Harry's Game (41 page)

'Who's McEvoy?" said the detective.

'I fancy you'll hear of him from your own office. But he's a rather sensitive creature right now.

One of ours, they tell me. Trailed Downs back here and shot him. I'm still waiting for the details of the rest. Looks a bit black, though. I think one of my OPs shot him. McEvoy was waving a gun round, in civilian clothes. It's pretty definite.'

He had no need to ask about Downs. The wild, staring face that had confronted him fourteen hours earlier across the width of his bright living‐room remained vivid in his mind.

But Downs was dead now. Rennie thanked the officer and hurried back to the Saracen.

The press statement from Lisburn was short and took something more than two hours to prepare. It was the result of a series of compromises but owed most of its drafting to the civilian deputy head of the army public relations department who had recently transferred from the Treasury, and had experience of the art of communique writing.

Billy Downs, a known IRA gunman, was shot dead at 09.10 hours in Ypres Avenue where he lived. He was involved in an exchange

of shots with a member of the security forces, an officer engaged in plain‐clothes surveillance duties. The officer, who will not be named till his next of kin have been informed, was hit by a single shot in the chest and died before medical treatment reached him. Downs was high on the army's wanted list in Northern Ireland, and was also wanted in London for questioning by detectives investigating the murder of Mr Henry Danby.

The main object was to keep it short, pack it with information and deflect the press away from the sensitive bit. There was, he said when he had finished typing it, more than enough for the scribes to bite on without them needing to go digging round any more.

A solitary journalist moved towards the delicate area that first day, but without knowing it, was easily put off.

'Then this man Downs was carrying a gun?" he asked the duty press officer.

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'Obviously, old man, it says in our statement that there was an exchange of shots. Have to be armed, wouldn't he?'

There were no other questions to be asked. Amongst the resident reporters in McGlade's pub that night interest was warm but not exceptional, and the treatment of the story was straight and factual.

Locally it was denied that Downs had been armed, and three hours of rock‐throwing followed the news bulletin that contained the army statement. By then it had started to rain.

TWENTY

The Prime Minister learned the news at lunchtime. The message had been framed by the Under Secretary, Ministry of Defence, with an eye to the political master's taste, and the order in which he would read of the events in Ypres Avenue had been carefully thought out. First, Billy Downs identified as the killer of Henry Danby had been shot dead. Second, he had been identified by the agent specifically sent to Northern Ireland by the Prime Minister. Third, and unfortunately, the agent had been shot in the chest during the incident and had died.

As he read the message that the aide gave him his attentive smile had switched to a frown of public concern, studied by the bankers round the table with him in the first‐floor salon of No.

10. They looked for a clue as to the contents and information that was important enough to intercede in discussions on the progress of the floating pound, albeit the end of the discussions. The Prime Minister noted their anticipation and was anxious to satisfy it.

'Just on a final note, gentlemen." He refolded the typewritten sheet. "You will all be reading it in the papers tomorrow morning, but you might be interested to hear that we have caught and killed the man that assassinated Henry Danby. He was shot in Belfast this morning after being hunted down as part of a special investigation that was launched from this building a few hours after our colleague was murdered.'

There was a murmur of applause round the table and a banging of the palms of hands on the paper‐strewn mahogany surface.

'But you will be sorry to hear, as I am, that the man we sent to find this terrorist was himself killed in the shooting exchange. He'd been operating under cover there for some weeks, and obviously carried out a difficult task extremely successfully and with great bravery. The whole concept of this intelligence operation really goes back to the last war. My family were involved in Special Operations ‐‐you know, the crowd that put agents into the occupied countries. I had a hell of a job getting the military and police to

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agree to it. But it just shows, you sometimes need a fresh approach at these things. Perhaps we should get that general over there, who always seems to be wanting more troops, to have a try at banking and running a budget!'

There was general and polite laughter.

'He'll get a medal, won't he? The man you sent over there? They look after the families and all that sort of thing, I suppose?" the elegantly dressed deputy chairman of the Bank of England spoke.

'Oh, I'm sure he will. Well, I think we can adjourn now. Perhaps you would care to join me for a drink. I have a luncheon, but I'm not off to that till I've had a drop of something.'

Later in the day he called the Under Secretary to express his appreciation of the way the operation had been handled.

'It'll get a good show in the papers, I trust," said the Prime Minister. "We ought to blow our own trumpets a bit when we chalk one up.'

'I don't think there will be too much of that, sir." The civil servant replied decisively. "MOD have put out a short statement only. I think their feeling is that undercover is bad news in Ulster, and that apart from anything else it was a damn close thing whether our man got theirs first or vice versa. They're playing it rather low key I'm afraid, sir.'

'As you like. Though I sometimes feel we don't give ourselves the pat on the back we deserve.

I'll concede that. One more thing. The man we sent over there, I'd like a medal for him now it's over. What sort of chap is he, by the way?'

'I'll see to that. He already had an ME from Aden. We could make it a bar to that, but perhaps that's a bit on the short side. I personally would favour the OBE. The George Cross is a bit more than we usually go for in these circumstances, and it would obviously provoke a deal of talk.

You asked what sort of chap. Pretty straightforward, not too bright. Dedicated, conscientious, and a lot of guts. He was the right man.'

The Prime Minister thanked him and rang off. He hurried from his study to the Humber waiting outside the front door of the official residence. He was late for the House.

The Army Council of the Provisional IRA, the top planning wing of the military side of the movement, had noted the killing of Downs. The Chief of Staff had received a letter from the Brigade commander in Belfast relaying the collapse of their man's morale and his

failure in the last two missions assigned to him.

