I wouldnt be in uniform, Jean. Id just like to meet him and discuss his work if hed let me. It sounds very interesting. And he might find it rewarding to discuss his ideas with someone like me who has spent so much time at the coalface, so to speak.
She looked serious. Youve got a point. I cant speak for him, but Ill give him a phone call, see what he has to say. Ive got to get moving. Ill let you know.
Then she was gone, and Roper sat on the bed and thought about it. It wasnt as crazy as it sounded. Most really sophisticated bombs had multiple electrical circuits of one kind or another, intertwining in complicated puzzles, feeding into one another, often in the most bizarre way. The theory behind this Howler device of Kennys was a kind of Holy Grail. After all, if the most complicated of security systems could be neutered at the touch of a button, it seemed logical that the right touch of genius could do the same thing to bomb circuits.
It was a thought that wouldnt go away, and he went down to the bar and ordered a large whiskey since he was off duty, took a newspaper to a corner table, and sat there, pretending to read it, but thinking.
Major Sanderson, the commanding officer, glanced in. I see youve got a night off, Giles. Lucky you. Ive got a general staff meeting at the Grand Hotel. Your furloughs been approved, by the way. Starts Sunday. Two weeks, so make the most of it.
He went, and for a moment there was no one else in the bar except the corporal behind the counter busying himself cleaning glasses. Jean Murray peered in at the door.
The corporal said, You cant come in here, you know that.
Its all right, Roper told him. She wants me. He swallowed his whiskey, got up, and joined her in the corridor. What have you got for me?
Ive spoken to Kenny, and he says hell see you, but its got to be tonight, because hes starting the practical side of his finals for his degree at Queens University tomorrow.
Thats fine by me.
Its all right, Roper told him. She wants me. He swallowed his whiskey, got up, and joined her in the corridor. What have you got for me?
Ive spoken to Kenny, and he says hell see you, but its got to be tonight, because hes starting the practical side of his finals for his degree at Queens University tomorrow.
Thats fine by me.
Im finished in an hour. Ill meet you on the corner by Cohans Bar, and no uniform, like I said.
No problem. Where are we going?
Not far. Half a mile maybe. You know where the Union Canal is? He has a room he uses for his work in what used to be a flour mill. Youll need a raincoat. Its pouring out there.
Sounds good to me, Roper told her.
He returned to the bar, ordered another whiskey, and sat in the corner, thinking about it. His boss was out of the way at his staff meeting; there was no point in discussing his intended adventure on the streets of Belfast after dark with anyone else. There were risks, but risk of any kind had been so much a part of his life for years now that it was second nature.
He would go armed, of course, his usual Browning Hi-Power, but a backup would be a sensible precaution, and he drank his whiskey and went along to the weapons store, where he found a Sergeant Clark on duty.
Im going on the town tonight, out of uniform, special op. Ill have the Hi-Power, but is there anything else you could suggest?
Clark, who regarded Roper as a true hero, was happy to oblige. Colt.25, Captain, with hollow-point cartridges. Its hard to beat.
There you go. He placed one on the counter and a box of ten cartridges.
So that will do it? Roper inquired.
With this. Clark produced an ankle holder in soft leather. Nothings perfect, but in a body search, when somebody finds an item like a Browning, they tend to assume thats it. He smiled cheerfully. You just have to live in hopes. Sign here, sir.
He pushed a ledger across and offered a pen. Roper said, I knew I could rely on you, Sergeant.
Take care, sir.
IN HIS ROOM, Roper changed into a pair of old comfortable trousers, not jeans, because it made the ankle holder more accessible. He carefully loaded the Colt with six of the hollow-points and checked that he could reach it easily. He wore the bulletproof vest, a dark polo-neck sweater, and a navy blue slip-on raincoat hed had for years. He didnt wear a shoulder holster and simply put the Browning in his right-hand pocket. He peered out of the windows, old-fashioned streetlights aglow now in the early-evening darkness, rain hammering down, although when didnt it in Belfast? He went through his narrow wardrobe, found an old tweed cap, pulled it on, and went downstairs.
The guards on either side of the gate stayed in their sentry boxes. They knew him well. After all, everyone did. A hell of a night for it, sir, one of them called cheerfully as he raised the bar. Whatever it is.
Roper smiled back just as cheerfully, pausing for a moment, looking out into that Belfast street that as far as he was concerned was like no other street in any city in the world.
