Dancing With Mortality (6 page)

On the second floor, still following the family, he walked
down yet another corridor. He passed the haematology department then took a
left turn. He could see about 20 yards further on that the corridor opened into
a hexagonal space, and beyond that, above a pair of swing doors, there was a
sign reading: ‘Welcome to Alexander Ward’.

And in that hexagonal area, outside the door of one of the
two private rooms that occupied that space, sat a Garda officer with his nose
in a book.

Michael looked around quickly. He was partially obscured by
the family in front of him. On his immediate right, there was a recessed
seating area under a bay window. On the left, a theatre trolley stood
unattended against the wall. In one swift movement he wheeled the trolley from
left wall to right and sat down. Now he had a vantage point with extra cover,
hopefully. He was just in time. The Garda man looked up as the family came in,
gave them a cursory glance, and returned to his book. No doubt where Siobhan
was. But unless that man took a break at some point, this was as far as he
went. He decided to wait.

Half an hour passed and nothing had changed. Michael felt
conspicuous as he sat there with no apparent purpose whatsoever. The Garda man
must go for a cup of tea or a toilet break at some point. It was just a
question of patience.

Suddenly the door opened. A nurse emerged, quietly shutting
it behind her. She said something to the Garda man, who just smiled and nodded.
Then she began walking towards Michael. He leaned back in his seat, trying to
adopt a relaxed posture. As she passed by she turned her head and smiled. He
smiled back, trying to appear nonchalant. At the same time he took a good look.
Her light grey uniform made her look rather shapeless. It consisted of a calf
length dress and a starched white cap. No belt, and she wore white flat heeled
shoes. She was slim, however, that much he could tell. And quite young, no more
than twenty. Her straight black hair was swept up into a bun, and she wore no
makeup that he was aware of. He just had time to notice her hazel eyes and well-defined
mouth before she turned her head back and continued on her way.

He watched her go. He gave her a ten second start and then
followed right behind, keeping a discreet distance. She went up a flight of
stairs and then into the canteen. He stopped just outside the door and watched
as she ordered a cup of tea, which she took to a table by a window overlooking
the road. She sat quietly, sipping tea and contemplating the view.

Michael considered the situation. She was in a private spot.
The six other people in the room were at tables some distance away, and there
was one woman serving behind the counter, who had her back to him. This could
go badly wrong, but his options were limited, so he decided to risk it. He
entered the canteen, walking casually in her direction. He sat at a table next
to hers, in a position that put her diagonally in his line of sight. Then he
waited for her to look at him.

Their eyes met, and he saw the flash of recognition.

‘Are you following me?’ She spoke with a European accent,
but he couldn’t place it.

Now that they were no more than six feet apart, he had a
much better opportunity to look at her. She was smiling again, and he couldn’t
help but return it. Her smile was infectious. Her eyes had an openness and
clarity that he found attractive and disconcerting all at once. Her hands lay
palm down on the table, long elegant fingers outstretched. She sat very still,
but he could sense a latent energy in that stillness. It was an arresting
combination. She saw him looking at her hands, but she left them where they
were.

‘Are my hands that interesting?’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. And I’m not really following
you. But I would like to ask you how your patient is.’

The smile faded. She moved her hands into her lap, and
looked at him curiously.

‘Why do you want to know? Are you a relative?’

‘I’m her brother.’

‘I see. You are the reason I have a policeman outside the
door. I don’t think I should be talking to you, really.’

Michael gave an inward sigh of relief. She hadn’t panicked
or screamed. In fact she was ice cool.

‘You don’t need to tell anyone. Just tell me how she is. I
can’t enquire so easily you see.’

She considered this for a moment. ‘Alright. Your sister –
Siobhan, was shot in the stomach. But you must know this. She went straight
into theatre when she came in. The bullet is gone, but there was internal
damage. The surgeon has tidied that up, and she is now stable, but still
critical. And under heavy sedation. She is under constant observation for now.
There is someone in there with her while I take a break.’

Michael stared at the table. It was as much as he could have
hoped for. ‘Thank you.’

‘I must get back now.’ She made a move to get up.

‘Just give me five minutes to get out of here before you
tell our friend on the door who you’ve been talking to.’

‘I won’t mention it. And yes, you should leave first.’

They exchanged a long look. He was trying to read her, would
she or wouldn’t she? His gut told him she was telling the truth. But he asked
anyway.

‘Why not?’

