Jericho
held up his mirror and nodded towards the empty house opposite the hardware
shop. “It’s in there. We’ll check it out and call
Special Operations. So, old Doc’s local human agent was right about the
stranger in town. He’s one dangerous bastard if he’s prepared to use a device
like this, here and now.” Divij nodded and he and Jericho left the car and
headed into the old house. Alex and Owen sat in the rear of the car, with Owen
checking his mirror constantly. “The bastard has picked the right time for this
place; it’s Marching Season and Wednesday is the big one. Can you imagine
setting off a device like that here? Does the mad bastard think he can change
history by blowing up loads of innocent people?”
Alex
shifted in her seat and stared out the window; “For centuries people have been
changing things by killing other people en-mass, so what’s the difference
here?” she said quietly and dived into her old ‘Gladstone’ bag for a bottle of
water; it was only late morning and the summer day was already hot. “What if he
can get his hands on a really big fuck off bomb and take out a large portion of
the city? That would change things alright.” Owen grunted, adding; “I think
they’ve found it.”
Divij
crawled slowly over the bricks and rubble; shining his mirror towards the
corner of the sitting room. “There it is.” He said softly and tapped his
mirror; “Made in 2022 and it’s quite capable of flattening about four streets
including the hall being used by the Paratroopers.” Jericho cussed and checked his mirror; “How
long do we have Divij?” he asked quietly. Divij shook his head and didn’t
smile; “About twenty minutes apparently.” Jericho put the call into Operations
and the pair headed back to the doorway of the derelict house.
They
slowly walked back to the Cortina and Owen pulled open the front passenger door
for Jericho who eased in. Divij sat behind the wheel, reading his mirror. “They
are on their way boss.” He stared back at the derelict house. Owen leaned over
the front seats; “It’s Charlie Parker, he’s inside now.” Everyone turned to the
ruined house and could see the odd sliver of subdued light flash inside.
Jericho
read his mirror and looked up; “For fuck sake! An army patrol and they have
spotted us. We need to divert their attention away from the house until Charlie
finishes.” He quickly hid his mirror away as did the others. Jericho slowly
pushed open the car passenger door and eased out with his hands in full view.
“Sit tight people, the bloody army is trigger happy after what happened
in January.” [Jericho is referring to ‘Bloody Sunday’ which occurred on 30th
January this year when British troops opened fire on a crowd of people in the
Bogside; killing 13 and injuring 14 with one of the injured dying later].
The
corporal had his SLR pointing directly at him whilst the other two soldiers
moved slowly to the side of the car and pointed their rifles in. Alex managed a
big smile and said through the open window; “Hello boys, take it easy, we’re
friends.”
Jericho
stood speaking to the young corporal who lowered his rifle and shouted to the
fourth member of the patrol who crouched in a nearby doorway; rifle at the
ready. “Call it in Lofty. They say their from Section 7 under Colonel Robbins.”
The young man pulled the walkie-talkie from his shoulder and put the call in.
They didn’t wait long for an answer and the radio man chuckled. “Cathy on
comm’s says if it’s bleeding Captain Tibbs and his little gang of cutthroats;
then they’re cleared to eat bloody dinner with her majesty!”
Jericho
discretely held up his little black plastic identity card and the corporal
stared at it. A fucking captain in Military Intelligence and more importantly
[or impressively] an officer in Section 7. They were all known to be mad
bastards who would shoot your toes off for not standing up for the fucking
national Anthem. Even the Irish Brigades liked to steer clear of them; they
knew the Bastards
didn’t play by any rules and were fucking dangerous. Even the most fanatical
Irish Republican had a grudging respect for members of Section 7. Yes, there
fanatics on both sides.
The
corporal lowered his rifle and smiled; “I won’t ask what you’re doing around
here sir because I know I won’t get a bloody answer. But I’d love to know why a
street of abandoned houses has attracted members of Section 7. The occupants
were all prody’s [Protestant] and had to be moved out. This is a left footers
area [Catholic area].” Jericho chuckled; “Well, your right about that corporal;
us not saying, I mean.” The four young soldiers quickly forgot all about why a
team from Section 7 was here; Alex had eased from the rear of the Cortina and
stood by the door. She was wearing a mini-skirt and tight jumper which was
fashionable for this time and place. The four men’s interest was now centred
on her; totally. Jericho chuckled again as he leaned on the car; Alex was some
bloody diversion where men were concerned.
The
radio man joined his colleagues and stared at Alex but spoke to the corporal;
“Corp, how the fuck can I join Section 7?” he asked with a big smile. The
corporal grinned and gestured up the street. “Come on boys, the ‘pig’ will meet
us outside the old pub in ten minutes, then its back for grub.” [A ‘pig’ was
slang for an armoured personnel carrier] The little patrol moved off and
Jericho slipped back into the car and checked his mirror. Operations Specialist
Charlie Parker had removed the bomb and transported it back to 2022 where it
would be disposed of.
Jericho
sighed; “We were bloody lucky with this one. Why the hell did our mysterious
time-traveller want to flatten the hall? He would have probably killed a dozen
Para’s or so but that wouldn’t have changed the British occupation of the
Catholic areas. Maybe it’s a warning of things to come. The bastard clearly will
play dangerously in whatever he’s up to.” He pushed his mirror back into his
jacket pocket as Alex eased back into her seat and closed the car door. “What
now Jericho?” she asked quietly and received a loud tut-tut from their
temporary new sergeant; Divij Singh who gave her a dirty look, but said
nothing. He had already made his presence felt in the team by announcing that
he should be called ‘Sergeant’ when not on an actual operation and the
Inspector should never be called by his first name. Always Inspector or Sir.
That hadn’t exactly endeared him to Alex or Owen.
Temporal
Detective Sergeant Divij Singh had – temporarily – replaced Wilson Franklyn
until a permanent sergeant was appointed by Angel Margret to Team 74. Wilson
was now an Acting Inspector on Team 37; standing in for their regular Inspector
who had been given a special assignment by Operations. Wilson would eventually
get his own team and the rumour was that Team would be number 22, who
specialized in time breeches that concerned African history. His departure and
replacement by Divij gad not gone down well with Alex and Owen and they showed
it.
What
Jericho thought of the appointment wasn’t known. But any sergeant on his team
had to be good and Alex and Owen appreciated that fact. But Divij had rubbed
both up the wrong way and that wasn’t a good start!
Divij
started the car and Jericho told him to return to base – a fortified hotel near
Victoria Square – and they would put together what
facts they had so far. “Do you think
they will have any lunch left? My guts think my throat’s been cut.” Owen moaned
and both Jericho and Alex just sighed. Divij simply ignored him and turned the
wheel; that’s when the first bullet passed through his driver’s window and
embedded in the side of Jericho’s seat. The second bullet hit the rear offside
tyre and flattened it. The third bullet shattered the rear windscreen, but the
team was already crashing through the door of the derelict hardware store that
sat next to them. Divij and blown the boarded up door off with a single pulse
from his mirror. They lay on the floor and could hear the patrol returning
fire.
“Some
fucker knows we’re here.” Was all Owen said as he read his mirror and grunted,
adding; “Someone is using an AK47, so I guess it’s the Republican’s.” They
crawled towards the broken door and stared down the street; the army patrol was
behind a brick wall firing sporadically. That’s when they heard the corporal
shouting and cussing; Big Geordie had been hit and was bleeding to death and
choking. Straight through the throat apparently. Alex was gone in a second,
only stopping to grab her bag from the shot up Cortina. Owen just smiled;
“Well, no bloke in his right mind is going to shoot a pair of legs like that.”
“For
fuck sake!” was all Jericho said and the team followed, crouching low and using
front garden walls as cover. They found the patrol in the front garden of a
boarded up house with Alex working on the twitching soldier. She skillfully
inserted a small tube
into his lower neck. She was performing a tracheotomy which consisted of making
an incision on the front of Big
Geordies neck, just below his Adam's apple and opened a direct
airway into the trachea. She also managed to stop the bleeding and bound up the
wound with battlefield dressings handed to her by the very concerned corporal.
Lofty the radio man was calling for an ambulance and assistance.
Jericho
knelt by her and assisted with the bandages. He didn’t smile, but whispered
that he wasn’t happy. If Big Geordie was supposed to have been killed this
bright sunny morning, then her actions may have changed the Time-Line. Alex
finished her work and leaned forward; “So another bleeding interview with the
Angel.” Was all she whispered back which made Jericho smile and shake his head.
Divij wasn’t impressed and would say so later. Alex would ignore him and that
certainly wouldn’t help their working relationship to grow.
The
abandoned street was soon filled with army vehicles and soldiers. Big Geordie
was rushed away in an ambulance escorted by two armoured Land rovers and a RUC
car. The patrol pulled Alex to one side and thanked her for saving Big Geordies
life and that the drinks were on them. The young Captain in charge of the
rescue party spoke quietly with Jericho; he had a quick mind which impressed
Jericho. The team from Section 7 definitely had been the target here and he
wondered if that would affect their mission – whatever that was; he knew better
than even bother to ask – and he would arrange transport back to their HQ.
Jericho just patted his arm and smiled; declining his offer. They didn’t really
want to been seen getting out of army vehicles anywhere in Belfast, thank you
very much. The captain was disappointed; he wanted the opportunity to chat up
Alex!
The
team waited in the derelict hardware shop until the street was quiet again and
Jericho informed Supplies that they had a ‘hot’ pick-up of the shattered
Cortina. Old Joe of Supplies was not impressed and said so; “How come bloody
Team 74 get through more vehicles than say, ten other teams put together?”
Jericho chuckled at that and operated his mirror. They were gone and would
appear in an alley just yards from their fortified hotel.
Owen
was defending Alex’s actions to Divij who wanted her reprimanded; “What if it
was the bloody time-traveller doing the shooting? Then Alex has preserved the
time-line from change, so there!” Divij just shrugged his shoulders and
muttered they
would
soon hear from Operations who would decide if she was right or wrong. They
walked in the hotel after being checked by the two RUC officers manning the
sandbagged doorway. Finding that the restaurant was still open cheered young
Owen up and everyone enjoyed Shepherd’s pie and mixed vegetables; except Divij
who only ate the vegetables. Despite being dead for almost a hundred and fifty
years; he still was a dedicated Vegetarian.
