Back Home in Derry, page 23
10Requiem Aeternam
Max Rutherford gave Dan the wide-mouth-frog grin. ‘The news has come to you, cobber.’
Dan looked at the television flames leaping skywards as Castle William was incinerated. Ignoring the sombre newsreader identifying the conflagration, Dan heard the soundtrack as Robert Duvall led his helicopter warriors into the fire-bombing of Vietnamese peasant huts. It was by that Wagner composer who did the Valhalla opera. Ride of the Valkyries, stirring stuff.
Watching the cassette copy Max brought of Castle William burning was surreal. A matter of hours ago it could have been his family’s funeral pyre.
Max paused the remote. ‘Lucky, lucky, lucky, sport.’
‘Eh?’ At least he hadn’t called him Mister D. ‘Sorry, come again?’
‘Looks pretty hairy. I meant lucky the cavalry arrived in time. Speaking of which, time is of the essence. Your ladies going to be long?’
Dan shrugged. ‘Hard to say.’
‘Know what you mean, mate. But I might have to shoot through. We have a dynamic situation developing.’
‘Too true, blue.’
The grin faded. Max probably did not expect anybody else to take the piss; that was his role. He was standing when Maria and Jas entered their hotel room lounge.
‘Daniel offered coffee?’ Jas said brightly, patting at her hair. ‘Or something stronger.’
‘She’s right, Mrs D,’ he said, the grin back, a wink to go with it.‘Off the turps when I’m working. Just wanted to give you a heads up before I take flight.’
‘Where to?’ Maria asked.
‘Crikey dick, doll,’ he said. ‘You know the police and army are actively seeking all three cars. Yours, the knight of the realm’s, the naughty boys’ Range Rover. Well, the talk over the police band is they are on to the Rover. Heading towards Drumcree at a fair lick.’
‘Drumcree?’
‘Yeah, Mrs D. That’s where the march took place yesterday for the Boyne Battlers. Got a lot of coverage and there are still protesters milling about. Go figure?’
‘You think those two lunatics want to blow up their own people?’
‘I only report what happens, Maria.’
‘Can I come?’
God, was she a disaster junkie like her boyfriend? ‘No way,’ Dan said at the same time as his wife said ‘No!’
Maria took Max’s reluctant arm. He looked as unhappy about it as her parents.
‘Pull finger,’ she said, nudging Max. ‘I am not sitting back at the ranch again while you have all the fun. Bye, aged Ps.’
Maria hauled Max out the door, Jas following and protesting it was juvenile and ridiculously dangerous.
Dan agreed with his wife but could do nothing about it. He never could with Maria. Like she said last night, she was a big girl now. If no more mature, despite a good law degree. Why couldn’t she be like Ali or his son, steady as a rock? At least Ali was safe at the library with Jack, checking the old card files and clippings folders they kept of Derry back to the newspaper year dot.
Dan poked the cassette and it slid noisily out of the slot, replaced by today’s drama, men in orange sashes and drab suits marching four abreast into the camera. The newsreader was saying that despite three days of protests, this was Northern Ireland’s day to commemorate the Battle of the Boyne back on July 12, 1690, when Protestant William of Orange defeated Catholic James II in this decisive battle.
The newsreader was a thirty-something coloured man with a neat pencil moustache, a tan jacket and a natty red tie. He spoke in a soft, mellifluous and very BBC voice, even if his clothes were not Aunty Beeb. Definitely went through the English public school/university system. Alice would be able to identify where. He fastidiously and Dan thought unnecessarily smoothed the ends of his perfectly trimmed moustache before he resumed:
As tens of thousands of Orangemen march in dozens of parades in this predominantly Protestant British province, there are fears of violence endangering the peace effort. Already two Orange lodges have been burned, and two hijackings of cars forced the suspension of some bus services.
