Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (15 page)

A strong advocate of this new scheme—a fact well known throughout Europe—its failure, should it happen, would be a disaster for him. He was persuaded originally by an economist boffin who never stood on a farm in his life. Those who opposed the scheme, and there were many, made it clear at the outset that failure in one country would lead to the abandonment of the entire plan.

‘What do you suggest?’ he asked when Moxy fell silent.

He was already thinking ahead; it was looking like scapegoat time and Commissioner O’Shea would be an ideal candidate.

‘I think we should parachute in twenty troops with supplies of food and petrol.’

‘Food; yes. Troops; no. It would require top level approval,’ he responded angrily.

Maxi was getting desperate; the DG’s long face wasn’t helping.

Moxy tried another tack.

‘Could we ask their Premier to provide assistance? If you were to ring Taoiseach Carney he might be disposed to co-operate.’

‘What’s the point; Carney wants to arrest Crat for breaking a local law and has locked up our troops. What kind of a fool is this fellow Crat?’

‘He’s a typical civil servant; does everything by the book.’

‘Hasn’t the idiot got any intelligence?’ He paused. ‘All right, send a small supply of food and petrol by air.’ He stood up. ‘I have a meeting of the foreign ministers shortly. Keep me fully advised.’

Moxy breathed heavily. The DG hadn’t yet been told about the possibility that Crat could face an attempted murder charge.

*

U
lick sat, with gloomy expression, on his usual seat in Paulo’s and sipped his pint. It had taken weeks to organise the campaign and, by all accounts, it was highly successful so far. But Crat was still in Conna. Paulo joined him.

‘What are we going to do about Setanta, Ulick?’ he asked.

He roused himself. ‘One thing I can tell you; that little bastard is not going to execute him.’

‘Is he being properly treated?’

‘He is. Mick Muldoon is feeding him the best.’ He paused and laughed. ‘In fact, he’s better fed right now than Crat.’

‘Have you seen Ozzy lately?’

‘Not since they destroyed the Rath,’ he shook his head in despair.

A phone rang in the office; Paulo answered it.

‘It’s for you, Ulick,’ he raised the flap in the counter, ‘Come this way,’ he lowered his voice. ‘I think it’s Moxy.’

Ulick picked up the phone.

‘Yes Moxy.’

The commissioner sounded concerned.

‘Ulick, this is in danger of becoming a major crisis. We have to do something about Crat.’

‘What have you got in mind, Moxy?’

‘I think I can persuade the DG to replace him with someone more efficient.’

Ulick wasn’t about to reveal that Frankie called him earlier; Moxy didn’t tell him that a relief flight was on its way.

‘Crat isn’t the problem, Moxy. Get him out of here and scrap this ridiculous scheme.’

‘Ulick,’ he sounded really concerned now. ‘This is a major USE programme; it has the DG’s full backing.’

‘And our council now has the backing of everyone in Hi-Brazil.’

‘There has to be a peaceful way of solving this dilemma.’

‘There is Moxy and we’ve found it.’

*

C
rat stood inside his office window looking out at the lively activity in the Main Street. Everything appeared normal; but the pangs of hunger in his gut were far from normal; he was sick drinking coffee. Madame had failed to purchase even a sandwich in the local supermarket; in desperation, she visited Ella’s shop and politely asked for some bread and butter. She was handed a sheaf of questionnaires and departed angrily. If this kept up she would soon fit her suit.

But help was on the way. Crat listened carefully for the sound of an aircraft. It had been sunny earlier but now the sky was overcast and visibility becoming poor. Then, a small jet flashed before his eyes and was gone just as quickly; he raced out the door. The plane had passed the town; some distance away a parachute was hanging in the sky.

He raced into the office. ‘Is there any petrol in your car,’ he demanded of Madame.

‘There is some.’

‘Give me your keys; I have to collect our supplies.’

She handed them over.

‘Can I come with you.’

‘No.’

He raced out to the car, observing as he did so that Joyc was standing outside Paulo’s. Sitting in, he started the engine, revved up and headed towards the Maam Cross road at speed. Pedestrians and cyclists leaped out of his way.

On the other side of the street, Ulick put his mobile back to his ear.

‘He’s just left. Make sure you get that parcel before he does.’

