Echoland (34 page)

He couldn’t quite believe that he was about to get Bradley released. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? After all his agonising. He couldn’t trust Timmy not to try some last minute stunt. He had given in easily. But then, he reminded himself, I’ve got all the aces. Or enough of them anyway.

As he crossed O’Connell Bridge the sun glared down the river,
just above the bridges, blinding him when he looked westwards. A street photographer snapping couples ignored him and he crossed to the other side, weaving between a few bicycles and a tram heading for the Pillar. He continued up a shaded O’Connell Street where the lights were lit in café windows and the ugly concrete public air-raid shelter squatted on the central median.

There was a small queue in the blaze of light outside the Metropole and he went around it and into the building and up the stairs to the restaurant. Posters advertised
The Farmer’s Daughter
with Martha Raye and Charles Ruggles and
Parole Fixer
with William Henry and Virginia Dale.
The Farmer’s Daughter
must be the romantic one Sinéad wanted to see, he thought. Gifford hadn’t had much hope of persuading her to wait for the other.
The Farmer’s Daughter
had already started and they’d have gone in, he thought, but he looked into the restaurant anyway.

They were at a table by the window overlooking the street. Gifford gave him a slit-eyed look as he saw him approach. ‘Well, hello,’ Sinéad seemed pleased to see him.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Duggan said, standing by their table. Their plates were empty, Sinéad’s cup still half-full of tea. A couple of
triangles
of sliced pan remained on a plate in the centre of the table.

‘But,’ Gifford prompted.

‘Timmy knows where Bradley is. He’s taking me there in half an hour.’

Sinéad looked from one to the other, not knowing what he was talking about.

‘And you want backup,’ Gifford sighed. He took the linen napkin off his lap and folded it carefully. He nodded to himself and put it on the tablecloth by his plate. ‘I have to go with him,’ he said to Sinéad.

‘What?’ she demanded.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gifford gave her a soulful look. ‘Really, I am.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ Duggan added.

‘Oh, always at your service,’ she quoted the slogan from the
restaurant’s
menus with heavy sarcasm and threw her napkin on the table.

‘Look at it this way,’ Gifford pleaded. ‘Would you ever forgive me if this eejit went off and got himself killed because I wasn’t there to mind him?’

‘This is dangerous?’ she said, startled.

‘No,’ Duggan said. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘So what do you need him for then?’ she shot back.

‘Because he’s not used to being out by himself in the big city yet,’ Gifford offered. ‘I’ve had to save him from being beaten to a pulp once already.’

Sinéad narrowed her eyes at Duggan. ‘You didn’t fall off the bike?’

Duggan shook his head. Gifford caught a waiter’s eye and
signalled
for the bill. ‘There’s a man’s life at stake,’ he said to Sinéad. ‘And we’ve a chance to save him without any trouble. Right?’ he added to Duggan.

‘Right,’ Duggan agreed. ‘There won’t be any trouble.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she sighed.

‘You could go into the picture anyway,’ Gifford suggested.

‘Are you mentally defective?’ she retorted. ‘I’m not going in there by myself. I didn’t even want to see that gangster thing. You kept me talking so that we missed the other one.’

Gifford gave her a sheepish grin as they got up. ‘I am really sorry,’ Duggan offered as they waited for Gifford to pay at the desk. ‘I had no idea this was going to happen this evening.’

‘Just be careful,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t let anything happen to him.’

Outside, Gifford offered to walk her to her bus stop.

‘I can find it by myself,’ she said. ‘I’ve found it before.’

They were beginning to get suspicious looks from the sentry at the Merrion Square entrance to Leinster House by the time an usher opened the gates and Timmy drove out more than ten minutes late and stopped halfway onto the road.

‘Whoa, whoa,’ Timmy said as Duggan opened the passenger door and Gifford began to climb into the back. ‘Who the fuck is this?’

‘A friend of mine,’ Duggan said. ‘A colleague.’

Timmy turned to look at Gifford and the stench of whiskey
shifted
with him. ‘What kind of friend?’

‘He knows everything,’ Duggan said. ‘Unofficially. He’s the only one. He helped me find Nuala.’

Timmy grunted. Gifford waved his hand in front of him and asked, ‘Should you be driving? We don’t want to end up in someone’s front garden.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Duggan said, aware that Timmy had had a lot to drink in the last couple of hours, probably even more than he knew about. To his surprise, Timmy didn’t protest.