All right, he murmured to himself. Lets get moving. He slipped out and turned toward Cohans.
JEAN MURRAY STOOD in the entrance of the bar, sheltering from the rain. She had a large old-fashioned umbrella ready and seemed impatient. So there you are. I was beginning to think you werent coming.
Will I do? Roper asked.
She looked him over. I suppose so. But keep that gob of yours shut. You sound as if youve been to Eton or somewhere like that. She opened the umbrella. Lets get moving.
He fell into step beside her as she walked rapidly. A rotten night for it.
Dont rub it in. Ive only had a sandwich all day and Im starving.
He kept up with her obediently, passing through one mean street after another, the river not far away. A hard life, living in a place like this.
Well, the British government in London never gave a damn about Belfast, thats for sure. The forgotten city. Did you know the Luftwaffe blitzed it worse than Liverpool during the war?
I suppose they were after Harland and Wolff and the shipyards. They built the Titanic here, didnt they?
Jesus and Mary, thats history, mister, she said. Its what happens now thats real and the future of this country.
Jesus and Mary. Strange on the lips of a young Protestant girl, and he slipped a hand in his pocket and found the butt of the Browning, and then she laughed harshly. What in the hell is getting into me, talking like a fugging Fenian? It must be the weather.
They had moved into an area of decaying warehouses and a place where the Union Canal emptied into the river. There were narrow decaying Victorian buildings, like something out of Dickens, an old iron footbridge, and a sign saying Conroys Flour Mill. An old-fashioned lamp was bracketed above the door, illuminating the area, and there was a light at the window above it.
Here we are, she said, and led the way up a narrow wooden stairway. The door at the top stood open, light shining down. Kenny, were here, she called, paused for a moment so that Roper could see the table in the center of a sizable room, littered with a variety of technical equipment, tools, and vises. She stepped forward, Roper following, his hand in his pocket on the butt of the Browning.
The door slammed behind him, the muzzle of a pistol was rammed against the side of Ropers skull, and a hard Ulster voice said, Easy now, or Ill blow your brains out. Hands high. Roper did exactly as he was told. He was patted, the Browning soon found. A Hi-Power? Youve got taste. He was pushed toward the table. Over there and turn.
Roper did and found himself facing a small wiry young man, hair almost shoulder length, a Beretta automatic in his left hand. He dropped the Browning into the right pocket of the old reefer jacket he wore, and grinned, making him look quite amicable.
The great man himself.
And youll be Kenny Murray?
As ever was.
And theres no Howler?
Murray laughed. Not here, bomb man, not here. It exists, though. Im working to perfect it all the time.
Im impressed youd bother, Roper said. After all, your purpose is to make bombs explode.
It is indeed, but the scientist in me cant resist a challenge. Roper turned to Jean, who had taken a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and was lighting one. Oh, Jean, you disappoint me, turning out to be a decent Catholic girl after all.
And you thinking I was some Prod bitch. All the worse for you. There was anger there, but perhaps at herself.
So whats the reason for all this? If youd wanted to shoot me, you would have, he said to Kenny.
Youre absolutely right. Id love to have taken care of that, but Im under orders. There are those who would like to have words with you. Informations the name of the game. Our bomb makers would appreciate the chance to squeeze you dry. So lets get going. You first.
If you say so.
Roper opened the door and stood for a moment at the top of those dark stairs. He found the rail with his left hand and started down. There was only one thing to do and hed only get one chance, so halfway down he slipped deliberately in the shadows, cursing and gripping the rail, reaching for the Colt in the ankle holder. In the ensuing scramble, he dropped it in his raincoat pocket.
Watch it, for Christs sake, Kenny ordered.
Its not my fault. The place is a death trap. Roper hauled himself up and continued.
Kenny laughed. Did you hear that, Jean? he said to his sister behind him. The mans a bloody comic.
Roper went out, his right hand in his pocket, and started over the bridge. Halfway across, he paused and turned. Theres just one thing you should know, you Fenian bastard.
Kenny stood facing him, holding the Beretta against his right thigh. And what would that be, bomb man? he asked amicably.
You made a mistake. You should have killed me when you had the chance.
His hand swung up and he shot Kenny between the eyes twice, the hollow-point cartridges fragmenting the back of his skull. Kenny spun around and half fell across the iron rail of the bridge. Jean screamed. Roper leaned down, caught the body by one ankle, and heaved it over into the fast-moving canal.
There you go, Roper said. Are you satisfied now, Jean?