Betrayal (41 page)

Jimmy sat up, but for a moment didn't otherwise move. Shattered, the windscreen would give little protection from the weather and would have to be broken out completely.

‘Damned thoughtless of you, Mary,' he managed, having got a grip on himself. ‘It would have been far better had you put a hole in the roof.'

Jamming the gearshift into neutral and yanking on the handbrake, he reached for his gloves and began to smash out the rest of the glass. ‘Couldn't see a bloody thing for the cracks. Nolan's going to kill us. You do know that, don't you?'

Cold on the wind, the air rushed in and with it, the first fitful droplets of rain.

Near Stewartstown there was higher ground and Mary made him drive westward towards Omagh. Each time Jimmy speeded up, the wind stung her eyes; each time he slowed, she knew it was only a matter of time until he tried something else. He was terrified.

Bundled in his greatcoat, with collar up and scarf about the throat and ears, Bannerman feigned sleep and smiled inwardly at the tightness of her silence. Stripped of its location and with a change of sex and skin, the whole thing was not unlike that brief little dust-up in Afghanistan, the year 1919 and he still a captain at the ripe age of forty-four. Married long since. Dotty and the boys in Kabul with Nanny Price. Dear old Nanny. A kidnapping then, another one now; some bloody wog fanatic with a Mannlicher rifle and nerves at the breaking point. Feigned sleep then and now this slut of a doctor's wife.

The wog had died with a shot from the Webley service revolver he'd had the audacity to purloin and hold in his frigging lap, but Mrs. Mary Fraser wouldn't die that way—he'd see to that. And Jimmy … why Jimmy Allanby had a lot to learn about the bumbling old fart of a colonel who'd been washed up in Ireland at that infernal castle he hated so much.

She'd think he was asleep and when she least expected it, he'd take that weapon from her. Still as a mouse, she had eased her mind a good deal. Jimmy was the stud she had always feared and now must realize he had broken under prolonged fire, that the wounds had only been a part of the captain's having been sent to Ireland, and that Jimmy knew it most of all himself.

But things wouldn't go wrong. They'd get that gun and then would make her tell them everything. A deserted hut, a bit of ruins, a field in the middle of nowhere if necessary. ‘Petrol stations simply aren't available in rural Ireland, Mrs. Fraser. Omagh might have one that is still open, though I very much doubt it.'

‘I didn't think you were asleep, Colonel, but lest you worry too much, there'll be jerry cans in the boot. Even I know the British Army always carries extra.'

Some three miles to the north of Omagh, she made Jimmy turn off the main road on to a secondary one. The map she clutched was soaking wet, the torch fast losing power each time it was switched on. ‘We'll cut across country to Castlederg,' she said.

The car began to climb into some hills. As before, as nearly always, there were glimpses of farmhouses, of hedgerows … never much for it was far too dark. Once a fox paused in its run to stand in the middle of the road and stare at their approach. Cows, sheep, horses … they caught glimpses of these now and then. There were more hills, bits of woods, hawthorns, gorse and brambles. Jimmy geared down. The road into the hills seemed to be taking forever. Had she been wrong to have come this way?

‘You'll never do it,' sighed Bannerman. ‘Sod it, woman, if Hamish is with them, the last thing you want is for us to run into them.'

‘Mary, if we come upon them, they'll only think we've come in force.'

‘Tell us where that blessed meeting place is and we'll agree to let bygones be bygones, won't we, Captain? No one else need know you've told us, certainly not Nolan or the Darcy woman. Now what about it, eh? It's a decent offer. You're in no position to refuse.'

Far from good, the roads became quagmires in the valleys, rivulets of mud and stone on the hill slopes. They could see so little through the rain now, it was frightening. Permitted crossings would be no good anyway.

‘Turn off on to that track, Jimmy,' she shouted.

‘Which one?'

‘Back there. You just passed it.'

‘That's some farmer's lane, for God's sake!' snorted Bannerman. They'd get her now. He'd have to hit her two or three times, but damn it, the car had stopped. Ahead of them the lights had found the rear of what looked to be a butcher's van. It's doors were wide open …

‘Colonel, we're too exposed,' managed Allanby.

‘Captain, control it.'

