The Negotiator

Bad Op

The day that changed my life forever started normally enough. I was in the office doing routine analysis work when Harriet popped her head around the door. ‘Can I have a word, Jack?’ I followed her to the briefing room. ‘Jonno has come down with some damn bug or other, Jack, and we were due to go on an undercover job tonight.’ She looked serious ‘It’s a damned important job, too. It’s taken months to set up, but it isn’t complicated. Would you look at the files and see if you’ll be up to it at short notice?’

I read the file. It was as she said, an uncomplicated job, but I could see the huge potential of the info that could be obtained. ‘I’ll do it’ I told her. ‘God, would I do it. Dinner at a high-end restaurant dressed to the nines with Harriet as my date? I was getting excited just thinking about it. Then my head kicked into professional mode as she started to explain.

On the last Friday of every month, Sinn Fein holds a meeting with the top Belfast Provo commander and his aide at the restaurant. They discuss tactics, finance and general stuff. They could close the place and have it to themselves, but they don’t want to draw attention to themselves, so they meet in a social setting and have a bloody good dinner, gratis. They always sit in the back booth. The one next to it is always occupied by a couple of armed heavies. We will be sitting in the window near the door thirty feet from them.’ She saw my unasked question and smiled ‘That is were ladies' handbags and technology come into their own. She opened the bag and took out a rifle mic. I’d seen them, but I’d never used one before.

‘This can be aimed at the table from inside this handbag, directed at the booth it will pick up their conversation clearly whilst cutting out all sound around it. This mini recorder can tape for ninety minutes. Then she showed me a miniature camera that I was very familiar with. These two beauties will be looking through these special vents. The mic will be listening and the camera taking time-lapse photos.’

‘But they’ll search your bag when we go in’ I objected.

She smiled, obviously enjoying herself. She set up the equipment in the bottom of the bag and produced a bag-like lining in the same shiny grey material as the bag’s lining. It fitted over the kit and around the camera’s lens so snugly it made it disappear. Next, she put a lot of girlie stuff so essential to a night out and then put a packet of condoms on top.

‘Good God, Harriet’ I joked, ‘I hope you’re not going to get me drunk and take advantage.’

She laughed ‘not tonight Jack, or any night come to that.’ My heart lurched. ‘Once the bloke searching my bag sees those things his mind wanders, wondering who I’m going to screw tonight. I add a cheeky wink. Blokes distracted by s****l thoughts rarely concentrate on anything else properly.’

Clever, I thought. Clever girl. She’s using her psychologist’s tricks again. She explained that she’d been there the previous Friday with one of our Irish female officers. They had flirted a little with the waiters and hinted that they may be back. Three days earlier, she’d rang up and booked the same table.

‘So, why not take the lady again?’ I asked her. She explained that the officer wasn’t trained for covert ops and thought the meal had been just a girls’ night out. Their security must be tighter when the top Provos were there. There was bound to be covert security outside, too.

I chose smart casual clothes. My pride and joy was a tailored tweed jacket that hid my shoulder holster on other ops. I wouldn’t be wearing it tonight as I’d be searched, Harriet would be wearing an ankle holster under a long evening skirt. I selected a Volvo 264GL from the motor pool. It was fast and powerful but not flash, so it wouldn’t attract undue attention.

We left at seven thirty for the twenty-minute drive. My gun was c****d and ready under my seat.

Gino’s Trattoria shone like a jewel in an otherwise down market street. The glaring electric sign outside lit the pavement for many yards beyond its frontage and contrasted sharply with the subdued lighting inside. That the area was staunchly Catholic was evidenced by the Irish Tricolour flags that sprouted from every other building. Harriet insisted on driving, I was OK with that until we parked. There were only a couple of spots left I told her we needed to park facing the way we came. If we had to bail out fast I ‘wanted us heading towards safety not further into Republican territory.

‘If I go up the street to turn around’ she argued ‘someone could well grab this space before we got back. We’ll be fine Jack, it’s straightforward job.’ We were just a few yards from Gino’s and another car was cruising for a parking spot, so I stifled my objection. We left the car and walked arm in arm to the door. Even though I was on duty and focussed, the feel of Harriet on my arm sent a thrill of excitement through me, I drank in her subtle perfume. God, it felt good.

We were greeted by a large man of Italian appearance with a broad Belfast accent. ‘Good evening Sir, good evening madam’ he beamed at Harriet, all smarm and charm, ‘so nice to see you again.’ He took her by the shoulders and planted a light kiss on each of her cheeks. I wanted to punch the slimy bastard. He nodded at me ‘your table will be ready in a moment but first the security’ he shrugged and smiled apologetically, almost managing to look sincere. ‘You’ll understand of course.’