Mrs.
Harris seemed unfazed by that revelation and produced excellent vegetarian
dishes for the new sergeant. That also annoyed Alex and Owen; he didn’t bother
to thank her for all her efforts and they were further shocked when he
disclosed that he was still strictly ‘tea-total’. He strongly disapproved of
alcohol and wasn’t happy that the team always had a hip-flask of brandy on
standby.
“Didn’t
bleeding death teach him anything?” Alex whispered to Owen
as they watched Divij drinking lemonade with his lunch whilst they finished off
a decent bottle of wine. Jericho called the lunch briefing to order and they
went over what they had uncovered so far. Owen had chocolate pudding for desert
and told everyone that the two waiters were talking about a car bomb being
found in Montgomery Street. Officers from Musgrave Police Station were dealing
with it, assisting some bomb disposal lads.
Jericho
finished his wine and nodded; “That’s our next port of call. We need to speak
to some intelligence officers there. One I know and before you ask; yes she is
a damn descendant of mine.” Everyone stared at him and Owen asked [it had to be
him!] who they were visiting. Jericho placed the empty glass down slowly and
almost smiled; “I suppose she would be a great, great, great, great grandniece
of mine. She’s actually a direct descendant of my youngest sister; Adele.” Alex
leaned over the table and said; “What’s her name?” really interested in this
revelation.
Jericho
now smiled; “Abigail Hatt. She’s an intelligence officer in MI5, currently
seconded to the RUC and I last met her when she was still at Boarding school in
England. She’s clever, very clever and knows her way around an investigation
when given the chance. But this is the 1970’s and women were given few chances
to show what they really could achieve.” Alex smiled broadly and raised her
glass; “Now this is one girl I really do wish to meet.” Owen and Jericho
laughed at that but Divij just nodded and finished his plate of vegetables
without enthusiasm or comment.
2. MUSGRAVE POLICE
STATION, BELFAST. Monday
afternoon 10th July 1972.
That
afternoon the team assembled outside the hotel and picked up their new car from
old Joe. Owen was impressed and Alex loved the leg room in the rear of the Ford
Zephyr IV. Divij just nodded and said thanks as he accepted the keys. He didn’t
look impressed, and Alex volunteered to drive. He just stared at her and opened
the driver’s door and slipped in. She and Owen exchanged a glance which didn’t
go unnoticed by Jericho who sighed and jumped into the front passenger
seat. They pulled away with Owen moaning
about his gun and holster under his jacket. The team was now carrying official
MI5 weapons as part of their cover; it was expected they would be armed by any
Officials they met. Alex kept her Browning 9mm pistol in her handbag
with some spare rounds. She had given it the nickname ‘Tess’ which made Jericho
chuckle.
They
encountered no less than three roadblocks before they reached the heavily
fortified police station and Alex noticed that all the RUC women officers wore
skirts and carried no weapons. They searched women and children mostly or
operated radios. She asked Jericho about that. He shrugged his shoulders; “It
appears that it was some kind of agreement between the warring parties here
that the female officers are clearly shown to be female by wearing a skirt.
They are known not to carry firearms, so they are no threat to armed members of
either of the paramilitaries. I think all sides have actually agreed that
killing young women would produce some real bad publicity for their cause. So,
the woman officers are unarmed and wear skirts so that no-one mistakes them for
men. It changes in the 1990’s with all the equality stuff and women officers
are armed and take their chances like their male colleagues. You have a weapon
because you are acting as a MI5 agent; woman or not, they were always armed.”
They
passed through the last checkpoint and were directed to a parking space at the
rear. The RUC officer with the mirror on a long pole checking underneath the
car, spent most of his time staring into the back seat at Alex’s short skirt
and long legs. She wasn’t
impressed; “I don’t know why he didn’t just open the flipping door and look up
my skirt.” She muttered as Divij parked
up the car. He did seem happy with the vehicle, but he stated that the thing
drifted on corners and was very, very underpowered. They were escorted by a
female RUC officer to a small briefing room and Alex was disappointed that she
couldn’t have a chat with her. The little drab room was windowless with just
a metal table and some very uncomfortable chairs. Someone had bothered to decorate
it with posters from Irish seaside towns and a picture of the Queen with the
Duke of Edinburgh. They sat for a few minutes in quiet conversation about the
hotel lunch and then the door opened.
The
big man squeezed through and smiled broadly, introducing himself as ‘Roger
Redman’ and his colleague who followed behind, was ‘Gabby Hatty’. Alex and Owen
both stared at her and then each other; they wanted to laugh but restrained it.
She was a female version of Jericho and could easily be mistaken not only as
his sister, but his twin sister! Little wonder he told them about her
in advance of the meeting. Everyone sat at the table and Gabby handed her big
colleague a brown paper file and he opened it, handing around a sheet of paper
to each person present. Again, Alex and Owen had to restrain from laughter when
the big man placed a small monocle onto his left eye. He coughed and tapped his
piece of paper.
“The
fucker you’re looking at is Ashling O’Connor, well that’s the name he uses. He
appeared on scene some months ago and has brought his way into the provisional
IRA ranks with guns and explosives. Says he’s a Yank who wants Ireland free
from British rule and has also provided some serious money to finance
operations. The local West Belfast Brigade thinks the sun shines out of his
arse, but here’s the punch; our American Allies in the CIA, FBI and NSA have
nothing on him, and I mean absolutely nothing. I repeat nothing, they actually
said it was like he dropped from the sky or something.” The big man fumbled in
his jacket pocket and wiped his face with a dull white hankie. Alex knew
everyone was thinking the same; this could be our time-traveller.
“We
had good strong Intel that this fucker was planning something big for the 12th
of July parades in the city. A couple of good bomb men had disappeared
off the radar; even their families have no idea where they were. But guess who
they were last
seen with?” Roger tapped the sheet of paper which carried the mysterious
‘Ashling O’Connor’s’ photograph – taken by an undercover police surveillance
operation - leaving a west Belfast pub notorious for its links to the IRA. It
was also famous for its almost naked barmaids and expensive brothel in the
rooms above. Only Alex noticed Owen running his mirror over the photograph
under the table. The smile on his face told her that he
had identified ‘Ashling’.
Roger
continued; “All parades have been cancelled this year and so O’Connor must have
changed his plan. The whispers from our informants within the West Belfast
Brigade are there’s a massive terror bomb campaign in the offering; most of the
material and money supplied by O’Connor. Since the talks between the IRA
leaders, including Martin McGuinness and Gerry Adams, broke down almost immediately with William
Whitelaw [then Secretary of State for Northern Ireland] we believe this attack
will signal an open revolt. Supposedly 1916 all over again according to the
Catholic’s, though I suspect their hoping for a better result.”
[Note: 1916 was the year of the ‘Easter
Uprising’ in Dublin which was still part of the British Empire at the time. It
failed with several leaders of the revolt being executed by firing squad.]
“We
need to discover what that plan is and thwart it by any means necessary. The
assistance of Section 7 has been agreed between departments and frankly, we’re
glad to have you on board.” Gabby said and smiled at Alex and Alex nodded her
head, realising she [Gabby] had the same small smile that Jericho always used
in tense situations. “A right bloody chip off the block.” She whispered to Owen
who almost giggled.
“Our
co-operation can be relied upon. We need to find this ‘O’Connor’ for other
reasons of serious National Security, both here and across the pond. We will
apprehend or remove him from here, whatever is necessary we will do.” Jericho replied
and didn’t smile and both Roger and Gabby knew that Section 7 would quite
happily kill O’Connor if they couldn’t capture him. Such was the Section’s
reputation.
Gabby
leaned back and held up the paper; “What we do know about our mister Ashling
O’Connor is that he likes beautiful women and Irish whisky. He frequents a pub
well known for its Republican links; not very subtle; it’s called ‘The
Republican’ in West Belfast which is quite notorious for being an up market knocking
shop. But we have had a little piece of luck; one of the barmaids has left, she
caught a flight to California where she’s going to carve out a new career in
porn films. The pub manager – a certain Graham Borden – is looking for a
replacement and he only employ’s very pretty girls with long legs and big
breasts. The pay is exceptional for this area, so he won’t be short of
applicants. A girl can earn the same money working three shifts at the pub as
for working a six-day week in a local factory. We need to get someone in there
and this is the best opportunity to do so; or I should say, probably the only
opportunity.”
Roger
agreed with his colleague and added; “We need a real beauty who will eclipse
the other girls and get a position there for certain.” Both he and Gabby smiled
at Alex who sat back in her seat and didn’t smile. Jericho patted her arm and
chuckled; “My colleague will get that job whatever the opposition has to offer.
She’s very good at convincing men to give her what she wants.” Owen grinned at that,
and Roger relaxed a little and ruefully smiled, popping out his monocle. “I
think we can’t argue with that statement Captain Tibbs.”
Gabby
rummaged in her big handbag and pushed a newspaper clipping towards Alex;
“That’s the ad that appeared yesterday for the job. We can fix you up with an
address in the city that would be helpful; a women’s hostel in West Belfast
that’s known to be sympathetic
to the republican cause.” Alex picked up the cutting and nodded; “I’ll be a
young woman from down south, looking for
a well-paid job and I don’t like the English too much.” Alex shocked and
surprised the pair because she spoke in Irish
Gaelic with a perfect soft southern accent.
Gabby – absolutely impressed – sat back and
muttered; “I think our Alex will have no trouble with this assignment.” Roger
nodded his agreement and added; “As long as you don’t mind parading around in
stockings and suspenders and not much else apart from knickers and a white
apron.” He almost licked his lips at the thought of Alex dressed up in the
pub’s ‘Uniform’ and really regretted that he could never visit the pub without
getting his brains blown out.
The
meeting broke up and the team returned to their car and sat watching police,
soldiers and civilians passing in and out of the very busy station. Jericho
turned to Owen; “What have we got on this Ashling O’Connor or whatever his name
is?” Owen didn’t smile;
“He’s real name is Cillian Rafferty and his American by birth, born in Chicago
in 1994 and his soul is missing from the current timeline. Temporal
Intelligence has flagged his file with a note
saying that he could have access to a time device! They really are on the ball,
aren’t they? But this part really concerns us; he served in the US Marine Corps
as a specialist in covert explosives!”
