Hood shook his hand. It was a strange clasp, without weight and glancing down Hood saw that the top of Sweeney’s hand was missing and that he held a rounded stump and two small limp fingers, like a monster’s claw.
‘A little accident,’ said Sweeney. He smiled at the knob and tucked it into his sleeve. ‘This is Finn. How about a drop?’
Finn nodded and put the whiskey bottle on the table with four cloudy glasses. He splashed some in each one and handed them out, winking at Murf. Then he touched Hood’s glass with his own and said, ‘The offensive.’
Murf said, ‘The offensive.’
Hood said, ‘Any ice?’
‘No,’ said Finn.
‘My brother Jimmy’s in the States,’ said Sweeney. ‘Boston. Your home-town, right? He’s been there for years. Married an American girl.’
Hood said, ‘That doesn’t make us cousins, does it?’
‘Mayo told me you were temperamental,’ said Sweeney amiably. ‘She told me you had something important to say. I haven’t heard it.’
Sweeney quietly finished his whiskey. He looked about thirty, though he was balding. There was a toughened redness about his face, a raw lined quality in his cheeks that might have been whiskey or the sun. His mouth and eyes were gentle, and he spoke slowly in the strangled accent of Ulster. Hood noticed that he held the glass of whiskey with his mutilated hand, pinching it awkwardly against his chest and lifting it using his two frail fingers, as if exhibiting the damage. He said, ‘I thought we might have a little talk.’
‘Start talking.’
Sweeney went at his own speed. ‘This organization attracts a lot of funny boyos. I mean, unstable, people — mental cases.’ He pronounced the word in the Ulster way, muntal. ‘They belong in hospitals or with kind families, but they come to us and say they want to help.’ He smiled. ‘All they really want to do is plant a bomb somewhere — they don’t care why. They’re looking for victims.’ He nudged his empty glass. ‘It’s made us a little suspicious of volunteers.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘You’re a volunteer, aren’t you?’
Hood said, ‘I used to think I could help. I gave Mayo a boost with her painting.’
‘To be sure,’ said Sweeney. ‘But an ordinary drunken lay-about from some village in the Republic — or even in England — it’s usually obvious why he wants to join. He’s a bit lost, running away from his wife or his parents. He feels secure with us — we understand that. You’re not in that category.’
‘How do you know?’
‘We know you,’ said Sweeney. ‘We know the important things. Some of the other fellers wanted you over here months ago but I said no. We tried you out on that passport. That was a good job, but I still couldn’t figure you out. What’s the motive? Why does a feller from a good family — Jimmy did a little detective work, you see — why does a feller earning a handsome salary in the American State Department decide to chuck it all and join a bomb factory?’
‘I got turned around. It happens pretty easily in Vietnam.’
Sweeney shrugged. ‘Everything’s easy for you Americans.’
‘You mean it’s not for you?’
‘It ain’t. It’s bloody hard.’ Sweeney turned to the wall to reflect. He said, ‘When I was twelve I had to prove myself. I broke every window on Feakle Street in Derry — hundreds of pounds’ worth of plate glass. My father was delighted. “The Smasher” he called me. Now you,’ he said, pointing at Hood, ‘you were probably a boy scout.’
Hood said, ‘I’ve always been suspicious of people who rap about their childhood. It’s just a cheap way of avoiding blame.’
‘I’m a responsible feller,’ said Sweeney.
Hood thumped the table and cried, ‘You’ve got sitting targets!’
‘That’s how it looks to an outsider, I suppose. If you knew how we operated you wouldn’t say that. This has been a bad summer. Our supplies dried up. I’ll be frank with you — we’ve been burned.’
‘So have I,’ said Hood bitterly.
‘Sorry to hear it. I wish there was something I could do.’
‘You can tell me why I wasn’t contacted sooner.’
‘That bothered you, did it? Well, it’s just as I say. I was wondering what was in it for you. Mister Hood, you were too eager.’
‘So you delayed.’
‘You could say we were waiting for a telephone call.’
‘But you let me do the passport.’
‘That’s another story,’ said Sweeney.
‘I’d like to hear it.’
‘It’s not very interesting,’ said Sweeney dismissively.
Hood laughed. ‘I knew you’d hedge.’
‘Did you now?’
‘But that’s all right. You don’t have to tell me anything.’ He fixed his eyes on Sweeney’s. ‘I can always ask Miss Nightwing.’
Sweeney sighed and looked at the rear of the room where Finn and Murf were sitting in silence. He said, ‘Murf, how would you like a beer?’
‘Widdy,’ said Murf, blinking and bobbing forward. ‘Okay.’
‘Finn, take our friend downstairs and buy him a beer. I’ll see you later.’
‘Heads up, squire.’
When they were gone and the door was bolted again, Sweeney said, ‘Let’s talk about Miss Nightwing.’ He had become genial, a mood Hood took to be a cover for his suspicion. He smiled again and said, ‘Jesus, so you know our Araba, do you?’
‘I met her.’
‘I thought she had more sense than to go yapping about her sordid past,’ said Sweeney. ‘But then I never really understood the girl. It’s like I was telling you. We get a hell of a lot of funny people. I don’t think she’s a nutcase in the usual sense, but she’s certainly unstable.’
‘She didn’t tell me anything,’ said Hood. ‘I just guessed.’
‘You guessed, did you? That’s hard to believe.’
‘I was a consul for six years. Do you think she was the first one to try and pull a fast one on me?’
‘I forgot you’ve had training,’ said Sweeney. ‘It must have upset her. She’s an emotional sort of person. Very interested in the poor and oppressed. She sees them and she cries. That is an admirable thing, but it’s the extent of her political consciousness. I’ll tell you, she was much better at entertaining the troops.’ Sweeney winked broadly. ‘Ah, she was wonderful at that, she was. A real morale-builder.’
‘That’s why you gave her a passport, then.’
‘Not exactly. About five months back, when our American supplies dried up, we needed some contacts on the Continent. Our girl Araba claimed to have a lot of helpful friends. Thanks to you we fixed her up with a passport, and off she went.’
‘With an ass like that she must have made a lot of contacts.’
‘Who knows?’
‘You mean she didn’t come up with the goods?’
‘She wasn’t supposed to take delivery,’ said Sweeney.
‘Who was?’
Sweeney waved his mangled hand carelessly. He said, ‘Agents, agents.’
‘What are we talking about?’ said Hood. ‘Arms? Dynamite? What?’
Sweeney smiled. ‘Oh, cabbages, that sort of thing.’
‘And you got burned.’
‘You’re guessing again,’ Sweeney added wearily. ‘You’ve been talking to Araba too much.’
Hood said, ‘I’m probably wrong, but I would have thought that if Araba made a supply deal for you and it went through, I’d have seen a little action. The big London offensive. But I haven’t seen anything.’ He stared at Sweeney. ‘So I guess she burned you.’
‘You’re probably wrong.’
‘I told Mayo you were delaying. She denied it, but now I understand. Araba welshed on you. That’s what you get for trusting the idle rich.’
‘The rich only have money,’ said Sweeney. ‘But you can see why I was hesitant to take you on. Araba was just an actress, but you were a highly paid diplomat. No one had ever heard of you. All we knew was how much money you earned and where your family lived. Mother of God, I thought, he can’t be serious. So we waited.’