She memorised the note, pausing to confirm one word that stood out amongst the others, her mouth working without sound, his response a simple nod.
She lit both of them cigarettes, rechecked that she could fully recall the brief message and then consigned the note to a fiery end in the ashtray. After sufficient time had passed, the guards were summoned back and she went to report that the scallywag was fit enough to travel to Dublin. Interest had been aroused on the man’s possible IRA leanings and the prisoner was to be taken there at first light.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Bryan had ramped up the ‘legend’ of O’Farrell, ensuring that any Garda with republican sympathies would put his agent’s name in the spotlight, in the most advantageous sort of way.
The meeting was brief and took place in the quiet of her office within St Joseph’s District Hospital, Ballina.
As the message made its way south, Dr Raymond made her way home to the Mount Falcon estate, where she and her family were staying, guests of the Aldridge family. It was a short-term agreement whilst they sought suitable property nearer to her work, an agreement that Bryan’s department had made easy.
Her husband and children were already asleep and, as Dr Raymond had not yet returned, the butler was unable to help the police with their request. Replacing the receiver, he intended to inform her of the new call immediately she returned.
Anyway, it sounded like a nasty business and not one for a lady like Dr Raymond.
The police needed confirmation of death on a car driver; at least once the bits had been extracted from the car by the local fire brigade. The police officer had been quite happy to try to shock the old butler with the gruesome details of a wrecked car and a more wrecked body, hit head on by a lorry carrying hay bales, which skidded on ice.
It was not until the following morning that the Raymond family reported the doctor missing and the Ballina police realised the true horror of the situation.
The following day, news of Raymond’s awful death reached Bryan’s ears and caused consternation.
‘Accident?’
‘Assassination?’
The head of G2 decided that this was a complication that needed further investigation, so held back on telling his British contacts, at least until some more enquiries were carried out.
So the report from O’Farrell that he now possessed, which had preceded the awful news by only forty minutes, remained unspoken of and uncommunicated to his Allies.
His Allies had not yet passed on their own knowledge, for their own reasons,
Such were the games that the Intelligence services played.
“Lieutenant Dudko!”
The lack of any response ensured a repeat of the hammering on the wooden door.
“Lieutenant Dudko!”
At last, sounds of movement betrayed the fact that the Political Officer had been wrenched from his land of dreams and back into the harsh realities of life, or at least the reality that was about to be presented to him, courtesy of Judas’ planning.
“Comrade Reynolds? What do you want? Is there a problem?”
“Yes there is, Major. I don’t know where to start.”
Dudko surveyed the falling snow and decided to deal with the matter indoors.
“Come in, come in, Tovarich.”
“No, no, I can’t do that. It’s summat you’ve to see for yourself, boyo.”
Reynolds played the part of perturbed and shocked man perfectly, his facial expression alone spiking Dudko’s curiosity.
“One moment, Comrade, just one moment. Should we wake Lieutenant Masharin?”
“Our Comrade Masharin may not do what is right… what is needed here.”
That intrigued Dudko, as well as massaged his ego.
“Explain, Comrade Reynolds.”
The political officer swiftly slipped into his boots and pulled his greatcoat on before venturing outside.
“There’s summat you’ve to see. Summat awful, Dmitri. I don’t know what to do! You’ll know for sure!”
Playing to Dudko’s ego was a masterstroke and the naval officer was drawn further in.
The two were moving steadily towards a small building set apart from the rest, sometimes obscured by the flurries of snow, sometimes not, when the presence of three men nearby became obvious.
Brown and two IRA men stood shivering, ostensibly waiting to receive Reynolds and Dudko, whereas in fact they had been serving the more sinister purpose of ensuring that the occupants of the hut did not leave.
“Still there, Patrick. I don’t know what to say, really I don’t.”
Reynolds put a ‘comforting’ hand on Brown’s shoulder.
“Well, I’ve got Dmitri herenow. He’ll know what to do, to be sure."
“What is so bad, Comrade Reynolds? You can tell me.”
“I can’t Dmitri, really I can’t. We don’t know what to do. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
So Dmitri Dudko, strings pulled by the hateful Reynolds, saw for himself.
Acting on orders, one occupant of the room, young Noel Connelly, had moved the curtain sufficiently for anyone outside to be able to see into the interior.
He had also ensured that the candle remained burning in order that, when Dudko looked through the gap, he would be able to see all that was required. Indeed, that proved to be the case and the Political Officer was in no doubt that the man penetrating the young Irishman was none other than the Soviet commander, Ilya Nazarbayev.
Reynolds and Brown had played their plan to perfection and now Dudko took centre stage.
“Mudaks!”
The Russian took a few moments to think through his course of action and then initiated a response.
“This is piggery, Comrades, total fucking piggery! Are your men armed, Comrade Brown?”
Both IRA soldiers pulled out pistols from beneath their heavy winter clothing.
“Follow me!”
His own Nagant pistol was out by the time he put his boot through the door of Nazarbayev’s private quarters and interrupted the two homosexuals at their pleasure.
“Kapitan-Leytenant Nazarbayev, I relieve you of your command immediately and I arrest you for buggery and homosexuality.”
Ilya Nazarbayev did not respond; there was nothing he could usefully say. His private life, previously secret, now lay exposed, his military career over and his future hold on life tenuous to say the least. All because of the needs and desires of the beautiful young Irishman who had been so insistent.
“Dress and go with Comrade Brown’s men. I will decide what happens next at another time.
In two minutes, the Marine officer, flanked by the two IRA men, marched off to the small building that they used as a brig.
“Your man… I will leave to you, Comrade Reynolds.”
“Thank you for that, Dmitri… and thank you for sorting this out.”
The Political Officer nodded briefly, just now working out that command of the facility had fallen to him.
Dudko moved off quickly to organise his senior NCO’s and inform them of the events that had elevated him to second in command by rank but, in reality, the de facto leader of Marine Special Action Force 27.
When he was out of earshot, both Brown and Reynolds started to chuckle.
They were joined by Connelly as he dressed.
“Oh now Noel, my little darlin’. Well done boyo, fucking well done.”
Pausing only to sweep up a half-full bottle of something interesting, the three moved off towards the IRA quarters, high on the clear success of their revenge upon Captain-Lieutenant Ilya Nazarbayev.
Orders were orders and even the seemingly most stupid of them had to be obeyed.