No Enemy but Time (38 page)

‘Is Mr Arbuthnot expected home tonight?'

‘He is,' she answered. ‘He's in to dinner. He rang me from his office this afternoon.'

‘Good,' Sean Filey said. ‘I'm on my way over.'

Chapter 8

‘What you're asking is impossible.'

‘I'm not asking,' Frank Arbuthnot said. ‘I'm demanding it. I want the men who murdered Donny Brennan punished. And I want proof of it, Sean. Nothing else will do.'

They were standing, and Filey was conscious of the difference in their heights. He felt overshadowed for the first time in their long relationship. He had never lost the initiative before. Now it had been wrested from him by the man he had manipulated and despised. He felt a conscious hatred of him, and recognized that it had been there from the beginning.

‘You really mean to tell me that the life of one old half-wit is more to you than our victory in the North?'

‘There is no victory in the North,' Frank retorted. ‘There's just another load of guns at stake, more killing, more violence. And never mind who gets hurt. All you can see in this is one old, useless idiot that nobody's going to miss, isn't that right?'

‘No,' Sean countered. He knew he was arguing for the future of the whole careful enterprise he'd built up through this one man.

‘No, that's over-simplifying. Every man's life is important. But sacrifices have to be made. You know that. You've accepted it. This is just a childhood memory that's been violated. This ties in with sweets on a Sunday when you were a boy. It's sentimental self-indulgence, Frank. Be reasonable, for God's sake. They had to do it. He could have identified them!'

Frank said quietly, ‘Donny couldn't identify his own mother. They didn't have to kill him, Sean. There's no excuse. They shot down the poor devil in the bank too. I know, he went for the alarm. But isn't there any limit when it comes to killing in cold blood? Is it always right, because somehow it's part of the fight for Irish freedom?'

Sean Filey paused for a moment. The argument was lost and he knew it. He threw down his challenge.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Whatever we have to do, we'll do.'

‘Then you can count me out,' he heard Frank say. ‘If that's the price, it's too much for me to pay. No principle in the world is worth more than the poorest simpleton in Ireland. That's what it comes down to. You can find someone else to deal with that money. I wouldn't touch it.'

Filey said quietly, ‘You're breaking your oath, you realize that?'

‘Yes. But you needn't be afraid I'll go to the police. There are other ways of helping them catch those swine. But I won't betray you or anyone I've worked with. You can be sure of that.'

‘Your word of honour?' Filey asked coldly. Like the promise you made when you joined. Words of fealty sanctified in the blood of our fathers and grandfathers … Hatred chilled him. It made him shiver. Arbuthnot was going to offer a reward for information. But that wouldn't constitute betrayal.

Frank said, ‘I don't think you take that very seriously. But in my case you can. No one will ever learn anything about the organization from me. I didn't make this decision without thinking very hard. But I'm not prepared to go along with what you represent any more. Would you like a drink before you go?'

‘I don't drink with traitors,' Filey said.

‘Only with murderers!' was the retort as he opened the door and went out.

It was very quiet in the room. There was a fine mantel clock of his grandmother's and the gentle ticking sounded like gunshots in the silence. There was a knock on the door.

Frank called out, ‘Come in.'

‘Shall I serve the dinner now the gentleman's gone?' Mrs Brogan enquired.

‘Thank you, Mary. Ten minutes, if it won't spoil.'

‘Oh, sure, it's a casserole. It won't spoil at all.' And smiling, she withdrew.

He lit a cigarette. He'd open some wine when he went to the dining room. Alone, after years of living with Marie. It was a blessed peacefulness by contrast. The empty bed was sweeter than an embrace when he sank into it.

He went to the phone and dialled England. Her voice answered.

‘Claire? It's me. I've got something to tell you. I think you'll be glad …' And while she asked him worried questions he thought of a joke to ease her mind.

‘I can always hole up in our secret place. Remember old Reynard?' And then he said goodbye, God bless you, and hung up. They wouldn't dare touch him. They might talk about it among themselves, but they wouldn't dare. He threw the stub of cigarette into the empty grate and went into the dining room to eat alone.

