The first indication that Joe Meehan was moving up the terrorist ladder came in August 1990 when he reported to his handler that he'd been asked to act as a dicker on a bank robbery in the Cliftonville Road. The Northern Ireland desk made no move to inform the local security forces and the robbery went ahead. A female teller suffered a badly broken nose when she was punched in the face after attempting to press a panic button and a little over X 8500 in cash was taken.
After the bank job, things went very quiet. In a twenty-second call on a public phone the following morning Meehan informed Barry that he was now being watched round the clock, although he had given his fellow volunteers no sign that he was aware of this. As far as the serious players were concerned, he said, he was still very much on probation. A lot of the volunteers couldn't quite get their heads round the idea of trusting an ex-soldier.
Somebody must have trusted him, however, for he finally got his turn. A three-man team was assembled to recover a weapon from a cache in a churchyard near Castleblayney and Meehan was one of them. Again, he was able to inform Barry of the upcoming operation and again MI-5 allowed it to take place unhindered. In the normal course of events the weapon would have been dug up by an SAS team, bugged for tracing purposes and rendered harmless 'jarked' in special forces parlance, then reburied and left for recovery by the IRA.
On this occasion, however, it was decided that the risk that PIRA might discover the jar king and suspect a security leak was too great. No suspicion, however slight, must taint the Watchman. Whatever the cost, the weapon had to remain intact.
And the cost was very nearly fatal. Within two days a Royal Welch Fusiliers patrol had come under fire in Andersonstown and their lieutenant had had the stock of hisSA 80 rifle shattered by a high-velocity round.
The patrol returned fire but the trigger man escaped across the rooftops. The weapon, later identified from the spent rounds as a US Army-issue M16, was never found. MI-5's silence ensured that no watch was placed on the cache for the weapon's return.
"We were playing a very dangerous game," Widdowes admitted.
"But if the slightest suspicion had attached to Watchman, even long after the event, then we would have lost him. That M16 was our entry ticket, if you like. It's probably still out there somewhere."
From his knowledgeable tone Alex surmised that Widdowes had spent some time on the ground in the province.
"What would you have said if that lieutenant had been killed?" Alex asked.
"I would have said the same thing that I said about the piccaninny in Sierra Leone two minutes ago: that you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.
We had to get a man into PIRA. He had to be above suspicion. At some stage we were probably going to have to weather a loss." Widdowes delivered himself of an uneasy smile.
"I can see that you disapprove, Captain Temple."
"No," said Alex.
"It's just the way you put it."
"We're in the same business, Captain Temple, and fighting the same enemy by all means at our disposal.
The language is neither here nor there."
Alex nodded. He thought of Sierra Leone, of a Puma helicopter swinging low over the jungle canopy beneath a bruise-dark sky. How would Don Hammond's relatives be weathering their loss, he wondered.
"Moving on," said Widdowes firmly.
"The recovery of the Mi 6 marked the end of Meehan's probationary status. He was in. One of the boys. And slowly, surely, the intelligence followed, increasing in quality as he rose through the ranks. For a couple of years between 1993 and 1995 we had really useful stuff coming in. A little of it we were able to act on; most of it we weren't not without compromising him but it was all grade A information."
"The Cabinet Office was happy?" asked Alex drily.
"The Cabinet Office was very happy," said Widdowes.
"And so were we. He gave us the location of a training camp in County Clare in the Republic, for example, and we were able to establish a covert OP in order to identify everyone who came and went. He gave us details of a PIRA safe house in Kentish Town in London, and we successfully installed a watcher team next door to monitor all arrivals and communications. Both of those represented major intelligence breakthroughs. And he gave us other things: names, vehicle registration numbers, surveillance targets, touts who had been set up to disinform FRU agents.. . It was a rich seam and while it lasted we mined it.
"While it lasted?" asked Alex.
"Sadly, yes. For about two years Watchman gave us 24-carat weapons grade intelligence. And then, over the months that followed we began to notice a decline.
At first it was barely noticeable. The information kept coming in initially via Barry and later via a secure email line to this office and it all continued to look good. Names, possible assassination targets, projected dates for mainland campaigns it was all there. But it had become subtly generali sed. There was a lot of stuff about "policy". It had stopped being the sort of information it was possible to act on.
"Eventually there came a point where Angela, Craig Gidley and myself sat down and went through the message files, did some hard talking and came to the regretful conclusion that, for want of a better expression, we were having our pissers pulled. The general consensus at first was that Meehan had lost his nerve. On the rare occasions where he provided raw intelligence it came in too late for us to do anything about it. For example, there was an RUC officer who died because we only heard about the plan to murder him forty minutes before it took place. We put an emergency call out to his CO but the guy was in his car, driving home, and one of Billy McMahon's boys shot him outside an off-licence. You probably remember the incident."
Alex nodded. The RUC man had been named Storey and it had been his habit of stopping off for a packet of Benson and Hedges every evening that had sealed his fate.
"The intelligence was either too late or it was second-source," continued Widdowes, 'by which I mean that it was information that we were going to get from someone else anyway touts or whoever. It looked OK on paper, but on the ground it was never quite good enough and we were forced to admit that we'd probably lost him. He'd gone native, lost his bottle -whatever."
"Couldn't you pull him out?" asked Alex.
"We tried to but he went silent on us. Wouldn't respond to any request for contact. In late 1995, when it became clear that he'd moved out of his flat, sold his car and gone to ground, we started to close things down. We pulled Barry Fenn out for a start, in case he was compromised, and didn't replace him."
"You turned Meehan loose, effectively?"
"We left the e-mail link open. He could have contacted us any time. But he didn't. By mid-1996 we were sure that he had turned that he was now one hundred per cent PIRA's man. There were two bombs, one in a Loyalist pub in the Shankill
Road, one in a supermarket in Ballysillan, and the word coming in from the FRU's touts was that they'd been set by Joe Meehan. A total of seven dead. Lives might or might not have been saved in the Watchman's early days but now they were most definitely being lost. And the joke of it in the bars in Ballymurphy and on the Falls Road the real hilarious fall-down-laughing joke of it was that we'd trained him. That the PIRA's top electronics and explosives man was British army- trained." He shook his head.