I was frisked quickly and professionally. He missed nothing. He turned to Harriet, ‘your handbag madam if you please’ Harriet kept hold of it as she opened it and held it out. He looked inside, poked a finger in and shuffled a few items. I was ready to chop his throat and scarper if he discovered our contraband. His eyes brows lifted slightly as he discovered the condoms and he shot a brief envious look in my direction. ‘That’s fine. Theresa, please’ he signalled the waitress who did a far from professional search of Harriet, running her hands down her arms, back and front carefully avoiding her breasts. She bent and ran her hands swiftly down her legs stopping at her knees. She looked at her boss ‘she’s fine’ she said and returned to her duties, obviously body searching other women was not a task she relished.

We went to the bar where I ordered a pint of some poncy overpriced Italian lager and Harriet had a small glass of dry white wine. I surveyed the place and took in our table deciding which seat I’d use. It had four place settings. The head waiter came and asked which seats we’d like. I pointed to my choice. I would be sitting where I could glance at the booth, Harriet would be sitting at right angles to me facing the window. The waitress was removing the two spare chairs when Harriet said, ‘please leave that one’ She held up her handbag in explanation. The girl smiled and nodded ‘certainly madam.’

We took our places. Harriet put her handbag on the spare seat, its business end pointing at the empty booth. She opened it and rummaged around inside then came up with a powder compact and briefly inspected her face, dabbing here and there with a pad. The camera and recorder where now active.

They didn’t arrive until after we’d finished the first course. I’d ordered the quail, it was delicious. The menu was hellishly expensive, but I wasn’t paying, so what the hell. When they arrived, there was no security for them, they were waved straight to their tables and presented with menus. The heavies took their place in the next booth and buried their faces in the menu. People at the other tables carried on eating. If they’d noticed this party wasn’t searched they didn’t show it. I recognised the Sinn Fein man, I’d seen the bugger on T.V. enough times spouting his sanctimonious crap.

Harriet’s body language was causing me some concern but what to do about it? I leaned over and pulled her to me and planted a passionate kiss on her full lips. She tasted sweet, her full lips were like cushions, her subtle perfume again filled my nostrils and my head spun. I saw the shock in her eyes. When I’d parted from her she whispered, ‘when we get back Jack, I’m going to kick your bollocks over your shoulder for that.’ She had enough sense to smile sweetly as she said it.

I looked lovingly into her eyes and said, ‘if you don’t stop glancing at your fuckin’ handbag I’ll kick you where you don’t have any bollocks, OK? I saw the look of surprise in her eyes as realisation dawned. Then I thought sod it and called the waiter over. I’d kissed Harriet and I was walking on air ‘Champagne please, the best you’ve got.’ He brought the list I chose the most expensive bottle. Bugger the bean counters I thought. I felt like a schoolboy, I’d kissed Harriet. As we raised our glasses in a toast to ourselves as the phone rang behind the bar.

The big manager answered it with a professional greeting, then his face turned to s**t and he’d he couldn’t help himself, he glanced in our direction. ‘We’ve been rumbled’ I told her. Her expression never changed. The manager tried to look casual as he hurried towards the back booths. Harriet drew the pistol from her ankle holster and picked up the handbag in one sweeping movement. The manager said something to the bodyguards and they sprang up reaching into their coats. We were half way to the door, I had the champagne bottle Harriet turned and pointed her pistol at them. They froze. Then the Provos and the politician stood up and faced us. ‘You can’t get us all’ the politico said.

Harriet’s face was stern as she swung the weapon on him ‘Then you’ll be first mister’ he paled and spread his hands. He started to say something, but we were at the door now. Harriet fired, the bullet slammed into the woodwork between the bodyguards’ heads. They all dived towards the booths for cover. I threw the champagne bottle and was lucky enough to catch one of the bodyguards on the side of his head. Pandemonium broke out as screaming diners dived under tables or ran for the toilets and we fled outside, running for the car. A man across the street drew a gun and fired a wild shot at us. Harriet stopped, turned and snapped off a shot that went through a shop window six inches to his left. It was enough for the guy. He dived behind a parked car and kept his head down. I jumped behind the wheel and started the car. Harriet joined me, and I accelerated hard as a bodyguard tumbled out onto the street and started firing. We were fifty yards away now and his marksmanship wasn’t brilliant. I saw in the mirror the guy who’d dived behind the parked car was on his feet yelling into a walky-talky. We weren’t out of the s**t yet.