‘You said you’d kept it in the family,’ Timmy hissed at him as they crossed in front of the bonnet, exchanging places.

‘Where are we going?’ Duggan asked as he let out the clutch.

‘I’ll direct you,’ Timmy said, pointing to the right.

They went up Merrion Street and across into Stephen’s Green and up Harcourt Street and turned right past the railway station. Timmy signalled with his fingers and said, ‘Up Rathmines Road.’ Duggan thought for a mad moment that Timmy might have Bradley hidden in his own house; they were headed in that direction.

‘How did you meet Kitty Kelly?’ he asked, partly to break the silence.

Timmy lit himself a cigarette. ‘She contacted me,’ he said at last.

‘Why?’

‘Because …’ Timmy said, seeming unsure of the reason himself.

‘Someone said you should meet?’ Gifford suggested from the back seat where he was lounging sideways on one elbow. Timmy nodded. ‘Hans Harbusch?’ Gifford added.

‘Who?’

‘Have you ever met Hans Harbusch?’ Duggan asked. ‘At the German legation maybe?’

‘No,’ Timmy said without interest. He waved to the right,
directing
the car up Rathgar Road. They lapsed into silence. Gifford took out his revolver, broke it open and checked that all the chambers were full. He clicked it closed and spun the cylinder.

‘Jaysus,’ Timmy shot him a sideways glance. ‘Put that away before you hurt yourself.’

They went up the length of the long road. ‘Stop here,’ Timmy said as they reached the church at the top.

‘Here?’ Duggan said in surprise, letting the car coast to a stop by the church.

‘You two wait here,’ Timmy said, opening his door. ‘I’ll go on from here. Bring him back to you.’

‘No,’ Duggan said. ‘We’re going with you.’

Timmy stopped with one foot on the footpath and looked back at him with a sigh. ‘They’re only expecting me. They’ll have scouts out and if they see a carload coming they’ll think it’s a raiding party and start shooting.’

Timmy got out of the car and walked around it to the driver’s door. Duggan turned back to Gifford, who shrugged. ‘I’ll drive,’ he said as Timmy opened his door. ‘Just the two of us.’

Timmy considered for a moment, then went back around the bonnet again. Gifford climbed out onto the footpath and leaned back in. ‘Take this,’ he handed Duggan the revolver, butt first. Timmy rolled his eyes as Duggan took it and left it on his lap.

Gifford stepped back and Timmy sat in and Duggan moved off. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Timmy said. ‘Put it away.’

Duggan took the gun in his right hand and bent down to slide it under his seat.

‘Who’s the cowboy?’ Timmy demanded.

‘Special Branch.’

‘Jaysus.’ Timmy snorted, like that was the final straw.

‘He’s all right. Helped me find Nuala. Hasn’t said a word to
anyone
.’

Timmy waved vaguely to the right and Duggan slowed and took the next turn to the right and was soon lost in a maze of suburban streets, following directions.

‘Who suggested you meet Kitty Kelly?’ Duggan asked as he took a left, then another right. We’re going round in circles, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure.

‘Someone I met.’

‘At the German legation.’

Timmy grunted.

‘Herman Goertz?’

‘Who?’

Duggan hunted in his memory. ‘The fellow called Robinson. That you met in Herr Hempel’s house.’

‘No,’ Timmy said. ‘Someone else.’

‘That you met there?’

Timmy nodded.

‘A German?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘An Irish person?’

Timmy indicated his lack of interest with another shrug. ‘I don’t know. I can’t tell you. You can’t trust anyone these days. Not even family.’

Duggan accepted the rebuke in silence.

‘Take it easy along here now,’ Timmy said after they turned into another road. He leaned forward and peered at the houses, obviously unaccustomed to finding the house he was seeking. ‘Next one on this side,’ he said at last. ‘Pull into the driveway.’

Duggan edged slowly in between open iron gates and stopped behind another dark car. The house ahead of them was a two-
storey-over
-basement Victorian, semi-detached. There was a light visible behind the fanlight in the hall door but no other sign of life in the gloom created by the trees and heavy bushes separating it from the neighbours. They got out of the car slowly, closing the doors gently.

Timmy led the way alongside the steps to the front door to the entrance to the basement. The house was almost a mirror image of the one in Dartmouth Square where Bradley had been held. There were bars on the window and a similar small entrance door down two steps.

