corruption to the police. District Inspector Carrick is on the case, is he not?'
'Yes. He's looking into the bank. He knows the manager.'
'Then leave it to him.'
'Yes, sir.' Leave it to the man who isn't allowed to look at Jenkins's file. Perfect. 'Say, Major, you wouldn't happen to be a member of the Royal Black Knights of the British Commonwealth, would you?'
'And if I were?' Cosgrove growled.
'Nothing, just curious. I'd never heard of them before, and they seem to be everywhere in this case.'
'It so happens I am proud to be a member. I was invited to join several years ago, when I was originally posted here. I was inducted at Brownlow House.'
'The headquarters of the society. I've been there. Not a member myself, though.'
'I should say-' Cosgrove stopped himself. 'Never mind. Does this have anything to do with what we are discussing?'
'No, sir.' I decided it was time to clam up.
'Any luck tracking the Germans, Major?' Slaine asked, helpfully filling in the silence.
'None. We did find two rubber rafts hidden among the weeds at the edge of Lough Neagh. They had been sunk in shallow water. A few footprints in the mud, nothing else. Up the coast, by Bangor, we've had reports of three strangers with knapsacks boarding a train to Belfast. Their trousers and shoes were wet, but it had been raining. No one thought much of it at the time but a conductor remembered when the police asked about suspicious strangers. They could be from the U-boat or they could be bird-watchers out for a holiday. No trace of them since.'
'Any idea of what the target might be? If all these events are related, it adds up to a major operation. Pulling off the arms theft, coordinating with Germans, it had to be carefully planned in advance,' I said. 'What are they after?'
'It almost doesn't matter what the target is,' Cosgrove said. 'That's the devil of it. There are so many places to strike, they can have their pick. There are U.S. Army convoys on most main roads every day. Units in the field on maneuvers. RAF bases. The Belfast shipyards. Seaplane bases on the west coast. Give me one hundred well-armed men and I could raise havoc long before a sufficient force was dispatched to stop me. Then I'd fall back into the hills and dare them to give chase.'
'And all the while, the world cheers on the brave lads striking a blow for freedom. The American Irish ponder their loyalties, and the Republicans in the south begin to act on theirs. Soon we have a crisis in the alliance between the United States and Great Britain,' Slaine said.
'That may be the best-case scenario. Imagine if de Valera is pressured into aiding the IRA in the north, even clandestinely? Great Britain could not stand for it. There would be war again across all of Ireland. It would be terrible for the Irish, and possibly delay the Allies' invasion of the continent, giving the Nazis another year to prepare their defenses. Unthinkable.'
A telephone rang. One of the black ones. I wondered who called on the red phone.
'Yes' was all Cosgrove said. He listened for a minute and then hung up. 'We've intercepted a dispatch-don't bother asking how- that gives the code name for the German agents landing in Northern Ireland. Operation Sea Eagle II. The Nazis are absolute dolts when it comes to code names; there was an Operation Sea Eagle two years ago, landing agents by seaplane in the Republic. Obviously Sea Eagle II is more of the same but here in the north.'
'Any indication of the target?' Slaine asked.
'None. But another team is expected to be dropped in tonight. We've no idea where. The RAF will have their night fighters up but it's impossible to cover every location. They could use another seaplane or they could make a parachute drop. If they fly low and evade our radar, they stand a good chance of getting in and out.'
'If we could capture them, we might discover the target,' I said.
'We have a surfeit of ifs, young man, and very few facts. If going through the files will help you with the latter, by all means, get to it. I've arranged for you to view the files on the three individuals you requested, and I also had one put together noting any unsolved killings during the last month, in case any of those incidents are related.'
'LEAVE YOUR COAT and jacket in this outer room, sir,' said a Royal Marine private, his hand resting on his sidearm as if I might respond violently to the suggestion. He pointed to a coat stand and I hung up my trench coat and my tanker's jacket.
'Your belt and weapon then empty your pockets onto this table,' he said.
I handed him my web belt and. 45, and dumped out a few coins and chewing gum onto the table. I took a pen from my shirt pocket and left it as well, along with my ID and a few pound notes.
'Is that everything, sir? You are not permitted to bring anything in with you or anything out.' He had escorted me from Cosgrove's office and through another metal doorway. This one led to a small antechamber, where I was relieved of about everything except my shoelaces. 'No writing implements of any kind. No paper or any item on which you could take notes. Is that understood, sir?'
'Nothing up my sleeve,' I said, pushing up my shirtsleeves.
'Is that understood, sir?'
'Understood, Private. Just kidding around.'
'The major doesn't appreciate kidding, sir.'
'Tell me about it. What next?'
'I will take you into the file room. You will find a table with the files you requested. You may sit and read. You may not get up from your seat. When you are done, tell the guard behind the desk. He will summon me, and I will escort you out. You will be searched. Is that understood, sir?' He spoke in a monotone that told me he'd given this speech many times before.
'Sure. Does Subaltern O'Brien conduct the search?'
'Quite the kidder you are, sir. Follow me.'
He unlocked the inner door. Straight ahead of me was a table and one chair. Four file folders sat in a row in front of the chair. To the right was a counter behind steel bars. Beyond the counter were rows of file cabinets, single lightblubs dangling from the ceiling every couple of yards. There were hundreds of file cabinets, and I couldn't see how far the rows extended around the corner. Seated behind the counter and behind the bars was another Royal Marine. Or was I the one behind the bars? As my escort shut the door, I saw there was no knob on my side. Basically, I was in a cell.
'How long do you have to stay down here?' I hollered to the marine on the other side of the bars.
'Doesn't matter, sir. Please read your files and inform me when you are done.'
I decided I'd be testy too if I had to spend more than an hour down here. Cold concrete floors, army green paint job, and black iron bars. What a cheery place to work.
I grabbed the first file. Jenkins, Andrew. A strip of blue tape across the top and the word RESTRICTED in bright yellow. Beneath that was a memo stapled to the file folder. It said the file was not to leave the file room, and that access was restricted to MI-5 personnel. I felt honored.
Jenkins's file contained a section on his personal history. Evidently the Jenkins clan had lived in Armagh for generations, and his grandfather had started the family business. During the War of Independence, Andrew's father had targeted the Catholic competition, creating opportunity out of chaos. After the partition, the more prosperous Catholic farmers had been burned out, and the only other vegetable wholesaler was dead. Andrew Jenkins inherited a thriving business and the thanks of the Protestant farmers who had divided the spoils. Not very pleasant or too surprising.
Another section dealt with his association with the Red Hand. Each page was headed by dates. The first was 1925-1929. He had joined as a young boy after the partition, and enthusiastically took part in suppressing the Catholic minority. He was a suspect in the murder of a Catholic whose body was found beaten to a pulp in 1928. No arrest, lack of evidence. Another run-in with the law in 1930 over the shooting of an IRA suspect who had turned out to be a businessman from south of the border with no known IRA links. Again, no witnesses, no evidence, no arrest. By 1938, Andrew Jenkins was a well-respected businessman himself, and commander of the Red Hand. He had risen within the ranks through a combination of brutality and the ability to evade the law. The RUC did arrest some of the Red Hand mob when the killings were too public and distasteful even for them. As I read the file, I noticed some of those arrested had been Jenkins's competition within the Red Hand. Like his father before him, he