I was a bit disoriented not being too familiar with this district ‘Shout the rights and lefts’ I told her.

‘We’ve got to go straight on for a while yet, she said. That wasn’t good news.

The headlights appeared in my mirror coming up fast. I pushed my foot to the floor as Harriet pulled a police hand-held radio from the glove compartment. She started talking urgently into it as the vehicle behind was closing. ‘The nearest units are five minutes away, Jack’ she told me, ‘think you can hold ‘em off?’ Her voice was calm but there was a note of urgency in it.

Before I could answer, a car leapt out of a side street and blocked the road. If the arse hole driver thought I would break he was mistaken. I aimed for his front wheel and kept my foot down. My hope was to spin the bastard sideways and keep going. I was far too close and slammed into the driver’s door. I saw the look of pain and surprise on his pale face as I shunted him a few yards sideways before we stopped.

The screech of brakes came from behind as the big BMW that had been chasing us came to a halt. ‘Out’ I yelled as I reached for my gun. It had slid forward and was now under the accelerator. I groped for it and got my hand around the barrel. Harriet was already out, aiming at the chase car. I dived through the door as the passenger climbed out of the blocker and took a shot that passed my ear by a couple of inches. I had turned the Browning as I’d rolled. Now in the kneeling position, it was easy to snap off a round, it took him through the chest. I heard Harriet fire as I swung on the driver. His door and window were jammed, he was beating on the side window in a blind panic with the butt of his gun. The window broke a split second before my bullet took his through the bridge of his nose. As I turned a guy with an Armalite rifle was aiming at me. I dived desperately to my left. His bullets scoured the street where I’d been half a second before. I rolled and kept rolling as the fool kept his finger on the trigger, trying to correct his aim and hose me down. His weapon ran off up to the right and stopped as his magazine ran out. I double tapped him to the chest and he went down like a limp doll.

I turned then to the chasseing car. Had there been four men or five in it? I couldn’t be sure. That’s when a bullet hit my arm high near trapeze muscle. I cried out as my weapon fell from my hand. Then there was Harriet, running around the car. She pointed her weapon at the guy, but nothing happened. She was either out of ammo or the bloody gun had jammed. She dropped it leapt across the road diving for my gun, scooping it up, putting herself between the gunman and me. She was aiming as the guy fired, hitting her in the midriff. She let out a cry of pain then flopped over on her back lying spread-eagled, my gun in her open palm, her eyes staring at the sky. I was a dead man now; my weapon was way out of my reach. The guy was a bare ten yards away aiming at me with a clear shot. He didn’t fire but advanced on me his weapon pointed at my head. He stopped three yards from me. My beautiful Harriet was dead, I could see the blood spreading crimson on her white blouse, her eyes staring. My heart and soul screamed, and I didn’t care anymore. ‘Well, get on with you bastard’ I said.

‘Oh no, you dirty SAS bastard, no quick end for you. Kneecaps, ankles, wrists then I’ll blow yer bollocks off.’ He glanced at Harriet then shuffled towards her still with his gun pointing at me, glancing between us. He looked down into her staring eyes then drew his foot back to kick the gun away.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then. I saw her hand clasp the pistol grip and her arm shot up, her elbow pinned to her side. I saw his horrified face as he started to bring his gun to bear. She pulled the trigger twice, so fast the shots sounded as one. He was hit under his left short ribs, the bullets emerging as one from his right shoulder where it joined his neck with a great gout of blood and gore. He spun sideways and crashed face first into the asphalt.

I was on my feet as her arm fell back, the gun clattering in the road. ‘Harriet’ I shouted, ‘hang on darling, I’ll get you to hospital.’ I stuffed the Browning into my waistband, picked her up and ran towards the car. I wrenched the door open and put her on the back seat where she moaned and flopped over into the foetal position. I thought I heard a noise behind and above me and whirled, looking up. A camera flashed in an open first-floor window. I put a bullet through it. I hadn’t seen a weapon but f**k the rules of engagement, I just hoped I’d hit some bastard, any bastard.

I dived into the car and put it into reverse I slammed my foot down and the Volvo shot backwards, its huge bumper slamming into the BMW, shunting it up the road, its rear wheel juddering as the handbrake held. Putting the car in first, I had almost enough room to get between the blocker and the cars parked at the pavement. I hit the front end of the blocker and the Volvo smashed it aside like a toy.