Filey didn't interrupt her. He let her talk, the plan shaping, filling out with details. She couldn't sit still. She was walking round the kitchen, pausing to emphasize the point. She was flushed and bright-eyed. Her excitement was almost sexual, he thought, watching her. Yet everything she said made sense. Killing Arbuthnot was the obvious remedy. But wasn't it a kind of defeat, an admission of failure? What she proposed would turn it into a massive triumph. A propaganda coup that could bring a ransom with it.

‘If you kidnap him,' Marie said, ‘she'll come here trying to find him.'

Filey said, ‘You really think she'd take that risk?'

‘I know it,' Marie declared. ‘I've listened to them on the phone to each other. I've read the letters she writes him. She wouldn't give that husband what'd drop off her finger. It's darling Frank she cares about. She'll come. All we need is the publicity.'

Filey imagined that jealous spying, carried on over the years.

‘Did you ever say anything to him?' he asked her.

She stopped moving and turned to face him. ‘Yes,' she admitted. ‘That's why he threw me out. That's the truth of it, Sean.'

‘I thought it might be,' he said. ‘Not that it matters now. He's turned against us. I can't involve Quinlan in this. But I'll talk to Macbride.'

‘Why?' she demanded. ‘Why does he have to stick his nose in? We've got enough people – we can keep him here till we get her. Jesus, I can't wait to see his face!' She sat down and lit a cigarette. Her hands were shaking.

A little mad, Filey thought. She's become a little mad with her jealousy. It's made her capable of anything.

‘I have to bring Macbride in,' he explained. ‘Our lads can't take the money to the North, it's too risky for them. He'll have to make his own arrangements. A boat would be the best way. And he has contacts with the Dublin Council. He can keep Quinlan informed. I'll get on to him. Meantime, we've got to work out the timing and place to take him.'

‘I know his routine backwards,' she said. ‘I can do that. We'll need someone to make the upstairs room secure.'

By the next morning the window in the upstairs room was whitewashed. A bed had been moved into it. A strong padlock had been fitted to the door.

Macbride had asked one question only: ‘How much time have we got?'

‘Not much,' Filey answered. ‘As soon as we're ready, it'll be done.'

‘Don't hang about. He could make up his mind to spill his guts out to the Gardai any day.' And then he added, ‘Good luck. That sister'd be a big fish to catch.'

There was a car park to the rear of the bank. It was overlooked by blank walls. It was marked ‘Private', with little bays reserved for senior employees. Every day at nine-thirty, Frank Arbuthnot drove in. As Marie Dempster said, you could set your watch by him.

It was all timed to the last minute. Brogan had phoned through when he left for Dublin; the black Peugeot 505 was cruising round the area until nine-twenty, when it turned into the cul-de-sac and slid into a vacant parking bay. There were always two kept for bank visitors. A strange car wouldn't cause comment. Filey wanted to carry out the kidnapping after the bank closed, but Marie insisted that Arbuthnot didn't come back every afternoon, or leave at the same time in the evening. The morning was the safest. The risk was a member of the senior staff arriving late. Marie could vouch for Frank's punctuality, but she couldn't be certain that Dublin traffic and human nature might not wreck their plan. If the car park was full, they had five minutes or less to seize their quarry and drive off. They'd discussed alternatives and abandoned them.

Meath was out of the question. The Brogans mustn't be involved in a police investigation. They were loyal to the core, but not sophisticated enough to cope with an interrogation. Dublin was the place to make the snatch, and it must be done without evidence of a struggle. An ambush on the road was ruled out for the same reason. Arbuthnot must arrive at the bank, leave his car and then vanish.

It was a very wet morning. Frank drove into the centre of the city, glanced at his watch and cursed the traffic. Dublin was grey in the rain, the river Liffey ruffled by a sharp little breeze that whipped it spitefully. The pavements shone like polished slate. A billboard mocked Frank as he drove: ‘Come to sunny Cork with Loughlin Holidays'. A smiling family group waved at him, the sky blue in the background. Further on, a news stand, protected by a flimsy plastic sheet, had the scrawl on the
Independent
board, ‘Robbery. No clues'.