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The two members of the Council who had been asked to report on the practicality and desirability of further assassinations in the political arena, particularly the plan involving the British Prime Minister, delivered their assessment at the first meeting of all members after the Ardoyne shootout.

They advised against the continuation of attacks on the style of the Danby assassination. It had, they said, been disastrous for fundraising in the United States: the picture of Mrs Danby and her children at the funeral had been flashed across the Atlantic and coast to coast by the wire syndication services. The Provisionals" supporters in the States reported that November's fund‐raising and on into December would show a marked drop. They said that if there were a repeat or a stepping‐up of the tactics the results could prove fatal. And money was always a key factor for the movement: RPG7s and their rockets did not come cheap, not from Czechoslovakia or Libya nor from anywhere else.

The Chief of Staff summed up that in the foreseeable future they would not consider a repetition of the Danby attack, but he finished: 'I still defend the attack we carried out against Danby. That bastard deserved to go. He was a straight, legitimate target, and it was well done, well carried out. They acknowledge that on their side, too. There's been no trumpeting on their side even though they've shot our lad. They've been keeping their heads down for more than a week.'

There was criticism in the Council, that had not been voiced while Downs was still on the run, of the way the Chief of Staff had monopolized the planning of the attack. That would stand against him in the future, being one of the factors in his eventual replacement and consequent demotion.

Little of the credit for the killing of Billy Downs landed on David son's desk. It jumped with no little agility to the posthumous name of Harry McEvoy via the desk of the Permanent Under Secretary.

Frost put in a long and detailed complaint about the amount of work the independent and, for so many days, unidentified agent had meant for the security services. He logged the man-hours involved in the search for Harry at the scrap yards, and for the girl round the Clonard, and described them as wasteful and unprofessional. The control of the agent received scathing criticism, particularly the inability of London to reach their man when they wanted to draw him out. The paper concluded with the demand that such an operation should not be repeated during the following eighteen months that Frost would be on the staff of Northern Ireland headquarters.

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The Under Secretary who had a copy of the document forwarded to him read it over the phone to Davidson. The response was predictably angry.

'He forgets it was over there and on his side of the fence that some big mouth let the cat out of the bag." Davidson already had the transcript of the interrogation of the stricken Duffryn. Still suffering from shock, the young man had given Special Branch all of his limited knowledge of the Provisional IRA and its affairs relating to Harry McEvoy.

'He forgets that our man got the fellow, not all their troops and police and Special Branch and SIB, and whatever they call themselves, SAS and the others." Davidson roared it into the receiver.

The Under Secretary soothed. "They have a point, you know. This bit how you couldn't reach him, and he didn't stay where he was supposed to, that was a bit irregular.'

'The way they clod about over there, I'm not surprised he didn't go to the house they fixed for him. The fact is we were set a mission, and carried it out, with success. Is that cause for a bloody inquest?'

Davidson had not been told how Harry had died. That was to be kept very close in London.

"Need to Know" was being applied with rigour. The Under Secretary decided that if the PM

wasn't on the list then Davidson ranked no greater priority.

'Of course the mission was a success, but it's put a great strain on inter‐service and inter-department co‐operation. The feeling at MOD is that a similar operation would not be mounted again. That means, I greatly regret to say, that the team we set up to direct our man will have to be dismantled." There was change in his voice as he delivered the hammer blow. It gave him no pleasure, but Davidson was so excitable that one really did have to spell it out in simple words and get it over with. He went on: "I did have hopes at one stage that if this went off without a hitch we might have had something a bit more regular going through Dorking.

Make a habit out of the place. But that's not to be.'

Davidson could recognize the shut‐out. The shouting was over. He asked, "And what now?

What happens to me?'

'It's recognised here, Davidson, that in fact you did very well on this one, particularly in the preparation of our man. You made him ready for a difficult and dangerous task, which was subsequently

carried out with great expertise. You must not take all that Frost says too seriously. You've a great deal of experience to offer, and this showed in the way you got the fellow ready. I want you to think about it carefully, and not come to any hasty decision, but the feeling is that there's a good opening abroad for you.'

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Here it comes, the old pay off, reckoned Davidson. What would they have for him‐‐sewing blankets in the Aleutians?

'You've built up great experience of counter‐terrorist operations.' The civil servant kept going‐‐

don't lose pace, don't let him interrupt ‐‐'I won't beat about the bush. Hong Kong wants a man who can advise them on the posture they should be in. Now don't say anything hasty, the terms are first class. You'd get more than I'm getting. Good allowances, good accommodation, and pretty much of a free hand. Probably live off expenses and bank the rest, I'd say. Don't give me an answer now, but sleep on it and call me in the morning. Cheers, and we all think you did well.'

The conversation was over.

Davidson ranged round the office, fumbling at his papers, diving into the drawers of the old wooden desk. He aimed a kick at the folded camp bed away in the corner, not used since the last Sunday night of his vigil. It took around an hour to find the will and inclination to exert some order to the anger of his feelings. The documents and maps of the operation filled two briefcases. The rest was government property. Some bloody man could clear that up. Sort it out themselves.

He made a call to his wife. Didn't speak much, just said he'd be home early, that he had some news, they would be going out for a meal. Then he locked up. He'd thought about Harry considerably since the shooting, and by the time he had reached his commuter train his rage had subsided and he brooded in a corner over the evening paper about the young man who had died in Belfast... sent away across the water with all that damn‐fool optimism coursing through him.