The van had skidded off into a bog, the bonnet down, the front wheels having sunk into the ooze. ‘Go on past it,' said Mary.

‘I won't!' cried Allanby.

‘DO IT!' she shrieked.

Bannerman told her not to yell, and for a few moments spoke softly to Allanby and then, ‘Mrs. Fraser, surely you must be able to see how things are. If there's any shooting, do the sensible thing and hand me that revolver of your husband's. You will be absolutely no match for any of them, and they will be certain to kill you.'

The car began to inch forward. Never good, the visibility became worse, and when they reached the van, Bannerman asked for the torch, and reluctantly Mary set it on the seat between them.

‘Tooley's of Armagh,' he snorted, shining the light over it. ‘They'll have more than one vehicle. We'd best get out and walk.'

‘Colonel, just put my torch back where you found it.'

The road turned to the left and they followed the gully of a stream for perhaps a quarter of a mile until coming to a hastily built bridge of heavy timbers. This was not a forbidden crossing as such, for there were no concrete obstructions, no barbed wire or torn-up roadbed, the crossing having been judged impossible probably, the banks too high and steep.

With difficulty Jimmy took the car across. A muddy track paralleled the gully on this other side, leading them further away from the crossing.

When they reached a proper road, Mary told him to turn north and then to go west at the first chance. ‘Stay well away from Strabane. We're in Donegal now. We've made it!'

The cottage lay among hills and fields whose hedgerows of bracken, gorse and stone stretched away until lost in the fog. The booming of the surf came from some place distant, though, from cliffs that were among the highest in Ireland. Sheep dotted the nearest of the fields; cattle grazed the next, while turf smoke struggled up from the loneliest of chimneys.

Mary knew she would have to do as they said, that it was senseless to continue. They were all but out of petrol. The thatched roof of the cottage was crossed by ropes that were tied to pegs in the walls just below the eaves. The half-door had been painted yellow years and years ago; the stucco and trim were white, or what was left of it.

No dog barked. At 8.37 a.m. the yard looked deserted. Malin Village was now well behind them, the road unclassified as had been all of them since then.

‘All right,' she said, ‘we'll go in and ask to warm ourselves by the fire.'

Irritably Bannerman flung his cigarette aside. The cottage was both a blessing and a curse. There would be witnesses to what was to come, but there'd be a moment when whomever was inside the place would see the gun and realize something was up, thereby distracting Mrs. Mary Ellen Fraser long enough.

He'd jump her, would throw the slut against a wall, kick her, hit her, knock that bloody firearm from her no matter what.

Peat smouldered in the blackened hearth, the kettle was on the hob, the table still laid with the ruins of a hasty breakfast for more than one, though the bed in a far corner behind its open screen hadn't been slept in, a puzzle, but Allanby headed straight for the hearth as he should have done and was yanking off his gloves. He'd crouch and prod that fire to life. Now more than afraid, the Fraser woman hesitantly closed the door behind her.

Bannerman shook the water from his cap. ‘May I?' he asked.

Setting the rucksack on the floor next to the door, she gave him a nod, he unbuttoning his greatcoat as Jimmy smashed a reed basket into pieces with which to feed the fire, its light now coming in bursts which all too soon died away to nothing.

‘Mind that hearthrug, Captain,' said Bannerman. ‘We are but guests, are we not?'

He had pulled off his coat.

‘Blessed thing is soaked right through and weighs a ton, Captain.'

More of the basket was thrown into the fire. Again there was light but then a pall of heavy smoke!

Blinded, fighting, stumbling backwards against the weight of the coat, Mary pulled the trigger, firing once, only once. She couldn't understand why she couldn't fire any more as she hit the floor, was lifted up, smashed down again and again, couldn't get free of the coat, couldn't see a thing, tried to hit back, and was smashed again against the floor.

‘Out … The cunt's bloody well out, Captain, and it's about time!' shouted Bannerman. He'd not lost the touch. No, by God, he hadn't! ‘Get her up. Tie the slut into that chair and I'll teach her some lessons. The sooner she talks the better.'