‘Perhaps they will shoot you. I don’t want that on my
conscience.’

He stood up. ‘I’m sure that won’t happen, but thanks
anyway.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I’m Michael.’

‘Sabine. Is it nice to meet you?’

He laughed. ‘Where are you from, Sabine?’

‘Germany, a place called Heidelberg. It’s in the South. You
know it?’

‘No, I don’t. I’d like to talk to you again, Sabine, just to
know how Siobhan’s doing. Is that possible?’

‘So. You’re going to follow me again. Well, you know where I
am.’

‘I do. Goodbye then.’ He hesitated. He wanted to stay longer
and find out more about this woman. But this was not a time to be distracted.
He contented himself with a last look then abruptly turned around and walked
swiftly away.

‘There is news,’ Jack Hudson
pronounced as Harry entered the office.

‘You mean the shooting of that girl? It wasn’t far from here,
either. I saw the TV report. You know who she was? They haven’t named her yet.’

‘And they won’t for the moment. It’s been 48 hours though,
and we can’t keep a lid on it for much longer. But yes, that’s the news I’m
talking about. Her name is Siobhan O’Reilly. Mean anything?’

Harry shrugged. ‘No, should it?’ Then it hit him. ‘You mean,
as in Michael O’Reilly?’

Jack smiled. ‘His sister. What the TV didn’t tell you is
that there were three people at the scene when the ambulance crew arrived.
Siobhan and two men, one of whom was dead. The other referred to Siobhan as his
sister, so by a simple process of elimination…’

‘The man on the horse then, must have been.’ Harry pulled up
a chair and sat opposite Jack. ‘But who shot his sister? And why?’

Jack began to speak then thought better of it. He punctuated
the pause by clearing his throat. ‘Actually, we don’t know the answer to that
one. Wasn’t us though.’

‘Where’s O’Reilly now then?’

‘Don’t know that either. His sister is in hospital, alive
but critical. Perhaps O’Reilly will go there at some point, though that would
be unwise in my opinion. Apparently he was shot too. In the shoulder.’

Harry leaned back in his chair. From his perspective, none
of this was making him any happier.

‘Look, Jack, all of this shooting and me getting involved in
things I had no idea I’d get involved in is making me very uncomfortable.’ He
leaned forward to make his point. ‘I think if you continue to ask me to do
things I didn’t sign up to do, then I have to quit. Natalie is scared, and
actually, so am I.’

Jack’s face hardened. ‘You told your wife what you’ve been
doing?’ He almost spat the words.

Harry felt his temper rising. ‘I didn’t need to. Mr
Litchfield’s phone calls asking where the hell I was scared her half to death.
She’s not stupid.’

Jack stared fixedly at him. When he spoke again the vitriol
had gone. ‘Alright Harry. Calm down, point taken.’ He got up and walked over to
the sink in the corner  and opened the cupboard directly underneath. When he
came back it was with two glasses and a half bottle of Jameson’s. Harry raised
his hand in protest and opened his mouth to refuse, but Jack cut in before he
could say anything.

‘I’m about to tell you the facts of life, Harry. I suggest
you might like to keep your options open on the drink.’

He poured a half measure into both glasses, took a small sip
from his own, and handed the other to Harry.

‘As Litchfield isn’t here, I can speak freely. Yes, you were
brought in to do Irish translations, but what you weren’t told – what goes
without saying as far as Litchfield is concerned, is that you will do anything
within reason that we ask you to do.’ He paused to gauge the effect of his
words so far. Harry was looking back at him with a mixture of astonishment and
anger, but he remained silent. Jack continued.

‘You don’t quit SIS, Harry. You can walk out of course, and
we can’t stop you doing that. But if at any time we need you again for anything
– be it ten days or ten years from now, we won’t hesitate to let you know. And
I can assure you it will be in your best interests to co-operate.’

Harry stared in disbelief. He took a drink.

‘Fuck you, Hudson.’

Unperturbed, Jack ploughed on. ‘Speech over. What will
happen in all probability is that you’ll finish up here, go back to where you
came from, and never hear from us again. There are no guarantees though.’

‘Jesus,’ breathed Harry. ‘Well let me assure you, that as
long as I’m stuck in this office with you I will refuse to do anything from now
on that doesn’t involve Irish translations. Understood?’

Jack sighed. ‘Fine. You have holidays coming up, don’t you?’

