Betrayal (28 page)

From Erich there was nothing. It was as if she no longer existed for him, as if he really had hanged Bachmann and that it had been his decision, and his alone.

‘This Nolan, Mrs. Fraser. How far can we trust him?'

‘Nolan's not their leader. Kevin O'Bannion is—he's quite different, far more reliable.'

‘Cool-headed?'

‘Definitely.'

‘And this O'Bannion is in the South?'

Again Mary had to ask herself how they had learned of it. ‘He was the last time I talked to the others. He may have come back. This I simply don't know.'

And again a directness that both troubled and puzzled. Had she sized him up so easily and intuitively known precisely how to answer, that her life could well depend on it? wondered Huber. ‘And the British don't suspect you of helping us?'

He had known, too, that she had seen Nolan last night. ‘They suspect it, of course. I did lose a button but …'

Huber gave a curt nod to Erich who stepped forward and held out a fist, didn't even smile, just let her see that he'd been the one …

‘A measure of our trust,' said Huber. ‘The British did not find it as I'm sure you must have feared.'

‘But … but why wasn't it returned?'

And at last the forgetfulness of a spark of anger. ‘To put you on your guard. To make you far more careful. Please do not be dismayed. The Kapitänleutnant has always been under our command and was ordered to do as he did. We must escape and you have been of such help, it is only proper that we should guarantee you safe passage to the Reich.'

Surprise was shown, the woman blurting, ‘Safe passage …' before recovering control. ‘They know about the other tunnel you've been digging, Vice Admiral.'

Had that caused her to think escape was now impossible? he wondered. Had she been relieved? She was hard to gauge, was entirely contrary to what they'd come to believe of her. ‘It's a false one. You need have no worries. Tell this Nolan that when the time comes for us to place the charges, we will be ready.'

‘And Berlin?' she asked.

‘A simple message of five-letter groupings. The Kapitanleutnant will give it to you after we have left. Memorize the groupings then destroy the message. Have Mrs. Tulford send them over. Berlin will agree to the IRA's demands.'

‘But … but what about the last of the explosives?'

A logical concern she'd not avoided and he would acknowledge with a curt nod. ‘Nolan's problem and yours.'

They had realized that Trant and Jimmy would leave the dynamite where it was in hopes of catching Nolan. Taking all but one of the candles, they left her with Erich and the others, none of whom said a thing. All just simply looked at her, Erich still over by the altar, Bauer still behind her, and Hans Schleiger by the side door from which the High Command had departed.

‘Mary, have you brought us another bullet?'

Even now he still did not move. Reluctantly she unbuttoned her blouse and found them both. She mustn't let Erich and the others realize how terrified she really was and had been, yet mustn't let them think she was invulnerable—they'd want her to be just the opposite, would want always to believe they had the upper hand.

Only then did Erich grin. ‘Still warm,' he said, glancing at each of the others before pinching out the candle.

Mary waited. She mustn't run, mustn't cry out, must just try to be still and yet … and yet none of them moved. ‘If you harm me in any way, you'll get nowhere,' she quavered.

It was Erich who said, ‘Why should we when you've been so useful?'

The patient dripping of water came from somewhere.

‘Be careful what you say to the British from now on, Mary.'

Erich had moved to stand in front of her. As her blouse was unbuttoned by him, Bauer pinned her arms to her sides but he did not laugh at her, just held her in a vice for his captain who slid a small, folded bit of paper in and under her left breast before kissing her lightly on the lips and saying, ‘
Liebling
, there are no tears?' and buttoning her up.

‘Nolan now has a man inside the British garrison, Mary. Don't try to betray us. Bachmann had to hang.'

There were seven five-letter groups in the message. They'd all been written in a line with slashes to separate them. It made no sense when read straight through, was simply a jumble of letters. Only twice was one repeated in sequence. There were two of the letter I and, at the end, two
C
s. CCRMR—C-and-C U-boats Berlin? Was RMR some sort of code for Vice Admiral Huber? CCRMR did have that ring to it.

GBXLM/AKZOM/DORPT/FCJAU/SIIMN/VGDRQ/CCRMR … MOST URGENT YOU AGREE ALL DEMANDS RELEASE STOP HAVE DETAILS ENEMY RADAR NORTH ATLANTIC LOSSES FOR C-AND-C U-BOATS STOP HUBER.

