The Trojan boy

Avedissian's optimism that the woman's injuries appeared to be a great deal more dramatic than they actually were was confirmed by an X-Ray report which confirmed that she had no broken bones and was free from damage to her skull. She had, however, taken a bad beating and was only now beginning to recover consciousness. She tried to speak and a nurse shushed her and told her to rest. This only made the woman anxious and even more determined to speak. The nurse tried again to soothe her but to no avail.

'All right,’ said Avedissian to the nurse. 'Let her speak.'

While the woman tried to form words Avedissian asked the nurse quietly, 'Do we know who she is?'

'She had no handbag and no identification,' replied the nurse.

'Do we know why she was beaten up?'

'No, it was an anonymous treble-nine call.'

'What else?' said Avedissian under his breath. An unwillingness to 'get involved' was more in evidence in Belfast than anywhere else in the United Kingdom.

'I must speak… to… British Intelligence…' said the woman with obvious and painful difficulty.

'I'll ask the constable to come in, shall I?' said the nurse.

Avedissian was about to agree when the woman put her hand on his arm. 'No police… Intelligence… Bryant.’

Avedissian went cold at the mention of Bryant's name. Wait a minute,' he asked the nurse who was heading for the door. She paused with her hand on the handle.

Avedissian bent close to the woman and whispered 'What do you know of Bryant?'

I’m… Kathleen O'Neill… Martin O'Neill's sister… have important information… must tell Bryant.'

The name O'Neill meant nothing to Avedissian. He left the woman's side for a moment and walked over to the nurse. 'She says she's Kathleen O'Neill. Mean anything to you?'

The girl shook her head.

'She said something about being Martin O'Neill's sister.'

'Now that means something,’ said the nurse. She told Avedissian that Martin O'Neill was a leading IRA man.

Avedissian returned to the woman and said, 'Can't you tell us what it is? You need rest and sleep.'

'No… must speak to Bryant… tell him… it's about the

… missing person.'

Avedissian shrugged and turned to the nurse. 'Better call the security number.'

The nurse dialled a number, handed him the phone and said, 'It's ringing.'

‘This is Dr Gillibrand, A amp; E at the General. I've got a woman here who says that she's Martin O'Neill's sister. She wants to speak to someone called Bryant about a missing person.'

In less than fifteen minutes a black saloon drew up outside A amp; E and Bryant got out accompanied by three other men. Bryant stared straight ahead but the other two looked about them constantly.

'Well, Dr Gillibrand, this is a coincidence. And how are things in the Emerald Isle?' murmured Bryant after making sure that no one else was within hearing range.

Once again Avedissian noted the sneer in Bryant's voice whenever he used the term 'Emerald Isle'. 'I'm coping,' he said.

'Good. Where's the O'Neill woman?'

'She's in here,' said Avedissian, pointing to a closed door. -But she's very weak. She's been badly beaten.'

Bryant grinned as if Avedissian had said something that had amused him. 'Really?' he said quietly. 'Now isn't that a shame.'

Avedissian said, 'I think it would be best if you could leave off questioning her till the morning.'

The grin left Bryant's face in an instant and he hissed at Avedissian, 'When I want your "professional" advice, Doctor, I'll ask for it. Take me to her.'

Avedissian held his tongue and led the way. He was about to enter the room behind Bryant when Bryant stopped and turned. He said to Avedissian, 'Wait outside please.'

'She is my patient,' insisted Avedissian as loudly as he dared.

Anger flashed in Bryant's eyes. 'Let's not take the game too far, Doctor,' he hissed.

'It's not a game to her,' whispered Avedissian equally angrily. 'You do anything to harm her and I'll bring the whole house of cards tumbling down and screw the consequences!'

For a moment their eyes were locked in a contest of wills then Bryant relaxed and assumed a smile. 'All right, Doctor,' he replied. 'Five minutes, no longer, I promise.' With that he closed the door and Avedissian turned to face a puzzled nursing staff who were obviously wondering what had been going on.

'Bloody bureaucrats!' he murmured.

'You sound just like Dr Harmon,’ said one of the nurses.

True to his word Bryant came out of the room after five minutes. He seemed very pleased with himself as he approached Avedissian and the nurses melted away. 'Well,’ he said, 'Christmas has come early this year and Santa Claus has just been very good to us indeed.'

Avedissian waited for Bryant to explain but he did not. Instead he said, ‘The O'Neill woman will have to be transferred out of here.' Avedissian opened his mouth to protest when Bryant stopped him. ‘For her own good,’ he said, 'and for the good of the hospital. What do you think the IRA would do if they found out that Kathleen O'Neill was lying here shooting her mouth off to the British? Or do you think that the fact that it's a hospital would put these bastards off?' Bryant gave a mirthless laugh and said, 'We'll send someone for her. She'll be looked after.'

Kathleen O'Neill was moved from the hospital at two in the morning. It was done quickly and quietly as if she had never been there, and too impersonally for Avedissian's liking. He stopped the attendants as they wheeled the trolley to the door and asked Kathleen O'Neill how she was feeling. Her deep green eyes were frightened but she said, with what Avedissian thought was great courage, 'I feel much better, Doctor. Thank you for your help.' Avedissian gave her hand a little squeeze and let her go.

The little convoy, sirens mute and roof lights in darkness, stole off into what was left of the night to the accompaniment of a clap of thunder and a jagged flash of lightning. The humid weather was coming to an end.

Avedissian watched from the darkened doorway of A amp; E as torrential rain began to bounce off the pavements and tumble into the gutters. Some deity had decided to wash the city clean. All Great Neptune's oceans, he thought.

Avedissian was reading the morning paper on Friday when his attention was caught by an article headed, Top Civil Servant in Death Plunge'. Sir Michael Montrose, a senior official at the Home Office, it was reported, had fallen to his death from the top floor of a building in Belgravia. Foul play was not suspected.

It was not so much the story that captivated Avedissian as the photograph that accompanied it. Sir Michael Montrose was the man who had headed his interview team at Cambridge. Avedissian remembered how little love lost there had been between him and Bryant and how Bryant had openly appeared to ridicule the older man. But why should he have taken his own life?

Avedissian found that he had little time to consider the possibilities before all hell broke lose. At the height of the morning shopping period an enormous bomb was detonated in the Shamrock Shopping Precinct. Although it was nearly a mile away from the hospital Avedissian and the others felt the ground shake beneath their feet and a trickle of plaster fell from the ceiling of the treatment room. One of the nurses crossed herself. Harmon cursed loudly.

Avedissian, like many of the others, stood stock still in the unreal silence that ensued, mesmerised by the thought of the aftermath of the event before the wail of distant sirens broke the spell and sent them all into frenzied activity.

A radio call was broadcast to recall all staff from leave and a request made for blood donors to stand by. Nurses prepared trays of dressings and instruments and stacked them in neat piles round the room. From another part of the city the sound of gunfire reached them and everyone knew that the truce was over.