“She’s all heart, that Sandra. You should see her coming along the corridor pushing the walking frame. And the weight of those calipers. And there she is every day when I come, twisting her little body to move the useless legs from one side to the other, calling ‘hello, Maura’ and pushing the frame, twist, push, gaining a few inches at a time.” For the past six months Maura Kelly had been a voluntary escort on one of the buses that took the children home from the Clinic. Two afternoons a week she fastened them to the seats, comforted tears, kept the retarded from scratching or pulling hair.
“It’s Mary Murray whose worst. Cryin’ most of the time, her mother’s under sedation at St. Vincents, she collapsed after President O’Malley told about Condon’s threat to shoot a child every hour. Stevie. Well, you know Stevie.”
“Yes, my happy little vegetable. And he’s such a beautiful child, always smiling. Oh, God! How can anyone be such a monster. Sandra is epileptic, you know — so many spina bifidas are. What if she has a fit?”
“Yvonne is with her.”
“Yes.” For awhile they lay quiet listening to the rain patter against the windows, Shay thinking of how to phrase what he had in mind.
“Maura, I think there’s a way to free the hostages. Declan and I made a sort of plan before he — before he became a hostage.”
“You know you’ll be suspended again.”
“I will o’course. You’ll have to help. Get a list of all the out patients in the immediate neighborhood and—”
It was past five before all was quiet in the back bedroom of Georgian house on Tritonville Road in Sandymount, two miles from Dublin City Center.
“Condon, your demands have all been met. You will have everything you asked for,” Superintendent Foley spoke into the loud hailer. It was then two minutes before the twelve o’clock deadline, word had just come over the radio that everything was ready — almost. Now, it was up to him somehow to avert tragedy. “A Boeing 727 with crew are waiting on a runway. The petrol tanks are full. Ryan and Slattery have been released and are now speeding towards the airport. A limousine is here, you can see it over there at the end of the street with a motorcycle escort waiting to take you to the—”
“So what’s all the chat for?” Condon interrupted, voice slightly muffled through the partially opened window. “Let’s get goin’!”
“That’s it. There’s a slight hitch. The money isn’t ready, won’t be for another hour. At one o’clock you’ll have it all. One million pounds! But it’ll take until one!!”
“Never mind one o’clock. I said twelve. I meant twelve. It’s twelve o’clock now. This kid’s dead!” Condon shouted. Sweat beaded Foley’s brow as he saw the gun slide into view over Sandra’s harness and press against her ribs. He wished he could see the expression on Condon’s face through the breath blurred glass.
“Don’t do anything foolish, lad. Not now when everything you asked for has been laid on. Money takes time to count — you asked for Sterling — you’ve got it all in old notes just like you said. Right now it’s being counted and packed. One o’clock. Think, lad. One o’clock, no one else need get hurt.” Foley’s voice showed the strain of the long night’s vigil and the need for calm.
“The safety’s off!” Condon yelled, poking the blue steel in the child’s side. “Are you counting, Foley? — ONE — TWO—”
“Ah Arne, stop tickling!” Sandra interrupted the fatal count. Giggling, she twisted her head around to look up at the gunman. The gun moved again. It movement struck terror to the hearts of those who watched.
“I tickle, do I?” Condon said softly, eyes resting on the small laughing face for a long moment. He nudged her again, without malice. There was no malice in the tired boy face now turned down towards the child’s, just desperation. The gun moved again and Sandra’s high clear laugh drifted like the tinkle of a silver bell into a silence that was almost tangible as apprehension stopped breath. Waiting ears cringed away from the inevitable shot that must come. And then Condon was shouting something through the window.
“Okay!” He shouted. “Okay! You’ve got till one o’clock and not one second more!” Breathing once more became possible as relief found itself in laughter, in movement. The air was as filled with sound as it had been quiet a few moments before.
Maura Kelly, standing near the gate, caught her husband’s eye and her head moved in an almost imperceptible nod. Shay crossed quickly to his wife’s side.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“Across the street in the Bingo Hall, Mrs. Coady at the wool shop gave me the keys.”
“Are there many?”
“Seventeen, plus the three blind men with their dogs.”
“It’s enough. Try to keep out of the wet,” the tall guard said, squeezing her arm. He made his way across the tarmac to where the Superintendent stood girding himself for the next bout with Condon if, by some horrid trick of fate, the money still were not ready.
“Superintendent, Sir. If you don’t mind I’d like to have a word with you,” he began and with no further preamble launched into his plan to bring the siege to an end.
“Rain might be grand for the grass, but I could do without it today,” Foley said to no one in particular before turning to address Kelly. “Of all the eejit ideas! Aren’t you satisfied with the number dead already, Garda... Garda?”
“Kelly, Sir. Seamus Kelly, Irishtown Barracks.”
“Yes. Garda Kelly. I thought I recognized you,” Foley said, grateful for the chance to let off steam. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what did I do to deserve you?” With difficulty Foley kept his voice under control as he laid down the law. “Ah yes, I know that name well and the way you go charging around the country against orders. Seamus Kelly, the one man Garda Siochana! We should fire the lot and let you take over!”
“But I thought—”
“You above every man in the Irish Police Force are paid not to think! You are here to keep the crowd back — nothing else. Do you hear me? Don’t think, and that’s an order!”
“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.” Kelly turned away.
“Where are you going?” Foley asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“To keep the crowd back, Sir.” As soon as was possible Shay shook his head at Maura, mouthing the words, ‘No way.’ He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He squinted up at a sky so grey it was impossible to believe the sun ever would shine again. Abruptly, he went over to Maura. “I don’t care, I’m going to do it,” he said.
“What did the Superintendent say?”
“Never mind about him.”
“But—”
“No buts. You brought my rifle?” Maura nodded. “And the grey jumper?” She nodded again. “Okay, ease over to the entrance of the Bingo Hall, I’ll see you there.” Five minutes later, Kelly handed his jacket to Maura and pulled the dark sweater over his head, he could hear the chatter of voices coming from the main hall.
“Sure there’s after bein’ a half dozen Army sharp shooters inside now, what makes you think—” his wife ventured.
“They’re all on this side of the street and they shouldn’t be.”
“They are o’course,” Maura said. “Condon would spot anyone on top of the wings. They’re so flat a flea would lump up like an ox.”
“That’s why I need something to distract him.” He kissed her quickly on the mouth. “Get everyone in position and as soon as you see me on top of the right wing they should fan out in the court yard. Condon must be so distracted he won’t notice me as he crosses to the car. Wish me luck,” he said and was gone.
At ten minutes to one word came that the money was on its way to the plane. Foley conveyed the information to Condon. The Mercedes crept through the crush into the courtyard stopping twenty feet from the door through which Condon would come.