The Blood Upon the Rose (27 page)

God knows what is going on in there, he thought. It must be at least ten minutes since Butler went in; he might be in trouble.

Kee was right. It was impossible to delay any longer.

Radford strode briskly towards the front door of the house. ‘Come on,’ he said to Kee. ‘You lead the way.’ He beckoned to his driver and the other detective accompanying Kee. ‘Come on, lads, we’re going in now. Brace yourselves for trouble.’

The last thing Andrew had expected was to be shown into an empty room. As Daly went downstairs, the shock hit him with a sudden surge of sickness in the stomach, instantly repressed. His mind, keyed up for violent action, began to race like a car engine thrown out of gear at full throttle.

What were the possibilities? Daly might have realized all along that he was a British agent, and shut him in here as a prisoner until he decided what to do with him. The wicked grin on the man's face seemed to point to that. But then, he had not locked the door - Andrew got up and tested it - and he had left him in here fully armed with two pistols.

Daly did not know they were loaded, of course. But if he thought Andrew was a British agent, he would expect them to be loaded, wouldn't he? Or at least he would have thought they might be, and taken the trouble to check. In fact, if he had wanted to make Andrew a prisoner, his best chance would have been downstairs, with two strong men to help him.

It didn’t make sense. Maybe Collins was just late and Daly had other things to do.

Other things more important than guarding a suspected British agent?

He sat down at the table, put his leather bag on top of the papers, and opened it. The feel of the heavy Mauser inside comforted him. But where was Collins? He thought he heard a noise outside, and walked over to the window to pull down the net curtains and peer out.

The road looked busier than before. There was a group of men walking down it, looking at the house as they came towards it. One of them was Radford.

Hell’s bloody teeth, Andrew thought. There they are walking down the middle of the road - not even on the pavement, for Christ's sake! - as though they’re thinking of buying the place. Even a child could see they don’t belong here; in fact, those kids are staring at them with their eyes popping out. They’re not making the slightest attempt at disguise. Any moment someone in this building is going to look out of the window and see them.

And then what? Then Daly will know I’m a British agent because it’s too much of a coincidence that a house like this would be raided just at the moment when I come to it. Maybe that's what he was waiting for - he got me here early to see if anyone turned up before Collins arrived. And now they have.

How do I get out of this?

The solution came to him as he saw Radford begin an earnest, anxious discussion with one of the other detectives. They’re going to be seen any second, Andrew realized. It’s no good waiting for Collins. If he isn’t in this building already, he couldn't get in if he wanted. There’s only one thing for it.

He strode to the bedroom door, opened it, and hurried down the stairs. ‘Daly!’ he shouted. ‘Mr Daly, where are you?
Achtung - schnell
! There is danger!’

He was halfway down the stairs when Daly and the two young men came into the hall at once.

‘What the devil is it?’ Daly asked. ‘Your man's not here yet, he’ll …’

‘No, it’s not that!’ Andrew said. ‘There are men outside in the street - I think they are the police!’

‘What?’ Daly and the others dashed through to the front downstairs room, and peered out. Andrew heard a voice say: ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the man's right!’ Then they were back in the hall. Shocked, Daly gave Andrew a swift, appraising glance, but it was one more of gratitude than suspicion. Now I’ve proved my credentials, Andrew thought, but where the hell is Collins?

It’s too late for that now.

The front door opened at the same time as Daly said: ‘We must get out the back. Frank! Seamus! Quick!’

The next few minutes were very chaotic. Kee came through the front door very fast and grabbed the first man he saw, which was Andrew. He slammed Andrew against the wall hard, and the violence of the impact did two things. First, it winded Andrew, and second, it decided him which way to fight. Out of sheer frustration he resisted, and then, when Kee tried to turn him round, Andrew kneed him in the groin, jerked his hands free and hit him a short, clumsy punch to the side of the head. The two of them reeled back and forth in the narrow hall, wrestling without any clear advantage. Andrew was aware of other detectives trying to push past, and without really meaning to he knew he had stopped them. Then a second detective grabbed his right arm from behind and shoved it painfully up his back, and someone else hit him hard with something heavy on the side of the head, below the ear.

