Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (41 page)

“Is there trouble?” Shayna asked as she dashed to the bathroom for her clothes.

“That explosion was too close for comfort.”

“I’m coming with you!”

“Please yourself.”

We left the hotel and hurried down to the quay. A large crowd had gathered to observe the spectacle of a boat well ablaze. It had always fascinated me how roaring fires attracted onlookers. That they stand there admiring the flames, and then again, maybe it was their attraction to Hell.

I found Shamus standing at the front of the crowd, his face brightly illuminated by the flames. He had the vacant stare of a man deep in shock after having lost everything he had ever possessed and I could see why. The
Muff
was on fire!

I pulled him round by his arm to gain his attention. “Frigging hell, Shamus, what happened?”

He remained mesmerized by the fire, staring into the flames, a noticeable tear or two in his eyes. He said, without looking at me. “The
Muff
, Shacks sir…she just blew up!”

“Frigging hell, Shamus, I can see that. Thank your lucky arse you weren’t on it at the time. Insurance fully up to date, I hope!” I wasn’t deliberately trying to be humorous just glad he was still in one piece.

“The boats replaceable, Shacks sir,” he said with a lump in his throat. “It’s that police chap…Hamer.”

“What’s he after now?”

“No, yer don’t understand, Shacks sir. It’s Hamer!”

I started feeling a little aggrieved with the Irishman. “What about him?”

“He was onboard when it blew-up.”

It took me a few seconds to understand the consequences of what Shamus had just told me. For a moment I was stunned too. All I could do was to scan the burning deck for the shape of a burning body, not that I could see one. I turned to Shamus and said, “Are you absolutely sure he went aboard?”

“I know what I saw, Shacks sir. I found meself a nice comfortable seat by the pub window, as you told me to. I saw Hamer hurrying down to the harbour. I waited a few minutes to see if he was being followed. He wasn’t so I went out to see what he was up to. In the distance I saw him moving about on deck. As I got closer…” He gestured by throwing his hands into the air a huge explosion. “The force of the blast almost knocked me off me feet, it did. Feel me, I’m still shaking.”

I wondered if Shamus had seriously thought about how close he’d come to being killed because this was no freak accident. Hamer must have come down to the harbour searching for me. He paid the price for boarding the
Muff
at the wrong time and had, probably, triggered off a sensor device. He had suffered the misfortune that was clearly intended for Shamus and me. I should have at least felt some discomfort; some sort of guilt for the way Hamer had died so horrendously. Yet, in a strange kind of way, all I could think of was I’d lost my emergency pull cord to call in backup if I got into even worse trouble than I was in now.

Again I tugged Shamus by the arm. “We’ve got to get out of here and that includes you, Shamus.”

Shamus looked confused. “What about all the mess? What about Hamer?”

I said to him harshly, “What about us, Shamus? That explosion was meant for you and me, and anyone else associated with us. We were fortunate. Hamer wasn’t. We can’t change that now other than to find enough evidence to flush out whoever is responsible. We can’t do that if we offer ourselves as sacrificial lambs to the slaughter. And that will happen if we stay here.”

Shayna backed me up. “He’s right, Shamus, we’re sitting ducks here.”

Shamus looked at me disapprovingly. “Are yer suggesting we run away from our responsibilities?”

“We’ve no other choice. We’re targets and the killers won’t stop until we end up like Hamer.”

“What about the Garda, it won’t take them long to connect the boat to me.”

“True. They’ll probably find a badly burnt body, but they won’t know who it is for a good while. They’ll assume it’s you, Shamus. We can use that time to finish the job.”

Shamus shook his head defiantly. “Sorry, Shacks sir, I can’t do that. I’ll only slow you down. I’ll stay and mingle with the Garda. I should be safe. After all this commotion I don’t think anyone will bother me while the Garda are involved. Don’t worry I’ll drag the story along. Tell them I’ve no idea what happened, just move with their investigation.”

I relented, mainly because I’d little time to lose. “Okay, Shamus, if that’s what you really want to do?”

“It’s better if I stay.”

“It’s your choice, Shamus. But I promise you, when this is finally over, and if I’m still breathing, I’ll find you a new boat to compensate you for your loss.”

