thousand rounds were loaded onto the truck and driven out the main gate. The two men had not been escorted, and there was no search of the truck. Based on the time the truck was signed in and out and the estimated time it took for the food delivery, they broke into the arms depot and loaded up in under ten minutes. Eddie Mahoney's body was found at the side of the road less than half a mile from the base, hands bound behind his back.
'It must have been an inside job,' she concluded. 'Except for Mahoney.'
'Was he an informer?' I asked when she closed the file.
'No. Our information tells us he was trusted by the IRA General Staff in Dublin.'
'Would you tell me if he was an informer?'
'Yes,' she said. 'If it would help you, I would. There is one other IRA operative from Dublin you may run across. A man named Jack Taggart. He's called Red Jack because of his leftist political leanings. We know he lived in Dublin and that the IRA General Staff sent him north two years ago to help build up the IRA Northern Command. He fought in Spain against Franco with the Irish Brigade. He's experienced and very secretive. We lost track of him when he crossed the border. It's likely he moved his wife and children north also, since they're nowhere to be found in the Republic. They're probably living under assumed identities.'
'Do you have any evidence this Red Jack character is involved?'
'No, simply a warning to watch out for him. If you do encounter him, you're to inform me and take no action.'
'How do I do that-inform you, I mean?'
'I'll be in Belfast soon enough,' she said. 'I'd be more than impressed if you found Red Jack Taggart in your first few days. I've been hunting him for three years.'
'But how will I get in touch with you then?'
'Don't worry, I'll find you.'
I didn't like her attitude. I didn't like being told I was predictable, and not to worry. I didn't like her calling the shots. I wasn't used to being given orders by a woman, and the recent blowup with Diana was too fresh in my mind to allow me to take them with grace from this woman.
'What can you tell me about the truck?' I asked, changing the topic. I liked to ask the questions.
'It was found abandoned outside of Dundalk, in the Republic.'
'When?'
'At exactly 6:10 a.m.,' she said, consulting a sheet of paper in her file. 'By a milkman, near Omeath in County Louth, perhaps twelve or so miles from Dundalk.'
'So they drove the arms across the border?'
'All we can say is that the truck crossed over. It could have been empty, left there to throw us off the scent.'
'OK, maybe. Whose was it? You said the food delivery was expected at the base.'
'Yes, the truck belonged to a wholesaler who does business with the army. It had been stolen earlier that night, and he had reported it to the police. His story checked out.'
'Any chance he knows more than he's telling?'
'Yes, its very likely, but he's not hiding anything about the truck. His name is Andrew Jenkins, and he is a major force in the Unionist ranks. We think he's behind the Red Hand Society, a Protestant secret militia.'
'What do they do?'
'Kill Catholics. Sometimes suspected members of the IRA. Sometimes IRA sympathizers. When they want a reprisal killing, any Catholic will do.'
'Reprisals for what?'
'Practically anything the IRA does. They started the very day Great Britain went to war. The IRA shot a British soldier, to show the war made no difference to them. Then the Red Hand killed several Catholics unlucky enough to be in Protestant neighborhoods. None had any connection to the original shooting that we know of. At some point, the killings take on a life of their own, if you'll excuse the expression.'
'How so?'
'So many blood debts build up that it's impossible to keep track of what is a reprisal for what. The Red Hand is a reaction to the IRA actions around Belfast. Most of those are supported from the south, by Clan na Gael funds sent from America. If it wasn't for that support, the IRA might wither and die but instead it gets enough money to keep the fanatics on both sides busy.'
I avoided looking at her, not wanting to react to her statement about America. We drove through an intersection with shops and three-story buildings made from the same pink stone as the King David. More cypress trees rose up along the side of the road, creating spindles of shade that fell across the dwellings. An Arab village dotted a hillside, small gray stone buildings with graceful curved openings set among shrubs and trees. It reminded me of my Sunday school lessons.
But it wasn't Bible stories I had on my mind. It was the Browning Automatic Rifle. The BAR M1918A2, is capable of firing three hundred to six hundred and fifty rounds per minute, effective up to six hundred yards. Nearly a third of a mile. Fully loaded, it weighed twenty-one pounds. Not something you'd want to run around with, but a fine weapon to fire from ambush, a specialty of the IRA. This I knew from Uncle Dan, who used to tell me stories of his cousins who fought the British and then the Dublin government in the Irish Civil War. In our family, the heroes always were the antitreaty IRA boys, not the Irish police or army. We grieved for Michael Collins, for all he had been, but agreed it had been best that he'd been killed in ambush on that road in County Cork, by those who could not bear the thought of the northern counties of Ulster ruled by Britain, the Irish nation split in two.
'Do you think the Arabs and Jews will ever live together in peace if the English leave Palestine?' Her question brought me back from thoughts of BARs sending armor-piercing M2 slugs into columns of vehicles as they turned a corner on a narrow country lane. American, British, or Irish-which would be the first target?
'I wouldn't know,' I said. 'I'm not Arab, Jewish, or British.'
'I think they'll slaughter each other,' she said in a soft voice as she looked out at the buildings on the hillside, their rock houses blending into the land as if they were natural formations.
'The Red Hand is already slaughtering Catholics,' I reminded her.
'Only a few. It would be more if the Royal Ulster Constabulary and the British Army weren't containing them. Can you imagine Northern Ireland if the English gave it up? There would be a bloodbath.'
'Churchill did offer to give it up, you said.'
'Aye, but he knew de Valera would never accept. The Irish don't want another war so soon after the last ones. Thousands fought in the Great War then lived through the Anglo-Irish War and the Civil War. It was enough.'
'But not for you. You're in uniform.'
'I have my reasons,' she said, leafing through the folder again.
'Where are you from? How did you end up in England?'
'That's not important. You need to focus on where you're going. When you land, someone will meet you and take you to the 5th Division headquarters in Newcastle. The Ballykinler depot is in their area. They will have been alerted to your arrival and will provide whatever logistical support you need. It's all in your paperwork.'
With that, it was all business for the rest of the thirty miles to the RAF air base. She gave me my travel orders, joint ones from U.S. and British commands authorizing my investigation, instructions allowing me to draw supplies and transport, just the sort of paperwork any commanding officer hates to be presented with by a mere lieutenant. I wasn't going to Northern Ireland to make friends.
'Here are copies of reports on the theft from the police and military investigations,' she said as she handed me a thick envelope of paperwork when the staff car stopped near a hangar. 'The name of the RUC detective you'll be working with is in one of them. You should see him as soon as possible.'
'I have to work with an Orangeman?'
'Of course. His name is Hugh Carrick. He's a district inspector in the Royal Ulster Constabulary.'
'What do I do if and when I-I mean this Orangeman and I-find the weapons?'
'Don't worry. Major Cosgrove and I will be joining you in a few days. We can organize enough troops to take them back.'
'What if they're in the Republic?'
'The Republic of Ireland doesn't want the IRA on the loose with fifty BARs any more than we do.'
I took the paperwork, grabbed my pack, and got out of the car. Then I leaned in and tried one more
