The Trojan Boy (12 page)

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Authors: Ken McClure

Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Medical, #Suspense, #Thrillers

BOOK: The Trojan Boy
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Maureen and Claire O'Neill had been simple, uncomplicated girls who had sought nothing more from life than husbands, security and children, as indeed had many of
Kathleen's contemporaries. It was partly for this reason
that Kathleen valued her friendship with her brother so
highly; they were intellectually compatible. But it was a
friendship that had cost her dearly in terms of lost social life for, as Martin had risen within the
IRA,
she too, as a
loyal sister, had become a legitimate target for harassment.
A friendship with a fellow teacher at the High School
that had looked like blossoming into romance and
marriage had foundered when an ultimatum had been
issued concerning the activities of her brother and
Kathleen had refused to disown him. She had lost count of
the number of young men whose ardour had cooled on
hearing that she was Martin O'Neill's sister.
'I've got a problem, Kath,' said O'Neill.
'Can you tell me?'

There's an envelope in my pocket. I took it from the
Long House.'
'Do you mean you stole it?'
'I took it from the safe. O'Donnell ordered me to get it
before anyone else did.'
'Meaning Kell?'
'Meaning Kell,’ O'Neill agreed.
'What's in it?'
'I don't know.'
'You're not making much sense,' said Kathleen.
O'Neill stopped staring into the fire and turned to face
Kathleen. He said, 'O'Donnell ordered me to hand it over to
the British.'
'You can't be serious.'
'I wish I wasn't.'
'But why?'
O'Neill shook his head.
'Can't you open it?'
'I'm considering it.'
Kathleen watched O'Neill as he returned to looking into
the fire. She said, 'You look as if you have some notion
about what's in the letter.'
O'Neill smiled and said, 'You always could see through
me. O'Donnell loathed Kell as much as I do. I think he may have been planning to hand Kell to the British on a plate so
that we would be rid of him for good.'
'You said yourself that Kell could destroy the
organisation,' said Kathleen.
O'Neill nodded and said, 'But betrayal is another matter.
He
is
the commander.'
'And if you hand over the letter you will be a traitor?'
O'Neill nodded.
'You must open it,' said Kathleen firmly. 'It may not be
what you think.'
'You're right,' agreed O'Neill. 'Hand me my jacket will you?'
Kathleen laid O'Neill's jacket over his knees and switched
on the standard lamp behind his chair. She resisted the urge
to help while she watched him struggle to open the sealed envelope by holding it between his knees and pushing his
thumb under the flap. She picked up the empty envelope
from the floor while O'Neill flattened out the paper with his
palm and began to read.
Kathleen saw the colour drain from her brother's face but
did not interrupt until the tension became unbearable. 'Is it what you feared?' she asked.
'No,’ replied O'Neill as if in a daze. 'It's something quite,
quite different.' He handed the papers to her.
Kathleen felt her jaw drop as she read the contents. Her
shock changed to protest. 'But this cannot be true,’ she said,
'We would have heard something. Did you see the date on
this? It's nearly three weeks old.'
O'Neill nodded. 'I know, but O'Donnell didn't think it
was a hoax.'
'Why did he hide it? Why did he want this to go to the British?' asked Kathleen.
'I'm thinking, I'm thinking,’ murmured O'Neill.
Kathleen poured whiskey into a glass and handed it to O'Neill as he continued to stare into the embers of the fire.
At length he said, 'I think I understand. It's too big. If we
were to take this on there would be civil war and we would
lose. When the smoke cleared and the blood was washed
away Ireland would be more divided than ever. O'Donnell
must have realised that and decided to keep us out of it. Kell
on the other hand . . . would go for it.’
'But it has to be some kind of hoax,’ protested Kathleen.
O'Neill thought before replying. 'Maybe not,’ he said. 'It's
just possible that the British have managed to keep the
whole thing quiet to give themselves time.’
'But if O'Donnell turned the offer down?'
'Maybe he didn't,’ replied O'Neill. 'Maybe he was stalling
for time. Maybe he told them he was trying to raise the
money. Maybe he
was
trying to raise the money. We don't
know anything for sure.’
'Either way, won't they get in contact with Kell?' asked
Kathleen.
The thought chilled O'Neill. 'You're right,’ he said. 'We
have to get this information to the British.’