“I can’t let yer do that, Shacks sir.”

“Nonsense, Shamus. I’m as much to blame for the loss of your livelihood. You collect the insurance and I’ll double the cost. Have you got that? I happen to know of someone who’s most willing to cover the expenditure of the entire venture and that includes the price of a new boat.” I turned to Shayna at that point for confirmation. “By the way, where did you say Deveron was staying?”

I expected a verbal barrage from her, but her bemused expression rather told a different story.

I shook Shamus’s hand in gratitude for his com panionship and loyalty and then Shayna and I slipped quietly away from the chaos. I felt badly leaving Shamus behind to deal with the carnage, but I had to be free from involvement regarding the inevitable investigation. In the distance I could hear the sirens of a lone fire engine.

Collecting the Roadster from the hotel car park, Shayna and I left Baltimore and drove away from the inevitable prying questions, and even more significantly, away from the attention of the people aboard the
Flying Fish
, at least until I was ready to challenge the crew straight on.

It was while we were driving along the road to Clonakilty on our way to meet Deveron at the Quality Hotel, that for some unknown reason, Shayna insisted on telling me, Clonakilty was the birthplace of Michael Collins, the founder of the I.R.A., as if I really cared a frigging toss at the time!

*

Deveron greeted our arrival as if we were long lost friends. “Shayna and Mister Speed, I’m delighted to see you both.”

Shayna jerked her head towards me and said, “Our ‘Boy’s Own’ adventurer here has found your submarine.”

Deveron’s expressed his jubilation. “It’s definitely here…in Ireland?’

“Where else would I have found it? Thailand?”

Deveron was frothing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve actually seen it?”

“Naturally, since I found it.”

He smiled, seemingly lost in his thoughts. And then he suddenly snapped out of his daydream. “Splendid! Splendid! Tanamoto and the Japanese government will be overwhelmingly ecstatic. You might even become folklore in Japan; an honourable guest of their Country forever.”

“Forget the romantics,” I said. “We need to resolve a few points of interest between us first.”

Deveron’s tinny voice squeaked with excitement. “I can’t wait any longer, Mister Speed. Where does she lay? I have to know.”

“Not until we’ve covered a few facts from the past.”

“Do you never give up?” Deveron said disappointed. “What this time, Mister Speed?”

“What do you know about IRA terrorists assisting the Third Reich during the war?”

“I find that a rather strange enquiry, Mister Speed?”

“Did you know of any?”

“There wasn’t as many as statistics supposedly recorded. Naturally there were those Irishmen who hated the British more than the Germans. But I certainly couldn’t name any of them. I went to fight in the war, don’t forget. After the war finished it didn’t make a damn bit of difference who did what.”

I held up McCracken’s ring in front of his eyes, so he could have a good look at it without fobbing me off. “Seen anything like this before?”

Deveron gasped. It was a good sign that he had. “Good gracious! Where did you get that?”

“You recognize the ring then?”

“I think I do.”

“Then you’ll know all about an active IRA terrorist named, J. McCracken. No doubt he was causing havoc when you were involved in playing with bombs.”

“There is no need to undermine my beliefs at the time, Mister Speed.”

“You’re talking to someone who doesn’t give a frigging toss in your beliefs. Is the name McCracken familiar or not?”

“Was McCracken involved in the disappearance of the I-52?”

“Why am I experiencing problems in getting a simple answer to a simple question? What about McCracken?” I reminded him. “Did you know him?”

“I knew of him. There’s not many disgruntled Irishman who were around in the late thirties who hadn’t heard of Jimmy ‘the merciless’ McCracken, Commanding Officer of the Munster Brigade. Realistically he was nothing but a powerful warlord with big ambitions.”

“World domination I suppose?”

“I hardly think so, Mister Speed. McCracken was a true patriot regardless and his main interest was a free Ireland, not to conquer the world. But he was a controversial character. He never kept to protocol. He did things his way. His contribution to the Cause was to victimize the loyal Irish people who ran shops and businesses, forcing them into paying money for protection. The protection money bought his brigade weapons to fight the British. There were many followers who fought for the Cause who believed McCracken was nothing more than a common racketeer using the backbone of the I.R.A. to fill his pockets with wealth.”