Divij
grunted and gripped the wheel; “Ex-Marine and the CIA, FBI and NSA didn’t have
anything on him. But little wonder since he wasn’t even born yet!”
Jericho
nodded; “I think their American colleagues are not much use on this one. So,
it’s down to us people. Let’s set up Alex’s new identity and get her booked
into that hostel and make contact with that Borden fellow. I won’t have her
operate on her own
for this one, so she can be accompanied by her young sister from Dublin. Two
girls together arriving in the city from Dublin makes good sense and good
cover.” He smiled broadly at Owen; “Time to introduce our Jackie to her new
sergeant.” They all laughed at the
puzzled look on Divij’s face. He started the car, and they pulled away heading
for the exit gateway.
Jericho
stared out the window and said softly; “O’Connor or bloody Rafferty would have
known that the big parades had been cancelled coming from 2022, so his plan –
whatever that is – has to be targeted at something else and I think it could be
‘Bloody Friday’. I suspect that that the
bomb in East Street would have been a sample to his new friends of
what was on offer. We fucked
that up for him, but he can cover that by saying the British patrol found it by
chance. So, he’s still out there and in the game.”
Owen
lowered his mirror; “I’ve just read up about ‘Bloody Friday’ and what took
place on Friday 21st July 1972. At least twenty bombs exploded in
the space of eighty minutes, most within a half hour period. They killed nine
people and injured a hundred and fifty more. The provisional IRA claimed
responsibility for the car bombs.”
Jericho
sighed; “I wonder how much Rafferty was involved in that bloody deed.” Divij didn’t smile; “I hope he wasn’t because
it’s part of the current timeline now and we can’t change that without causing
real problems further down the line.” Sadly, Jericho nodded
his agreement at that. This mission could turn into a real bastard quite easily
he thought.
3. THE HOSTEL,
LAKEGLEN AVENUE, WEST BELFAST. Afternoon of Tuesday 11th July 1972.
The elderly nun fumbled with the keys and finally managed to
open the door and said quietly; “It’s the only room left. It’s small, but clean
and has two beds. I must remind you that no men are allowed on premises; none.
Well, except Father O’Neil and some contractors. I’m sure you two sisters are
used to sharing, so you’ll be fine I expect.” Alex dumped her small suitcase on the foot of
a bed and smiled; “Thank you sister. We’ll be fine and we both have job
interviews this afternoon, so hopefully, we won’t be a burden on you for too
long.” The nun just nodded and stared again at the girl’s miniskirts. She hoped
the pair would change into something more appropriate for Mass or Father O’Neil
could get himself in trouble again. She closed the door behind her and walked
slowly back to her small office, looking forward to her morning drop of whisky
with her tea.
The girls didn’t unpack and quickly checked their make-up in
the small mirror. “Come
on, we’ll grab a cab and get to the pub a little early.” Alex finished adjusting her hair and they left
the hostel, following directions given by Sister Ruth to the
local Taxi rank. The jumped in the first car in line and the driver
stared at them over his headrest and then slowly smiled; “And where can I run
you two lovely ladies?” he asked, keeping a close eye on their legs. Alex told
him to head for the Republican Pub and he sighed and gripped the wheel,
muttering under his breath; “What a fucking waste, two stunning birds and
they’re a couple of bloody tarts.” He drove in silence, occasionally glancing
in his mirror and shaking his head. He muttered “What a shame.” A couple of
times and stopped around the corner from the pub. He turned and said to Alex;
“I won’t park around the front. I’m a respectable married man and I’ve my
bloody license to think of, you two can walk around the corner.”
Alex just nodded and paid him with a generous tip, but he
just took the money and said nothing. They watched him pull away and they
headed into the pub. The main bar was empty except a big fat man sitting on a
stool reading the local paper with no real interest; he sipped a glass of beer
and wiped his face, then without looking up shouted; “We’re fucking closed, so
piss off.”
Alex sighed and asked if Mr. Graham Borden was around. He
dropped the paper on the bar and smiled. “I’m Graham Borden,
are you the tart I’m expecting for the barmaid job?” Alex
nodded, unfazed despite being referred to as a ‘tart’. “I came with a friend
because we’re going shopping together this afternoon.” The fat man eased off
the stool and drained his beer glass straight down and wiped his face again. He
looked Jackie up and down and shook his head; “Sorry darling I can’t use you.
You are too small up top for this place; all my girls are well built, with
proper big tits: compared to them you’re a sodding ironing board! But your legs
ain’t bad.” He smiled at Alex and nodded; “Now you my girl are what we’re
looking for; all big tits and long legs. I’ll give you an audition.” Jackie just
rolled her eyes and kept what she was thinking to herself.
He picked up a large bunch of keys from the bar and gestured
to the bar stool, speaking to Jackie; “Take a seat darling and wait. Keep your
hands of the optics or I’ll break your fingers.” He chuckled and waddled to the
rear door marked ‘Private’. “Come on darling, my office for auditions are up
the back staircase. You get thirty quid for each four-hour shift, and you can
keep all your tips which can double or treble that, depending how nice you are
to the punters. You can earn twice a factory’s girls wages for a week in a
single shift here on a good night and we have few bad ones.” He unlocked the door and headed up the stairs with
Alex behind. “Just up from Dublin so I understand.” He added and Alex said she was and looking for work; well-paid work and
she didn’t mind long hours and hard work. She told Mr. Borden
that she had worked in her uncle’s bar since she was thirteen and then worked
behind the bar soon as she reached eighteen. He just grunted and banged hard on
a drab grey door, shouting; “Elsie, get out here in your uniform. I want a new
girl to take a look at the work wear.”
He wiped his sweaty round face and blew his nose on the rag;
“As I say, the money these girls can earn is bloody good and if you want to
earn really good money, we can arrange for you to rent a room here; several
girls do, and they are making shitloads of money. One girl earned enough in
nine months to go home to Wexford and open a bloody hairdresser. So, if you pass
the audition, you can start really pulling in the cash. No one pays any sodding
Tax around here, so what you make, you keep.”
Alex nodded, then the door opened, and ‘Elsie’ stood smoking. She was in her late twenties and the reason for her employment
was staring Alex in the face: her breasts were huge but standing firm. Elsie was naked apart from stockings, suspender belt
and little black panties. She slowly smiled at Alex and blew smoke into the
air. “Like the boss says, you can make serious money here. I made enough just
last week to buy myself a nice little car and the work ain’t strenuous. But
take my advice; never talk politics or religion with the punters, not if you
like breathing.”
Alex said she wouldn’t, and Borden told Elsie that she would
be working the ‘Michael Collin’s’ room tonight; there was a big poker game on
and to make sure she washed her tits and crotch. Elsie just nodded and slowly
closed the door, saying ‘good luck’ to Alex and chuckling to herself. Borden gestured up a small staircase
and heaved himself up the stairs, with Alex behind. There was a single door at
the top and Borden shuffled through his keys and held up a Yale key.
He smiled at Alex; “Now if you’re a good girl and can take
orders without turning stupid, you can make some fucking serious money here.
All the girls are good to me otherwise they are out on their ear. Can you do as
you’re told?” Alex slowly nodded and the fat man grunted; “We’ll see. Hitch up
your skirt and let me have a look.” Alex slowly pulled up her short skirt,
exposing her panties which just about covered her crotch and thighs.
Borden smiled a little and told her to turn around, which she did. He grunted
with satisfaction; “Good girl, you do as you’re told; I like that and it’s a
good start. That fucking gorgeous arse will earn you a bloody fortune!”
Borden pushed his hand into his baggy trouser pocket and
produced a roll of notes, tied with an elastic band. Alex noted there must be
at least a thousand pounds in the bundle and Borden chuckled; “I see you like
cash darling. Well, here’s thirty quid as a sweetener to perform for me. He pulled three big ten-pound notes from the
roll and held them out and then grinned. “You’ll strip down for me, give me a
decent blow job and then I’ll fuck you how I like. Make me happy and I’ll make
you happy by giving you a fucking job that’ll earn you a small fortune. Do you
agree to that?”
Alex managed a smile and nodded. She had no intention of
letting the odious fat man anywhere near her, never mind fuck her. Borden
grinned and slowly pushed the three notes into his shirt pocket. “You always get paid after delivering the
service in here. No bloody punter is not going to pay up: they fucking know who will come calling at two o’clock in the morning and
they’ll be left crying over their lack of knees!” He chuckled, then coughed and
inserted the key into the lock and struggled a little to turn it, muttering
that it needed some lubrication. He laughed outright and smiled at Alex; “Like
you bloody will my darling.” [Note:
The fat man was mentioning the IRA and IDF’s practice of dealing with criminals
and dissenters by placing a pistol or sawn off shotgun against their knees and
firing! It was colloquially referred to as ‘Knee-capping’.]
Borden didn’t notice that Jackie was at the foot of the
stairs listening, but Alex knew she was there. Jackie checked her mirror and
noted the local time; another ten minutes and she would operate the fire
alarm. That was a signal to the staff
that the bloody place was being raided or there was a real fire! Either way no
one would hang around to find out which it was.
4.
THE FIRST KILLING. ‘THE REPUBLICAN’ Public House, West Belfast. Still the Afternoon of Tuesday 11th
July 1972.
The
big man was already sweating openly and whatever deodorant he used had failed
hours ago. He pushed open the door and snapped on the light switch, waddling to
the dirty red velvet curtains and pulled them together. “Get your kit off but
leave on your stockings darling.” He coughed and pulled off his shirt, revealing
a white string vest streaked with odor marks.
Alex
carefully placed her bag down and stared at the little wooden crucifix above
the big metal bed. She had already planned how to get out of this little
situation and Mister Graham Borden wouldn’t be happy about that.
He
sat on the bed, which actually groaned under his weight and pulled
down his trousers; his disgusting underpants matched his vest.
He smiled broadly as Alex pulled off her blouse; “Fucking hell
girl, those tits are real beauties. I’m going to suck them to you squeal and
then I’m going to fuck you up the arse to make sure you can please the punters
that way without screaming the fucking house down! There’s plenty of jelly in
the top drawer so use as much as you like.”
