Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) (2 page)

Jack was exhausted, and sore and angry. Whatever choice he made
in that moment would be regretted at a later stage; the only question
that he had to ask of himself was which choice would he beable to live
with—the answer to that particular question was oddly well balanced.
“Jack,” the man continued, as he placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“If you really
don’t think that you can continue with this
operation,
then we will all understand. Obviously we will be bitterly disappointed, but it is a decision that we will accept with reservation.”
Somehow the words rung hollow. They would bring him back to

London to a
low-key
hero’s welcome.
He
might
even
get to
meet
some important
politicians;
members
of the Royal Family
even,
but
after a short passage of time they would turn their back on him and he
would be left to find his own way in the world, and Jack’s new world
was
one where survival depended
on the protection
of
others. It had
been a long time since he was
even remotely interested in what the
strategists back in London thought about him—this was a decision by
Jack Malaney for Jack Malaney.

“You can go back to your
old life and we can start the process of
placing a man in the IRA over again,” said the man.
Jack quickly translated what the man was really saying.
You will
set
our
fight
against
the
terrorists
back
by
years.
You
will
be
responsible for
the deaths of many soldiers, policemen and members
of the public. Every
death at the hands of the terrorists in the next
few years will be on your head.
The subtext was not as subtle as the
MI5
officer had intended,
but he definitely wanted Jack to focus on the
subtext and Jack
did
not
much
care
for
the
clumsy
attempt
at
manipulation. He had played that game with a much more seasoned
officer a few years back in London, and he didn’t fall for the bullshit he
was being sold then either. He was well aware of how high the stakes
were and how dangerous it would be for
many
people if he walked
away
now.
Yet
he also
knew
that
the
day
would
come when
he
would have to walk away and the same arguments that were being
used now to put pressure on him to stay would still be as loud and as
strong at that time. He made up his
mind, though if he was completely
honest with himself he knew from the moment the idea was put to him
what he was going to do. Perhaps
his spy masters knew what they were doing when they recruited him?
Jack was a man who was duty bound by morality and that was a much
stronger
bond than
being
duty
bound to
Queen and
Country. The
normal spy could use contempt for the political system to walk away
when the going got tough, but Jack was different—if it was the right
thing to do then that is what he would do.
“If I
do agree to continue with the operation,
exactly
how in the
hell are you going to explain what has happened here?” Jack asked.
“We had planned to draw a line under this operation here today. I sure
as hell
haven’t been briefed
on the possibility
of continuing with the
op. If I
don’t know and you
don’t know, then what in the hell do you
want me to say to the IRA?”
Of all the betrayals and lies that the folks in charge could inflict on
a spy, lying about when an op was to end was the worst in Jack’s book.
It was like extending the tour
of duty for battle weary troops just as
they are packing up to head home. It was disgusting. Jack sat up. He
was in pain but it wasn’t as bad as he first thought—he bit down hard
to hide the pain—he was already formulating a plan in his head and
if he followed through with the plan then it would have been a
bit
hypocritical for him to complain about his pain.
He was bleeding and he was badly
bruised, but he was not down
and out. Before the MI5
officer had time to reply, Jack stood up. The
officer moved in to assist him but Jack waved him away with his right
hand. The officer
moved back slightly and waited patiently, ready to
move in at a
moment’s notice should Jack show any signs of faltering.
Jack steadied himself and he looked the man straight in the eye, waiting for an answer.
“Eh... The attack was foiled and you escaped?” the man suggested.
Jack shook his head.
“You see,” Jack
began.
“This is the
problem that you guys
have
when it comes to the Irish. This is the problem that you have always
had.
You underestimate them.
You see yourselves as
more intelligent
and better military strategists. It simply isn’t true. Unless we can come
up with a rock solid cover story then you will be sending me to my
death. It is as simple as that.
And as much as I want to help beat this
group I am not prepared to walk willingly to my
own death just on
the off chance that whoever is waiting for me on that boat will not
ask the right
questions. Believe me, they will.
And a hell
of a lot more
questions besides, right before they put a bullet in my head and throw
my body into the sea. If I am exposed as a spy then there is no way in
hell you will ever get another agent in as deep as I was. You know that
as well as I do. The door will slam shut. So, do you really want to take
that chance?”
Jack and the officer began to walk towards the lorry; keeping a safe
distance. The officer assumed Jack wanted to check out what was happening in the back
of the lorry,
but the truth was that Jack merely
wanted to stretch his legs in an effort to shake
off some of the pain
that was pulsing through his body—to being with.
“So Jack, what do you suggest?” asked the officer. Jack
turned to face the man.
“Honestly, given what has gone
on today, I
have no idea what I
could say to them that they would believe,” Jack said. “They are driven
by actions. The bomb in the South and the bombat Warrenpoint will
be
celebrated;
those
behind the attacks will
be
hailed as
heroes and
they will be above all suspicion. The men in charge of the bombs that
didn’t reach their targets will always be viewed with suspicion, no matter how loyal they are to the cause. You only thought that the Russians
were paranoid.”
They walked past the lorry and Jack stopped for a moment to see
how the technical officers were getting on with the bomb. The officers
were dressed in heavy
bomb resistant, protective gear, and the visors
on their helmets meant that Jack could not take a reading from the expressions on their faces as to how their efforts were progressing. Given
the fact that the men were moving painfully slowly he could only assume that it was not going well. The MI5 officer sensed Jack’s curiosity
and so he shouted over to the men.
“How is it going?”
The technical officer closest to the back entrance of the lorry turned
to Jack and the MI5 man and he gave the thumbs down sign.
“There’s a surprise,” Jack said, dismissively.
“What
do you
mean?” asked the
officer, with a hint
of suspicion
in his tone.