Harry was thrown. ‘What? Yes, there’s the Christmas break
coming up, why?’

Jack gently placed his empty glass on the desk. ‘The boss
and I are just as concerned as you about the way things are going. The way the
arms shipment was handled, and now this shooting of O’Reilly’s sister. It’s all
getting rather messy.’

Harry drained his own glass. He was glad someone else shared
his anxiety about the situation. His anger abated slightly. ‘So what do you
suggest, and what does that have to do with holidays?’

‘We’re closing the office for the festive season, starting
early. As of next week, being second week of December, we’re all on holiday.
Till further notice.’

Harry felt that sense of unease again. ‘What are you worried
about?’

‘Just keen to preserve our anonymity, that’s all.’

‘Christ, this is just great. The more I work here the safer
I feel.’

His sarcasm went unregistered. ‘I suggest you take a trip
out of Dublin,’ said Jack. ‘See a bit of Ireland, it’s lovely.’

‘And freezing in December. Especially without a car.’

‘We’ve thought of that. You can borrow the Land Rover. All
you need to do is fill it with petrol. What could be better?’

‘Alright, I’ll do that. Thanks. I wonder where O’Reilly is
now.’

Jack pursed his lips. ‘Difficult to say. Away from here I
should think. We don’t actually know what he looks like, but that’s being
rectified. Someone in Belfast is sending us a photograph. Should be here
tomorrow. In the meantime, if you should run into him, let me know.’ Jack
snorted at this witticism, and reached for the whiskey.

‘Pour me one while you’re at it,’ said Harry.

Michael stamped his feet, warding
off the cold. He stood by a bus stop about fifty yards from the hospital
entrance, waiting. He’d worked as a hospital porter one summer before he
finished secondary school, and he remembered the shift pattern. Either on at
7am and off at 3pm, or on at 2pm and off at 10pm. So he figured if he was in
the vicinity at the right time, he’d catch Sabine on her way out.

He’d seen plenty of women exiting the reception area around
3.30pm, some in uniform and some not, but she wasn’t among them, so he’d
retreated to the hotel. Now at 10pm he’d returned and had been watching for her
for ten minutes or so. He had good sight of the reception area from the bus
stop, and it gave him a reason to be standing around.

Five minutes later he spotted her. She was out of uniform,
in jeans and an overcoat, and her hair was loose. But it was unmistakeably her.
She was carrying a case that he realised contained some sort of musical instrument.
And he wouldn’t need to chase her, because it looked like she was heading right
towards the bus stop.

He stood back in the shadows, letting her get closer. When
she still had ten yards left to cover he stepped forward into the light of the
shelter. He saw the brief hesitation when she realised who he was, then she was
in front of him.

‘I wondered if I would see you again,’ she said. No smile
this time.

‘Can we talk for a minute?’

‘Yes, if you want, I...’ she looked behind her at an
approaching bus. ‘I must catch this bus. Coming?’

They boarded the bus and took the wide back seat. She lay
the case next to her.

‘Sit there please,’ she said, pointing to the space adjacent
the case.

He did as instructed. ‘I’m not here to hurt you.’

‘If you try, you will regret it. You want to know about
Siobhan? There is no change from yesterday. She is conscious some of the time,
but because of the drugs she isn’t speaking clearly. Actually, there is
something you can tell me.’

‘What’s that?’ He rested his hand on the barrier between
them, and tried to ignore her look of disapproval.

‘We have no details for next of kin. You are not suitable
exactly. Where are your parents?’

He looked away from her, directing his gaze at his
reflection in the side window. ‘I phoned them this afternoon. They will be here
tomorrow.’

The tone of his voice had not gone unnoticed.

‘So, it was not an easy conversation then?’

‘It wasn’t. They blame me for going to see her in the first
place. I couldn’t really disagree with that.’

Sabine’s mood changed to one of concern and she reached
across, covering his hand with hers. ‘What will you do?’

He tried to hide his surprise at her sudden gesture. ‘Can’t
stay in Dublin much longer. In fact, I’m not sure what the next move is. Now
that my parents know about Siobhan...’

They sat in silence. She made no effort to remove her hand.
For him, it was simply good to be touched.

‘What’s in the case?’

‘Oh, it’s a saxophone.’

‘Doesn’t look very big.’

‘It’s an alto sax. I have a tenor too, but I didn’t bring it
with me from Germany.’

‘And where are you going with this alto sax?’