*

A
fter a long meeting with the foreign ministers, the DG was furious.

‘The supplies we sent were stolen by the locals.’

Moxy was developing an even nastier feeling in the pit of his stomach.

‘The Directors have decided to send in the army; it’s not a decision I like, but we have no choice. This programme is too important.’

‘Should I give Joyc the opportunity to withdraw?’ Moxy asked.

‘Do, but tell him he has only three hours; the Special Forces have already received their instructions. This place, Connemara, will be under martial law before the day is over.’

Moxy returned to his office and rang Ulick. The DG had omitted to tell him that complaints were pouring in from the other areas involved in this project.

*

R
eports of the forthcoming invasion were announced—and condemned—on HBTV; Brussels refused to comment. Thousands of angry people poured into Conna. Ulick organised a citizen’s guard and placed it outside Crat’s office; he was concerned that the autocratic Director might be lynched. Taoiseach Frankie Carney and his entire cabinet travelled out to Conna where a public meeting was scheduled to be broadcast live.

Frankie, surrounded by his cabinet, stood with Ulick, on a hastily erected platform, in the centre of the town. Ulick spoke first to the people, but in reality he was talking to the powers that be in Brussels.

‘I believe Directors of the USE that you think you are dealing with a rabble in Hi-Brazil: you’re not. You’re dealing with the people of this ancient and proud nation who are saying to you now, loudly and clearly; you have no legal right to invade our country; call off your troops. If you do invade, you can take possession, but not for long. You cannot hold down a hostile civilian population of more than a million determined people.’

He paused. The crowd roared.

‘Taoiseach Frankie Carney needs no introduction.’

He handed the mike to Frankie who faced the cameras.

‘We are a peaceful people but for months now we have endured this farcical interference with our freedom. We have protested in every possible lawful manner at this bureaucratic lunacy; we have been ignored. The worthy people of Conna have had enough; the people of Hi-Brazil have had enough. Scrap this scheme and get your people out of our country, or take the consequences.’

The crowd roared and roared their approval.

A reporter approached the Taoiseach.

‘Mr. Carney, are you prepared to give the USE people safe passage out of the country?’

‘Yes.’

‘And withdraw all charges against Mr. Crat?’

‘Yes, provided he releases Mr. Joyc’s pet dog which he holds in custody and has threatened with execution.’

*

A
fterwards, they adjourned to Paulo’s which was packed with their supporters. Frankie sipped his pint slowly.

‘What do you think, Ulick?’ he asked.

‘We’ve done our best; there’s no going back. If we lose this we’ll all become zombies controlled by zombies and you’ll have as much power as a camel driver without a camel.’

A surprised looking Paulo approached Ulick. ‘Phone call for you,’ he lowered his voice. ‘It’s a lady.’

They spoke for nearly ten minutes. Then Ulick made a call; it was short and terse. He rejoined Frankie.

‘Should I call on Crat before I go back to Galway?’ The Taoiseach asked him.

‘Why not.’

Frankie he found the Director, arrogant as ever. Madame appeared to be subdued.

‘I’ve offered you and the rest of your staff free passage out of the country. If your masters so decide, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’

Crat’s lip curdled. ‘I won’t be going anywhere; when our troops arrive I will declare martial law and proceed with the valuable work I’ve been doing here.’

Frankie shook his head sadly.

‘When have you last eaten?’

It was Madame replied.

‘We’ve been living on scraps since yesterday, sir.’

‘I’ll get the hotel to send you over a good lunch.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied.

Crat made no comment.

*

I
t was a long afternoon, filled with rumours that troop carrying planes were spotted crossing the coast at Wexford. There were reports that the foreign ministers of the USE were meeting in emergency session in Brussels. Everyone waited and waited, watching the skies over Conna. A subdued Ulick sat quietly in Paulo’s, sipping his pint. Paulo rushed around catering for his other customers.

The phone rang; Paulo took the call.

‘Two Hercules transport planes have just crossed Galway, heading this way,’ he announced.

There was silence for a moment. Ulick addressed the crowd.

‘There’s to be no violence; let’s stand outside and watch.’

They trooped out of the bar. Crat was standing outside his office looking very pleased with himself. They heard the noise of the propellers first; the giant Hercules planes were approaching at 5,000 feet; then they were above the town. They waited for the sight of opening parachutes. Suddenly, the planes increased speed, climbed away to the south and disappeared from view. Ulick smiled.