He wiped his sweaty, now smiling, face with both hands, chuckling to
himself.
Alex
unzipped her short skirt and allowed it to drop on the rough carpet.
Graham Borden now really grinned at the sight of sheer black stockings,
suspender belt and tiny matching panties. He nodded his approval; “I like it
shaved. Like a little girl.” That comment made Alex queasy, and she carefully
picked up her blouse and skirt and placed them on the chair by the door.
He
tugged down his dirty underpants revealing his totally inadequate erection. He
gripped it with one hand and gestured to her with the other. “Ditch the bra
darling; I’ll play with your tits while you suck my cock. Then I’ll poke your
bum hole to start with, that’s a good girl.”
Alex eased off her bra and Graham took a deep breath, muttering “Fucking
magnificent” a couple of times.
Alex
reached for her handbag, but never picked it up because the door flew open and
two young men sauntered in. Her plan was to stop time, tuck the dirty fat
bastard up in bed with a cigarette in his mouth, collect her things and depart
with Jackie, leaving Borden to believe he fell asleep after sex! Well, that was
the plan anyway……..
The
tall one took the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it on the carpet,
crushing it out with his boot. “Well, Graham, I see you are auditioning some
new talent for your cesspit.” He turned to Alex and smiled; “Straight off the
farm are you darling?” Alex backed away, covering her breasts with both hands.
The other man chuckled and smiled at Graham; “Sorry about this you fat bastard,
but that’s one little arse you won’t be exploring anytime soon.”
From his beneath his jacket his pulled a long-nosed pistol which appeared to
have a bolt action and pulled the bolt back. [The strange looking gun was a
‘Welrod’ suppressed pistol from the Second World War era. It was British in
make and almost silent in close quarters].
Graham
Borden slowly eased up from the bed; visibly shaking. “For fuck’s sake you
can’t knock me off, the retaliations would be bad, you know that…. the boys
would not be happy; Mr. O’Connell himself protects this place….” He was
babbling and gripping his now flaccid cock with both hands. The man with the gun just smiled; “We know
that fucker protects this shithole, Graham. But he won’t mind us taking out a
thieving bastard who likes to whisper little things to British Intelligence for
the right amount of money. Goodbye Graham, I’ll certainly see you in hell I
expect.” He fired the almost silent pistol – Alex only heard a dull snapping
noise – and the big sweaty man fell backwards, bounced off the side of the bed
and lay face up on the floor. Alex stared at the body; the bullet had been
neatly placed into the centre of his forehead and the back of his skull had
exploded outwards covering the bed and floor with blood, pieces of bone and
brains.
The
young man carefully reloaded his pistol as the tall man took hold of Alex’s arm
and smiled; “Didn’t bat an eyelid did you girl. A man has his brains blown out
in front of you and you don’t scream or breakdown or even flinch. Now I wonder
where you received that kind of training.” Alex just folded her arms and stared
at the dead man.
The
gunman pushed the long snout of the pistol against Alex’s forehead; “I really
regret doing this darling, but I think your career with British Intelligence is
about to come to a sad end.” He pulled the bolt back, but the other man placed
his hand on his; “Tut, tut Murphy my boy. I think Mr. Smith would like to have
a little chat with this lady and you know just how much he likes to question
young women. He made the last one last for almost four hours before dropping
dead with fear and pain. Oh, lots of pain as Mr. Smith knows how to apply
pain.” They both chuckled and the man lowered the gun.
Alex
actually smiled at them and said softly; “Sorry, you evil pair of
murdering bastards, but I don’t think I’ll pay a visit to Mr. Smith.” Both men exchanged an amused glance and of
course, didn’t
realise that Jackie was standing in the open doorway behind them, mirror in
hand and she used it. They both lay sprawled on the floor, next to the dead man
and a puddle of blood that seemed to grow by the minute. They would be out of
the game for about twenty minutes; Jackie had her mirror set to stun.
Alex
grabbed up her clothes and started to dress as Jackie stared at the body of
Borden and then she sighed and cussed; “No fucking Collector has appeared.
Either he’s sold it to the Dark Side or his a bloody time-traveller!” Alex
smiled at her and then realised what she meant; the late Graham Borden had
produced no soul! Jackie sighed again, consulting her mirror; “Real name is Colin
Groves from Cork City, born in 1976 and was a missing soul. He’s out of his
ordained time period and he’s bloody soul is now
lost to the darkness of real death which is quite a bugger; we can’t question
him now.”
With
some reluctance Alex went through the discarded trousers of the late Groves or
Bordon and pulled a small notebook out. She flicked through the pages which
seemed filled with dates, times and large amounts of money. One date stood out
because it was in the future: “Sunday 16th July 1972 Aldergrove
Airport at 7.35pm. £250. Roland and Sparrowhawk.” Alex read the entry out and
Jackie nodded. “That little airport is now called ‘George Best City Airport’
but here and now; it’s just a local airport with flying schools and small
airlines operating out of it.” She checked the two men on the floor with her
mirror and grunted; “Thomas Malloy and James Murphy; both IRA men and from this
time and place. According to Human Records they were hit men for the West
Belfast Brigade of the IRA. They are already facing serious quarantine for
previous killings. This killing means the local IRA knew that Borden was a
British informant and if that’s true; how come Redman and Hatt didn’t bother to
inform us of that very relevant fact?”
Alex
stepped over the bodies which seemed to fill the small room and headed for the
doorway. “Now that Jackie is a bloody good question.” She stopped at the back of the small stairs
and kissed Jackie’s
cheek; “Thank fuck that Jericho was on his toes and sent you with me.”
Jackie
just smiled and folded her arms; “Also, what was the bollocks that Redman and
Hatt said about desperately wanting to put someone in here? They already had
Borden as a contact.”
Alex
nodded; “This mission is beginning to stink.”
Arm in arm the girls descended the small staircase to the rear alley at
the back of the pub. They made the rear door by the men’s urinals and Jackie
suddenly stopped and pointed through the half open door; “A blue Cortina parked
at the top of the alley with it’s engine
running. Guess who’s behind the bloody wheel?” Alex peered over her shoulder
and cussed; “For Christ’s sake it’s Redman!
He must be waiting for Malloy and Murphy. This case stinks
to high heaven.”
Jackie
leaned back against the shabby wall and whispered; “No doubt they needed Borden
dead before he could hire you and, as a bonus, probably knock you off too if
the chance offered itself. “
Alex
was about to say something when they heard footsteps coming down the back
stairs; fast. They dived in the Gent’s toilets and Jackie kept the door just
slightly ajar, mirror in hand.
A
figure flashed past the door, and they heard the outside door slam shut. Jackie
held up her mirror and really didn’t smile; “Abigail Hatt! She was here too and
so I suppose, Redman was waiting for her.” That’s when they heard the noise
behind them and turned; a young dark-haired man was washing his hands in the
cracked sink. Both girls thought he was exceptionally handsome with dark hair
and eyes. He turned and smiled, drying his hands on the roller towel by the
window which was covered with chicken wire.
“Sorry
ladies, but this is the gents. Your nearest Convenience is on the second
floor.” He had a soft southern Irish accent and both girls saw the shoulder
holster under his smart jacket. Jackie gripped her mirror ready to use it if
necessary.
That’s
when they could hear screams and shouting from the staircase outside; clearly
someone had discovered the body of the late Graham Borden/Colin Groves. The
young man sighed and walked to the door, again smiling at the girls; “I would
Miss Alex, get your pretty arse out of here. These people won’t call the
RUC for this one and a clean-up team will be on its way soon. You really don’t
want to be hanging around when the boys turn up.“ He leaned forward and kissed
a very surprised Jackie on the lips; “And I would love to see you again my
little princess. But I must
go, duty calls.” The young man disappeared through the door and could be heard
running up the stairs shouting, “What the fuck is going on!”
The
stunned girls operated their mirrors and were gone.
5. KING WILLIAM
HOTEL, VICTORIA SQUARE, BELFAST. Evening of Tuesday
11th July 1972.
Jericho
was sprawled on the bed, reading his mirror with one hand and a glass of decent
Irish whisky in the other. Divij sat on a chair by the door, carefully reading
the local paper. Jackie and Alex
sat on the big sofa with their well-earned whiskies.
Finally,
Jericho lowered his mirror and sipped his whisky; “So British Intelligence is
compromised in this divided city, to the extent that we really can’t trust them
too much. I’m sure they [Redman & Hatt] will have a very plausible
explanation for what they were doing at the pub while Borden was being killed.
Either way, we still need to find O’Connor and discover what his plans are
and where his time controlling device is. This period in history is fraught
with serious dangers to the current timeline and now we have a rogue time
traveller on the loose. But unfortunately, our only lead is still that damn pub, but
we can’t use either Alex or Jackie
for undercover work there now.”
Jackie
looked up and smiled; “Oh yes you can. Those two gorillas only saw Alex, they
never saw me.” Alex nodded; “That’s true, they only saw me and Borden was the
only person in the pub that saw us together. So, Jackie is unknown there still,
well except
the handsome young man in the toilets, I suppose….” Jackie groaned and then
remembered he had called Alex by her name. Jericho held up both hands and
repeated; “We can’t use either Alex or Jackie for undercover work there now.”
Divij
asked about the young man in the toilets with Jackie a little angry at herself
for not using her mirror to check him out. Jericho sighed; “We have no idea who
he is, but the evidence and facts suggest strongly that he is an IRA man. Other
than that, we know sod all about him.”
Alex
waved her glass about; “Borden and O’Connell are both time travelers so it
would a huge co-incidence if they weren’t working together. So, I doubt if
O’Connell will return to the pub now his associate has had his brains blown out
by the very people they are working for.”
Jericho nodded at that deduction and said quietly; “That would mean our
only lead has just vanished. How do we track down O’Connell now? This is a big
city and it’s divided with hatred and fear, so few people are willing to answer
questions about anyone else. We have seen how the IRA deal with informants, and
I suspect the Loyalist paramilitaries use the same tactics.”
