The Trojan boy Read online

'Ah yes, the schoolteacher sister.' Kell smiled and O'Neill thought that he looked even more evil when he did that. 'I don't want her coming here. It's too risky.'

  'I heard that there's a Brit plant in the street?'

  ‘There was. Arm got caught in a hawser winch at the docks. Tore him in half.' Kell smiled again.

  'What's to happen to me?' asked O'Neill.

  ‘The cottage at Cladeen. It will be safe there and your sister can look after you.'

  ‘Thanks.'

  'Anything for my men… Martin.'

  The doctor changed the dressing on O'Neill's stump in the morning and seemed optimistic that the risk of infection had passed. He advised waiting another day at the Long House but O'Neill was adamant that he be taken to Cladeen and in the end the doctor agreed. O'Neill travelled in one of the news vans, an uncomfortable journey that lasted three hours, but the thought of fresh air and quiet countryside sustained him.

  There was a chill in the evening air when they arrived at the loughside cottage and Neill saw smoke rise from the chimney as they turned off the road to negotiate the narrow track leading to the water's edge. The van started to lurch on the rough surface and O'Neill stopped it, saying that he would rather walk, it would be easier on his arm. He watched while the driver reversed the van up the track, and nodded goodbye before continuing on down to the cottage where Kathleen was waiting. She came to meet him.

  'So you came back then?'

  'Most of me,’ said O'Neill, nodding to his left shoulder.

  Tears started to run down Kathleen O'Neill's face as she looked at O'Neill's bandaged stump.

  'Don't,’ said O'Neill softly.

  Kathleen came towards him and put her head on his chest. 'I knew it would come to this,’ she said. 'I always knew.'

  They went inside the house and O'Neill sat down while Kathleen made tea. 'Or would you like something stronger?' she asked.

  ‘Tea will be fine.'

  As O'Neill sipped his tea Kathleen looked at him and said, 'It's going to be over now, isn't it?'

  O'Neill shrugged and said, 'You don't retire from the organisation, you know that. They don't give you an electric toaster and a Teasmade and wish you well with the roses. It's a commitment for life, or until we win freedom.'

  'A political commitment! I'm just saying that it's time you left the field, especially now that Kell is in charge.'

  'You know then?'

  'All Belfast knows.’

  'I'm tired,’ said O'Neill.

  'Rest then. We'll talk later.'

  The subject of O'Neill's 'retirement' came up again as he and Kathleen walked by the lough on the following evening.

  'Have you thought about what I said?' asked Kathleen.

  O'Neill said that he had.

  'Well then?'

  'There's something I have to do.'

  'Oh there's always going to be something you have to do!' said Kathleen angrily. 'What kind of a life do you think this is? Do you think I enjoy being Martin O'Neill's sister? Do you think I enjoy having soldiers storm into my house whenever they feel like it? Do you think I enjoyed losing every boyfriend I ever had because of who I was? Do you? Do you think I enjoy having parents whisper behind my back and wonder just what kind of woman is teaching their children?'

  O'Neill was taken aback at the outburst. 'I thought you understood,’ he said weakly.

  Kathleen looked at O'Neill holding the stump of his arm and relented. 'Oh I do,’ she conceded. 'But enough is enough. You can't go on like this. I can't go on like this. You're crip…'

  'Crippled,’ said O'Neill, completing the word.

  'Yes, crippled,’ said Kathleen quietly. 'You've done your bit. Call it a day.'

  'Perhaps you're right,’ said O'Neill.

  'Do you mean that?'

  'I really do have one more thing to do. It was O'Donnell's last order to me. I promised him just as I am promising you.'

  'What was it?'

  'You know better than that.’

  O'Neill withdrew his arm from the bedclothes and looked at his watch, now painfully aware that it was on his right wrist. He angled it so that it caught the moonlight coming in through the bedroom window. It was three in the morning and he could not sleep for there was too much on his mind. Uppermost was the problem of the safe in the Long House and how he was going to be able to get the envelope from it. He got up quietly and crossed to the window to look out at the waters of the lough. Would the contents of the envelope help him to understand the nature of the order? he wondered. Please God that they would for he was by no means confident that he could carry out such an order without understanding the reason behind it.

