until, at precisely seven o'clock, a black Ford Granada arrived and stopped at the road-end. Avedissian got in and did not look back as the car headed smoothly away from the mountains. The driver was in uniform but not military. Avedissian guessed at some kind of Civil Service rig. He asked the obvious question and was told, 'London, sir.' The man did not elaborate.
It was late when Avedissian followed the driver up the steps of an old Victorian building in South London. Once inside he was faced with more steps to climb until, on the third floor, he was shown into a small room and asked to wait. Sarah Milek, the woman he had first met in Cambridge, came in and smiled. 'Nice to see you again. How was Wales?' she asked.
'Wet.'
'But not today, surely?'
'Not today,' agreed Avedissian. The sun had come out now it was all over.
'Mr Bryant will be with you in a moment.'
Avedissian felt less than enthusiastic on hearing that it was Bryant he would be seeing but he remained impassive. Sarah Milek left the room leaving him with only a tall potted plant for company. Avedissian got up and looked out of the grimy window but there was nothing to see. The window faced the back of the building and all was in darkness save for a single neon sign on the ground floor of the building across the lane. It said, 'Staplex Bindings trade entrance'.
Bryant came into the room and stared at Avedissian long and hard. He said, 'You look less of a dosser than the last time I saw you.'
'You're too kind,' said Avedissian acidly.
'And we've got a deal more spirit, have we?' murmured Bryant. 'Sit down.'
Avedissian sat and waited while Bryant took out a large handkerchief and blew hard into it.
'You're off to Belfast in the morning,' said Bryant.
The colour drained from Avedissian's face. 'You never said anything about my job being in Ireland,’ he accused.
'I never said anything about your job being anywhere, as far as I remember,' said Bryant quietly. But he was interested in Avedissian's reaction. 'So the prospect of the Emerald Isle does not appeal?'
'I don't want to go back there,' Avedissian agreed.
Bryant leaned towards him and said, 'Why not, Avedissian? What happened to you in that snake pit?'
'I just don't want to go back there. I'm an ex-Para. It would be stupid to go back.'
Bryant smiled and said, 'Avedissian, if I had my way they would tow the bloody place out into the Atlantic and sink it without trace, but we're stuck with it. You're going. If it's any consolation your 'job' as you call it isn't there. You're going to a Belfast Hospital for training.'
'Why?'
'It's two years since you practised last. You need it. From tomorrow you have been appointed registrar in the hospital's casualty department. It's a busy place and we expect it to get busier now that that little mutant bastard Kell has control of the IRA.'
Avedissian looked puzzled and Bryant told him about The Bairn having taken over from Kevin O'Donnell.
'It's a long time since I worked in an Accident and Emergency Unit,' said Avedissian.
That's why you're going to Belfast. You'll see more medicine in a week in Belfast than you would in a year anywhere else.'
'What about the register problem?'
Bryant handed Avedissian a sheaf of papers. 'Your new identity.'
Avedissian looked through them and saw that he had become Dr Roger Gillibrand.
FOUR
A car came to Cladeen in the morning. O’Neill had not expected anyone to come that soon but Liam Drummond, the driver, said that The Bairn wanted to see him at the Long House. Kathleen reminded him of his promise and waved as the car pitched and rolled up the track from the cottage to join the main road to Belfast. O'Neill heard the exhaust pipe hit the ground and was aware of stones flying from the rear wheels as Drummond's impatience to be away made him put his foot down too soon. O'Neill looked sideways at the man and saw that he seemed agitated. 'What's the matter?' he asked.
Drummond licked his lips nervously and pretended to concentrate on the road.
'Out with it, man,' O'Neill insisted.
‘The Bairn has been finding out who shopped you and O'Donnell to the British.'
'So?'
'It's the way he's been going about it.'
'Well, go on,' prompted O'Neill beginning to lose patience.
'He has been taking the knees from anyone he suspects and who can't prove they're innocent!'
O'Neill's insides turned over. Were his worst fears being realised? 'I can't believe that Finbarr…' he started to say but Drummond interrupted him.
'It's true, I'm telling you. He's guessing blindly and capping anyone he thinks is a possible. By the time he's finished there'll be no one over four feet tall in Belfast!'
'You've said enough!' said O'Neill harshly but only because rank obliged him to. Drummond was a good man. There had to be a deal of truth in what he said. They changed cars twice, the last time to a news van which took them to the Long House.
Kell seemed triumphant when they got there and was smiling when O'Neill announced his arrival.
'I've found him!' said Kell.
'Found who, Finbarr?'
‘The bastard who betrayed you and O'Donnell.'
O'Neill congratulated him and asked who it was. He did not recognise the name.
'Mary Tynan's boy,' said Kell. 'He overheard O'Donnell and his mother talking about the meeting and what safe house you were going to use. He decided to sell you.'
'Bastard,' said O'Neill. 'How did you find out?'
'A process of elimination,' said Kell smugly. There were a limited number of people who knew about the meeting. We questioned all of them.'
'Why did he do it?'
'You can ask him. He's downstairs. In fact, you can carry out the sentence.'
O'Neill descended to the sub-basement of the building accompanied by two others. 'He's in here,' said one of them opening up a heavy wooden door. The room was lit by a single bulkhead lamp encased in a wire screen that dripped with cobwebs.
Lying in the corner, on a dirty camp bed and clad only in his underpants, was a boy of about twenty. His right knee-cap had been shot off leaving a bloody mess of bone and gristle. The room stank of fear and excrement.
O'Neill approached the bed and looked down at the whimpering figure. The boy's head was turning rapidly from side to side and his lips were moving incessantly. 'Oh Mammy… Oh Daddy…' he repeated without pausing.
O'Neill felt sick at the sight. 'Shut up!' he commanded but the boy appeared not to notice and continued with his chant, 'Oh Mammy.. Oh Daddy…'
'I said shut up!' snapped O'Neill and the noise stopped. 'Why did you betray us?' he asked.
The noise from the boy's stomach said that he had lost control of his bowels again.
'Answer me!' O'Neill insisted.
'Money… money. It was for money,' blubbered the boy, trying desperately to avert O'Neill's anger.
'How much?'
Silence.
'How much?' O'Neill brought his face close to the boy's.
‘Two hundred pounds.'
