that. 'I don't want her coming here. It's too risky.'
'I heard that there's a Brit plant in the street?'
‘There was. Arm got caught in a hawser winch at the docks. Tore him in half.' Kell smiled again.
'What's to happen to me?' asked O'Neill.
‘The cottage at Cladeen. It will be safe there and your sister can look after you.'
‘Thanks.'
'Anything for my men… Martin.'
The doctor changed the dressing on O'Neill's stump in the morning and seemed optimistic that the risk of infection had passed. He advised waiting another day at the Long House but O'Neill was adamant that he be taken to Cladeen and in the end the doctor agreed. O'Neill travelled in one of the news vans, an uncomfortable journey that lasted three hours, but the thought of fresh air and quiet countryside sustained him.
There was a chill in the evening air when they arrived at the loughside cottage and Neill saw smoke rise from the chimney as they turned off the road to negotiate the narrow track leading to the water's edge. The van started to lurch on the rough surface and O'Neill stopped it, saying that he would rather walk, it would be easier on his arm. He watched while the driver reversed the van up the track, and nodded goodbye before continuing on down to the cottage where Kathleen was waiting. She came to meet him.
'So you came back then?'
'Most of me,’ said O'Neill, nodding to his left shoulder.
Tears started to run down Kathleen O'Neill's face as she looked at O'Neill's bandaged stump.
'Don't,’ said O'Neill softly.
Kathleen came towards him and put her head on his chest. 'I knew it would come to this,’ she said. 'I always knew.'
They went inside the house and O'Neill sat down while Kathleen made tea. 'Or would you like something stronger?' she asked.
‘Tea will be fine.'
As O'Neill sipped his tea Kathleen looked at him and said, 'It's going to be over now, isn't it?'
O'Neill shrugged and said, 'You don't retire from the organisation, you know that. They don't give you an electric toaster and a Teasmade and wish you well with the roses. It's a commitment for life, or until we win freedom.'
'A political commitment! I'm just saying that it's time you left the field, especially now that Kell is in charge.'
'You know then?'
'All Belfast knows.’
'I'm tired,’ said O'Neill.
'Rest then. We'll talk later.'
The subject of O'Neill's 'retirement' came up again as he and Kathleen walked by the lough on the following evening.
'Have you thought about what I said?' asked Kathleen.
O'Neill said that he had.
'Well then?'
'There's something I have to do.'
'Oh there's always going to be something you have to do!' said Kathleen angrily. 'What kind of a life do you think this is? Do you think I enjoy being Martin O'Neill's sister? Do you think I enjoy having soldiers storm into my house whenever they feel like it? Do you think I enjoyed losing every boyfriend I ever had because of who I was? Do you? Do you think I enjoy having parents whisper behind my back and wonder just what kind of woman is teaching their children?'
O'Neill was taken aback at the outburst. 'I thought you understood,’ he said weakly.
Kathleen looked at O'Neill holding the stump of his arm and relented. 'Oh I do,’ she conceded. 'But enough is enough. You can't go on like this. I can't go on like this. You're crip…'
'Crippled,’ said O'Neill, completing the word.
'Yes, crippled,’ said Kathleen quietly. 'You've done your bit. Call it a day.'
'Perhaps you're right,’ said O'Neill.
'Do you mean that?'
'I really do have one more thing to do. It was O'Donnell's last order to me. I promised him just as I am promising you.'
'What was it?'
'You know better than that.’
O'Neill withdrew his arm from the bedclothes and looked at his watch, now painfully aware that it was on his right wrist. He angled it so that it caught the moonlight coming in through the bedroom window. It was three in the morning and he could not sleep for there was too much on his mind. Uppermost was the problem of the safe in the Long House and how he was going to be able to get the envelope from it. He got up quietly and crossed to the window to look out at the waters of the lough. Would the contents of the envelope help him to understand the nature of the order? he wondered. Please God that they would for he was by no means confident that he could carry out such an order without understanding the reason behind it.
There would have to be a reason, a good reason, for O'Neill had never been very good at assuming the good intentions of his superiors. In fact, he had discovered some years before that he possessed entirely the wrong mentality for military life of any sort. He had discovered within himself an inherent weakness that had made him uneasy in the field ever since. As he stood in the pale grey moonlight he thought back to that day, the day of the ambush.
O'Neill and six others had been returning to their farmhouse hideout after an operation near the border and, as always when they returned, they were approaching with caution in case an ambush had been laid for them.
O'Neill had ordered the others to wait while he himself had gone on alone to investigate. As he had lain in the grass watching the huddle of cottages a child had run out into the yard. It had waddled across the dirt with its nose running and a full nappy impeding its knock-kneed gait. O'Neill had waited for its mother to come out and get it but she had not. Instead she had called to it from inside the house and there had been fear in her voice. Fear that had warned O'Neill that she was not alone.
Quite suddenly a British Paratroops officer had come out from the cottage and sprinted over to the child to sweep it up into his arms. He was turning to take it back to its mother when he saw O'Neill pointing the gun at him and froze in his tracks. Their eyes met as O'Neill prepared to fire but did not.
Thinking that O'Neill's reluctance had to do with the child he was holding and, rather than use it as a shield, the officer had put it down gently and shooed it away from him. He had then stood up to face death. The simple gesture of humanity had not been lost on O'Neill. He had lowered the weapon and indicated with the muzzle that the officer should finish what he had started. He had seen the look of puzzlement in the man's eyes and then the slight nod as he picked up the child again and disappeared into the house. O'Neill had returned to tell his group that the hideout had been blown. They could not use it any longer. Humanity or weakness? The question had remained unanswered within O'Neill all these years.
THREE
On Saturday morning Avedissian sat in the lobby of the Brecon Inn feeling distinctly ill-at-ease. The feeling was born of not really knowing why he was there or, indeed, who or what he was waiting for. He had just had to say, 'Someone will be coming to meet me,' for the third time to a solicitous member of the staff. But who would it be? Sarah Milek? Sir Michael? Someone new?
At five minutes past ten a taxi pulled up outside and the driver came in. He said something to the desk clerk and Avedissian knew from the way that they looked in his direction that he must be the subject of their conversation. The driver came towards him and said, 'Mr Avedissian?' Avedissian nodded and they left.
The journey took about half an hour but Avedissian was surprised when the driver said, 'Here we are.
