Women of Courage (96 page)

Sean stopped his bicycle thirty yards away from the parked cars and hesitated, wondering what to do. He could see two of the men standing at the end of the street. They looked keyed up, tense. A middle-aged man started to walk down Brendan Road and they grabbed him and started to question him fiercely. The man looked shocked, and began to protest in a loud voice. A small crowd gathered.

Sean thought: It’s a police raid.

He wondered what to do. The anger he had felt against Catherine surged along new channels, fuelling his hatred of the police. These are the same devils who had arrested half of the best republicans over the past year, and locked them away in Mountjoy Gaol or sent them overseas to rot in England, all on the say-so of Lord bloody high and mighty French. And now here they are about to catch Paddy and Michael Collins.

They will, too, unless I do something.

What?

Sean had a pistol in his pocket but the police were surely armed too and there were six or seven of them at least. If I go up there and start shooting I may hit one or two but I’ll never hit them all. If I stand and fight they’ll kill me. But what else is there to do? At least the shots’ll warn anyone who’s in the house. And it’s more important to warn Michael than to save my skin.

I’ll do it.

I’ll cycle right up to the one who’s holding the old man, take out the pistol and shoot him in the chest. Then I’ll shoot the other one. After that I’ll ride straight down Brendan Road and shoot as many of the others as I can. At the very least it’ll make a terrible noise and put them off their raid. I can either cycle straight through, or, if I’ve killed these two and there are too many down there, I can turn round and ride back out this end.

And there won’t be any more snide comments about little boy revolutionaries from Catherine, either. She’ll read about this in tomorrow’s paper and know I’m in a real war all right.

He took the pistol out of his pocket and flipped the butt open to check the magazine was full. Then he snapped it shut, took the safety catch off, put the pistol back in his pocket, and glanced over his shoulder before he cycled away from the pavement.

A bread van came past. Behind the bread van, the road was clear. Except for a cyclist about seventy yards away.

There was something familiar about the cyclist. A big, burly man, bare-headed, pedalling energetically with his knees slightly turned out. Maybe a slight frown on his face, though it was hard to see at this distance.

It was Michael Collins.

With a whoop, Sean did a U-turn and belted back down the road towards him. As he came near he crossed to the wrong side of the road, yelling and waving his arms madly.

‘Hey, Mick! Hey! Stop!’

Collins saw him, waved, and braked.

‘Sean! What’s all the rush, boy?’

‘It’s the police! They’re raiding Brendan Road! They’re after you, I’m sure of it!’ Sean told him quickly what he had seen, pointing to the parked cars and the crowd that was still gathering round the end of the street. ‘Thank the Lord you’re here, Michael! I was sure you were in the house already - I was going to ride down the road and shoot at them, to give our lads a warning!’

Collins looked at him, a slight smile on his broad, cheery face. He put a hand on Sean’s shoulder.

‘A brave thought, Sean, but don’t do it now. There’s too many people up there, someone might get hurt. Anyway, I can’t afford to lose you.’

Sean said: ‘I thought we might be about to lose you, which would have been much worse. Come on, we’d best get away.’ He was anxious about the noise he had made already; one of the detectives might look down the road at any moment and see them. One of them might even have the photograph they stole from his room.

‘Ah, now, wait a moment. There’s no great rush now, is there?’ Collins was looking curiously up the road, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. ‘There’s a biggish crowd up there now, I see. Why don’t you and I cycle up quietly and join it? It’ll be highly educational for a young lad like you to see what the British police get up to in this country of ours, now won’t it? Come to that, I’d like to find out myself.’

And to Sean’s great surprise, Collins began to pedal sedately on up Morehampton Road, towards the crowd and the police. Sean pedalled nervously after him.

Kee was incensed by the sound of the scuffle that had broken out behind him, at the top of Brendan Road. He was already angry with Radford, for not telling him anything about this operation until a couple of minutes ago. After working together like brothers, almost, for so many years, it rankled to be ordered to bring a group of detectives to this part of the city to stand in a road for over an hour without the faintest hint of why they were there. It was the way he himself might treat a junior constable, perhaps; it was hardly the way for an Assistant Commissioner to treat a Detective Inspector, especially one who was an old friend.

Apart from that, it was unprofessional. If Radford had trusted him, he could have surveyed this road beforehand, and made up his mind exactly where to dispose his men to cover all exits. As it was, he didn’t even know whether number 1 was on the right or the left, or what the bloody road looked like further down, or whether there was a back exit. Not to mention how many people had been seen entering and leaving the building, or who it belonged to, and what the neighbours were like. And where had Radford got the information about this place anyway?

The scuffle behind him seemed to have something to do with a man who wanted to come down the street. The man was making a lot of noise, and attracting a small crowd. Exactly what we don’t want, Kee thought. What am I supposed to do now - stand around outside number 1 waiting for orders, while the crowd gets bigger by the second? Already half a dozen young boys had stepped past them, and were following his little group of detectives down the road at a safe distance. They’ll start throwing stones soon.

‘Shall I go in straight away, sir?’ Kee asked. ‘It looks like the only way now, if you want it to be a surprise.’

Radford hesitated, and glanced at his watch. Could he wait outside this house for fifteen minutes, pretending to look inconspicuous, as though waiting for a nonexistent tram? He glanced up and down the street. Ahead of him, Davis had parked his car assertively in the middle of the road, and was standing with his arms folded beside it. Behind him, the second of his detectives was striding across the road towards the boys who were following Radford. As he did so, however, two men wheeled their bicycles into the street, and the detective strode towards them instead, anxiously waving his arms. Radford looked at number 1, and thought he saw a face disappear as a curtain was drawn back.

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.’