  There would have to be a reason, a good reason, for O'Neill had never been very good at assuming the good intentions of his superiors. In fact, he had discovered some years before that he possessed entirely the wrong mentality for military life of any sort. He had discovered within himself an inherent weakness that had made him uneasy in the field ever since. As he stood in the pale grey moonlight he thought back to that day, the day of the ambush.

  O'Neill and six others had been returning to their farmhouse hideout after an operation near the border and, as always when they returned, they were approaching with caution in case an ambush had been laid for them.

  O'Neill had ordered the others to wait while he himself had gone on alone to investigate. As he had lain in the grass watching the huddle of cottages a child had run out into the yard. It had waddled across the dirt with its nose running and a full nappy impeding its knock-kneed gait. O'Neill had waited for its mother to come out and get it but she had not. Instead she had called to it from inside the house and there had been fear in her voice. Fear that had warned O'Neill that she was not alone.

  Quite suddenly a British Paratroops officer had come out from the cottage and sprinted over to the child to sweep it up into his arms. He was turning to take it back to its mother when he saw O'Neill pointing the gun at him and froze in his tracks. Their eyes met as O'Neill prepared to fire but did not.

  Thinking that O'Neill's reluctance had to do with the child he was holding and, rather than use it as a shield, the officer had put it down gently and shooed it away from him. He had then stood up to face death. The simple gesture of humanity had not been lost on O'Neill. He had lowered the weapon and indicated with the muzzle that the officer should finish what he had started. He had seen the look of puzzlement in the man's eyes and then the slight nod as he picked up the child again and disappeared into the house. O'Neill had returned to tell his group that the hideout had been blown. They could not use it any longer. Humanity or weakness? The question had remained unanswered within O'Neill all these years.

  THREE

  On Saturday morning Avedissian sat in the lobby of the Brecon Inn feeling distinctly ill-at-ease. The feeling was born of not really knowing why he was there or, indeed, who or what he was waiting for. He had just had to say, 'Someone will be coming to meet me,' for the third time to a solicitous member of the staff. But who would it be? Sarah Milek? Sir Michael? Someone new?

  At five minutes past ten a taxi pulled up outside and the driver came in. He said something to the desk clerk and Avedissian knew from the way that they looked in his direction that he must be the subject of their conversation. The driver came towards him and said, 'Mr Avedissian?' Avedissian nodded and they left.

  The journey took about half an hour but Avedissian was surprised when the driver said, 'Here we are. Llangern Farm road-end,' for the place where they had stopped appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Avedissian got out his wallet but the driver said, 'All taken care of.' Avedissian gave him a pound anyway and watched as the taxi did a three-point turn and disappeared back down the road to town.

  It was still and hot and the hedgerows buzzed with business of summer. Avedissian wanted to sit down but somehow felt that he should remain conspicuous. He loosened his collar and began to pace up and down. At first it was ten paces in both directions but then further as boredo
m dictated.

  After ten minutes he heard the sound of an approaching engine and looked along the road in both directions, unable to decide where the noise was coming from. As it grew louder Avedissian realised that it was not coming from the road at all. A small military vehicle was coming towards him across the fields. It drew to a halt and a shirt-sleeved sergeant beckoned to him. 'In you get, sir.'

  There was no opportunity for conversation above the sound of the Land-Rover's engine so Avedissian contented himself with the view and concentrated on keeping his backside in contact with the seat as the vehicle bounced over the Brecon moorland.

  Distance was difficult to judge but Avedissian reckoned that they had travelled about three miles from the road when they reached a track leading up to some gates which were almost obscured by a copse of conifers. The vehicle slowed and Avedissian said, 'I take it we have arrived.'

  'Llangern House,’ replied the sergeant.

  The house was impressively large and Avedissian was moved to wonder who had built it where it stood and why. The answers obviously lay in the last century but he did not bother to ask for there were more important things to consider as the sergeant took his bag from the back and led the way inside.