Divij
lowered his paper and folded back a page and offered it to Jericho. “Maybe this
little notice may be of interest.” He said quietly
staring again at Jackie who was refilling Alex’s and her glass.
He had made his opinion known about men dressing as women, which wasn’t a
positive one and that hadn’t impressed Jackie or Alex. Jericho remained silent
on the subject; for now.
Jericho
took the paper and slowly sat up; “They may be able to recongnise
the girls, but not our Owen.” He handed the paper to Jackie who nodded her
head. She read out the notice to Alex; “Wanted; Pot boy for the Republican
Public House. Must be hardworking
and keen. Very good wages for the right applicant, with a single room
accommodation supplied free. Call in person and
speak with the acting manager Liam Doyle.”
Divij
didn’t smile; “For that advertisement to appear this evening, it must have been
placed before the edition was printed earlier in the afternoon. That means they
knew that Borden wouldn’t be around
to conduct interviews, they used the name of the acting manager. So, they are
quite bold in announcing their murders, but of course, Borden is officially
missing since no body was found or recovered by the authorities. He’s probably
buried secretly
in some farmland about these parts.”
“Shit!
Intelligence must have known about the killing; they would monitor all
newspapers and note articles about such a notorious Republican stronghold as
the pub. They would guess that Borden –
their informant – was about to be replaced; with fatal bloody consequences.”
Alex muttered and sipped her whisky.
Jericho
rubbed his chin; “Maybe Redman & Hatt rushed to the pub after reading that
advertisement but arrived too late. Now that
is a possibility.” Divij nodded his agreement and stared at Jackie crossing her
legs as she spoke softly with Alex. He shook his head and dismissed some pretty
wild thoughts; he/she made him very uncomfortable, and he would be glad to have
the obnoxious
[to him] Owen back.
Jericho
eased off the bed and placed his empty glass down on the side cabinet. “Let’s
get some dinner. The restaurant has a good reputation for its evening meals.”
Jackie smiled; “Now that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” She said with
quite a smile.
They
sat at the table and enjoyed their meal in the relatively quiet dining
room. The only staff member – a young
waiter – stood at the far end of the room, by the door and Divij noticed that
he constantly fiddled with his neat white jacket. He lowered his
knife and fork and said to Jackie; “You checked the hotel out, how
many people are staying here currently?” Jackie shrugged her shoulders; “About
thirty, why?” Divij placed his knife and fork down. “Well, where is everyone?
We’re the only the people here.”
Alex
slowly nodded her agreement; “The waiter is like a cat on a hot tin roof.”
Everyone stared at each other, and Jericho dropped his knife and fork, tossing
his napkin onto the table; “I think we best
get out of here as soon as possible.” Everyone agreed on that, especially when Jackie pointed
out the waiter had quietly disappeared. Jericho operated his
mirror’s emergency travel app and they were gone. Back to the lighthouse for a
few seconds, then returned to the small alley opposite the hotel. A vagrant, trying
to sleep under some newspapers, said nothing about their sudden
appearance and turned over. Alex shoved a couple of pound
notes into his hat. That’s when they heard the thunderous explosion, and the
smoke and dust even reached the ally entrance.
They
carefully emerged from the alley to see the front of the hotel was ablaze, with
crowds of people running from the scene. Nobody hung about to watch after a
bomb went off; they knew both sides in the conflict sometimes planed a second
bomb nearby to catch onlookers. Jackie pointed to the remains of a large,
sandbagged window, to the left of the big front doors which no longer existed.
“That’s where we were sitting. We would have caught the blast fully.” She
whispered and really needed a brandy now.
Jericho folded his arms; “I think Mr. O’Conner has stopped warning us.”
He said simply.
The
vagrant now fully awake was standing behind them; the smell betrayed his
closeness. He grinned at Alex and Jackie, taking at close look at their legs.
He rubbed his dirty beard and coughed;
pulling a bottle marked ‘turpentine’ from his disgusting coat pocket and
offered it to Alex. “Would you like a drink darling to calm your nerves?” Alex
shook her head and politely declined. He repeated his offer to Jackie who also
declined. He sighed and took a swig, coughing violently and wiped his mouth. He
gestured to the now blazing hotel; “Someone mustn’t like the bloody place or
the people inside.” He chuckled at his ‘joke’ and took another swig. He
gestured to the girls’ legs; “Now they are lovely, I call them ladders to
heaven. I can tell real stockings from pantyhose you know. That’s made my
bleeding day, short skirts and stockings; I can die a happy man.” He shuffled
back to his
‘bed’ and settled down.
The
team walked in silence to their car which was parked down a side street.
Jericho was reading his mirror as sirens could be heard, he looked up and
almost smiled; “We’ll head to East Belfast
where there’s a human agent of Inspector Dawn Daniels. I’m sure he put us up
for the night; I don’t want to leave now that the case is warming up.” Jackie suddenly stopped and gestured
to her mirror; “I don’t think we should use the car.
There’s
a bomb fixed under the driver’s seat, with a trigger switch connected to the
ignition. Mr. O’Conner was certainly making sure he would get us.” They quickly
backed away and stood in the deserted bus shelter as light rain started to fall
with the gathering darkness of the evening. Jericho stared at the tumbling rain
and said quietly; “It’s back to the police station and we’ll have words with
Redman and Hatt.”
Divij
was warning Supplies about the car and was informed that Charlie Parker would
deal with it. In the meantime, they were sending a replacement vehicle. Jackie
smiled; “I wonder if old Joe will stash a brandy bottle in the glove box?”
Alex
grunted. “Probably not, not with the way our bloody luck is running.” She
folded her arms about herself against the chill of the night and was really
happy when the little van turned into the street with old Joe behind the wheel.
He pulled up and stepped out, throwing the keys to Divij, unsmiling; “Team 74
gets through more bloody vehicles on their cases than anyone else.
Try
not to have this one blown up or get it shot to pieces.” He muttered and
wandered off to check the rigged car and wait for Charlie Parker to arrive.
They
jumped in the van and Divij started it without fear that it would explode in
his face. They were pulling away as Alex noticed the vagrant standing in the
entrance to the alleyway. He raised his bottle to them and for some reason Alex
felt something was wrong, but Jackie squeaked with delight as she pulled open
the glove box and produced a decent bottle of brandy. “He may be a moaning old
sod, but I love him!” she declared. Alex chuckled and looked back; the vagrant
was gone. She sat back and then groaned loudly; “For fuck’s sake! Why the hell
would an Irish vagrant use the American expression ‘pantyhose’ and not the British
term ‘tights? I think Mr. O’Connell has just seriously taken the piss out of us
idiots!”
Divij
stopped the van, and he reversed back to the alley way; the ‘vagrant’ was gone
of course. But propped against the brick wall was a coat stand with the
vagrant’s coat, hat, trousers and beard hanging from it. Jericho cussed then
had to laugh. “The bastard has
been ahead of our every move so far and now he really is taking the piss. You
have to admire the bastard for his sense of humour.” They drove in relative
silence to Inspector Dawn Daniels’
human agent’s house, passing the brandy bottle about.
Divij
as usual declined and concentrated on driving but strangely enough couldn’t get
the vision of Jackie’s legs and the occasional little
glimpse of her white panties out of his thoughts. He groaned to himself; oh,
how I miss my old team!
6. THE SECOND
KILLING. MUSGRAVE POLICE STATION, BELFAST. Wednesday Morning 12th July 1972.
“The
fucking place is packed; you can’t get near the bloody canteen and those shitty
coffee machines have already run out of everything including bleeding chicken
soup which no-one drinks. Well, not if they have a single taste bud left.” Owen
slipped back into the van and stared at the chaos around him. The place was
filled with Riot police and a couple of armoured cars containing special
‘Snatch’ squads of British troops. “They’re taking no chances today. The
parades may have been cancelled but some “Loyalists are determined to celebrate
their victory at the Battle of the Boyne; hence all this.” Jericho said quietly
and gestured to the
melee in and outside the Police Station, with his paper.
Alex
lowered her mirror; “I’ve been monitoring the local news outlets and there is
some trouble already in the Bogside, but nothing
the RUC can’t handle; at the moment.” Divij leaned over the steering wheel and
sighed; “All this hatred, killing and destruction for what?” Owen didn’t smile;
“Human’s exercising their bloody freewill. Little wonder the Dark prince wants
to strip us of that privilege.” Jericho muttered something and then started to
wind down the passenger window. A uniform RUC inspector was heading their way
looking pretty grim faced. He pushed his riot helmet back and leaned on the van
door. “I have some bad news for you captain Tibbs. One of your liaison people
from the intelligence services was killed this morning. Someone posted a
sophisticated letter bomb through his letterbox this morning and blew both his
arms and face off. He bled to death before the ambulance arrived. His colleague
will be in this morning to brief you on any updates. Sorry about this.” He
shrugged his shoulders and walked off, lighting a cigarette and shouting at
some RUC officers standing idly around an armoured land rover. They gathered
together and then bundled in the vehicle and it pulled away.
Owen
lowered his mirror; “The call has just come in for us from Operations Control;
Roger John Redman’s soul was collected this morning
at eight-thirty, and he has already been judged and jumped. He had no sanctions
applied; he was clean.” Everyone looked at each other and Jericho sighed,
rubbing a hand over his face:
“Well, whatever he was up to, he’s paid for it. At least his soul was
recovered, not like bloody Borden/Groves, now lost to the darkness of real
death.”
Owen
grunted; “I take it Ms Hatt will tell us all about it, I really don’t think.”
Alex leaned back in her seat – she was gasping for a coffee – and stared out
the window at a group of local CID officers walking to their unmarked Cortina;
laughing and joking like they were about to go on a day trip to the seaside.
She sat upright in disbelieve and slapped Owen’s arm; “Take a look at those
local CID officers and see who’s walking with them bold as brass!” Owen leaned
over her and shook his head; “I don’t bloody believe it! Jericho, that’s the
young man in the toilet of the Republican pub who called Alex by her name.”
