'All this assumes the main assault group is close by, ready to take advantage of the diversion and move in.'
'Sure. Otherwise it's a waste of time. But how?'
How? How could you smuggle that many armed men into a guarded military facility?
'Jesus H. Christ on a crutch,' I said, borrowing one of General Eisenhower's favorite curses. 'They do it the same damn way they stole the BARs in the first place. Waltz right in!'
'Use a Jenkins truck?' Uncle Dan asked.
'You said the man was a genius. When he had Taggart kill Jenkins, it was for two reasons. One was to get us together and kill us with one booby trap, but the other was to get Jenkins out of the way to make it easier to steal a couple of his trucks in the confusion after his death. His firm is bound to be one of the suppliers for the event, so no one would think to check them.'
'You know, Billy, I never believed what they said about you. You're a smart one after all, you are.'
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
We parked the ambulance in an alley with a view of the entrance to Brownlow House. A black wrought-iron fence surrounded the property, but the gate was wide open. We watched a few jeeps come and go, and endured the stares of civilians passing by. With the ambulance's Red Cross markings, we were fairly conspicuous. A few buildings down, on our side of the street, cars began to park near a church, and men in black suits began to gather out front. Uncle Dan got out and strolled down the sidewalk for a look.
'That's a Protestant, Church of Ireland, crowd,' he said when he returned. 'Those fellows look like they could be with the Royal Black Knights. Might be getting ready for a parade or some lodge ceremony, although there's only nine of them so far, talking and having a smoke. They have rolled-up banners and the like.'
'Maybe they're going to have a procession, from the church to Brownlow House. They'd make nice targets, like ducks in a line.'
A few minutes later they'd gone inside the church, and two deuce-and-half trucks pulled over to the side of the road. Sergeant Farrell got out of the lead truck and I signaled him to come over to us.
'Where's Masters?' I said.
'We got in touch by walkie-talkie, and he told us to go ahead, to meet you right away. He's maybe thirty minutes behind us.'
I gave him a brief explanation of what we expected, and told him to send in teams to sweep the woods on either side of the main drive. 'Stash the trucks out of sight somewhere, and radio Masters to meet us on the grounds. We'll probably be with DI Carrick.'
We drove in past the iron gates, slowly enough to check the terrain. A gravel drive crunched beneath our tires as Uncle Dan kept in first gear, his arm hanging nonchalantly out the window. I saw his eyes moving from tree to tree, up and down the road, into the woods. I'd seen him like that in Boston, in tenement buildings and back alleys. But this was different. This was combat, and the last time he'd faced this many automatic weapons had been in World War I in No-Man's-Land.
'There,' he said, nodding his head forward. 'That's where I'd put them. On the curve ahead. Clear line of fire down the road. Probably a couple of them there right now.'
His face was blank, no emotion, no hint of fear, turmoil, or remembrance. Nothing but steely eyes and white knuckles on the wheel. He whistled a tune, 'I've Heard That Song Before,' as he took the curve. I bet he had.
It was late afternoon, and the sun sparkled off the sandstone building with its forest of chimneys stark against the deep blue sky. British and American flags flew from the lantern-shaped main tower, and dress uniforms of all types were evident as small groups of officers in blue, brown, and khaki strolled the grounds. I spotted DI Carrick in his dark green RUC uniform, walking with a plainclothesman. They were eyeing the perimeter, where the woods met the manicured lawns of Brownlow House. Uncle Dan parked the ambulance, backing it in next to a deuce-and-half as if he did it for a living. Carrick had seen us, sent the other man off, and waited for us near the steps leading into the main entrance.
'Did I understand correctly? You think they're here already?'
'Yes, or will be soon if they aren't. I have Lieutenant Masters's platoon conducting a sweep through the woods, looking for a rear guard to keep reinforcements at bay. His idea,' I said, hooking a thumb in Uncle Dan's direction. He'd stepped away for better view of the grounds.
'Not a bad one. With that much firepower, half a dozen men could hold up a company on that narrow drive. I have some men in uniform patrolling the grounds, not any more than would be usual for such an event. Others are in plainclothes or dressed as waiters.'
'Have trucks from Jenkins's firm shown up?'
'I saw two of them leaving as I came in. Why?'
I told him my theory about Grady O'Brick and my insight into the death of Andrew Jenkins and the use of the trucks to smuggle in the men and weapons. DI Carrick didn't seem impressed.
'A Jenkins vehicle delivering food for a large dinner, well, that's not out of the ordinary. And I've been through most of the house, and my men have checked every room by now. I don't know where they're hiding if they were brought in in those trucks.'
'Are all your men accounted for?'
'I'll have a count made,' he said. The sound of drums rolled in from the main road.
'Is there some sort of parade?' I said.
'A short procession, from the church and through the park, in honor of our guests, members from lodges in England, Canada, and the U.S. There will be a brief welcoming speech by the Grand Master on the veranda. Then inside for the dinner. That'll be them now, forming up.'
'How many?' Uncle Dan asked, rejoining us.
'Two hundred for the dinner, probably twice as many in the procession. Many of the local lodges have sent members to take part in the parade.'
'Plus all the brass here to watch it. It'll be a turkey shoot if we're right,' Uncle Dan said.
'I'll be back with a count,' Carrick said, a worried look crossing his face as he gazed out over the flat, open lawn.
'Let's walk once around the place,' Uncle Dan said. We took off, trying to blend in with the officers enjoying the late autumn sunshine, GIs, and workers scurrying around, setting up inside and out for the festivities.
'Everyone looks like a genuine GI or an unarmed waiter,' I said. 'You heard that the Jenkins trucks have been and gone?'
'Yeah. Let's check the kitchen, see if there's food enough for two truckloads.'
There was. The staff was so busy they hardly noticed us. It took a lot of food to feed two hundred of Ulster's best, and the place was stocked with it. Several cooks were preparing racks of lamb, trimming the bones and seasoning the meat. Vegetables were being chopped, potatoes peeled and boiled, cases of wine opened, and trays of appetizers laid out. Not a BAR in sight, and everyone looked like they knew what they were doing.
We kept walking around the building. No one stopped us or asked who we were. Maybe Carrick's men knew us by now but the building sentries should have been on their toes. Yet how could they cope with this many guests flooding the place?
'I don't know what to do next,' I said as we returned to our starting point. Carrick met us just as I saw Bob Masters park his jeep and head over. The two men nodded in greeting as they approached.
'All my men are accounted for,' Carrick said, in a quick, clipped tone. He tried to hide his relief.
'I ran into Sergeant Farrell,' Masters said. 'They found a nest of four IRA men, right at the bend in the road. Two sets of BARs pointed in each direction. He's got three of them tied up and guarded.'
'The fourth?' Carrick said.
'Farrell said three of them gave up easy, one went for his weapon. He had to use his knife.'
'Where are your men now?' Uncle Dan asked.
'I've got two groups making a sweep of the perimeter, just inside the tree line. The rest are close, in case something happens here.' He nodded his head slightly, indicating the trees nearest the house.
