The initial plans were ready and approved within a week.
Donny Fitzpatrick found that Clodagh Dougan and her father had been as good as their word. The Chief of Staff suspected that Hughie had drawn up a plan for an attack on London years before while languishing in the Kesh which had virtually become a university of terrorism. Irish history and Gaoltacht-a play on the Gaeltacht Gaelic language, taught in jail — were two of the more innocent subjects studied.
To see Dougan’s proposal was like peering into a time warp, so many things had changed. Small, insignificant things like the recommended makes of vehicle to use, references to buildings and locations that had since been redeveloped, roads that had been altered to become one-way traffic systems or had disappeared completely.
But the genius and thinking that had gone into each device and its careful placement for maximum effect and damage was as bright and fresh as the day it had been first conjured in the bomber’s mind.
Significant new funding would be required and an intermediary was dispatched to the stud farm in Curragh owned by ‘Big Tom’ O’Grady who managed PIRA’s funds. Money as such was not a problem, but liquidity was. Rackets and extortion on both sides of the border, and contributions from supporters in the Irish communities of the United States, covered day-to-day operations, token salaries and modest benefits to widows and wives of men serving time in the cages.
The big money for arms, mainland operations and the political fund, plus a contingency account were allocated annually and more than covered by the most secret and darkest of the Provisionals’ revenue-raising efforts, the importation of narcotics. Originally cannabis in the seventies, then heroin which had created a nightmare problem on the streets for the authorities in Dublin. Eventually they had graduated to cocaine, cooperating with the cartels of South America which were always on the lookout for new markets.
These vast profits were laundered through a number of legitimate businesses, one of which was the Moylan Construction Group which operated out of Southampton in the south of England.
It was fortunate that the Group had recently been sold — the PIRA Army Council were concerned that the firm’s activities were under scrutiny by MI5 — to a large public company. As a result there were ample cash deposits in various offshore bank accounts awaiting reinvestment. Finance would not be a problem.
As Quartermaster General, Maedoc Mallally had much to organise. He told a law firm in Dublin to instruct solicitors in Liverpool to appoint estate agents to search for a suitable smallholding somewhere in the Home Counties. There was an abundance of farms on the market; the lunacy of the EC’s Common Agricultural Policy and a recession prolonged by the Exchange Rate Mechanism had resulted in a crash in land prices, widespread bankruptcies and a soaring level of suicide amongst farmers. A ten-acre arable plot was found near Henley-on Thames at a snip. It would provide the necessary cover and facilities to receive large deliveries of ammonium nitrate-based fertiliser without raising suspicions. The site was within easy driving distance of the M40, M4 and M3 main artery routes into ‘ London. Two large barns were included, one of which would be made fully secure. This would become the main workshop where larger vehicle bombs would be constructed.
A ‘virgin’ PIRA member from Cork, who had been brought up in England and therefore had an acceptably neutral accent, would go through the motions of running the farm and keep everything looking normal. A local lad would be hired two days a week to do whatever had to be done in the fields with a tractor for the sake of appearances. This was a deliberate policy to allay the suspicions of nearby villagers; the farmer would make a point of befriending the youth to ensure that he knew enough about the fake cover story to satisfy the inevitable local gossip. The farmhouse and barns would be railed off and topped with razor wire, infrared sensors installed and four ferocious guard dogs kept to deter nosy neighbours.
A nearby house with a large integral garage and secluded gardens was rented on a one-year let from the owners who were working on contract in Bahrain. Two more basement flats were rented, one in Reading and another in Slough, to act as safe houses as and when required. These were in addition to other premises already in use by active service units operating on the mainland.
Rather than plunder PIRA’s stockpile of Czech-made detonators, originally obtained through Libya, supplies were provided through the movement’s new contacts within the Russian mafia. These were smuggled into the country via Dover in a family saloon car.
A one-room office was rented, cash down, for a month in the seedy back streets of Southampton; a small plaque on the door read Solent Electronics Manufacturing. Others in the building would rarely see the owner, an untalkative nondescript individual who would occasionally take in postal and road courier deliveries of what appeared to be component parts. No one was surprised when the For Rent sign reappeared on the door.
Meanwhile Pat McGirl had been appointed operational commander.
McGirl, not currently on the British wanted list, travelled on a false American passport from Shannon to Paris, before making his way by rail and ferry to Oslo. From there he travelled by train to Bergen where he caught the North Sea ferry to Newcastle. This had long proved to be the safest way of entering Britain undetected. The simple expedient of growing a beard and dying his blond hair dark brown was all that was needed by way of disguise.
After taking the InterCity to London, he booked in at a cheap hotel and spent the next two weeks checking over Hughie Dougan’s plans. Where necessary he updated them after visiting the various locations, taking photographs and making notes on a portable tape-recorder. Sometimes he added ideas of his own. He also hired a car for three days which he spent inspecting various road tunnels and the capital’s outer motorway network that Dougan had only been able to assess from maps and atlases.
Before returning to Ireland by the route he had come, McGirl packaged the” undeveloped film and voice cassettes in three large Jiffy bags and posted them to an address in Cork. In the unlikely event of his being apprehended for any reason, he had no intention of being caught with prima facie evidence in his possession.
When McGirl arrived back in Eire, the first face-to-face meeting was set up with Hughie Dougan himself and Donny Fitzpatrick. Clodagh arranged to pick them up in her car at a deserted lay-by in County Roscommon, far away from the troubled border areas.
As she drove towards Mayo she brought them up to date with her plans. ‘I’ve quit my job as electronics consultant in Belfast. As far as the company, my friends and anyone else is concerned, I’ve landed a job in Canada. I intend to fly there, set up a mail-forwarding address, then return to Ireland under an assumed name. Can you supply a passport?’
Fitzpatrick nodded. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem, for you or your father. But not Canadian, their vetting procedures make it almost impossible. Anyway, you just supply the necessary photographs. We’ve friends who can make false applications for us in several countries, like the States or Australia. Of course the Free State is easiest for us, but in this case I think maybe American ‘ would be best. Less suspicious and it’s an easy accent for someone Irish to adopt. Worth the extra time delay. Even so, the passports should be through within a month.’
Everyone appeared satisfied with the arrangements and they drove on in silence, Fitzpatrick with a growing admiration for the woman at his side as she drove fast and confidently down the winding country lanes.
The rented cottage was set in a remote copse of trees reached by a long, unmarked cart track that fed off the main road. Strains of Beethoven reached their ears as Clodagh stopped the car in the muddy yard of the slate-roofed building. She led the way to the open bib-and-brace door, chickens scurrying noisily from their path.