The television cut to a familiar figure, glasses and beard and a conservative suit and tie, the mild look of a university professor. The voiceover introduced Gerry Adams, leader of Sinn Fein, the political wing of the IRA. Adams was calling for Catholics to stay calm as the IRA was committed to the ceasefire last August that ended 25 years of conflict killing 3100 people. Most thinking Catholics, he said, are not concerned about Orange marches, except for the few that enter areas where they are not welcome.
Adams was replaced by another bespectacled man in a conservative suit and tie, perhaps a few years younger but the same mild, academic demeanour. The voiceover introduced Jeffrey Donaldson, assistant grand master of the Orange Lodge and an official in the mainstream Ulster Unionist Party. As he donned the orange collarette, he said he agreed with Mr Adams that offensive parades were few but disagreed on the cause. ‘Why,’ he asked, ‘can’t Catholics tolerate an Orange procession for 15 minutes in the year?’ If you want to point the finger at intransigence, he pointed, it is those who cannot tolerate another culture on this island.
Dan muted the sound as Jas returned. ‘That girl needs her head read,’ she said, glaring at him, hands on her ample hips, not that he would ever comment aloud on her figure in that way. She could misconstrue admiration of her womanly hips as a thinly disguised dig at her putting on weight.
‘You’re right.’
‘You don’t help.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You never say no to anything Maria wants. And I’m having second thoughts about that Aussie.’
‘They’re with a news team, that’s his job. They report trouble, they don’t participate.’
‘Fat lot of use you are. I’m going out for coffee and some shopping therapy. I can’t sit here worrying about Maria.’
Dan slumped back again in front of the news. The newsreader was replaced by a forty-something man excitedly saying through a mop of long grey hair there were 10,000 marching, the biggest of the day by a country mile. He hoped the rumour of a bomb threat came to nothing. Hypocrite. Journalists lived to report drama, nothing better than an explosion.
Surely by now, Dan thought, the police had overtaken the Land Rover and hauled in the three youths and the bomb.
The room phone rang. ‘Dad?’
He could hear but not well, the thunderous background noise of helicopter blades was the dominant problem. He asked where she was.
‘The Rover’s been driven off the road and has just exploded. They ignored warnings from the police. We are filming it as I speak.’
The rest of what Maria said was lost as the rotor blades reached a crescendo and then settled for a loud whomping. The bird had landed.
‘Speak to you later!’ Maria said excitedly, the phone going dead.
Adrenalin junkie was the phrase they used now for Maria’s addiction to adventure. She had always been the active one. Alice was the observer, as witness library cards and clippings.
Dan returned to the television coverage, which was still of the procession. He doubted he had managed more than five or six hours of sleep. Repeating their stories to the army and police took up half the night. He was grateful his family and that included Jack McBride were safe and well. Whatever happened today should not involve anything like the same trauma. He doubted his ticker could cope with another confinement.
The phone woke him up.
‘Dad, it’s Alice. Inspector Murphy has got us at the RUC listening to tapes.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘My job. They have asked me to compare the bomb threat tape with the recorded voices of Jeremy Dodds and Edward Fitzwilliam aka Ted.’
‘Hang on, Ali. Who are these men?’
‘The ones who tried to blow us up, dad. Hello?’
‘Yes, okay.’ Ali was getting like her mother and sister, as in sarky.
‘The police have their voices from their answerphones, and they wanted me to confirm one of them left the anonymous bomb warnings. He did. His attempt at a southern Irish accent is pathetic. The warnings are something else.’
‘Something else?’
‘Just a phrase, dad. Jack also recognized our Ted. They claim there will be a bomb interrupting Proddy Day. They don’t say when or where.’
‘Alice, you won’t know, Maria has gone off with her Aussie chasing the bombers. She was on the phone a little while ago. They were filming the police chasing the Range Rover somewhere close to Belfast marchers when it crashed and blew up.’ He was not sure how long he had been asleep.
‘God, she’s an idiot. Any idea if the crash is the end of the threat? These men mean business. She knows that from Castle William.’