They were burning the spinning wheel, piece by piece, but they'd not yet seen that she'd awakened. Jimmy was getting ready to leave. He'd take the car and try to reach Malin Village, would telephone Derry from there, leaving her alone with the colonel. They had removed her coat, boots and pullover, had opened her blouse and bared her breasts. A poker had been jammed deeply into the embers. ‘What time is it?' she asked, startling them both.

‘Well, well now,' said Bannerman. ‘Awake at last, are we? It's nearly noon. We thought you might have been in a coma.'

‘Mary, tell us where their meeting place is. You know you've lost, that it's over for you.'

‘I never did know where it was, only that it was a place Huber would never forget.'

‘And the rendezvous with this submarine?' asked Bannerman. She'd a nice pair of tits and would be worrying about them. The hill tribes had had many ways of making the recalcitrant talk. Fire had only been one of them and she knew what he was on about—oh my yes, but she did, knew, too, that she'd scream her heart out when touched.

‘It … it must be somewhere along the coast,' she said.

‘In spite of all the cliffs?' scoffed Bannerman. ‘That's not good enough, is it, Captain?'

‘Colonel, I don't think we should …'

‘Shut it, Captain. Please just shut it.'

‘Colonel, if I knew, I'd tell you. Hamish has been my only concern in this.' He was going to touch her with that poker—he had that look about him.

‘The doctor, yes. Hold her, will you, Captain, and that is an order.'

Her scream must have filled the cottage but she had no memory of it. Someone was gently slapping her into consciousness. Laughter sounded.

Again she felt herself slipping away. They'd get nothing from her. Hamish would be in danger if she told them where the rendezvous was. Hamish …

‘Mary … Mary, lass, it's me. Wake up.'

It
was
Hamish, and behind him, holding a gun to the colonel's head, was Nolan.

The cliffs ran out to sea, the land lay shrouded in dense fog, and everywhere now there was the booming of the surf and the cries of hidden gulls and solitary ravens, a mad torment too, as masses of boulders were thrown against the base of the cliffs some eight hundred feet below.

Fay Darcy was in the lead, Nolan brought up the rear. One other, their guide when he chose, walked at the middle of the column: Dermid Galway.

The three of them were well armed. The colonel and Hamish were tied by the wrists and roped between Fay and Galway; then came herself and Jimmy. Galway had the broad, blunt, bony features of the Celt, the shoulders too, and lack of height. His beard was shaggy, the mass of dark brown hair left long and free to blow about were it not for the grease of too little washing. He did not speak much, was guttural, taciturn, secretive, intent on seeing this thing through, and totally without fear. It was odd, though, the things one discovered simply by walking behind a person. Galway loved water. If a rivulet or pool were there, he'd step in it rather than avoid the thing. It cleaned off his boots, made him master of all he crossed, made the well-worn Lee Enfield he carried seem as if of a man long-accustomed to doing so.

He also stank of sweat, urine, raw wool and sheep dung.

The column had stopped.

‘Give us a fag, Liam.'

Fay Darcy's voice sounded very near yet she was perhaps twenty-five feet away.

‘Later. We're too exposed up here.'

‘It can do no harm,' snorted Bannerman. ‘Good God, man, who in their right mind would …'

Fay smashed him in the mouth with her gun. Blood streamed from battered lips as shock registered.

‘Fay …'

‘Liam, you're not the high king himself. He needed that. Fat tub of lard. You're going to die, Colonel.
Die
, do you understand? We're going to fling you off them bloody cliffs.'

‘Let me see to him. Come, come, Miss Darcy, cut me loose. You've broken his teeth,' said Hamish, doing nothing to disguise the outrage he felt.

‘Have I now,' taunted Fay. ‘And was you wanting the same?' She yanked on the rope, trying to pull Hamish off his feet.

‘The Nazis will want the colonel in one piece,' he said, having braced himself. ‘
Och,
they'll want to take him and Captain Allanby back to Germany as prisoners of war. Think of the propaganda value to them, if you must.'

‘Says who?'

‘Says Dr. Goebbels.'

‘They might and they might not,' countered Fay, tossing her head. ‘If I were you, Doctor, sir, I'd be worrying about that missus of yours, I would. Didn't the colonel brand her with the mark of a slut?'

‘Fay, cut it out! Let's get a move on. The others will be wondering where we've got to.'