That might be it—something substantial but far too many letters. By cutting, using a pencil and paper at her desk, she ended up with: MOST URGENT AGREE STOP DETAILS ENEMY RADAR STOP RMR, but if the British had recovered Erich's ciphers intact would Huber and the others, forced with mounting IRA losses, not have wanted to signal this as well, though in an entirely different code? One known only to C-and-C U-boats Berlin? Each letter might then be transcribed into two or even three others, or into numbers, thereby allowing a much longer message.

MOST URGENT YOU AGREE IRA DEMANDS ESCAPE PLAN TRALANE CASTLE EARLY NOVEMBER STOP U-121 CIPHERS RECOVERED BY BRITISH STOP CODES BROKEN REPEAT BROKEN STOP TOGETHER WITH DETAILS NEW ENEMY RADAR EXPLAINS INCREASED U-BOAT LOSSES NORTH ATLANTIC STOP HUBER.

Or simply: URGENT OFFICERS U-121 ESCAPE HANGING STOP HUBER.

She would never know the answer, never be able to memorize the groupings, not with the state her mind was in. Mary smoothed the tiny slip of paper out. Even when held up to the light, in reverse, the letters made no sense but gave a further possibility to the decoding.

Caithleen had gone to bed and had been looked in on hours ago. Hamish must have decided to stay over in Belfast where he'd gone to lodge a stiff protest over Brian Doherty's being denied immediate medical attention. The house felt strange without him and Robbie.

Leaving the light on, she went downstairs to his study, but left the room in darkness. He loved his books, his fishing and his dog. As always the books smelled musty at first. Tobacco smoke hung about for ages, especially if from a pipe. There was a warmth, though, to the room, a comfort.

She must have slept for an hour, not much longer. The afghan she'd pulled over herself had fallen to the floor—she'd become cold. That's why she had awakened, or was it?

The ashes in the grate had gone to dust through which ember cracks seemed all but lost and the caking grey of the peat crumbled as it fell.

The wind, never calm for long, was gusting fitfully in the beeches, the shutters were creaking.

When a mouse made its way across the hearth, Mary relaxed at its furtive progress, but when it scurried away, she sat up, sucking in a breath, her heart hammering as she looked for something with which to defend herself, but then … then the little fellow came back.

There were crumbs on the hearth. Toast had been made. Cinnamon toast. Mrs. Haney's precious cinnamon. Hamish
would
let Robbie lick the crumbs from his plate, but since some of them must have been missed, and the toast waved about a good bit, why that could only mean that Hamish had …

Running, moving swiftly, Mary went silently through the house and up to her room to hide the message and burn her attempts at decoding.

Lights off, the black-out curtains flung open, she looked out into the night, knowing he and Robbie must be out there, knowing, too, that so was Jimmy Allanby and several of the men.

This thing wasn't going to end easily, and she'd best get used to that.

Parker's body had been placed in an open coffin on the plain deal table in the centre of Mrs. Haney's house. White bedsheets had been wrapped around the coffin. Crosses, made from black crepe paper, had been scattered, each of their crosspieces twisted by deft motions of the woman's hands.

Mary knew she couldn't help but see those motions in memory. Several women in black, with lace shawls over their heads and tied tightly under their chins, sat around the body telling their beads and muttering prayers. There was no keening as such, no wailing now.

Men of all ages but mostly older, sat around the perimeter walls of this one room that constituted a house she'd never been in before, their black suits, boots and pinched collars only adding to the glum expressions, they trying to keep life in the clay pipes they'd been given.

A plate of cut shag lay on a chair by the hearth. Mrs. Haney got up and they embraced, the woman whispering, ‘M'am, you shouldn't have.'

‘I had to, Mrs. Haney. He was my friend.'

‘He was indeed, that he was.'

A fine linen table napkin—a relic of some estate, their own perhaps—had been spread over Parker's bullet-shattered face.

‘He died quick, he did,' whispered Ria, that lump still in her throat, she having taken the doctor's missus by the arm. ‘And here is me that was always criti-cruelling him.'

‘Now you didn't, Mrs. Haney. Not really. He always had a kind word for you.'

‘He did. Now I know he did.'

