When Shadows Fall (15 page)

The flash of moonlight upon metal in the trees, a fleeting thing. He saw it for an instant only, but long enough to recognise it as a gun barrel. For that brief moment he was paralysed by inaction, unable to react in time.

A second later, the night erupted into a maelstrom of fire and violence.

Major Edmund Tanner commanded the Third Battalion Cameron Highlanders, presently stationed in County Wicklow pending their posting to the more volatile county of Cork. Tanner was forty-seven years old, a Glaswegian by birth, and a veteran of the Boer and Great Wars. In South Africa as a young captain he’d earned a formidable reputation for his bloody-minded pursuit of the Boer guerrilla bands hounding the Transvaal, while he was awarded the Victoria Cross and a promotion to major for his actions with the Machine Gun Corps at Ypres in France in 1917.

Major Tanner loathed Ireland. A falling out with a commanding officer had stalled his promotion to lieutenant-colonel and had instead earned him a secondment to the Cameron Highlanders across the Irish Sea, to this priest-ridden backwater, reduced to holding the hands of policemen as they chased paddy rebels, a humiliation for a man of his experience and ability. But duty was duty and a week earlier a despatch from a detective in Dublin Castle had landed on his desk, instructing him with regards to the apprehension of a highly wanted and highly dangerous IRA brigade commander. Tanner’s instincts were stirred. Weeks of monotonous patrols through the bogs and hills had dulled his mind, and the prospect of a mission that he could sink his teeth into was hugely appetising.

“Captain Atkins,” his voice rasped in the bushes despite his attempts to whisper, “that front section is in the moonlight. Move them back five feet.”

The captain nodded and disappeared through the undergrowth.

They were hidden deep in cover opposite the police barracks, concealed by the night and the tangled vegetation. The ambush had been laid nearly ten hours before, for they couldn’t be sure of the rebels’ exact timing, but raids like the one the rebels were planning were usually executed in the dead of night, and so here Tanner’s unit now waited.

“Remember,” he said when Captain Atkins returned, “we’re not to move until they’ve accessed the building. That’s our ticket. Let the bastards get inside and string their own nooses.”

“Yes, Major. I have the men warned.”

The detective’s orders from Dublin Castle had advised, and emphasised, that the primary target was one Larry Mulligan, wanted for murder and the direction of seditious activities against the Crown. Dead or alive, he
had
to be taken. The others were mere cannon fodder, unimportant. Mulligan was the prize.

Tanner had perused the file carefully back at quarters. It included a photograph of the target, which gave him a useful impression of the man he was hunting. Squat-necked, big-nosed, and muscular, Mulligan looked every inch the murderous Irish blackguard that one found in all the backwoods and drinking dens of this foul island. However, he wasn’t just another knuckle-brained thug if the background reports were to be believed. Far more sinister than that, he was known to be the planner and executor of a series of devastating attacks on military and police personnel in the north Wicklow and south Dublin areas, his name on a list of high-ranking IRA leaders that the British government was desperate to apprehend.

“Quarter to six, Major,” Captain Atkins murmured, adjusting the rifle on his knees for balance. “Another hour or so till light. You think they’ll come?”

Tanner peered through the trees, his moustache twitching as he debated the question. “I don’t know, Captain. I bloody well hope so.”

The silence that rested over the wooded slope was intensified by the darkness. The men in cover didn’t speak, didn’t so much as move. Tanner liked this. As a boy he’d stalked deer for hunters in the Scottish Highlands. He knew about stealth and patience. He kept his eyes on the road, watching for stir of the quarry. The night slid on.

And finally they came.

From his vantage spot, Tanner spied several men approaching quietly along the road, armed with rifles and revolvers. There were perhaps a dozen in all, and the stolid, brawny figure in their midst Tanner guessed to be Mulligan.

“Hold for my order,” he hissed at Atkins. “Let them about their business.”

The party of raiders moved briskly, filing along the perimeter wall of the barracks while one of their number crept as far as the door and planted something on the ground. After he had taken refuge, a sharp blast reduced the door to a splintered wreckage. The raiders poured in. Tanner could hear their rough feet stomping about as they searched the building.

“As you please, Captain,” he said.

Captain Atkins crept forward and ordered the men at the roadside to ready and take aim. After a few moments the IRA must have realised they’d been duped, for they reemerged from the barracks looking thoroughly disgruntled. Tanner saw Mulligan in front. His lips curled into a sly smile.

“Fire!” roared Atkins.

In near-perfect unison the soldiers loosed a fusillade, shattering the night’s tranquillity in a screaming volley of lead. The bodies across the road twisted and danced and chips of granite flew off the walls. Screams of agony rang out, and the soldiers reloaded and kept firing. When the calamitous noise finally settled, none of the raiders was still standing.

“Cease fire!”