I glanced at Shayna. “There you are, Shayna. Exactly what I told you when we were engaged in
riveting
conversation back at the farmhouse; terrorists are born racketeers and criminals and nothing more.”

She pulled her tongue out at me which actually made her look childishly cute.

Deveron invaded our private war. “Please can we dispense with this trivial bickering amongst ourselves and concentrate on McCracken.” I waved him his freedom of speech. “There was many an Irishman who saw McCracken as a born murderer and ideally suited for the IRA. His hatred for the British was brutish. He specialized in bombs; big bombs. He liked to listen to the sound of his bombs exploding. He would stay in the vicinity to witness his work. When the Second World War began he defied the agreement amongst the Irish factions for a ceasefire, so the Irish contingency could concentrate on fighting the Germans instead. Most Irishmen didn’t want the Germans on their shores as much as they didn’t want the British. McCracken disagreed with the decision and swore he would slaughter every Irish traitor that fought alongside the British during the war.”

“He sounds like an exciting guy.”

“Not a person I wanted to be around, that was for sure. What has McCracken got to do with the submarine?”

“I think he was part of a hijacking gang that made the I-52 disappear.”

“But how would he know what the Japanese were planning?”

“From the Germans I should imagine.”

Deveron snorted a brief laugh. “Then the rumours were true that McCracken did collaborate with the Third Reich. McCracken hated the British so much that he didn’t care who stood beside him as long as he could continue his fight for freedom. But if he was guilty of intercepting the I-52, then he obviously double-crossed the Germans. Now why doesn’t that surprise me! The conniving rat must have smelled some profitable arrangement.”

“He wanted the gold, obviously.”

“Absolutely no other reason,” Deveron said solidly. “And I’m not surprised that McCracken stamped on German toes, as well as the Irish. Do you know why they called McCracken ‘the merciless’?”

I shrugged, “Because he was a nasty bastard through and through?”

“That’s exactly what he was, Mister Speed. In reality, McCracken practically invented the suicide bomber. He’d prime the bombs to go off the moment the bomb planter set the timer. He killed comrades to gain success. And all because he didn’t want to give the bomb disposal teams any chance to diffuse the situation.”

“So I guess you didn’t rate him highly?”

“I was an Irishman that hated another Irishman purely because he killed innocent Irish people, and that was never part of the campaign for total freedom from British rule.”

“He doesn’t sound welcoming even by his own breed. Where was he originally from?”

Deveron mauled his way through the question. “He was a Corkonian…Is the bastard still alive?”

I shook my head. “Not unless someone else was wearing his ring at the time. He was the victim of a rock fall inside an uncharted cavern beneath the ruins of Dun an Oir.”

“Good heavens above!”

“I thought you’d be pleased that he found his own personal coffin.”

“A cavern, you say? Beneath Dun an Oir. Isn’t that the old fort on Clear Island, the one referred to as the ‘fort of gold’?”

“That’s the one.”

“How ironic he chose that particular place.”

“There was nothing ironic about his choice at all. It was the perfect place and large enough to hide a submarine. The cavern isn’t on any maps or charts, but McCracken knew the location and used it to his advantage when he hijacked the I-52 in 1944. Only his plan backfired. He never anticipated the possibility of the cavern tumbling down onto his frigging head.”

“So the gold’s still there?”

My, “no,” was savagely blunt. I suspected he was treasure hunting again

“Where is it then?”

“How the frigging hell should I know!”

“Do you intend to keep looking for it?”

“Will you continue paying me?”

“If you think you can find the gold?”

“I intend to because if you weren’t responsible for ordering the deaths of my friends, then the guilty bastards are going to come creeping out of their hiding places when I dangle the golden proof under their fat, greedy noses.”

“Such a deep vendetta will be the killing of you, Mister Speed.”

“And do I look like as if I care a frigging toss! Oh, while we’re on the subject of money and wealth and that promise of unlimited expenditure. I’m going to need a substantial amount to replace a fishing vessel that was blown up.”

Deveron’s eyelids widened. “Good gracious, Mister Speed! You’re very clumsy.”

“No fault of mine. I think the intention was I should have been on the boat at the time. Now if you don’t mind I’d like to wash for dinner.”