I’ll drive into the city in the morning,’ said Kathleen. 'It's
late; get some sleep.’
O'Neill nodded but said that he was going to finish his
whiskey before going upstairs. Kathleen said good-night and
took the letter up with her.
O'Neill finished his whiskey and poured another. It was the
one thing that seemed to deal effectively with the constant
nagging pain from the stump of his arm and he needed to be
able to think clearly and without distraction.
It was two a.m. when he thought that he heard a sound on
the gravel outside. Alarmed, he got up from the chair and
walked to the window to be reminded yet again of the need for
two hands as he tried to see out against the reflections from
inside the room. He switched out the light and returned to the
window. There was nothing to be seen but, once more, he
thought he heard the sound of something moving outside on
the gravel. This time he was sure.
O'Neill turned to go to the kitchen where he kept his pistol in
a drawer but almost immediately he realised that it was too late.
He was furious with himself for being such a fool. The sounds
from the gravel at the front had been made deliberately as a
distraction. Someone was coming in the back!
The door leading to the kitchen burst open and O'Neill saw a
man standing there framed in the moonlight. He was holding
an automatic weapon and it was pointed at his stomach.
Another man squeezed past and switched on the room light.
'What the hell is this?' exclaimed O'Neill as he recognised
one of them as the one who had come into Kell's room while
he had been searching for the key to the Council Room.
The man did not reply but motioned with the muzzle of the
gun that O'Neill should move towards the fireplace. The other
man, whom O'Neill did not recognise, opened the front door
and stood there as if waiting for something. The sound of
squeaking wheels told O'Neill exactly what everyone was waiting for. He watched helplessly as Nelligan manoeuvred
Kell into the room and closed the door.
'What in the name of God is going on, Finbarr?' O'Neill asked bravely.
Kell stared at him as if he were a stain on the carpet.
'Show him, Reagan!' he hissed.
The man who held the gun used it to knock the
lampshade off the standard lamp and reveal a microphone
that was taped to the stem.
'Every word,’ said Kell like a death sentence. There was a smug look on Kell's face that heralded an orgy of gloating.
He turned to Nelligan and said softly, 'What did I always say? Never trust an intellectual.'
'Treacherous bastard!' snarled Nelligan.
'I'm no traitor, Kell. I've always done what's best for the
cause.'
Kell let out a humourless laugh and looked to the others
for support. They obliged. 'You plot to give information to
the enemy and you're no traitor?' he sneered.
'Kevin O'Donnell was my commander. I was obeying his
orders.'
'O'Donnell!' snorted Kell. That weak-kneed jelly! He
spent so much time on the phone warning the British it's a
wonder they didn't include him in their Honours List!'
When Nelligan's dutiful laughter had died down the smile
faded from Kell's face and it became a mask of venom.
'Where is the letter?' he spat.

I’ll get it,' said O'Neill, making a move towards the stairs.
Kell nodded to Reagan who swung the butt of his carbine
into O'Neill's stomach with full force. O'Neill collapsed on
to the floor, his face twisted in pain.
'Will you never learn to stop taking me for a fool?' asked
Kell in a deathly whisper. He looked up at Reagan and
snapped, 'Get upstairs and bring down that schoolteacher
bitch!'
Reagan was back within seconds. 'She's gone, Mr Kell!'
'What do you mean "gone"?' rasped Kell.
'Her window's open. She must have climbed down on to
the roof of the shed and got away.'
'Jesus! Am I completely surrounded by idiots? She can't have gone far. Find her! Bring her back!' Kell looked down at O'Neill who was still lying on the floor. 'Meanwhile our
friend here can tell us what was in the letter,’ he whispered.
'Can't he, Nelligan?'
The big man moved out from behind Kell to stand over O'Neill. From where O'Neill lay he looked twelve feet tall.
Knowing that she would not get far on foot and in her
night-dress Kathleen had not tried to escape but had hidden herself in the hut at the foot of the garden among various
garden tools and sacks of peat and fertiliser. It was her one
hope that Kell's men might overlook that possibility and leave the house without discovering her. Beyond that she
had no plans at all. She had already almost given the game
away when moonlight through a dirty window-pane had
silhouetted a rat moving along the handle of the
lawnmower. But revulsion had paralysed her throat and
prevented her breath from leaving her in anything more
than spasmodic gasps. In her hand she clutched the letter
from the Long House. She held it tightly as she tried to bury
herself deeper into a pile of hessian sacks in the corner.
'I'm waiting,’ said Kell, his voice filled with soft menace.
O'Neill had recovered from the blow to his stomach but now fear was making him feel sick. 'All right, I'll tell you,’ he said, acknowledging that resistance was pointless.
When he had finished O'Neill saw Kell's face darken with
anger. His eyes seemed huge behind his spectacles. Nelligan
kept looking towards him to see what his reaction should
be.
'You seem to think that I'm a complete imbecile, O'Neill,’
said Kell in tones that cut into O'Neill like a razor-blade.
'Did you really think that I would swallow this preposterous
crap?'
O'Neill was taken aback for he had not considered for a moment that Kell would not believe him when he spoke the
truth.
Kell looked at Nelligan and rasped, 'Show him the error
of his ways!'
Nelligan lashed the back of his ham-like fist across
O'Neill's face and sent him sprawling again. This time
O'Neill landed heavily on the tender stump of his left arm
and let out a cry of pain. Kell homed in on it like a shark and
said with mock concern, 'Mr O'Neill's wound seems to be
troubling him

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