Kee said: ‘At least we got one of the buggers, anyway.’

Sean was stunned when Michael Collins wheeled his bicycle boldly into Brendan Road, and when the detective saw them and came striding straight towards them, Sean was appalled. They’ve got my photograph, he thought, and surely to God they must know what Michael looks like, too. But it seemed they did not. Almost immediately his anxiety turned to amazement, and then delight.

Collins smiled at the policeman cheerfully. Before the harassed detective could speak, he said: ‘Excuse me, officer, but I wonder, are you in need of any help?’

‘What?’

‘Well, I believe you are policemen, are you not, and as I live in this road I wondered if you were in need of any assistance. Who is it you are after?’

The detective gazed at him uncertainly. Collins’ friendly, open countenance was a vast relief after the protests and sullen name-calling of the crowd. He said: ‘We’re after Michael Collins and the damned Shinners, that’s who. I just wish these people would stand back, for the love of God. There’s likely to be some shooting if they put up a fight.’

Over the policeman's shoulder Sean could see some of the other detectives involved in an anxious conference opposite the door of number 1. The gaggle of young boys were about fifteen yards behind them, egging each other on to see who would come the closest. The detective glanced at them anxiously.

Collins said: ‘Is that a fact? Well, those young boys ought to be out of the way for a start. Would you like me to have a word with them for you, officer? I know one or two of the little devils myself.’

The detective looked vastly relieved. ‘That’d be a great help, mister. Tell them to get right back, away from number 1, would you? That's where it's going to start.’

He left them to go to the assistance of his colleague. Collins got on his bike and cycled slowly down the street. As he came abreast of the boys he shouted to them to keep back, but his eyes, like Sean's, were on number 1 where the detectives were pouring in through the front door. As he cycled past they heard shots from the rear of the building.

‘Will we go in, Michael?’ Sean asked.

Collins shook his head. ‘No, no, it would do no good. They’ll get out the back if they’re quick.’

By now people were looking out of their windows all along the street, and a little crowd had gathered around the police car at the junction halfway along. As Sean and Collins approached it one of the detectives stepped forward. Collins smiled at him.

‘Good morning, officer,’ he said. ‘I hear your friends are after Michael Collins.’

Davis grinned, his face a curious mixture of tension and relief. ‘True,’ he said. ‘But he’s a terrible hard man to catch.’

‘I wish you luck,’ Collins said. ‘It’s a nasty job you boys have to do. How do they know he’s using that house, do you think?’

The two men’s eyes met. Davis said: ‘I’ve no idea at all. But no doubt I’ll find out, before the day is over.’

For a moment they stood together, without speaking, and Sean had a sense that they could have said much more, in another place or time. Then Sean and Collins moved quietly to the back of the crowd, and watched, until at last the detectives came out, bringing their one prisoner.

He was a man neither Sean Brennan nor Michael Collins had ever seen before.

15

RADFORD CAME INTO the front room in Brendan Road behind Kee, and shut the door behind him. He was hot, breathing heavily.

‘Damn!’ he said. ‘Damn them all to perdition! They got away!’

‘All except this one,’ Kee said.

Radford glared at Kee, and the handcuffed figure of Andrew Butler. He said: ‘They all got away, Tom. Every last one of them. He's one of ours.’

‘What’  Kee was appalled. ‘In here, and you didn’t tell me? I could have …’

‘Shut up, Tom. Not now, please. I’ve got to think.’ He looked at Andrew. ‘What happened? Was Collins here?’

Andrew began to shake his head, then stopped because of the pain. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Never came.’

‘Why not?’

‘How the hell should I know?’ Andrew felt himself trembling with frustration and rage. ‘Ask this big oaf here - perhaps he scared him off, walking down the middle of the street!’

‘That's enough of that!’ Radford snapped. ‘Do they know who you are?’

‘Not unless you’ve told them. Or he did.’ Andrew tried to get a grip on himself, realizing that Radford was trying to salvage what he could from the fiasco. At least he had had the sense to shut the door, to keep the others out. But what did it matter now?

