"Go round the corner there. There's a sweet shop and a ticket office at that gate in. Here, hold on, I'm going meself."
He saw no police. He couldn't ask the navvies about the police. The red-faced navvy was paying for his ticket ahead of him.
"Cabins?" The red-faced man was saying to the woman behind the counter.
"Do I look like Jack Tar or something, like Moby Dick? What would I want a cabin for? Here look after your man here, he's a Canadian. He's a long way from home."
The tanned man grinned, but he felt an icy touch. He didn't want any attention drawn to himself.
After he bought the ticket, they rejoined the other two. They were now leaning against the wall at the end of the passageway leading to the passenger entrance to the ship. He smelled the pungent air, a mix of fish and engine oil. Through the window he saw Dun Laoghaire pier and the waving masts of moored yachts. Isolated figures walked from light to light along the pier.
"Me belly thinks me throat is cut," the short navvy said.
"Give over bellyaching, Joey. There's plenty of gargle on the bloody boat. We'll be on in a minute," the older navvy said.
A uniformed member of the crew opened the doors leading to the gangplank. Two men in grey overalls stood next to the gangplank, idly looking at the waiting passengers. The line began to move.
The tanned man practised his breathing to ease his tension.
"No big deal, is it," he said. "They don't make a fuss, do they?"
"Why would they? Sure aren't they glad to be sending us back? There's no jobs here," the older navvy remarked wryly.
Another member of the crew walked down the gangplank. Still, the tanned man saw no one that looked like the police. He shuffled along beside the red-faced navvy. They were within a dozen people of the doors. Then he saw a stocky man standing to the side of the doors, outside. He looked to the other side of the door, but he could not yet see far enough around the jamb.
"Aye, aye Captain!" the red-faced man called out to the two crew-members. Both looked over at him. One of them grinned.
"Here, look it," he said to the other one.
"Well lads, did you fix the hole in the boat?" the older navvy asked loudly.
Both crew members were grinning now.
"Where would a fella get a bit of refreshment here, Admiral?" the small navvy called out.
"Yiz could try a swim. That's very refreshing," one of the crewmen said.
"Very funny. Pass the chicken, the feather's worn out. We'll see yiz later, hah?" the small navvy said.
The tanned man had lost the breathing routine. His neck felt as if it were in a vice grip. As he stepped through the door jamb he saw the other cop, his hands in his pockets, looking over the faces. He cursed the wit of the three navvies for drawing attention to themselves. Better not try to avoid their eyes. Look surprised, a bit puzzled. The cop on the left was looking at him. Without thinking about it, the tanned man had drawn his elbow in so that he could feel the gun under his arm. He couldn't see any metal detector. He stopped breathing.
Minogue did not speak on the way back to Dundalk. Agnes McGuire's face kept pushing his thoughts aside. Occasionally he noticed that the detective beside him was watching him. Scully sat in the front looking ahead. The most that Minogue knew about her came from Davies, who reminded him somehow of a stale room. Davies was making little of it, as an object lesson for what he saw as Free State clodhoppers who needed instruction in the violent ways of the North. Davies probably wouldn't admit that the whole thing was out of his hands anyway, that he was dragged in to front the operation for the British Army.
Minogue had stood beside the customs post back on the Republic side while Scully radioed in a report to be passed on to Dublin. He watched as the vehicles drove out of the aura of light back up the Belfast road. The floodlights turned off all at once. There were more troops and police on the Republic side than when they'd crossed. They had stood around, not sure what to do. Then they began dispersing.
Allen had asked him what he could do. Minogue told him he'd try to get news of Agnes to him but that he, Allen, was going North. As Davies slammed the door he said to Minogue:
"There ye hove it. For a perfesser he's a torrable stypud mon."
Minogue's loathing for the broken man in the back of the van broke through his own numbness and threatened to overwhelm him. For a few moments, Allen's face had communicated the strain he had been under, but then Minogue's mind reddened with anger. He might be a step closer to Walsh's murderer, but who paid in the end?
When the car stopped, Scully got out and walked over to Minogue.
"You got what you wanted, Minogue. So far as I'm concerned that episode is over. There's no need for it to be written into the record. It was quite understandable when you think about it. I mean, you had your priorities. The word from on high was to pass the ball. That's hard to live with these days, I know."
Minogue looked beyond Scully to the helicopter.
"What with policemen being shot in the streets. I put two and two together you know, even if nobody told me all the ins and outs of it. It's connected with the things in Dublin, isn't it, the murders? You don't have to tell me," Scully continued.
Minogue began to walk off. Scully walked alongside.
"Just ask yourself this: if it helped to find the killers of those lads in Dublin and if it helps stop more police being killed, shouldn't you weigh that in the balance?"
Minogue stopped and faced Scully.
"You know, Scully, you sound exactly like a brother of mine. He talks the exact same way. The same kind of logic, but he's on the other side. Does that bother you at all? Allen and the girl were thrown to the wolves just so the various custodians of this bloody island can tell all of us to sleep soundly. You know and I know that car should never have crossed the border. But you're just doing what you're told to do, same as the rest of us. That stuff doesn't work in the long run you know. Our kids can see through that rubbish as easy as kiss hands."
Scully frowned.
"Nice speech Minogue. Except it doesn't fit in this world." As the helicopter lifted off, Minogue reflected that Scully was right, but it shouldn't be Scully saying it. It was after nine now. As they came in sight of the northern suburbs of Dublin, the message was relayed from Kilmartin that the Special Branch were outside Loftus' flat, waiting for the word to go in.
He felt claustrophobic as the passengers crowded closer at the door. He met the cop's gaze for a few seconds. The cop's gaze rested briefly on the tanned man and then it moved on. He began walking toward the gangplank railing. The other cop had not looked at him.
The first cop glanced at him again. He felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle. He patted his jacket to make sure it was zipped. As his feet started up the metal tongue of the gangplank, he risked a look at the cop. Unbelievably, the other cop was stepping onto the gangplank as well, timing it to match his arrival. The tanned man froze as the two cops met on the gangplank directly in front of him. He realised he had left it too late. He looked directly into the face of the cop who was blocking his way. The cop flicked a glance at him but looked over his shoulder. The passengers had come to a standstill. The two cops edged around the tanned man and one grasped the arm of a teenager behind.
"Will you step aside for a moment, please," the cop said.
The tanned man turned to see the teenager dart a look from one cop to the other. Then he shook his head and stepped off the gangplank. The tanned man resumed his climb. The navvies looked behind.
"What's with your man there. Is he mitching from school or what?" red-face said.
"Maybe he did in the budgie at home," the older navvy replied.
The tanned man realised he was breathing heavily through his nose. His legs were lazy springs that barely carried him onto the ship.