ Cordwain said. ‘We meet again.’
They were not alone in the back of the Landrover. A third man sat there on one of the narrow seats in an SAS-pattern combat smock. He looked young, pink-cheeked, and he stared at Early with obvious fascination.
Cordwain, as always, was breezy and confident. He helped Early off the floor. Outside there was the sound of people screaming and yelling. Stones rebounded off the armoured sides of the vehicle and it swayed at bodies pushed against it. Cordwain tapped the partition that divided the driver’s section from the back, for all the world like a millionaire signalling to his chauffeur. The engine roared into life and the vehicle began reversing.
‘Sounds as though we’ve stirred up a bit of trouble,’ Cordwain said. ‘But that’s all for the best.’
‘Who are this lot?’ Early asked. ‘Greenjackets?’
‘Yes. They’ve been here for four months, and they’ve lost four men.’
‘Well, they’re fucking heavy-handed.’
‘They were meant to be. I’m trying to give you a bit of street cred in the Republican community. Also, we need to talk.’
Early looked at the third occupant of the Landrover. The vehicle was lurching, starting and stopping. The shouting outside continued.
‘Who is this, then?’
‘Lieutenant Charles Boyd, Ulster Troop,’ the young man said. He had a public-school accent and didn’t look old enough to grow a beard, but his eyes were cold and eager. They reminded Early of Eugene Finn’s. There was no humour in them.
‘So you’re my back-up,’ Early said. ‘Hooray.’
Boyd frowned but Cordwain cut short any riposte.
‘Charles here is one of the best young officers we’ve got,’ he said. ‘You may have heard of the incident in Tyrone a few days ago. Textbook stuff. Now you and he are going to do the same thing to the South Armagh Brigade.’
‘The Armagh lot is a different kettle of fish. Since that fiasco at Loughgall in ’87 they’re tighter-knit than ever.’
‘Oh, we know. But you seem to have started out on the right foot, becoming buddies with the biggest player in the area. My congratulations, John. You’ve been here less than a day and already you’re rubbing shoulders with the head honcho.’
‘Let’s cut the crap, James. I can’t sit in here in the middle of a riot all night. Give me the gen.’
‘All right. The situation is as follows. I have most of the Group in Bessbrook at the moment, and 14 Company’s people have covert OPs going in tonight. The riot is their cover. We’ll search a few houses, insert the teams in the confusion – the usual thing.’
‘How did you know I’d be in the bar?’ Early interrupted.
‘Hell, John, you should know better than that. You’ve been tailed ever since you got on the bus in Armagh.’
Early felt slightly annoyed with himself, for he had not noticed.
‘We’ll have the bar, Finn’s house and McLaughlin’s house all covered. Charles’s boys will be looking after you. We’ll use the old dead letterbox system for messages. Out beyond the centre beyond the town. You go out on the Castleblaney road, past the sports ground, and there will be an old milk churn in the ditch on the left-hand side. We site vehicle checkpoints there all the time. Leave your first comms there. We’ll get word to you where the second will be. You should be able to go for a walk now and again – it’s only a ten-minute stroll. In a place this small, we can’t have the stuff that works in Belfast. Do you want a panic button installed? We could get it in your room tonight.’
Early shook his head. ‘I want you to keep your distance as much as possible. These guys are nervous as cats already.’
‘Have it your way, then. We’ve fibre optics, laser microphones, the whole heap, but you’ve got bugger-all but your wits and that peashooter you carry.’
‘Suits me. Now I think it’s time I was on my way, don’t you?’
Cordwain listened to the commotion outside. It showed no signs of abating. ‘Yes. There is one more thing though: we have to make it all look convincing. Nothing personal, John.’
Early cursed. ‘Get on with it, then.’
Boyd punched him on the eye once, twice, three times. Early remained still, though the third punch produced a stifled groan from his lips.
‘Lie down on the floor,’