Down the street I checked my mirror I wasn’t being followed. I saw the radio on the floor in the passenger footwell. I reached down and grabbed it, sideswiping a parked car as I did so. I called ‘Officer seriously wounded. Require blue light escort to the hospital.’ I was acknowledged ‘We know your location keep going you will be met.’ Then a Saracen armoured car came in the opposite direction it’s supercharged Alvis engine screaming like a tortured banshee as all six wheels drove it at full power. There was a soldier up the hatch I slid my window down waving behind me. He nodded and saluted as he shot past. I hope they’d be in time to retrieve the terrorist weapons. It surprised me to realise I was still thinking like a soldier even though my Harriet was moaning on the back seat. I wanted to scream but I had to keep my head switched on for her sake.

The blue lamp picked us up and switched his two-tone on, clearing the traffic from in front of us. A few minutes later, that seemed like an eternity to me, I pulled up in front of A&E. They were ready for us and ran forward with a trolley. Harriet was silent now her eyes open her face deathly white and her lips turning blue. They brushed me aside as they lifted her gently and rushed her inside. I was left trembling with emotion muttering ‘live my darling Harriet, please live.’

The two young coppers who had escorted me now came to my side ‘come on mate’ one said in a hushed voice ‘let’s get that wound seen to.’ It was only then I became aware of the throbbing pain in my arm. I felt faint now and allowed myself to be led inside.

They examined me carefully. I kept grabbing the nurses arm, asking about Harriet, but the patient answer was always the same ‘they’re working on her sir, we’ll let you know.’

My wound wasn’t bad, the bullet had missed the bone and had gone clean through. I was patched up under general anaesthetic and wheeled to a ward.

When I came to, I was groggy, uncertain of where I was. A nurse smiled at me ‘You were wounded but you’re going to be fine’ she told me ‘but I’m afraid you’ll always have a scar.’ A scar? What the hell did that matter? It was Harriet I cared about, my beautiful Harriet, the woman I could never have but would always love.

My head cleared a bit and I asked ‘how’s Harriet? Please, how is she?’

Her face looked sad and sympathetic ‘The surgeon is on his way to see you now, Jack.’

I saw him coming down the ward and I knew. His face bore the same expression as that of my nurse. ‘Oh god no, I cried ‘please no.’

He was as gentle as he was sad ‘I’m so sorry Jack’ he said, ‘we did everything we could, we really did our best, but we lost her.’ He went on with his explanation. I heard only a few words ‘spleen damaged, massive internal bleeding, shock.

I screamed then, tearing at my hair, bent double, unable to bear my pain ‘why wasn’t it me? Oh Christ, why wasn’t it me instead of her?’ I yelled. I think the nurse stuck a needle in my arm then and I spent seemingly endless time in a sort of miserable trance as they kept me sedated. It seemed an endless period of needles, sleep, lethargy and utter despair.

Eventually, the needles stopped and Colonel Forsythe, my commanding officer came and debriefed me. He was kind and patient and tried not to ask questions that would be painful, but it was unavoidable. He told me the information on the tape had been invaluable, that they’d already prevented three murders and made several high-level arrests.

The Provo commander thought we were a hit team sent to assassinate him and the Sein Fein politician had stuck his head down a hole and now never went anywhere unless it was strictly necessary and then only two minders. ’You put the fear of god into those godless bastards’ he told me. ‘You killed six between you, god, are they hurting, that was half of the North Belfast brigade. We’ve stepped up patrols there just to stay on top. Morale among the men is sky high and it’s all due to you and Major Balance. The Brigadier is putting her forward for a medal.’

If this was meant to cheer me up it failed miserably. The pain in my heart was all consuming.

Jonno came later that day, his normally cheerful manner subdued. I hugged him like a long-lost brother. ‘Oh, Jonno mate, what’s kept you?’

‘Nothing’ he said ‘I’ve been twice but they said you were no fit state for visitors, so I pissed off again. God, it’s good to see you, yer ugly bastard’ he said. He held me at arm’s length ‘Christ, you’re fuckin’ hard work to look at, but I luv’s yer.’ Then slipped me half a bottle of Bushmills ‘Not being tight mate’ he said ‘I thought the half would be easier to hide. Anyway, better than sodding grapes or flowers.’

‘If you’d have brought me flowers, I’d have stuffed ‘em up yer arse’ I said, returning his banter on autopilot.