  A young man bearing the insignia of a captain in the army, but like the sergeant bearing no regimental badges, stood up to meet them.

  'You must be wondering what this is all about,’ he said to Avedissian.

  'A bit,’ agreed Avedissian as they shook hands and the officer indicated that he should sit down.

  'Quite simply, you are here for a bit of a tone up.'

  The captain smiled as Avedissian repeated the phrase slowly. 'Yes,’ he said, 'You know the sort of thing — a spot of running, bit of hill walking, some PT, general improvement in fitness, that sort of thing.'

  'I'm a doctor, not a football player,' Avedissian protested.

  'Oh really?' said the captain, 'I didn't know that. Says here you're an ex-Para.'

  'That was years ago.'

  'Well, never mind. It's a bit like riding a bike really. You never really forget.'

  Avedissian did not agree but said nothing.

  'We get all sorts here,' said the captain. 'Bit like a health farm I suppose. Wouldn't you say so, Sergeant?'

  'Yes sir, quite so sir.'

  Avedissian felt even more uneasy.

  'Now, Sergeant, perhaps you would show Mr, sorry, Dr Avedissian here to his quarters.' The captain turned to Avedissian and said, 'When you have settled in we would like you to see the MO. Come to think of it, you two should have lots in common, both being doctors and all.'

  Avedissian emptied out what little there was in his travel bag and stowed it away in a bedside locker. He put the bottle of gin at the back and concealed it as best he could. He was already depressed for he had felt sure that he would learn something about his job today but now that seemed unlikely. He had been sent to summer camp.

  The sergeant was waiting for Avedissian when he returned downstairs and said, 'If you will just follow me, sir.'

  Avedissian dutifully trotted along behind him until they came to a glass door marked Unit Medical Officer. The sergeant knocked and stood back to let Avedissian enter first.

  'Mr… er… Dr Avedissian,' announced the sergeant.

  The sergeant left and Avedissian and the Medical Officer sized each other up. 'I didn't know you were a doctor,’ said the MO.

  'I'm not but I was,’ said Avedissian.

  'Oh I see. One of those,’ said the MO.

  'Not exactly,’ said Avedissian coldly.

  'Well, no matter. Take your clothes off.'

  Avedissian stripped and answered questions as the MO filled in a large pink form. The questionnaire, Avedissian deduced, had been designed to ascertain his present level of fitness.

  'Play any games?'

  'No.'

  'Jog?'

  'No'.

  'Take any exercise at all?'

  'No.’

  The MO completed a list of negatives and said, 'Right then. Let's take a look at you.’

  Avedissian marked mental time as he underwent the examination and the MO filled in the blanks on a yellow sheet. Height, weight, blood pressure, pulse, lung function, chest expansion.

  'Do you wear glasses?'

  'For reading.’

  'Ah yes, Anno Domini.’

  'Quite,’ said Avedissian flatly.

  The MO completed his examination and put down his forms. He folded his arms and said, 'Quite frankly, Avedissian, you're a wreck. What the hell have you been doing to yourself?'

  Avedissian shrugged his shoulders but did not reply.

  'Booze,’ said the MO, answering his own question. 'Still, the damage is nothing that a bit of exercise and some decent meals won't cure. You can go now.'

  As Avedissian finished dressing and turned to leave the MO asked, 'Did you bring any with you?'

  'No,’ Avedissian lied. He closed the door and rejoined the sergeant who had been waiting for him in the corridor. He was taken to the quartermaster where the kit that was issued did little to restore his morale, for it comprised three sets of military fatigues, waterproof clothing, two pairs of boots, a knife, a compass, a map-case and mess tins.

  'Anything else you will require will be issued to you as you need it,' said the sergeant.

  Avedissian was acutely aware of a strong physical element in what had been implied or said since his arrival. It made him uneasy. He was not at all reassured by references to 'a bit of exercise' or 'a spot of this or that' for, to him, it smacked of practised military understatement, the sort of mentality that dismissed World War Two as a 'bit of bother'. His line of thought became defensive.