‘Check the news, there’s sure to be coverage of the crash.’
‘Right, will do. We’ve done with the police, I think. There was nothing in the library. We’ll head back to you. You are okay, dad?’
Dan assured her he was, even if okay covered a multitude of aches and pains and a persistent headache.
The news was showing the smouldering wreck with fire hoses making sure it was out. Breaking News: Belfast Terrorist Incident was scrolling across the bottom of the picture. There was an inset of the newsreader dabbing the ends of his moustache. Dan switched the sound on:
… reliably informed that there are at least two and possibly three fatalities. A police spokesman says it is too early to have accurate details, but it is confirmed the vehicle was believed to be intended to cause maximum carnage and loss of life at the Orange Parade into Belfast. The people responsible have not been identified but … excuse me …
The camera waited patiently as he turned aside and listened, then resumed front and centre:
Thank you, Brenda. My apologies for the interruption. We have had confirmation that the victims of the crash were young men. This may not square with information we received earlier that an older man phoned in the bomb threat to the Derry and Belfast police. An expert in voice recognition was consulted by the Derry police and confirmed the accent was almost certainly assumed. At this stage no group has claimed responsibility. The police have no theory as to whether this was the action of disaffected Republicans or some twisted Loyalist incitement and cannot confirm that this is the last such attempt to destabilise the ceasefire. There are no details about the type or severity of the explosive device. Both Sinn Fein and Ulster Loyalist spokespeople insist the ceasefire is not threatened and parade organisers confirm the Belfast march will continue. We will provide updates as they come to hand. In other news, residents’ groups opposing Orange parades are forming in Derry, Belfast, Portadown and Bellaghy …
Dan was once again dozing when Alice wheeled Jack in a brand new chair into the room, asking him where mum was. He said she had gone for a walk. He waved at the television, said it didn’t look good for the peace process. Alice shook her head and asked him if he wanted coffee.
‘Only if you’re making it.’
‘We are,’ she said, muting the television. ‘We checked the news in the foyer. Lots of people watching the crash on a live feed. You’ve got your television on another channel.’
‘Dobbs and Fitzwilliam are not involved,’ Jack said before Dan could respond. ‘They must be planning other incidents they need my uncle for.’
‘And the Lexus,’ Dan said.
‘Possibly, dad. Jack tried to contact members of the Lodge Dobbs and Fitzwilliam belong to. No luck. They are all marching.’
‘We have no idea where,’ Ali said. ‘We found out there are over 3000 marches around the country, everywhere but Derry, it seems. I don’t know how they find time for anything else.’
‘You think one of them drives the Lexus, the other the Daimler?’
‘Possibly,’ Jack agreed. ‘We have to hope the authorities find the cars before there is another incident.’
‘Any guess what targets they have in mind?’
Jack shook his head as Jasenka entered the room sideways, several large bags in each hand.
She dropped the bags as her phone rang. ‘Maria,’ she mouthed at them, listening, Dan able to hear Maria’s excited voice if not the words. She hung up and said Maria and the Australian were coming back to Derry.
‘That’s good,’ Dan said.
‘Marty’s Lexus has been located,’ she said. ‘It’s been stopped down by the Free Derry sign.’
‘Did she say if Smith and those other two were in it?’
‘No. She said the army have it surrounded but are keeping their distance. Then her voice broke up.’
‘I’ve got to get down there,’ Jack said, looking at Alice and wheeling towards the door. ‘Uncle could be …’
She nodded and followed him.
Dan saw the frustration on his wife’s face before she abruptly turned and disappeared into their bedroom. He looked blankly at the silent television images of men in orange sashes with their heads held high, faces as set as the granite walls surrounding them, marching to celebrate a victory hundreds of years ago. A curse on all religions. The words ‘abomination and desolation’ surfaced from somewhere, probably some Biblical threat the nuns loved to fire at primary school kids. The Bible had a lot to answer for. He heard the shower, which came on with a hiss and a roar he did not expect in a five-star hotel.
