Harry had come up to the table. The papers were spread out in front of him, fingers reaching and pointing at the different essentials for him to take in.
Later he was to take many of them to his room, ask for some sandwiches and coffee and, sprawled in front of the gas fire, read them into the small hours till they were second nature. On his own for the first time in the day he too was able to assess the importance of the preparation he was undergoing, and alone in the room he allowed himself to think of the hazards of the operation in which he was now involved.
It was past two in the morning when he undressed and climbed into bed, the papers still strewn on the rug in front of the fire.
Chapter 4
Over the next fortnight the street scene in Belfast returned to its pre-Danby level of violence. It was widely recognized that in the wake of the killing the level of army activity had risen sharply, initially in the use of major cordon and search operations, merging into an increase in the number of spot raids on the homes of known republicans on the run. The army activity meant more men were charged with offences, but alongside their appearances in court was an upsurge in street rioting, something that had previously been almost eradicated. The army’s posture was sharply criticized by the minority politicians, who accused the troops of venting on innocent Catholic householders their frustrations at not being able to find Danby’s murderer.
The Secretary of State for Northern Ireland agreed to appear on the local Independent TV station and the regional BBC news programme to answer the allegations of Protestant papers that not enough was being done — that a British Cabinet Minister had been shot down in cold blood in front of his wife and children yet his killers were allowed to go free for fear of offending Catholic opinion.
Before appearing on television the Secretary of State called a meeting of his security chiefs, and heard both Frank Scott and General Fairbairn urge caution and patience. The General in particular was concerned lest a show of strength spread over several weeks undo the gradual return to something like normality. The three men were soon to leave for their various destinations — the politician for the studio, the General for Lisburn and the Chief Constable for his modern police headquarters — but first they walked on the lawn outside the Stormont residence of the Secretary of State. Away from the listening ears of secretaries, aides and bodyguards the General reported that his intelligence section had heard nothing of the killer in Belfast and there was some concern about whether the man they sought was even in the city. The Chief Constable added to the politician’s cross in reporting that his men too had been unable to uncover any hard information on the man. But the head of his Special Branch favoured the belief that the killer was in the city, and probably back in circulation. The Chief Superintendent in charge of picked detectives had a fair insight into the workings of his enemies’ minds, and had correctly read the desire of the Provisional IRA Army Council to get their man back into the mainstream.
For three minutes they talked in the centre of the lawn. The conversation ended when the Secretary of State quietly, and more than a little hesitantly, asked the Generaclass="underline"
‘Jocelyn, no news I suppose on what the PM was talking about?’
‘None, nor will there be.’
The General made his way back to his car, turned and shouted a brusque farewell.
As the military convoy pulled away, the politician turned to the policeman. ‘We have to have this bastard soon. The political scene won’t hold up long otherwise. And there’s a lot of restiveness among the Loyalists. We need him quick, Frank, if the sectarianism isn’t to start up again. There’s not much time…’
He walked quickly now to his big maroon Rover with its reinforced sides and extra thick windows, with machine-guns, field dressings and gas masks alongside his official cases in the boot. He nodded to his driver, and then winced as the detective sitting in front of him loaded the clip of bullets into the butt of the 9mm Browning.
The car swung out into the open road for the drive into the city, with his escort close behind to prevent any other car slipping between them. ‘What a bloody carry-on,’ the politician observed as they swept through the traffic towards the television studios.
The interview of the Secretary of State was embargoed until 18.01 hours; its full text was issued by the Northern Ireland press office to Belfast newspapers. In essence the BBC and ITV transmissions were the same, and the public relations men put out only the BBC interview.
Q. Secretary of State, can you report any progress in the hunt for Mr Danby’s killer?
A. Well, I want to emphasize that the security forces are working flat out on this one. I myself have had a meeting just before this broadcast with the army commander and chief constable, and I am perfectly satisfied with the investigation and follow-up operations they are mounting. I’m confident we’ll round up this gang of thugs quickly.
Q. But have you any leads yet to who the killers are?
A. I think we know who the killers are, they’re the Provisional IRA, but I’m sure you wouldn’t expect me to talk on television about the details of a police investigation.
Q. It’s been pretty quiet for some time in Belfast, and we were led to believe that most of the IRA commanders were imprisoned… Isn’t it justifiable to expect rather quicker action, even results at this stage?
A. If you mean to imply we have claimed the IRA weren’t capable of mounting this sort of operation I don’t think we have ever made that sort of assumption. We think this is the work of a small group, a very small group. We’ll get them soon… there’s nothing to panic about — (It was a bad word, panic, he saw it as soon as he said it. The interviewer nudged him forward.)
Q. I haven’t heard the word ‘panic’ used before. Are you implying the public have overreacted towards the killing of a Cabinet Minister in broad daylight in front of his children?
A. Of course, this was a dreadful crime. This was a colleague of mine. Of course, people should feel strongly; what I’m saying is that this is a last fling of the IRA—
Q. A pretty successful last fling.
A. Mr Danby was unarmed—
Q. In Loyalist areas of the city the government are accused of not going in hard to find the killer because the results could antagonize Catholic opinion.
A. That’s untrue, quite untrue. When we have identified the man we intend to get him. There’ll be no holding off.
Q. Secretary of State, thank you very much.
A. Thank you.
Most of the young Protestants who gathered in the side streets off the Albert Bridge Road, pelting the armoured vehicles as they went by, hadn’t seen the interview. But word had quickly spread through the Loyalist heartlands in the east and west of the city that the British had in some way glossed over the killing, not shown the determination to rout out those Provie rats who could murder a man in front of his bairns. The battalion on duty in Mountpottinger police station was put on fifteen minute readiness, and those making their way to the prosperous suburbs far out to the east of Belfast took long diversions, lest their cars became part of the sprouting barricades that the army crash-charged with their Saracens. Three soldiers were hurt by flying debris and the Minister’s broadcast was put down as the kindling point to the brushfire that was to smoulder for more than a week in the Protestant community.