'I had no idea. I am not an active member. I travel too much and I can only attend meetings sporadically. But membership is useful for staying in touch with that stratum of Ulster society.'
'Which stratum is that?'
'Those Unionists who are not bomb throwers. They want to maintain their connection with Great Britain but at the same time they wish for a stable society here, for all.'
'Like the banker, McBurney,' I said.
'Exactly. Good man, McBurney.'
'He actually employs a Catholic. The bank janitor.'
'Things won't change overnight, Boyle. Hiring one is better than killing one, I say. Don't you agree?'
I didn't answer. I raised my glass, thought of a few Irish toasts, then thought better of it and downed half the wine.
'I may see McBurney tomorrow evening at Brownlow House, if I can get away. Some sort of event honoring members from the American lodges. I shall ask him about your suspicions.'
'I hope you have better luck than I did.'
'So were the files a waste of time, Billy?' Slaine asked.
'No, I got to see a nice picture of you. They brought in the surveillance photo of your meeting with Jenkins. Do you document all your contacts like that?'
'Yes. It's part of our record keeping. It comes in handy if we're building a case file. And photographs can be used in other ways if the informant ceases to be cooperative.'
'Blackmail?'
'Don't be melodramatic, Boyle!' Cosgrove said. 'Once an informant betrays his organization, we need to keep him on a tight leash. He needs to know if he tries to run, we will show the photographs to those who will be interested. It's all part of the game. They come to us in the first place, after all.'
The soup arrived. It was potato and leek, steaming hot, and very good.
'How did Jenkins become your informant?'
'Ancient history, Billy. The soup is good, isn't it?'
'So he's been one a long time?'
'Boyle, it is bad form to discuss informants, even here in the officers' mess. One never knows,' Cosgrove said, glancing at a passing waiter.
'Sorry. Professional curiosity, that's all. Without mentioning any names, how do you feel about depending on informants? Back in Boston I was always worried that they might turn on me, and the next meeting would be a setup.'
'You have to be careful, it's true,' Slaine said. 'We have many sources of information, though. I think I'd hear if something was afoot. And you forget, Billy, we are not the police.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning that retribution would be mine,' Cosgrove said, slurping down the last of his soup.
'Did one of those sources tell you about the murder of Pete Brennan?' I asked. 'You never said how you got word so quickly. Was it the RUC?'
'Ha! Do you call your FBI every time there is a murder in Boston? I think not,' Cosgrove said.
Slaine stayed quiet as the waiter removed the soup bowls.
'So who was it?' I asked.
'Excuse me, sir,' a waiter said, handing Cosgrove an envelope. 'Your office said to give this to you straightaway.' Cosgrove tore it open, read it, and handed the paper to Slaine.
'Speak of the devil,' he said. 'Andrew Jenkins is dead.'
'Oh, that can't be true,' Slaine said.
'What can't be true? That's he's dead?' I asked.
'No,' she said, looking me in the eye. 'That he killed himself. It says he was found hung from a rafter in a small warehouse in Lisburn. Andrew Jenkins will have a lot of things to answer for in the next life but the sin of suicide will not be one of them.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'Mr. Jenkins spent his life clawing his way to the top,' Cosgrove said. 'As you've discovered, he provided us with certain information. Often that information benefited us, and he was well paid for it. Other times, the information he gave us benefited him. He was a man who held only one life dear. His. I quite agree-he was not the suicidal type.'
A waiter came to the table, three plates of lamb chops and boiled potatoes at the ready.
'Oh dear,' said Cosgrove as he pushed his chair back. 'Those look delicious.'
ON A PERSONAL level, I thought Cosgrove was more distraught over the idea of the lamb chops going back to the kitchen than the image of Jenkins dangling at the end of a rope. I was wistful about them myself. It took him about five minutes to get a staff car and driver for us, and then we were off, exiting the formal gardens surrounding Stormont and heading for the main road that would take us south to Lisburn.
One of the first things I saw was a bombed-out stadium. It looked like it had just been hit.
'What's that?' I asked.
'The Oval. It's a football stadium. Not American football, the real thing,' Slaine said. 'The Germans bombed it in 1941. They were probably aiming for the dockyards or the railway station and released their bombs too early.'
'Bad luck for Glentoran,' the driver said. 'I'm a supporter.'
'That's a team, Billy, and he's a fan,' Slaine explained.
'Thanks. I'm a Red Sox supporter myself. Ever hear of them?'
'You mean like garters?' the driver asked.
'Never mind.'
Cosgrove laughed and I gazed at the gritty city landscape. We were nearing the Belfast dockyards, one of the busiest harbor areas in Europe now. Troopships, tankers, Liberty Ships, and destroyers were lined up to unload or refuel. Trucks rumbled by, heavy with the material of war brought by ships. A column of GIs crossed the road in front of us until finally an MP let us through.
'Have you seen all this before, Boyle?'
'No, sir. First time in Belfast.'
'It's rather amazing. They have a runway built right up to the docks. After they unload the planes, they take off, right from the ship. Wizard, simply wizard.'
'More bomb damage?' I said, pointing to piles of rubble where workers were loading debris onto trucks.
'Yes. The Luftwaffe gave Belfast the full treatment early on. They went for the dockyards regularly, the railroads, and the city in general. Some neighborhoods were hit quite badly. There are not enough resources at present to rebuild everything, so some of the damaged buildings are taken down and the rubble hauled away, as they are doing there. They still find bodies underneath.'
'Do they still hit the city?'
'No, not for a while. With you Yanks coming in, with your aircraft added to ours, and our increased defenses, it's too risky for them. It's a long flight, navigating at night, across England, avoiding the Republic of Ireland, and then finding Belfast. It's a wonder they ever tried. Do you know they accidentally bombed Dublin? Blighters got lost and thought they were over Ulster! I'd say those particular boys are shivering at the Russian front, if they're still alive.'
'I never heard about that.'
'De Valera kept it as quiet as he could. Embarrassing for him not to retaliate in any way but he didn't want to antagonize the Germans or encourage us. He's walking a tightrope. One slip and he'll have us, the Germans, or both over his border.'
We left the city, occasional gaps in the rows of buildings showing where German bombs had fallen. A few new buildings were going up but mostly it was bricks and concrete going out, leaving small fields of weeds sprouting between structures, marking the place where homes and lives had once flourished.
