The Puma landed on the base square and without shutting down the engines, dropped the raiding party and then accelerated towards the thirty-foot-high security fencing before pulling up into a steep climb away from the base.
The PIRA leader wasn’t at home and his family couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t, give any information as to his whereabouts. Reece brought back some documents found hidden behind a box in the garage, which provided little intelligence.
The whole time Reece had been in Crossmaglen he was escorted by an eight-man army patrol providing protective cover against any attack. On the way back to the base, an elderly lady passing him whispered under her breath, ‘Good morning, Sergeant, take care.’
She kept walking with her head down. Reece hadn’t replied; he knew she risked death if seen talking to him. But it had felt good to realise that there were decent people here in a town known for its bitterness and hatred of the security forces.
Although the search hadn’t garnered the information they needed, Reece knew Sean Costello had a reputation for death – he’d been linked to at least twenty murders and Reece had interviewed him before.
Sat across the table from him was a fellow Branch Officer in the Gough Barracks holding centre. The other officer had asked Costello what he would do if they met in Costello’s local pub: would he buy him a pint? Costello said nothing but reached for a box of matches on the table and taking one out he broke it in half while looking the officer in the eye. The SB man smiled and took out a match from the same box, struck it, and placing the flame in the box, ignited the rest while never once taking his eyes off Costello and said, ‘Well, this is what I’ll do to you if you ever come across my path.’
It was war, and everyone knew the endgame if caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Big boy’s rules. That was the name of the game.
Unfortunately for Reece, they couldn’t make anything stick and Costello had walked free. The biggest regret of his career was that he’d never managed to get Costello off the streets and behind bars.
Unlike the Puma journey on that winter day, this time Reece found himself looking out at green fields and small towns and villages. They landed in a secure corner at the airport where a car waited to take Reece to the SG9 office. As he walked to the car, Reece noticed a shaft of sunlight part the clouds and light up the tarmac in front of him. The Gods shining down, he thought, but bringing good news or bad? That was the question.
Chapter Six
It was only the second time that Reece had been in this office. The first had been when he’d been invited to join the Department. On that occasion, he’d sat in front of the desk as Broad walked him through his personal file. Sir Ian Fraser had sat quietly watching Reece and only spoke to explain why SG9 had been created, his own connection to it as head of MI6, and how Reece could help by bringing his valuable experience in combating terrorism. Reece didn’t need much convincing. He’d been in a rut, with rare skills not needed in Civi Street. His previous life, he thought, had been but a preparation for just such a job. His boys had grown up and left home and there was no one special in his life. Nothing to hold him back. His answer was where do I sign?
That was two years ago.
Wilson stood as Reece came around the table.
‘Well, Tom, this is a surprise, but a nice one. How are you?’
‘Good, Dave. It’s been awhile.’
‘A few years. It’s good to see you.’
Sir Ian interrupted, ‘All this is very nice, gentlemen, but we have work to do. Mr Reece, please take a seat. I’ll let the ACC explain the urgency and why we had to get you here as soon as possible.’
Reece nodded his recognition of Sir Ian and in turn, Jim Broad, before sitting down next to Broad facing Tom Wilson.
‘It’s all your fault, Reece.’ He smiled. ‘If you hadn’t been such a good agent handler, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.’
Reece returned the smile with a raised eyebrow, showing his confusion.
‘OK, Tom, what have I done now?’
‘Do you remember an agent: code name Mike?’
‘Yes, a damn good agent.’
Reece thought back to the first time he’d seen Mary McAuley.
Just another ordinary day on the surveillance of PIRA targets in and around Newry town twelve miles from the border with the Irish Republic and a few steps from the Bandit Country of South Armagh.
She was coming out of the house of one of his targets. Her long black hair blowing in the slight breeze. She walked with her head up. As she moved, she reminded Reece of a cat stalking its prey: quiet and with concentration in every step.
Reece had decided to follow her, telling the rest of the team on the secure radio network to stick with the original target.
Reece smiled as he remembered his real reason for wanting to follow the woman. She was a lot better looking than the original target.
Looking at the men around the table, Reece sensed the urgency of the meeting.
‘What’s happened to her? Is she OK?’
Wilson opened the file in front of him and began.
‘Over the past few months, our agents, and technical devices in Northern Ireland have been producing information that a dissident Republican terrorist group, believed to be the Real IRA, is planning something big.’
Technical devices meant bugs…listening devices. They were
