Shadows of Deceit (21 page)

The next morning he telephoned Dublin, Darlath answered,

“Hi Harry, the meetings arranged for tonight. Meet the two guys at the pub at opening time. Don’t forget the password.”

“No I won’t, so all being well I’ll see you tomorrow back at your flat.”

“Good, I’ll be expecting you. Take care.”

In the afternoon Harry deposited his suitcase at the ‘Left Luggage’ office of the railway station and then caught a bus out to Cobh. He found the pub quite easily and entered, it was now about fifteen minutes after it had opened for the evening session. The busy, smoky room had a large horseshoe bar in the centre with two glass and oak screens that effectively divided the area into three separate sections.

He approached the bar and ordered a pint of stout,

“An English accent?” commented the barmaid.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked.

“’Fraid so, but you’re welcome here, so you are.”

He paid for the drink and walked around the horseshoe looking at the other customers to see if any resembled his contacts. As none did, he sat down facing the door and pretended to read a newspaper that someone had discarded. After twenty minutes of waiting he went to refill his glass. This time a barman served him. Harry noticed the tattooed cross on his left hand as his pint was being pulled.

“This one’s on the house.”

Harry accepted the pint and whispered,

“Do you ever drink in Dublin yourself?”

“Occasionally. But where would you recommend?”

“The Brazen Head on Bridge Street.”

“Come on through.”

The landlord lifted the bar-flap and he was shown through to a kitchen area in the back.

“I’m Thomas O’Leary and you?”

“Harry Davies. I was thrown a bit at first. I understood that I would meet the two of you here?”

“Slight change of plan today Harry, but you’ll meet Peter in a while. My Wife pointed you out so I just watched you for a bit until you got thirsty again. Has Darlath provided you with the funding?”

“Yes, all is as arranged. Tell me, what’s the plan then, for this evening?”

“Give it another hour then I’ll drive you up to the store. You can inspect your cargo and you’ll also meet Peter there as well.”

Harry was served another pint and provided with some bread and cheese that he ate alone. The hour was almost up when O’Leary reappeared,

“Time to go now.”

Soon they were travelling in a small van out into the countryside. The dark night sky had now turned to rain that was blown ashore by a strong intermittent wind. They motored for about forty minutes before turning into a muddy farm track that descended several hundred feet into a gloomy valley. Apart from brief discussions about the weather and the ‘emergency’ nothing else was said.

O’Leary parked the vehicle alongside some old farm buildings. “Peter’s car is already here, that’ll save some time later. Follow me Harry.”

They entered what appeared to be a dark, windowless stone barn. A scratch of a match made Harry suddenly look to his right and there he saw another man lighting an oil lamp in the distance, deep inside.

“Hello Peter, how is it?” O’Leary said.

Peter lifted the light higher.

“Its OK now Tom, and you must be Harry I guess?”

“Hi, yes.”

Harry moved forward towards the stranger and they shook hands.

“Is he here?”

O’Leary asked from behind. Harry now became anxious; he was unsure of the situation now developing.

“Yes, he’s in the cellar.” Peter said quietly looking over Harry’s shoulder.

O’Leary walked forward into the pool of light,

“Harry, there’s a bit of business that Peter and I have to sort out tonight, unfortunately it coincided with your visit, but that can’t be helped. We’ll just be a bit later getting back to the pub.”

Harry relaxed again feeling slightly easier in himself but still apprehensive as to the ‘business’ that needed sorting.

“Bring him up here Peter.”

Peter left the lamp hanging from a hook next to a door that he unlocked and opened, stepping down into the darkness below. Harry noticed that O’Leary now appeared tense; he was rubbing his knuckles and staring towards the door. Peter came back up, dragging someone behind him. The man, in his early thirties, emerged into the light wearing only trousers and a shirt; his hands tied behind his back. Peter pushed him forward towards O’Leary,

“I’m sorry Mr O’Leary, really sorr…”

His sentence was silenced by a hard punch to his face that made him reel back and fall. O’Leary rubbed his knuckle,

“Put him in the van.”

Peter dragged the man out and locked him in the back of the vehicle.

“Am I supposed to say anything?” Harry enquired.

“No,” O’Leary replied, now appearing calm again,

“He’s just a little shit low life who’s tried to steal and meddle in my affairs. He just needs to be reminded where his place in life is. You know what I mean?”

“That became pretty clear to me.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness this, but Peter managed to find him earlier today so we have to deal with it straight away.”

Peter came back in,

“He’s shivering in the van, he can’t escape.”

“What happens now?”

O’Leary turned to Harry,

“We’ll deal with him later. Now Harry, this way. In the corner are Darlath’s victuals, once you’ve surveyed and paid for them we can get underway.”

He followed the two men across the barn to inspect his goods. The whole place was filled with boxes of varying sizes, all neatly stacked and grouped for easy checking.

Harry counted the boxes and trunk,

“All appears fine, thanks.”

O’Leary smiled,

“Good, this is the lot offloaded locally, the remainder required was taken on to Dublin by ship and Darlath will be dealing with it at that end.”

“Here’s the money.”

Harry pulled up his shirt and produced the package from his money belt. O’Leary ripped open one end to reveal the stack of notes enclosed.

“Thanks.”

“You’re not checking it?”

“No need, Darlath knows we’ll come after him if it’s wrong, and remember, we’ve still got the rest of the stock in our hands at the moment.” O’Leary sniggered.