  The sergeant took Avedissian back to his room and left him to consider his options. His first thought was to wonder whether or not he actually had any. He was not in the army, he reasoned. They could not make him do anything he did not want to do. He could leave at any time. That was the theory but when he thought about what would actually happen in practice things were not so clearly defined. If he walked out through the door he would be a figure on the landscape. He would have no job, no prospects and no future. Did that seem attractive? Avedissian introduced a working hypothesis of hoping for the best.

  Avedissian came down to dinner at seven as instructed and joined his fellow guests. Like him they were all wearing dark green fatigues with name tags above, the left breast pocket. A tall man with short cropped hair came towards him and said, 'I'm Paul Jarvis, we will be working together.'

  Avedissian shook hands and feared the worst, for Jarvis was in his mid-twenties and struck him as being as hard as a rock. He prayed that 'working together' did not hold an element of competition.

  A tall, spare man with the rank of major rose to his feet and welcomed them to Llangern. It was day one for all of them, he said, and introduced the staff, six in all, who were to be addressed by rank alone. Military discipline would be observed at all times but bull would be kept to a minimum and allowances would be made for the fact that some members of the course were unfamiliar with what that entailed. Avedissian hoped that that would include him and glanced round at the others. There were about twenty of them including five women. All of them looked younger than he did.

  'I understand you were a Para,' said Jarvis as he and Avedissian sat down to eat together.

  'A long time ago and only for a while,' replied Avedissian, wishing that people would stop referring to his military service.

  'And then you became a doctor?'

  'Yes,' replied Avedissian. So Jarvis knew about him, he thought. Perhaps he knew the reasons for his being there. 'You seem to know a lot about me,' he said. 'But I know nothing about you.'

  There's not much to say really. I'm twenty-six, I have a BA in history from the University of Leeds and I'm a serving officer in the Royal Marines.'

  'You're a commando?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then what on earth are you doing here? You can hardly need a "bi
t of exercise", as they keep calling it.'

  Jarvis smiled and said, 'I don't, but you do. That's why I'm here.' His smile became even broader when he saw the look that appeared on Avedissian's face.

  Avedissian felt that his worst fears were being realised. He now had his own personal Marine Commando to put him through hell. This is all a bit ridiculous,’ he protested. 'I'm a doctor! I am thirty-seven years old!'

  'So was James Bond,’ said Jarvis.

  'Pardon?'

  The Bond books. James Bond was thirty-seven.’

  Avedissian could see that his chances of attracting any sympathy were remote. He changed the subject and asked, 'What's the purpose of all this?'

  Jarvis replied, 'I'm as much in the dark as you are. All I know is that I have been seconded to a special mission. I was told that I would be working with a doctor, an ex-Para who might be a bit rusty, and I was to see that he should get back into reasonable shape.'

  'Just what does reasonable shape mean?' asked Avedissian bringing his fears into the open.

  'Don't worry too much,’ Jarvis smiled. 'No one is going to try to turn you into a cold-eyed assassin who can kill a man with one flick of his big toe. My instructions are to see that you can suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and occasionally hit back if necessary.’

  When they had finished eating the major got to his feet again and said that they should all have an early night. He added that, before retiring, they should lay out their clothes in such a manner as to permit dressing in complete darkness. If an alarm should sound they should be 'on parade' in the hall within two and a half minutes. 'Any questions?' he asked.

  Someone asked what time reveille would be at.

  'Any time,’ came the reply.

  The laughter had the thinness of new ice.

  Avedissian said good-night to Jarvis, who had the room next to his, and closed the door. He went immediately to the bedside locker and reached inside for the gin bottle. It had gone. A momentary flare of anger subsided and he resigned himself with a wry smile. That, he supposed, was one problem taken care of.

  He lay in bed and looked out of the window at the full moon, his hands behind his head. Sleep was going to be a long time coming but it did not matter for the sheets were clean and cool, the bed was firm and comfortable and, in the moonlight, he could see his clothes spread out in predetermined order. He closed his eyes and rehearsed where everything was. He opened them again and confirmed it.