‘I won't betray you or anyone I've worked with.' That was his promise to Sean Filey. And that contemptuous question, ‘Your word of honour?' He had expected the anger, been prepared for bitterness and reproach. But not for the hatred. It wasn't a hatred new-born out of the situation. It must have always been there under the surface of what Frank thought was friendship. The lights changed and he moved on. Work was the antidote. It stopped the agonizing self-examination that drove away sleep and peace of mind. So much had been thrown away, so many things destroyed in his pursuit of an ideal. If an ideal it really was, he thought, in growing doubt. Or just a search for himself that led him nowhere in the end.

Thank God for the bank. Thank God for work and more work, so that he couldn't think too far ahead. Ryan wanted him to go to the States. Now that was closed to him. His uncle and his friends were united in the common cause that he'd abandoned. There'd be no welcome for him there once it was known. He turned into the cul-de-sac. It was nine-forty. Not bad, considering the weather and the traffic. The spaces were all full. He didn't even notice the black Peugeot. He reached behind him for his brief-case, got out, locked the car door. At the same moment Willie left the Peugeot. He came up to Frank. They met within a few feet of the black car. No chances were to be taken. Those were Filey's instructions. ‘Don't pull a gun on him, he's the kind to have a go at you. Send Pat round and get him from behind.'

‘Mornin',' said Willie in his nasal Dublin twang, with a broad smile. ‘It's Mr Arbuthnot, is it?'

‘Yes.' Frank paused.

Pat straightened up from where he'd been crouching, brought the cosh up and then down with all his force on to the back of the man's head. Willie caught him as he went down. The boot of the Peugeot sprang open and the two of them had him heaved up and bundled inside in a few seconds. Willie slammed the boot down.

‘Now ye bastard,' he said. ‘Ye'll take a little ride.'

They'd taken him upstairs. Willie'd stopped on a quiet road outside Dublin and he and Pat had tied the unconscious man's hands and taped over his eyes. They didn't dare gag him in case he choked. She'd watched from behind the curtain when the car drove up. She'd seen him briefly, manhandled in through the front door, and heard the shuffle and scuffle of resistance as they forced him up the narrow stairs. Willie'd stuffed a greasy rag into his mouth to stop him shouting till he was safe inside. She stood very still, her heart hammering with a savage excitement.

He'd turned her out after all those years. He'd taken everything she had to give, most of all her brand of fierce proprietary love, and tossed it away like rubbish. Now he was going to pay for that. His betrayal of their political beliefs meant nothing to her any more. All she could think of was him imprisoned above her head, at her mercy now, as she had so often been at his. She wondered if he'd beg. No, Marie thought, not for himself. But wait. Wait till we bring her face to face with him. He'll beg then, and I'll be there watching.

Willie cut his hands loose, seized one wrist and locked it into a handcuff, which was then snapped round the bedpost. He pulled the rag out of his mouth and ripped away the tape blinding his eyes. He looked down at him, with Pat standing in the rear. He was holding a gun and pointing it at their prisoner.

‘Now ye listen to me, you fucker,' Willie snarled. ‘Ye open yer trap to make a sound and I'll be up here and knock the teeth down yer throat. Not that there's anyone to hear ye! But no noise out of ye – no fuckin' trouble or, be Christ, I'll make ye wish ye'd never been born!'

Then he went out. Pat followed. He lingered in the doorway for a moment and levelled the gun slowly and deliberately at Frank. He didn't say a word. He just looked, and the look said everything. It was more terrifying than Willie's threats. Then Frank was alone.

There was a blinding pain in his head where he'd been coshed. He tried to sit upright and the room spun round. He leaned over and retched. His right hand was pinioned to the bedpost, which was heavy and solid. He sank back and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember anything before he came to in the black, cramped space, and found himself blindfolded and tied up. Concussion, he thought, that's the headache. That's why I'm sick and can't remember. Stay quiet. You can't do anything like this. Stay very quiet. They haven't killed you. Remember that. They want something from you first. Slowly he stilled the fear that threatened to turn into panic. You're weak and shaken. Your only hope is time, and soon enough you'll find out why you've been brought here. Then you can begin to fight them.