There was a turf fire in the hearth, the kettle on the boil and the air reeking of tobacco smoke, the closeness of the crowd and the scent of poteen.

‘Dr. Fraser, God bless him, was by th' morn, he was, missus.'

‘And Robbie,' she said, grateful to know that Hamish was safe, though that hadn't been the reason she'd come. She had owed it to Parker.

Mrs. Haney's husband got up to welcome her, a man too tall for the doorway of his house, all bones, knees and elbows, and of a deep and weathered shyness. He offered her his chair and took it from the wall so that she could sit among the women, knowing as he must that she'd not been to church in years and wasn't even of their faith, but that neither mattered. She had come across the hills to be with them and that was enough.

Later the scones were passed. There was bramble jam and spiced crab-apple jelly, brown bread and good country butter, sponge cake, queen cakes and a bowl of barley sugar all of which had been favourites of the deceased at one time or another.

There were three bottles of sherry, too, and she had the thought that Hamish must have brought them.

‘M'am, Bridget and I have found that button you was needing.'

‘Oh good. I knew you would, Mrs. Haney. It's such a lovely blouse. I'd hate to have to change all the buttons.' This, too, had been said in a whisper, but Parker wouldn't have minded the lie of it. Not Parker.

Ria found more of the heart-shaped queen cakes that were stuffed with saved-up currants. Mrs. Fraser was that partial to them, she took another and then another. Eating for two she was. ‘Will you be taking Caithleen to Dublin soon, m'am?'

‘On Sunday, God willing.'

Folks came and went. At no time were there less than twenty in the house, the single candle fluttering at each disturbance, the husband getting up to greet them all, he saying exactly the same thing to each as he'd said to herself.

Crickets chirped on the hearth. Mrs. Haney gave her a nudge. ‘William has gone away for a bit, m'am. To my sister's in Kilkenny. I've told th' doctor, I have.'

‘I'm glad. It was good of you to think of William, Mrs. Haney.'

‘Bridget is on her way to my brother who has a farm in County Meath and is in need of help, he having a wife who is with her sixth and due at any moment.'

‘Did Hamish ask you to send Bridget and William away?'

‘That he did, m'am, and give them each a five-pound note. Back wages, he said. Back wages, says I? Ah and sure they was and that girl will spend it all before she ever gets there. Not a penny saved. Licorice most likely, and them movie magazines or Bing Crosby records if she can still find them, not that my brother has one of them machines on which to play them, as has the doctor.'

Walking back across the fields Mary felt a oneness with the place she hadn't felt before. It had been right of her to have stopped there awhile. No one had tried to contact her and she'd had the feeling, too, that they'd not have dared, and would not have been welcome. Nolan and Fay Darcy would be on the run for days perhaps. Somehow she would have to find a way to get the dynamite out of the stable loft without anyone realizing what she'd done, and somehow she was going to have to hide it somewhere else, and lastly, she admitted, somehow she was going to have to get Sunday over with.

After that she would see about the bomb. An alarm clock might do, but it would, perhaps, be too loud; then, too, thirty ms couldn't mean a delay of thirty seconds. Electricity was instantaneous. Millimetres? Milli … Milliseconds? Ms, yes, that was what the label on the packet must have meant. An electrical blasting cap with a thirty-millisecond delay.

It was as if Parker was smiling down at her, as if he'd told her exactly what to do.

At supper there was little talk and, in the evening, none at all until she could stand it no longer. The fly-tying lamp was on in a far corner, over the cluttered workbench that was jammed against the books. Robbie was at his feet and when Hamish thought he might need some hair, he spoke softly, asking permission before clipping off a bit.

Was it a Yellow Dog he was tying, a Hairy Mary or a Jock Scott? Hamish often experimented with concoctions of his own. He tied flies in winter for pleasure and relaxation but at times like this, she knew it was because he had to think things through for himself.

Neither he nor Robbie turned to look up as she came into the room. A knot in the silk thread was being teased. ‘Mary, it's dangerous for a woman to interrupt a man while he's on important work like this.'

That ‘work' being spelled
wurk
. ‘Hamish, I've decided to take the train to Dublin this time. Will you drive us over in the car to the station at Scarva? I don't want to be late. I'd like to catch the morning mail.'
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