Peter stepped forward, “We’ll arrange to get this up to Tullow in a few days then we’ll ring Darlath to tell him,” He looked at his watch, “Now we ought to get on; urgent things to do.”

Within minutes the three were sitting on the bench seat in the front of the van and making their way back to the pub. The ‘prisoner’ remained silent in the back. Peter’s car had been locked inside the barn.

After travelling several miles Harry realised that they had diverted away from the road taken on their outward journey. Becoming slightly concerned he turned to ask what was happening but was silenced by Peter,

“A little deviation first Harry, we need to get rid of the little pig in the back.”

Harry now became more nervous about what was going to occur, ‘Surely I’m not going to witness a murder in the middle of nowhere?’ he thought, as he remained silent.

O’Leary drove over a cattle grid and finally pulled to a stop in a small clearing. The headlights shone up to a spinney of tall oaks about thirty feet distance.

“Stay in here Harry, we won’t be long.”

O’Leary and Peter stepped out and quickly dumped the groaning ‘prisoner’ onto the mud by the back of the van. The cold rain spattering on his face reawakened his senses and he screamed, “No Mr O’Leary, I’m sorry, really sorry, I’ll do anything!”

Harry watched from the window as the two dragged the man up towards one of the trees. O’Leary stood him upright, untied his wrists and slapped his trembling outstretched right hand against the tree trunk. Harry looked on, horrified, at the sight of the hammer and six inch nail that Peter raised in his hands.

“Jesus Christ, no, no, no …!” the man shouted as each percussion of steel on steel echoed around the trees.

Within a further minute both men were back in their places and the journey continued in silence. The vehicle rumbled away retracing the track downhill and over the cattle grid into the road.

“I thought you were going to kill him,”

Harry said, still almost unable to speak.

“No, it’s just a final warning to him and any others that feel they want to disrupt our organisation. You English still have a lot to learn!” O’Leary said as he lit a cigarette.

“You see Harry - ” Peter said,

“ - the people round here know that our little signature punishment, that you’ve just witnessed, means that he is now a marked man. It’ll take him three or fours hours to work the nail loose with his free hand and then he’ll make his way home barefoot and in disgrace sometime tomorrow maybe. No one will give him a job so he’ll leave and, who knows, he’ll maybe join the English Army?”

O’Leary smiled at that possibility and then added,

“Harry, it’s too late to get you to the station now so I suggest you stay the night at the pub with us. I’ll drive you over tomorrow. OK?”

“Yep. OK.”

They arrived back to find an impromptu Ceilidh underway. Harry was just pleased to be back amongst a crowd of people and a few pints later he’d relaxed and was enjoying the music and food on offer. At the end of the entertainment the band started playing ‘A Soldiers Song’ and the regulars in the pub began to stand up and join in with the words. Harry felt uncomfortable; he was English in a country that had successfully broken away from the old ways of rule and control from London. He noticed some older men standing tall with tears in their eyes as they sang. Soon everyone in the bar was on their feet and joining in heartedly. The beat of the music resonated around the room and increased in volume as the women vigorously stamped their heels on the wooden floor. Feeling a little self conscious Harry also stood and listened.

“We’ll sing a song, a soldier’s song,

With cheering rousing chorus,

As round our blazing fires we throng,

The starry heavens o’er us;

Impatient for the coming fight,

And as we wait the mornings light,

Here in the silence of the night,

We’ll chant a soldier’s song.

Soldiers are we

Whose lives are pledged to Ireland;

Some have come

From a land beyond the wave.

Sworn to be free,

No more our ancient sire land

Shall shelter the despot or the slave.

Tonight we man the gap of danger

In Erin’s cause, come woe or weal

‘Mid cannons’ roar and rifles peal,

We’ll chant a soldier’s song.

In valley green, on towering crag,

Our fathers fought before us,

And conquered ‘neath the same old flag

That’s proudly floating o’er us.

We’re children of a fighting race.

That never yet has known disgrace,

And as we march, the foe to face,

We’ll chant a soldier’s song

Soldiers are we

Whose lives are pledged to Ireland;

Some have come

From a land beyond the wave.

Sworn to be free,

No more our ancient sire land

Shall shelter the despot or the slave.

Tonight we man the gap of danger

In Erin’s cause, come woe or weal

‘Mid cannons’ roar and rifles peal,

We’ll chant a soldier’s song.

Sons of the Gael! Men of the Pale!

The long watched day is breaking;

The serried ranks of Inisfail

Shall set the Tyrant quaking.

Our camp fires now are burning low;

See in the east a silv’ry glow,

Out yonder waits the Saxon foe,

So chant a soldier’s song.

Soldiers are we

Whose lives are pledged to Ireland;

Some have come

From a land beyond the wave.

Sworn to be free,

No more our ancient sire land

Shall shelter the despot or the slave.

Tonight we man the gap of danger

In Erin’s cause, come woe or weal

‘Mid cannons’ roar and rifles peal,

We’ll chant a soldier’s song.

“Slainte!” O’Leary shouted as he raised his glass,

“Now on with you, home, goodnight!”

It was during the rousing chorus’s that Harry realised that the people present were all bound by a fervour of loyalty, and brotherhood. Some of the older men possibly fought in Dublin in 1916 against the British he thought. These were a fiercely proud, dignified and independent people that wanted nothing but the opportunity of continuing the progress made so far in building a united nation. The phrase he’d heard O’Leary use earlier came back into his mind again and again,