Tanner took out his revolver and advanced with his men. Blood spatters stained the ground and barracks wall, and the first few targets he saw were clearly dead. However, a few moans and whimpers could be heard from elsewhere.

“Disarm the wounded, move it,” Captain Atkins barked. Tanner looked for Mulligan. The IRA leader had been right in the path of that first fusillade, and he couldn’t have made it far.

Aha, there you are.

He spotted Mulligan lying round the side of the barracks, face down and unmoving. The rogue had almost made it, until the bullets cut him down midflight. Tanner slapped his haunches in satisfaction. “Excellent. Job done. Move the dead back to the truck, Captain Atkins. The peelers will want to identify them in the morning.”

“What about the wounded, sir?” Atkins asked.

“The wounded?”

“Er, yes, sir. There are five of them.”

Tanner gazed at him coldly. “I think you must be mistaken, Captain Atkins. The coppers in the Castle may like a few paddies for interrogation, but I for one prefer dead paddies. I always have. So there are no wounded. Check again if you need to. Understand?”

Atkins lowered his eyes, discomfited. “Yes, sir.” He turned to a private standing nearby. “You heard the major, Private. Have it done.”

The private grinned carelessly. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

A succession of pistol shots echoed into the night.

As the soldiers began the task of moving the bodies to the truck, Tanner returned to Mulligan and tipped the corpse over with his boot. “Ugly-looking brute,” he muttered to himself. “They should stick his head on a pike.”

Then he paused.

There was barely any blood on Mulligan’s body, given the destruction usually inflicted by the Lee-Enfield’s .303 cartridges. In fact, it almost looked as if he hadn’t been struck at all.

Suddenly, Tanner felt a slide of dread in his guts.

Mulligan’s eyes opened.

Tanner whipped up his revolver and cocked the hammer all in one fluid movement. But he was just a fleeting, fatal shade too slow. A pistol flashed in Mulligan’s hairy paw.

Captain Atkins and the rest of the unit at the truck heard the single shot and were momentarily confused. The barracks wall was now obscuring their view, so Atkins hurried back to investigate.

There was a body on the ground, but not the one that had been there moments before.

“Oh, Christ,” he blurted in horror. “Oh, Jesus Christ. He’s shot the major! Jesus, he’s shot the major!”

The surrounding area was scoured, every bush and thicket searched, and patrols sent out for miles throughout the morning.

But no trace was found of Larry Mulligan.

“You’re on edge this morning.” District Inspector Philip Black peered studiously over the tops of his steel-rimmed spectacles. “Anything wrong?”

James shook his head. “Not at all, Chief. Just waiting on a rather urgent update.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you remember, the Larry Mulligan business we spoke about.”

“Ah.” Philip nodded. “You mean the tip-off the young lady gave you?”

“That’s right. She said she heard him specify the night of the fourteenth for the barracks job, so I had the army boys put a reception in place. Just a little anxious to know how it all went.”

“Who knows, Bryant, the redoubtable Larry Mulligan may just be a bad memory by now. Tell me, you’re ready to assume the mantle?”

“I am. When do you leave for England?”

“Friday morning’s crossing to Liverpool.” Philip Black was being returned to Scotland Yard while James would assume Philip’s role at Dublin Castle.

“I’m filling some awfully big shoes.” James smiled. “At least I get to sit in that splendid leather armchair of yours.”

“You’ll fill the shoes just fine, and the chair’s all yours,” Philip told him. “And let me say, I’m not at all sorry to be going home.”

There was a knock on the door then, and James answered it. One of the Castle messengers handed him a telegram.

“Ah. Your update?” Philip enquired.

James inhaled deeply and began to read.

T
O:
D
ETECTIVE
J
AMES
B
RYANT
D
UBLIN
C
ASTLE

Further to operation at Castleconway barracks, note operation objective not met—
STOP
—Target remains at large—
STOP
—Commanding officer killed during engagement

James read no further.
I’ve let her down.
He crumpled the telegram into a ball and hurled it furiously across the room. “Damn it. Damn it!”

Tara had spent the morning opening invoices from city suppliers. She date-stamped each one, transcribing onto a list the name of the company and the amount outstanding. Colleen opened her mouth only twice in two hours, the first time to request tea, the second to complain that there was a draught coming under the door. Tara’s mind was distracted, however. Had James acted on that information she
’d given him about Mulligan? When would she find out?

But James eventually showed in person, entering wearily and then apologising when he saw Colleen. “Forgive me, ma’am. I had hoped to speak with Tara . . . ”

He didn’t specify
in private
, but Colleen evidently understood, for she left the room with a mutter
and a haughty glare.

Tara met his eyes. “Did you? I mean, the information I gave you?”

His demeanour was lacking its usual assuredness. “Yes. We acted on it. Mulligan was there, just like you said.”

She felt a flare of optimism. “And?”

“And, I’m afraid, he got away. Luck of the bloody devil, a thousand to one, and it seems no shots hit him.”