We chatted for a bit, catching up on mutual friends and slagging each other off as soldiers do when expressing affection for one another. He was going on leave shortly, he told me. There was a girl called Elizabeth he’d met last time he went home. ‘She’s nearly as attractive as me’ he quipped ‘gotta give her one this time. Couldn’t get near her last time. Quick grope of her t**s and she f****d me off’ he looked bemused. ‘Do you think I might be losing it mate?’

‘Don’t talk like a tosser’ I told him ‘she’s reeling you in, mate, playing hard to get. She’ll lead you up the aisle by the dick.’ We laughed, then he told me some dirty jokes and we laughed some more, anything except talk about Harriet and what had happened. And then it was time for him to go.

‘See you shithead’ he called from the door.

‘Up yer arse’ I told him, giving him a one finger salute, and he was gone. Jonno’s visit had cheered me, restored some sort of reality. They released me next day with some pills and an appointment to return and have my wound checked. I volunteered to lead the Pallbearers at Harriet’s funeral. It was to be in her local parish church near Bath with full military honours. I threw myself into organising, training and drilling the funeral party until they looked like Guardsmen.

Sam flew over, she looked heartbroken. I told her what had happened, how Harriet had flung herself between me and a gunman. How she’d played dead when she must have been suffering the tortures of hell. I still couldn’t figure out how she’s managed that. ‘She took that cocky bastard down just when he thought he held all the cards’ I told her. ‘God, what a woman.’ I broke down then and the silent tears ran down my face. Sam hugged me, and we sat together clinging and weeping. It would be the last time I ever cried.

The funeral went well in its solemn way. The six pallbearers, including the Brigadier and Colonel Smythe, were perfectly in step. The soldiers lining the path into the church performed the drill “rest on your arms reversed” perfectly. Sam looked stunning in black. and carried herself with great dignity.

I’d been focussed entirely on the firing party, so I got a surprise when, at the graveside, I saw an older woman who was obviously Harriet’s mother, she had a beautiful little girl with her. The child was the spitting image of Harriet, she never mentioned she had a little sister. I had no time to ponder this mystery as I had to supervise the firing party. When the three shots had been fired over the grave and the firing party marched away it was over.

At the reception, I was introduced to Harriet’s mother by a dignified looking gent in his mid-forties who said he was Martin Leith, a friend of the family. Mrs balance had the child with her. It was hard to keep my eyes off this beautiful little girl who was so like Harriet. I said, ‘I didn’t know Harriet had a little sister.’ The child looked up and spoke. ‘She was not my sister, she was my mummy’ she said quietly. My heart felt speared. Oh, merciful Christ, I thought, I had no idea. The trouble in most armies’ is officers and other ranks do not socialise. A distance must be kept in order to maintain discipline so an intimate knowledge of family affairs are not known. Harriet had never spoken of her private life anyway. Why should she?

The little girl was about eight and the gentleman who had introduced me was her father professor Martin Leith. Harriet’s mother, Charlotte, broke in to save what could have been an embarrassing moment. ‘I believe you worked closely with Harriet’ she said ‘she always spoke very highly of you. You were with her at the time I’m told.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘she saved my life.’

Was she being polite, or had Harriet mention me to her family? Later, it became obvious that she had, as Charlotte mentioned a couple of harmless things that could only have come from her.

Little Margret looked up at me, her red tear stained eyes questioning, beseeching me to tell me why her mummy had died. ‘Why did the bad people kill my mummy? she said, her lips trembling. She sounded bemused, totally lost, ‘why would anyone want to kill my mummy?’

My heart was breaking for her and I knelt and took her hand ‘grown-ups sometimes do bad things to each other Margaret’ I told her, ‘and people like your mummy and me have to try and stop them before they do great harm to others.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because the bad people want us to live in a way they say we should live, and not the way we know is right.’ I said, hoping I was making sense to her. ‘Your mummy was a very brave lady and we all loved her very much. Now is a bad time for you so you must let grandma and daddy look after you and you should look after them with all the love you can give them.’

Her bottom lip was trembling, and the tears had started silently flowing again ‘one day you’ll understand more and be very, very proud of your mummy.’ I hoped what I was saying was making sense to her. I had no experience of dealing with children and I went on to say too much. ‘The Queen has heard all about your mummy and wants to give her a special medal for being very brave’ I said.

Margaret threw her arms around my neck and sobbed ‘I don’t want a medal from the queen, I want my mummy back.’ Then she broke up completely and her father took her away in his arms, his eyes were streaming. I felt awful, my heart was pierced. I knew the funeral would be hard for me but this revelation that she had a child cut me to shreds.

Charlotte came forward ‘that was so kind of you Jack, it’s so hard to try to explain these things to children but thank you for trying.’