Alex
was already out the van and heading for the group. Owen went
to follow but Jericho tapped his arm; “Leave it to Alex for now.” They watched
with some amusement as Alex confronted the young man. The other three officers
– laughing – waited in the car. After a couple of minutes Alex walked slowly
back to the van
as the Cortina pulled away and disappeared out the Exit gate. She climbed in
the van, looking quite bemused. She almost smiled: “His name is DC John Doyle
and according to him, his brother is now manager of that damn pub and that’s
why he was there; waiting for his brother to turn up and do a handover with
Borden. That never happened of course because Borden had his brains blown out.
The CID knows exactly what happened to Borden, yet they are still treating him
as a missing person. Apparently, he [DC Doyle] is one of a minority of officers
in the RUC; he’s a Catholic.” Alex settled in her seat and checked her mirror.
She
smiled at Owen; “Oh and he asked me about my ‘gorgeous dark-haired girlfriend’
who he fancies. I did tell him you were a special lady, but I think he didn’t
get the point. He asked me to ask you to go for dinner with him. I said I’d
ask.” She actually laughed at that, adding; “Apparently his oldest brother –
Gerard – owns a restaurant in the East of the city which has a fantastic
reputation and getting a table there is like trying to win the Pools.
But he can get a table for four anytime he likes. He wants me to ‘blind date’
his best mate from his rugby team and go to dinner.”
[Note: Alex’s reference to ‘the
pools’ was a well-known phrase
referring to ‘The Football Pools’ which was very popular at the time. You could
win nearly a million pounds predicting the results of football matches.
Unfortunately it slowly faded away with the introduction of the National
Lottery in 1994. She had clearly done her homework on the period!]
Owen
grinned; “Decent food and free? I like the sound of that.” Jericho just
chuckled; “There are few free lunches my boy.”
Divij just snorted and folded his arms muttering; “Special lady my
backside.” Owen ignored him and asked Jericho if the pair should go. Jericho
rubbed his chin; “Well, it does mean that we will still have a contact at the
pub which is our only bloody connection with O’Connor. I’ll think about it.”
A
face appeared at the driver’s side window – it was a young clerk from the
Clerk’s office of the station – he had a message for Captain Tibbs. Divij wound the window down and the young man
gestured to the station; “Captain Tibbs has an urgent phone call on the secure
phone in the Chief Inspectors office.”
Jericho thanked him and jumped from the van and followed the young man
into the station.
Divij
turned and smiled – like a snake at rabbits – and spoke directly
to Owen. “Since the young man in the toilets is RUC, you could easily get a job
at the pub now, since he was the only person to see you there. That tart
‘Elsie’ saw Alex, so she’s out. Not to mention the two hit men. So, I think you
could be back in drag soon.” He turned back and gripped the wheel, still
smiling. He
didn’t see Alex and Owen stick up two fingers, but they both knew he was right
about going back to the pub.
Jericho
rejoined them and checked his mirror twice before saying anything. “Abigail
Hatt has just told me about Redman’s death. The forensic people admit to never
seeing such a clever and sophisticated letter bomb before, so I’ll assume it
was from O’Connor. I’ve warned her to watch her back in future, really
carefully; our O’Connor is a clever and dangerous foe. Her and Redman raced to
the pub after a tip off that Borden had been exposed as an informant. They only
found out that Borden sometimes supplied information after our little meeting.
Apparently his ‘handler’ – a certain Detective Inspector – really didn’t
want to share his informant with anyone until he heard that
the infamous Section 7 was on the case. We obviously know they arrived too
late. But what Abigail can’t figure out is why Liam Doyle has been given the
job. Everyone in Belfast knows that his younger brother is a straight copper.
He [DC Doyle] must walk a very tight rope to balance the fact he’s a Catholic
and a RUC officer. I have to admire the bugger for that alone.”
Divij
tapped the steering wheel; “What’s our next move?”
“Abigail
has passed on a lead or rather a strong rumour that’s circulating the streets.
It appears that a rogue element from the West Belfast Brigade have vowed
revenge for ‘Bloody Sunday’ and are plotting something quite horrible, but
spectacular to revenge those deaths. Borden’s last message to his handler was
quite cryptic; “They’re going after a Grand Royal and O’Connor is knocking up
the how do you do.” Jericho pushed his mirror into his pocket and gestured to
the Exit gateway, adding; “We have new lodgings. Divij and I are going to be
your neighbours.” He smiled at Alex and Owen and then told Divij to head for
Lakeglen Avenue.
Alex
chuckled; “Now you know its women only at the hostel so can we expect you two
in drag?” Owen laughed outright, but Jericho just smiled. “Sorry to disappoint
you two, but we’re staying with Father O’Neil at his Parochial house at the
rear of the
hostel. He’s a friend of Abigail’s and it’s been used as a ‘safe house’
before.” Alex nodded; a little
disappointed that Divij wouldn’t be pulling on a dress.
“Borden
said, ‘they’re going after a Grand Royal and O’Connor is knocking up the how do
you do’. That means O’Connor is building a
bomb to take out a major member of the current Royal family. Now that could
seriously change the timeline.” Owen spoke quietly, already checking his mirror
and researching the British Royal Family of the time. “May
28, 1972, the Death of the Duke of Windsor, the
former King Edward VIII, at Bois de Boulogne, Paris and Prince William of
Gloucester who, aged 30, died in an air crash while piloting his plane in a
competition in August of this year. That’s the current timeline as it stands;
so, who’s the Grand Royal that they’re going after?” Owen lowered his mirror as
the van was stopped at yet another checkpoint. Jericho laughed gently; “I
thought you would have cracked it by now, you’re losing your touch. I think
their target is the old
Grand Hotel in Royal Avenue. It’s now used as a British Army barracks, and it’s
filled with soldiers. Now if that’s not a ‘Grand Royal’ and a top target; I’ll
eat my hat.” Owen shrugged his shoulders and smiled at the grinning Alex;
“Well, you can’t win them all.”
7. ST. JAMES PAROCHIAL HOUSE, LAKEGLEN AVENUE,
WEST BELFAST. Afternoon of Wednesday 12th July 1972.
Father
Frank O’Neil was in his late thirties with already slight greying
hair, but certainly would still be regarded as very handsome by most women he
met. He had piercing blue eyes and admitted he still played rugby and that
really showed. Alex was impressed with his quiet demeanour and pleasant
manners, especially when he produced a decent bottle of Irish whisky to welcome
his ‘guests’. They sat in his sparsely furnished parlour and chatted about
anything except the current ‘troubles’. He did make it clear that he couldn’t
condone the violence committed by either side in the conflict. Alex wondered just how much Inspector Dawn
Daniels’ had told her human agent [Father O’Neil!] about the members of Team
74.
He
filled everyone glasses – except Divij who accepted some ginger
ale – and insisted upon refilling them as soon as they were emptied. He took a
real liking to Jackie [which made Alex almost burst out laughing!] immediately
when he discovered that Jackie was a Chess player, and they would play whenever
they could during the team’s brief stay at the Parochial House. His dour House-keeper Mrs. Fells
provided a decent evening meal and Father Frank provided two very
decent bottles of wine. Their meal was interrupted by a guest; Abigale Hatt had
turned up and she had some information of great importance to the team. Her and
Jericho sat on the sofa and were soon locked together in a quiet conversation.
Father
O’Neil insisted that everyone [of the team] stay here in case the hostel had
been compromised and that could really endanger their mission. He smiled at
Alex and Jackie when Jericho agreed that was a good – and safe – idea. Alex
refilled the father’s glass and Father O’Neil smiled broadly at her.
Abigale
explained that Doyle was now manager of the pub and apparently was planning
some kind of big party for some leading Republicans
which would be ‘Stag’. That would definitely mean strippers and that could be
the team’s chance to get back in there. The mysterious O’Connor would be
holding some kind of private party at the pub for his colleagues on Saturday
night. It appears that he had actually sanctioned the ‘removal’ of the last
manager. Jericho wondered if O’Connor believed that he would betray him for
money. The two time travelers had definitely fallen out over something. It also
confirmed in Jericho’s mind that O’Connor was a cold, calculating determined
man: and fucking dangerous to the current timeline. He would need to speak
to Angel Margret and obtain her authority for something drastic: if needed or
required. But for now, the ‘stag’ party did please Jericho, who stated that
Alex could do the strippers job – suitably disguised of course– and would let her know about her
new career.
This
is where he really smiled at Alex; “He wants to hire a stripper for the night.
He already has booked a local DJ to provide some music. I think that could be
right up your Street and he certainly wouldn’t turn down a stripper that looks
like you.” Divij did smile at that, but Alex just moaned; “Playing the bloody
tart yet again.” Divij now didn’t smile; “I don’t think playing is the right
term for it.” He muttered and meant it.
Alex
just ignored his barbed comment and sipped her wine.
Abigale
ran a hand through her hair; “It appears that’s he [O’Connor] has made comments
about having serious German connections; probably the terrorist gangs that are
plaguing West Germany
at the moment. He did receive a shipment of stuff in an old crate a few days
ago. No explosives apparently, but he hid it away with some care. From our informant
it appears that the bloody thing was a parachute! What the hell he wants with
one of them is a mystery unless he plans to jump out of a damn plane.”
The
evening broke up quite late, with Jericho saying a long goodbye to Abigale, and
everyone was shown their rooms by Mrs. Fell. Jericho lay sprawled across the
very firm bed and stared up at the wooden crucifix on the wall opposite. The
little room was quite grim and sparsely furnished. He operated his mirror and
spoke with the Duty Controller in Operations and was put through to Angel
Margret’s office immediately. He needed her authority just in case this mission
turned really sour, to do something against the basic principles of the
department: lose souls to the darkness of real death.
8. THE PARTY. ‘THE REPUBLICAN’
Public House, WEST BELFAST. Evening of
Saturday 15th July 1972.
Alex
watched from the door of the ‘ladies’ toilet at the men gathering around the
small bar. There were two barmaids in attendance; a thin young girl with very
short hair who didn’t smile much and Jackie. Both were wearing dark
mini-skirts, white blouses with little continental style
black ties. Jackie certainly was drawing
attention of the men with her friendly smile and quick service. Alex sighed and
finished dressing in her costume for this performance. She was dressed as a naughty French Maid
which resurrected a few good and bad memories for her. [See episode: ‘Sir Edward Coleville’s French House.’]