Timmy stepped down to the door and gave three decisive knocks. Duggan stood behind him on the first step and they waited
patiently
. A slight sound behind him in the silence made Duggan aware that someone was there and he tensed, resisting the temptation to turn around, half expecting a blow. What have I walked into? he wondered suddenly. Has Timmy set me up? You can’t trust anyone these days, not even family. What if he wants to get rid of me? Because I’m the only one who knows about his contacts with the Germans. And the IRA.

He reassured himself with the thought that Gifford also knew. But Timmy now knew that Gifford knew. And Gifford was waiting by the church wall back in Rathgar. A sitting duck. Unarmed. Fuck. He took a deep breath as quietly as he could to try and calm himself.

There was a metallic click as a bolt was shot and the door creaked open a few inches. An eye stared over Timmy’s shoulder at Duggan.

‘He’s with me,’ Timmy said evenly. ‘One of the family. My nephew.’

The door opened and Timmy edged through the narrow gap past the man holding it. Duggan followed him into a low stone hallway, not looking at the door opener. The only light came from a window at the far end of the hall and the air was still warm from the day and stuffy with overuse. The silhouette of another man appeared ahead of Timmy. ‘How’s the men?’ Timmy said to him with an echo of his usual joviality and shook his hand.

‘He’s ready and waiting,’ the man indicated a room to his left and Duggan followed Timmy in.

The curtains were closed and there was no light in the room. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the gloom before they recognised the figure lying on the floor under the window.

The man who had greeted Timmy touched the figure with his shoe and said, ‘Up you get. You’re going home.’

The figure didn’t move and the man who had opened the door came around from behind them and bent down and pulled him to his feet by one arm. He wobbled unsteadily and Duggan stepped forward and held him under his other arm. He was a dead weight, barely able to stand, his head dropped down on his chest. Duggan couldn’t make out any of his features in the gloom. He stank of urine and stale sweat.

Duggan and the door opener began to edge him towards the
hallway
. A third man, who had followed them into the basement, stepped back to let them through. His arms hung by his side and Duggan made out the faint shape of a revolver hanging from his left hand.

‘Hold on a minute,’ Timmy said. ‘He had something belonged to me when he was picked up.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ the main man said.

‘An envelope,’ Timmy added. ‘With money.’

Jesus, Duggan thought and tried to keep moving but the door
opener stopped on the other side of Bradley and he had to stop too.

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ the leader repeated.

‘I want to see about getting it back.’

‘We’ll be very disappointed if anyone turns up here later,’ the leader said.  ‘We won’t be here. But we’ll be keeping an eye on it.’

‘Nobody’s going to turn up here,’ Timmy assured him. ‘See about the money.’

‘Come on,’ Duggan said to Timmy, repressing an urge to scream at him. ‘We can’t hold him up.’

‘Check it out,’ Timmy said to the leader. ‘And get it back to me.’

The leader said nothing and they started shuffling forward again, moving sideways through the door and up the steps to the lawn and driveway. Duggan got his first sight of Bradley as they emerged into the twilight. The right side of his face was discoloured from old
bruises
and his eyes were closed underneath a shock of brown hair. His shirt was stained with brown blotches and his feet were bare and filthy.

They manhandled him into the back of the car where he curled up on the seat. The door opener nodded to Duggan and went back inside. The other two had remained in the basement.

Duggan and Timmy sat into the car and opened the windows and Duggan leaned back and shook Bradley’s shoulder. ‘Jim,’ he said, ‘Jim. Can you hear me?’

Bradley stirred and opened his eyes. They were dull and blinked in the feeble light. ‘You’re safe now,’ Duggan said. ‘It’s all over.’ Bradley gave no sign of understanding, just stared back, his blue eyes dull.

‘Get the fuck out of here,’ Timmy muttered.

Duggan started the car and drove away, following Timmy’s
directions
again.

‘You won’t try to find that place again,’ he instructed.

‘I won’t,’ Duggan agreed. Not that he could anyway.

‘Or tell anyone about it.’

‘No.’

Gifford was still sitting on the wall of Rathgar church when they pulled up around the corner on Highfield Road. He ambled towards them, looking unconcerned until he came up to the car and saw Bradley sprawled on the back seat. ‘Jesus,’ he said.