Radford turned to Kee. ‘Look, Tom, as far as you’re concerned, this man is a German officer, right? He’s an important catch. Keep him handcuffed and take him to HQ. Only you and I are to interview him. Got that?’

‘Got it,’ Kee said. ‘But I wish you’d told me.’

‘Just get him outside, Tom, will you?’ Radford answered. ‘I’ll explain later. I want to search this place first.’

He opened the door and went out.

‘Come on, then, Hermann,’ said Kee. ‘On your feet. German officer, eh?’ He hauled Andrew out of the front door, and dragged him past the sullen, muttering crowd to where Davis and his driver stood by their car.

‘
Scheisskopf,’
Andrew said, for their benefit.

Standing quietly with his bicycle, Sean Brennan saw the two men coming towards him, and recognized one as the detective who had chased him in the church. He drew his cap down over his eyes, and stepped slowly to the back of the crowd.

But Michael Collins stood quite calmly, looking for all the world like a bank clerk who has never seen anything so exciting in all his life.

Later that evening, Andrew and Radford sat together in an interview room in the cellars of Brunswick Street. It was a cold stone room with nothing on the walls. It contained two upright chairs and a table. Radford held out a sheet of paper.

‘That's it,’ he said. ‘There’s your cover note.’

Andrew read it slowly.

Acting on information received, detectives of the DMP G Division raided a private house in Brendan Road this afternoon. In the house the officers found a number of men, whom they believe to be members of the Irish Republican Army responsible for several recent outrages, including the attempted assassination of Lord French at Ashtown Cross. Unfortunately, the men were apparently warned of the raid a few minutes before it happened, and, after a fierce interchange in which a number of shots were fired, all but one managed to make their escape through the back garden.

The police did, however, arrest one occupant of the house - a former German Army officer, whom they believe to be in Dublin with the aim of selling arms to the Sinn Feiners. The German has been taken to Dublin Castle for interrogation, and he will either be tried under the Defence of the Realm Act or deported within the next few days. Lord French is prepared to issue the strongest possible protest to the government in Berlin.

Andrew tossed it back. ‘You’ll release this to the press?’

‘That’s right. It looks good for us. A small propaganda triumph, even if we did miss Collins himself. And the beauty of it is, the Sinn Feiners may protest, but for once they know it’s really true. They
were
trying to buy arms from a German officer. Or at least they think they were.’

Andrew's lips tightened. He rubbed the back of his head irritably, trying to mask the pain. It was a long time since he had felt such a sense of waste, of anticlimax. ‘I didn’t get into this to make propaganda points,’ he said.

Radford sighed. ‘Nor did I. But it’s the best we can do, just now. Why do you think he didn’t turn up, anyway ?’

‘If I knew that, I’d know everything.’ Andrew pushed his chair back, and stood up. ‘I’ve been round and round it in my mind, but I can see no purpose in it. Bloody Irish inefficiency, probably. Unless they knew you were coming.’

Radford flushed. ‘I’ve told you twice already, haven’t I? No one knew - no one at all - until after you were in that building. That’s why we made such a botch of the raid; I hadn’t time to get the lads in place. It makes us all look stupid, leaving the back door unguarded. But they couldn’t have known – I’ll swear it on anything you like!’

Andrew gazed back at him in silence, cold, dispassionate, with that air of distant unconcern which had always irritated Radford about the aristocracy. In the end he said: ‘All right, I believe you. But from now on, operations with the police are a dead duck. When are you going to let me out of this place?’

Radford sighed, and stood up. He fished a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, and clipped one of the bracelets around his own left wrist. ‘Now, if you like,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk you over to Dublin Castle, so the lads can see, and then you can slip out the back door any time you like. That suit you?’

Andrew shrugged. ‘It’ll have to, won't it?’

Radford fastened the other bracelet round Andrew’s right wrist, and unlocked the cell door.

Not for the first time that evening, Detective Constable Dick Davis stopped typing, and scowled at the filing cabinet in the corner of his office. There was something missing from this report which he was typing out, and he didn’t understand why.