The rest of the guests were all decent folk and offered me their condolences. They’d heard we worked closely together and I’d had a bad time over her death. Her uncle, the ambassador, wanted a word. He knew a little about my American escapade and I filled him in on how Harriet had turned the tables. He also knew I’d gotten her money back from the hospital. ‘That was a stroke of genius’ he told me. ‘You should have been a diplomat with negotiating skills like yours.’ He smiled mischievously ‘the pen pushers in Whitehall were furious, even more so because you left them impotent.’

I left as soon as decently possible. I had my own pain and sharing the pain of her family was becoming too much. I also got an insight into Harriet’s background. Her great-grandfather had been an Admiral of the fleet and most of her uncles and aunts were either in the diplomatic service, judges, or barristers. Even if Harriet had fallen for me, I would not have been comfortable mixing with her lot. Not that they were snobs, far from it. The ones I met were all down to earth, thoroughly nice people. No, the problem lay with me and my inferiority complex about my background. I’d have to work on that.

I needed a serious drink, so I grabbed Jonno ‘Hi mate, look, I need a book into a hotel with a decent bar. I feel the need to get pissed, very pissed.’

He nodded ‘you and me both mate.’

Back in Northern Ireland the whole unit seemed subdued due to the loss of Harriet. She’d been a much-loved officer, deeply respected by all ranks. She’d be sorely missed for her willingness to listen, her razor-sharp intellect and her insightfulness. I missed her more than anyone and it was noticed I was drinking too much. Only Jonno said anything about it. One morning when I was hungover he said, ‘I could make you a bracket for your shoulder mate.’

‘What are you on about you bloody loon?’ I asked irritated.

‘Well, he said, only half joking, ‘If I make a shoulder bracket you can hang the Bushmills bottle on it and have the stuff fed down a tube into your arm. It’d save you keep sneaking away to your room to swig the bloody stuff.’ He was right, I was drinking far too much. ‘People are noticing but saying nothing mate because they know you’re grieving, but it can’t go on Jack. Do you think Harriet would be impressed?’

That last question got me. No, she wouldn’t be impressed at all she’d tell me to buck my ideas up. I could hear her voice in my head ‘Snap out of it Jack or I’ll kick your sorry arse.’

It was the shock I needed, and I thanked Jonno sincerely and made a commitment to him stop. The good thing about army mates is they’ll tell you how it is straight to your face, no pussyfooting. If they think you’re being a tosser they’ll let you know and damn quick, too. I gave him my bottle and told him to look after it. ‘One drink a night Jonno, Right?’

He smiled, ‘OK mate, but if you let me down I’ll shove this bottle up yer arse.’

That marked the end of my mourning period. Of course, I still grieved in my own way, and I’d always have a pang in my heart whenever I thought of her, but I’d got shot of the self-pity.

Next day, I was called to the colonel’s office. I’d been expecting it. I was told that now the Provo’s had my photograph, I was a marked man. Not only was I in great danger but also anyone working with me. My days in Northern Ireland were over. I was to be posted to Hereford to analyse intelligence and assist in preparing briefings for SAS operations. It was to prove a turning point in my life.

When Harriet and I had done that final operation the Sinn Fein man at the meeting was a man called councillor Adrian Doyle, a prominent citizen and a man always on TV proclaiming his desire for peace. Yet on the tape, we recorded he was discussing the latest plans for violence and how to spin them for propaganda. He had wailed loud and long about a secret British Government plot to assassinate him. He told the media that two highly trained SAS killers were sent to murder him and only by a stroke of good fortune had he not been killed. These killers had murdered six decent family men who had tried to prevent their escape. They had managed to kill one of them after heroically wrestling her gun from her. It played well to the Republican faithful.

Because of that tape, we thwarted two bombings and three shootings. Before the Provo’s twigged that they’d been bugged, they’d kneecapped one of their own and murdered an IRA original. We had put a rumour about that we had a secret source of info from an insider. I told some of my contacts that there was a certain Provo member whose brother-in-law was in the original IRA, that he occasionally gave us tips. We let the rumour mill churn and the Provo’s paranoia did the rest.

It occurred to me that the SAS had been mentioned twice regarding our operation, so I rang Gilhooley to see what he knew. I turned out the Pool car Harriet and I had used had also been used by the SAS the week before and, unknown to the security forces, it had become compromised. So, when the Provos had checked the cars in the area outside the restaurant, they were immediately alerted.

It hadn’t taken them long to suss us out after that.