She finally lifted her hand. She seemed more relaxed now.
‘There is a bar I go to some nights. I sit in with a trio, on the last set of
the evening.’

‘I see. Are you good?’

She smiled then. ‘Good enough. Come and listen if you like.
I can hardly stop you. It’s a free country.’

He found himself grinning. ‘I’m afraid you were misinformed
about that. But yes, I’ll listen for a while.’

She was good. Not that he was a
connoisseur of jazz by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d heard a bit.
The trio consisted of piano, bass, and drums. The only thing he recognised was
‘Take Five’, by Dave Brubeck. She played the sax part very well he thought, and
the drummer delivered a great solo to back it up.

The bar was in a side street off Temple Bar. For a Wednesday
and so late the place was well frequented, with a mixture of Irish, Europeans
and Americans. When they entered she’d immediately gone across to greet the
band, and he’d warily found his way to a small corner table next to the
kitchen. He knew it was stupid to be in a public place, but right now it seemed
preferable to the four walls of his cheap hotel. The lighting was dim, the room
was smoky and humming, and no one showed the least interest in him. He wouldn’t
stay long.

One hour and two beers later, she joined him, glass of wine
in hand.

‘Hardly traditional Irish,’ he said.

‘Not tonight. Did you like it?’ Her earlier reserve had
gone. She seemed quietly exhilarated by the music she’d helped create.

‘I liked you.’

She didn’t reply immediately. She took a sip of wine then
stared at the table for a while. When she looked up at him her face seemed
determined and sad.

‘I want to explain something. I had an older sister, Monika.
She was ten years older. She called me the “Mauer Mädchen”, which means the
“Wall Maiden”, because I was born the day they started the Berlin Wall. And
also because I used to stand in her way when I thought she was going to do
something crazy. I was younger, but I always thought it was my job to look
after her. She was always doing crazy things.’ She stared into the space over
his shoulder.

‘Go on.’ He sensed her distress, but she obviously needed to
say this.

‘She became a communist when she was 20. Always going to
protests, and writing for some underground magazine. Anyway, in 1972 Baader
Meinhof put a bomb in the US Army barracks in Heidelberg. It killed a lot of
people. Monika was arrested. They knew about her from the communist stuff, but
she wasn’t involved. The police beat her up badly. She was released later on.
We thought she was ok, but a few days after we got her home she died. It was a
blood clot in her brain. The police would not take responsibility.’

She picked up the wine glass and took a long drink. Michael
sat in stunned silence.

‘Since then I don’t care for the police very much. I still
miss my sister. But I’m telling you this because I want you to understand why I
said nothing about you. Not that I approve of what you do either, if what they
tell me about you is correct.’

‘I’m sorry about your sister. I don’t know what they told
you, but I fight for a cause.’

‘I hope your conscience is clear then.’

She stood up and went to the bar. A minute later she
returned with wine for her and a beer for him. Neither of them ventured another
word. The pianist was doing a slow solo number while the bass player and
drummer chatted over a drink nearby. Whirls of smoke drifted in and out of the
stage lighting. The bar was starting to empty, and Michael realised it was well
past midnight.

Sabine finished her wine. She had her chair turned away from
him with its back against the wall. She turned her head towards him.

‘I’m working a late shift tomorrow. Will you take me home
please?’

He gazed into the cool hazel eyes then drained his glass.
‘Alright. Let’s go.’

They took a taxi. On the journey she leaned her body against
him, head on his shoulder. Her free arm cradled the saxophone case, and she
closed her eyes. He looked at her face in repose, wondering how she managed to
shift so easily between the distress he’d seen in the bar and the serene
stillness he saw now. She was a conundrum, one minute distant and disapproving,
and then the next unexpectedly vulnerable and intimate. He looked out the
window at the houses rushing by and let his mind wander.

‘Will you come in for a while?’ she asked as the taxi drew
to a halt.

He didn’t need to deliberate. ‘Yes, ok.’

She lived in a tiny one bedroom flat, right under a dental
surgery.

‘It’s very small, but I like it,’ she said, leading him down
the hall and into the living room. She dumped her overcoat on the sofa. ‘It’s
quiet at night too. Are you tired?’

‘No. Are you?’

They looked at each other. Then she stepped forward and
kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his
chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No, not at all.’

She took his hand and led him to the bedroom, turning on a
lamp next to the bed. He sat down and took off his shoes and socks.