Jackie
came through the door and smiled, handing Alex a glass of brandy. “He’s here;
they’re using the small room by the gent’s toilet. There are three of them;
O’Connor and two middle aged men. I couldn’t get my mirror near them with all
the other men around the bar, but soon as they appear to watch you, I’ll try
and identify the other two. Good luck.” She grinned and returned to the bar as
the young DJ played ‘I can see clearly now’ by Johnny Nash and announced the
stripper; ‘MISS CANDY APPLES’ and hoped
that everyone could see clearly because she was a stunner who was ‘maid’ to
show herself off. He started to play ‘Hold your head up’ by Argent and Alex
appeared on the small stage, next to the DJ, and all the men crowded around
including O’Connor and the two men from the small room. She was now
‘strawberry’ blond with plenty of makeup and
thanks to contact lenses; Alex was now blue-eyed as well.
Jackie stood behind the bar and
discretely operated her mirror from her handbag. The men were already cheering
wildly as Alex strutted her stuff on the little stage. Her maids outfit left
little to the imagination as it was, but when she tickled the men nearest to
her with her duster; they loved it. Jackie disappeared to the toilet and
messaged Jericho; O’Conner had his time device on him; her mirror was picking
it up. That was good enough for Jericho, who said they would move in as soon as
O’Connor was alone. She could hear real cheering and applause from the show
outside and smiled; Alex must have revealed her magnificent breasts!
She returned to the bar and found
that Alex was now down to her
maid’s cap, panties, stockings and heels only. The crowd was loving
it and stuffing money in a pint class being handed about by the DJ. Jackie
wiped a couple of glasses and asked her colleague what the whip round was
for. The girl almost smiled; “Oh, the DJ
is selling raffle tickets.”
Jackie placed the glass down;
“What’s being raffled?” she asked. The girl now smiled; “The tart of course. He
[the DJ] will draw the winning ticket and whoever’s won will shag the tart.
She’s going to make a packet; they are
being sold for two pounds each!” Jackie chuckled and then an idea snapped into
her head, and she walked quickly across to the young DJ who was tearing stubs
from his raffle book and placing them in a glass bowl. It wasn’t hard for
Jackie to persuade the young man to go along with her plan. A crisp ten-pound note
and the promise of sex sealed the deal.
Alex reached the end of her
performance by pulling down her panties very slowly and then throwing them to
the audience who cheered and applauded widely. She left the stage to great
acclaim and the DJ announced the raffle to some very keen and eager men. “To
make it fair and above board, one of our lovely barmaids will draw the winning
ticket!” he shouted down the mic and not surprisingly it was Jackie
that pulled the winning ticket and announced the winning number; twenty-five to
the crowd silent in anticipation.
Ashling O’Connor shouted and waved
his ticket about; again, not surprisingly he had won! Everyone cheered and
applauded as he claimed his prize; Alex had appeared in just a summer mini
dress and heels to accompany the ‘prize
winner’ to an upstairs room. No one saw Alex smile at Jackie as her and the
‘winner’ departed upstairs to celebrate his good fortune. He wasn’t going to be happy with his prize so Alex
thought.
Jackie returned to the bar and
poured a couple of pints for two big men with tattoos on both hands, she
noticed immediately they both had pistol holsters under their smart and
expensive jackets. The biggest of the pair smiled at her and sipped his
Guinness, then placed it on the bar. “Darling, you pull a decent pint of the
black stuff. What’s you name sweetie?” Jackie thanked him and told him her
name. He grinned and smiled broadly; “My old mum was called Jacqueline darling.
But you’re not me mum so I can ask you out.” Jackie
managed a smile; he had to be twice her age. He told her to have a drink and
pulled a bundle of notes from his trousers pocket that could have choked a
donkey.
He leaned over the bar and said
softly; “The tart taking her clothes off only earned thirty quid for her trip
upstairs with a Punter. Now if you’re a good girl, you can make that just by
saying you’ll go to the pictures with me.” He pulled three ten-pound notes from
the bundle and pushed them into her hand and smiled, adding: “Tomorrow night
outside the old Victoria. I’ll take you to see that new film about apes ruling
the world, then supper at that little Italian in Whiterock
Road.” [The film he is probably talking about is ‘Conquest of the planet of the
apes.]
Jackie just smiled again as he
finished his Guinness and walked away. The other barmaid whispered in her ear;
“You best keep that date. He’s Roan Mitchells and he’s a West Belfast Brigade
officer and a nasty piece of work. He’ll put a bullet in your kneecap for
laughing in church.” She went back to serving customers. Jackie just sighed; if
they can close the time portal and send O’Connor back to Chicago, then Mr.
Mitchell’s will be disappointed like O’Connor will be.
O’Connor pushed the door to the
small grim upstairs room and waved Alex in. Jericho and Divij were already on
their way up the back stairs. Alex stared about the
room, a double bed, a small cabinet and wardrobe. There was one small chair
under the window which had the awful red curtains closed. She turned to find
O’Connor behind her; a small semi-automatic revolver pointing straight at her
head. He smiled; “I never forget a beautiful face or a stunning body. Now tip
the damn contents of your purse onto the floor. NOW!”
Alex slipped her handbag from her
shoulder and dropped it upon the floor. He nodded; “Your transvestite friend
was clever, but not clever enough and I caught on
when I saw him speaking to that useless DJ. Now you and me are going to take a
little trip.” With his free hand he pulled a small wooden figurine out and said
softly; “This cute little pistol was made in 1938 in Germany. So that’s where
we’re going my dear.” He kissed the figure, and the room was empty again;
except Alex’s handbag lying on the floor.
Jericho had stopped time and Divij
pushed open the door with some force. He bent down and picked up Alex’s handbag
and opened it; “Her mirror’s still inside.” He said without emotion and Jericho cussed and checked his
mirror. “Breech of the timeline from this very place to….” He sighed and
finished; “Berlin, 1938.”
Divij nodded; “Now why doesn’t that
surprise me? Bloody jumped back to where the original Nazi’s are.”
Jackie appeared in the doorway
looking concerned, guessing that Jericho would have joined Alex because time
had stopped downstairs. Jericho didn’t smile; “He’s taken her back to Nazi
Germany. Divij, get onto Supplies and tell them it’s a rush Job and give them
the details. We should be able to locate her with a body search.” Divij nodded; “As long
as her soul is still with her body.” Jackie groaned at those words as Jericho
operated his mirror and re-started time. Then the trio disappeared.
9.
SOMEWHERE IN BERLIN, GERMANY. Afternoon of Friday 3rd May 1938.
Alex laid arms folded on the bed,
giving the metal headboard an occasional rattle by pulling at her handcuffs.
She had one hand locked to the headboard by a pair of handcuffs and could only
sit on the edge of the bed or lay down. The little room was sparsely furnished
with just a small curtain-less window for light. By the shape of the window
Alex guessed she was in an attic room. She stretched her legs and sighed, now
bored after being locked up
for over an hour. She shouted; “Hey!
Is there anybody bloody there?” and received no answer. She slumped back and really
wondered what the hell her colleagues were doing and shook her head at her own
stupidity; of course, O’Connor would have recognized her from the alleyway and
the car in the abandoned street.
She sat bolt upright as the door
came open and a big man stepped
in; he didn’t smile. He was wearing a dark suit with no tie and
strangely enough, no shoes, just dark socks. But under his left arm was a
pistol holster complete with pistol. “What are you shouting about?” he grunted, and
Alex pushed a hand through her hair and smiled; “I need the toilet.” She said
quietly and he gestured to the bed; “Under there.” He was clearly a man of few
words. Alex peered under the bed at the big, cracked chamber pot and stared
back at him. “You must be bloody joking! Now come on!” He turned back to the
door muttering; “Take it or leave It.” and was gone. She heard the key turning
in the lock and slumped back on the bed.
It was a little later and Alex was
dozing, when she could hear the muffled sound of music; well, not music playing
but maybe people rehearsing. A woman could be heard singing [in German of
course] stopping frequently and shouting [probably at the band] with plenty of
swear words thrown in, which made Alex chuckle a little. The door was unlocked,
and O’Connor wandered in and stood by the window, arms
folded and slightly smiling.
Alex sat up on the bed and shrugged
her shoulders; “Now what?” O’Connor rubbed his chin and did smile fully. “I’ve
made some arrangements to have you shipped to
some friends of mine in a quiet little town in Saxony. They do me favours and
so I’m giving them you as a thank you. They run a notorious underground brothel
staffed with girls that…. well; let’s just say they were literally picked up
off the streets. Willing or not, they work the brothel now. They’re giving me
controlled parachute landing lessons; most invigorating!” He laughed, adding;
“You’ll make a fortune for them and that means more assistance for me.” He
walked to the door and gave a little wave; “Goodbye my little darling, I hope you like being
fucked because you certainly will be now.” He was gone and Alex cussed loudly;
thinking where the hell are you guys!
The big black staff car turned down
the busy street and the young German SS Officer sat smoking
in the rear seats, his hand upon the thin battered old leather document case.
The captain could be a poster boy for the Nazi’s; he was a big man with short
blond hair and striking blue eyes. Woman certainly found him attractive; very
attractive. Especially in his smart black uniform which signified that he was
‘Gestapo’. The driver turned the big car into a much quieter side street and
stopped outside a small Baker’s shop. The driver – also in uniform – jumped out
and opened the rear passenger door,
snapping to attention. Captain Kurt Von Hess straightened his jacket and nodded
to his chauffer; “About twenty minutes, so get yourself a pastry and read that damn book you love so
much.” He smiled and walked to the doorway next to the baker’s window and
disappeared inside. The driver sat in the car and picked up the French novel
and sat reading.
The guard on the stool outside the
prisoner’s door jumped to his feet and the captain offered the big man a
cigarette from a gold cigarette case which was gracefully accepted. The pair
chatted for a minute or so and the guard unlocked the door and sat back on his stool. Alex eased herself off
the bed and stared at the handsome young man who removed his hat and clicked
his heels. “Fräulein Alexandra,
it is a pleasure to meet you, though I suspect the circumstances could be
better. Do you need anything immediately?” she nodded and folded her arms;
“Yes, a cup of coffee and a decent clean toilet!” he chuckled and pushed his
hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small bunch of keys. “One key fit
them all. Not very clever but that’s how it is.”