Once again, he was dozing when he was aware his wife was saying something. He asked her to repeat. He expected to be chided for not having his hearing aids in. Instead, she raised her voice. Ali said several young men had emerged from the Lexus and were in custody. A robot device was currently opening the boot. Jas listened and said Ali and Jack were among the crowd kept well back. Ali said there were rumours the lads had been paid by two old geezers to take the car for a spin around the Bogside and leave it by the Free Derry sign.
‘Same as the Rover by the sound of it,’ he said. ‘Getting innocent locals to do their dirty work.’
‘Sorry, Ali. Your father was speaking. What was that again?’
‘The crowd have been ordered to disperse,’ she said. ‘They’re coming back.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘Not to Jack. He’s worried sick about Sir Jonathan. We’re heading down there.’
Jas was busy in the kitchen when her cellphone rang. She emerged and Dan could hear the thumping as Jas asked Maria to speak up. She listened. ‘Maria says they have just got a report of another explosion. By the Free Derry sign. Ali will be there by now. She could be injured.’
Dan’s heart pounded as he joined her in the lift, exchanging fearful glances but not speaking. Jas got a taxi outside reception.
‘Can’t get close, lady,’ the driver said. ‘They got a bomb incident.’
‘As near as you can,’ Jas said.
Dan could see the smoke and smell the bitter scent as the taxi pulled up overlooking the park. There were the siren sounds of ambulances, fire engines and police cars, hoarse amplified voices ordering the crowd back. Emergency vehicles were an apparently chaotic cluster of revolving red and blue lights and revving engines. Blocking any view of what they were doing was a line of soldiers with semi-automatic rifles, batons and riot shields forming a barrier to progress from people yelling abuse, waving fists and demanding to know if they were safe and what was going on, was it Orangemen, was it the Provos? Dan saw Jas trying to push through the line. A man next to him said he saw the car flung into the sky like there was a rocket in it.
Overhead was the thumping clatter of several helicopters. Dan looked up and could see police markings but no logos that indicated a television news team. He spotted Ali and Jack being jostled by the press of onlookers and forced his way to them.
‘It was kids again,’ he shouted at Jack and Ali. ‘Not your uncle and his colleagues.’
‘We know,’ Ali said, as she was pushed against the wheelchair. ‘Jack, we can’t stay here. Help me, dad.’
They managed to jerk and force the wheelchair out of the biggest concentration of the crowd pressing up against the soldiers. Jas joined them as they retreated up the cobblestone street, the steepness requiring all their strength to keep the wheelchair moving, Jack pushing the wheels with his hands.
‘Your sister,’ Jack gasped. ‘Does she have any reports about my uncle?’
Jas said last they heard Maria was on the way here. All we can do, Dan said, is get away from this and wait.
By the time they heaved themselves into the hotel foyer, Dan was puffing proof how unfit he was and drenched in sweat. He wanted a shower but expected it was going to be ladies first. Maria greeted them at the door, saying Max was flat tack back at the studio trying to get from police sources details on Dodds and Fitzwilliam. They had been marching in the big Orange Parade in Belfast and protested they knew nothing about the car hijackings or the whereabouts of Sir Jonathan or any of these absurd accusations being directed at them about kidnap, attempted murder and wholesale destruction of property. They were threatening a raft of punitive lawsuits: against the terrorists – their word -- who stole their Range Rover and used it to carry out a bomb attack and threaten the peace process; the consequent transport costs and inconvenience to them; the police for wrongful arrest, unlawful detention and intimidation. If there was anything by way of evidence against them, the police were not saying. The biggest sticking point was the disappearance of Sir Jonathan.
While Jas went off to change, Ali came up with a practical proposal. If Maria could get Max to find out about the Range Rover and Lexus explosions, it could identify what kind of bomb might still be out there.
‘You saying my uncle is part of this outrage?’
‘No, Jack, he is as likely to be the next …’