The phone in Paulo’s rang; he raced in to answer it and emerged a minute later.

‘Ulick, it’s Frankie. He wants to talk to you.’

The phone was also ringing in Crat’s office.

Ulick took the call, Frankie sounded happy. ‘They’ve recalled their troops and announced cancellation of the entire scheme.’ He paused. ‘You had something to do with this, Ulick; you spoke to the DG.’

‘Come out and have a drink and I’ll tell you about it.’

‘They’re sending a plane for Crat and his staff. Will you give him enough petrol and provide an escort to Oranmore International.’

‘He’ll get all the ceremony he’s deserves.’

*

W
ord spread through the town like wild fire; HBTV put out a news flash and sent their people to cover the departure. Ulick walked over to the barracks; Sergeant Muldoon was delighted to see him. Crat was nowhere in sight.

‘I’ll get Setanta right away, President. This is a great day for Conna.’

Setanta was so excited he put his two paws up on Ulick’s shoulders, grinning happily as he saw it. They danced around the day room before emerging into the street. A mighty roar went up from that large crowd.

Ulick turned to his pet. ‘Let’s go over to Paulo’s; you look like you could use a pint.’

He nodded his head in agreement.

*

S
ergeant Mick Muldoon completed his calculations, wrote out an official warrant and presented himself at the agency. When led into Crat’s office, he presented the Director with the warrant.

‘Mr. Bur O’Crat, you owe 1560 euro for illegal parking in our town.’

He exploded. ‘I owe you nothing; I have diplomatic immunity.’

The sergeant smiled. ‘It’s like this, Sir: you pay this sum or I’ll escort you to the cell recently occupied by Setanta. The charges of attempted murder of our president and destruction of part of our national heritage will not be withdrawn if you are still in this jurisdiction tomorrow.’

He was furious. ‘That is blackmail.’

‘No sir, it’s the law.’

Crat produced his checkbook; the sergeant shook his head.

‘Cash sir.’

The transaction completed Mick escorted Crat and Madame from the office to their cars parked nearby. Officially, they would be in custody until they left the jurisdiction. Crat didn’t like it, but he wasn’t given a choice; with all his luggage and files in the back of his Mercedes, he was told to sit behind the wheel. Madame sat behind the wheel of her car.

It was nearly dark now, but this didn’t impede the TV cameramen. The two sides of the street were lined with thousands of “well wishers.” The Garda National band lined up outside Paulo’s and, to the delight of the natives, played “Goodbye, farewell, we love to see you go. It’s been great crack. But don’t you dare come back.” A sober looking Taoiseach Carney stood beside Paulo. It was, after all, a solemn occasion although he was having difficulty keeping a straight face.

Ulick signalled to Charlie Molloy who emerged from a side street leading two donkeys. He lined them up a short distance in front of the Director’s car and spent some time attaching ropes to the front axle of the Mercedes. Crat glowered; the crowd began to laugh. While his son held the two donkeys, he brought out another one and attached it to Madame’s car. Blatant discrimination? No, Crat wouldn’t pay for four donkeys. Petrol would have been cheaper!

The band struck up again and the crowd sang lustily the slightly altered famous song: “Like Boycott in Mayo; Crat has got to go.” Everyone joined in. Then, Setanta stepped out into the centre of the road, walked slowly to Crat’s side of the car and stared in the window at his would be executioner. He bared his teeth; Crat looked away.

The moment of departure had come; Charlie nudged his donkeys. They began to move slowly—they were in no hurry—and the big Mercedes eased out into the centre of the road followed by Madame’s car. The crowd cheered; Crat kept his eyes front. Knowing he was on live TV called for his customary dignity; failure to complete his mission here was due entirely to lack of support from his masters. Madame wouldn’t have agreed, but then she wasn’t asked.

As she saw it, Crat was finished; Hi-Brazil media was screaming for an investigation into the allegation that he ordered the assassination of their President. He would deny it, of course; so would his troops. If the little creep was convicted, it would be very embarrassing for her masters. Her evidence would be vital, and the evidence she would give would be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth: depending on her reaction to her next promotion. She still had that film!