He unlocked her handcuffs and threw
them on the bed, sitting on the chair by the window and placing
his document case on his lap. “I am Captain Kurt Von Hess of the Gestapo Fräulein Alexandra…may I call you
Alex?” he asked and offered her a cigarette which she declined but said it was
fine to call her ‘Alex’. He smiled and lit a cigarette and sat back. “So, you
are a temporal detective under the command of the infamous Inspector Jericho Tibbs
– Yes?” Now that did shock Alex and she stared at the handsome young man and
nodded slowly. He tapped his ash on the windowsill and smiled broadly. “Thank
you for your honesty, Alex, otherwise we could have spent worthless hours finding that out.”
Alex actually shuddered at that
comment; he was SS and did that ‘finding out’ mean torture?
He leaned forward, stubbing out the
cigarette with his boot on the bare floorboards. Alex had to admit he was a
strikingly handsome young man. “Well, I’m sure you will admit you’re your
position here in Germany at this time is somewhat precarious. Mr. O’Connor has
arranged for you to be taken possession of by some very unpleasant people down
in Saxony. And if an officer of the Gestapo says their unpleasant; that tells
you everything you need to know about them!” he smiled again. Alex said
quietly; “Who are you, Captain Von Hess? I mean who do you really work for?”
He relaxed in the chair; “Old Doc
Silas said you were clever and quick witted. He also mentioned you were
stunningly beautiful and as usual; old Doc was right.” Alex now really stared
at him and whispered; “You’re a human agent for Doc Silas?” he nodded; “Have
been since I was a boy. I took over after my father died; he worked for the Doc
for some years. Now I really suggest – as our American colleagues would say –
let’s get the hell out of here before your new owners turn up to collect their prize!” he jumped to his feet and
gestured to the door. They walked past the surly guard who came to attention
and down the stairs. On the second floor
Alex could hear music and singing from one of the rooms.
“That’s Elsa and her Jazz band
playing quite illegal music and her trumpet player is a Blackman. Tut-Tut what
would the Fuhrer say about that?” he smiled, and they headed for the street and
the driver opened the rear door and they slipped in. They drove through the
bustling streets and chatted. Alex really liked this young man; he was funny and charming:
she really fancied him out of uniform; particularly this one! What did amaze
her was old Doc’s ability to recruit the most unlikely people as agents.
“Our mutual friend [O’Connor] has
obtained a new parachute landmine from one of the SS units in Bremen. It is
quite capable of destroying a couple of streets and I have no doubt that he
will upgrade the device, so that it causes more death and damage. They are
employed by being dropped from aircraft, floating down on a parachute until
they either hit the ground or explode above the target. I hope this information
is of assistance.” The captain ordered the driver to stop at the entrance to
the park and he opened the door and gestured to the newsagent stand by the
ornate gates. “I think you’ll find a certain Fräulein Lisa Solomon waiting for you there. Good luck and
goodbye Fräulein Alexandra; it
was an absolute pleasure to meet you.” Alex leaned forward and kissed him on
the cheek and made for the newsagent stand. [Lisa is a Temporal Detective from
Team 52 under Inspector Harry Hadden.]
Lisa was reading a local paper with
a picture of Hitler on the front page. That wasn’t unusual; he was on the front
page of every newspaper. The girls kissed and embraced with real warmth and
walked quickly away from the park. “We’ll find a quiet alley and jump.” She
told Alex as she fumbled in her shopping basket and pulled
out Alex’s handbag. Alex was really relieved to get her mirror
back and asked Lisa about Captain Kurt Von Hess.
“Absolutely gorgeous, isn’t he? He’s
a treble agent I suppose, apparently works for the Gestapo, British Intelligence,
and us!” she sighed; “Old Doc regards him as one of his best agents and that
says everything about the man. When the time comes, he’ll have no trouble
joining the Department.” Lisa actually grinned at the thought of the young
handsome man joining them.
Alex nodded and they found a quiet
alleyway, and both operated their mirrors and were gone.
10. ALDERGROVE AIRPORT, BELFAST. Evening of Sunday 16th July 1972.
“Well, we know where he’s headed:
the old Grand Hotel in Royal Avenue. I suspect he’ll fly a couple of hundred
feet above and let the bloody thing float down and boom!” Jericho eased back in
his seat and watched the windscreen wipers slowly crawl across the van’s front
screen. The evening rain was light and didn’t affect visibility; they could see the
runway clearly from the small road they had parked in. On the far corner of the
quiet runway was parked another van with three men standing around the rear
door: all smoking. Jericho raised his binoculars again and grunted with
satisfaction: “He’s there and according to my mirror he has the time device on
his person. I think the show’s about to start.”
Owen tapped his mirror; “I’m ready
if he uses the time device. We’ll know exactly where and when he’s jumped too.”
Divij sighed and leaned over the wheel, staring at the darkening sky. “It’ll be soon, the light is fading.” Alex
lowered her binoculars and read her mirror. Then everybody stopped; they could
hear the plane’s engine in the distance. She quickly raised the binoculars and
gestured towards the horizon; “There it is! Coming in from the North-west.” She was right. The
two-engine prop plane was turning to match up with the start of the small
runway. Its landing lights were on and both Jericho and Alex could make out a
single person in the cockpit. “According to my mirror that’s Roland Judd; an
American who believes in the nationalist side and supports the IRA. He is from
this time and place…. Sweet Jesus!” Owen stopped talking and stared at his
mirror until prompted by Alex to finish. He looked up and didn’t smile: “He
dies today. This very evening in about forty minutes. His aircraft
‘Sparrowhawk’ comes down in a field just a kilometer or two from this very
airport. Wait, two other people were killed with him….” He tapped his mirror
but his attention was drawn away by Jericho opening the van side door.
Alex then recalled the entry in the
late Borden’s little notebook: this date, £250 and ‘Sparrowhawk’. “Well that
explains that.” She muttered, jumping from her seat. Was that the reason O’Connor
had the man killed? Was he about to sell that information for £250 to his
handler? They would never find the answer to that question now. Everyone decamped from the van and headed for
the large, unruly hedge that grew by the roadside. They gathered around Jericho
and watched the plane land with a couple of nervous bumps. O’Connor and his
team drove their van out to meet the plane whose pilot stayed in the cockpit
but did wave a couple of times and disappeared to open the door by the tail.
It took all three to load the
cylinder onto the plane, complete with its parachute and O’Connor climbed
aboard with a tall skinny man who wore bright red gloves. “It
will only take a few minutes to fly to the target.” Jericho said quietly and
slowly smiled. He gestured back to the van and Divij jumped behind the wheel
and started it. They waited for the other van to leave - being driven by the
man in the strange red gloves – before Jericho stopped time. “Let’s go people!”
he shouted, and the van turned from the roadway and headed across the grass
towards the plane.
“Owen! Grab the time device from
O’Connor and do it carefully. Alex, check the third man and tell me immediately
about him while I fiddle with the Nazi landmine.” Jericho shouted as the van
bumped across the field until it reached the tarmac runway. He pulled a couple
of papers from his pocket and a small yellow screwdriver. The van stopped by the
plane and the team jumped out with Divij pulling open the door. The team piled
in, and Alex ran her mirror over the big man sitting in a rear passenger seat.
Owen headed for the cockpit.
Jericho had the canvas bag open and
was bent over the device, carefully reading his sheets of paper. He looked up
when Alex shouted over; “John Raft from
Chicago, of Southern Irish stock and was born in 1974. So, he’s another bloody
time-traveler! His soul is shown as missing.”
Jericho just nodded and finished what he was doing with a big smile of
satisfaction. Owen appeared in the cockpit doorway and gave the thumbs up: the
time device was safely in his pocket.
Jericho nodded and told everyone to
head for the van; he only had five minutes left before time re-started itself.
“Let’s go, quickly people, the clock is ticking!” he yelled, and they dived
into the van as Divij slammed the plane door shut. Their van reached the big
hedge before time kicked back in and the plane continued down the runway and lifted
into the air. They sat and watched the little plane circle the field, then turn
South towards the sprawling city of Belfast. Owen ran a hand over his hair;
“The third man in the plane crash was
never identified; little wonder if he was a bloody time-traveller. The two known
victims were O’Connor and the pilot Judd.” The plane was still low in the
distance, when it exploded in vivid colours of red, orange and yellow. The
noise of the explosion actually shook the van a little. The flaming wreckage
fell to earth in a lazy spin, coming down in a bare field, missing a small herd
of cows who ran for the gate, bellowing in fear.
Jericho folded his arms and didn’t
smile; “O’Connor and his little time travelling gang also had another plan on
the go. Nazi Germany in 1938 was about to be given the early results of the
‘Manhattan Project’. Captain Von Hesse passed that frightening information to
old Doc Silas and Angel Margret authorized the use of deadly force. Can you
imagine the Nazi scientists with atomic bombs and V2 rockets to carry them?”
The team sat in silence, thinking of the dire consequences for humanity if
O’Connor had succeeded in that plan.
“O’Connor’s big mistake was his
passion for Irish freedom: it exposed him to us. Had he not tried to interfere
here then he may have succeeded in the big one. At this moment, Kate the
Collector is picking up Judd’s soul. But the other two – sadly – are now lost to the darkness of real
death. Frankly, a small price to pay in the scale of things. That’s why I had
to get Angel Margret’s authority to lose those two souls. All that happened
here is we lost three souls to the darkness.” Jericho sat back and sighed
deeply; “Come on, let’s go. I could use a bloody big brandy!” [The three lost souls were
O’Connor/Rafferty/the vagrant, Bordon/Groves and Raft.]
Divij found a quiet spot on the
country road and the team jumped back to the lighthouse. Old Joe from Supplies
picked up the van and was happy that it hadn’t been shot up or blown to pieces!
He was heard to mutter: “Bloody Team 74!” The post mission meal wasn’t as
lively as usual and that didn’t go un-noticed by Jericho, but he knew the
reason why. He rubbed his chin and stared at Divij picking at his vegetarian
curry and sipping his lemonade. “Early days yet and everyone deserves a real
chance to fit in.” he muttered under his breath and enjoyed his curry: as he
always did.
