The Trojan boy

FIVE

It was raining when Avedissian arrived at the hospital and the wetness made the stonework black. The whole building had an air of gloom about it. Avedissian picked his way through a muddle of ambulances parked outside the Accident and Emergency Unit and paused outside the swing doors to shake the water from his coat before entering. Once inside he stopped again at a barrage of directional signs and found the one that he was looking for. It read, Dr S. Harmon, Consultant. A amp; E.

The highly polished corridor led along past a waiting room with perhaps twenty people inside and somewhere nearby a child was crying loudly in defiance of a nurse and its mother who were trying to pacify it. A teenage boy lay on a trolley outside the X-Ray Department with his right foot bare and a large swelling round his ankle. Nurses moved quickly to and fro across the corridor, their feet squeaking on the linoleum.

Avedissian came to the door he was looking for and knocked once. He understood a muffled sound from within to be an invitation to enter and stepped inside.

Harmon turned out to be a thin man in his forties with jet black hair which gave him a very dark beard shadow. He looked at Avedissian over half-framed glasses and released the 'record' button of the dictation machine he had been using. 'Yes?' he asked.

'I'm Gillibrand,’ said Avedissian.

'Sit down. I'll be with you in a moment.'

Avedissian found the man's tone neutral and difficult to analyse. In it he detected neither friendliness nor hostility, He sat down and looked across to the window while Harmon finished dictating his letter, not that there was much to see for the view comprised the building next door. An occasional figure passed the window opposite and by the time Harmon had finished recording Avedissian had counted two nurses, and three patients wearing dressing-gowns.

'… We would therefore anticipate a degree of stiffness in the joint for some time to come. Yours etc.' Click. 'Welcome to Belfast,' said Harmon accepting the documentation that Avedissian handed to him. He flicked through it briefly then tossed it into the wire tray on the corner of his desk. 'I know you're not Gillibrand,’ he said. 'This twaddle is for administration,' he added, nodding to the paperwork.

Avedissian could now feel the animosity in the air.

‘I’ll be perfectly frank with you,' said Harmon. 'I resent outside interests telling me how I should staff my department. I resent it deeply.'

'I can understand that,' said Avedissian.

'In Belfast we get the kind of cases that haven't been seen since Korea. I've got a waiting list a mile long of doctors who want to work here and I land up with a registrar who hasn't seen a casualty department since medical school.'

Avedissian stayed silent while the lecture continued.

'I don't know why you’re here, Gillibrand

'Neither do I,' interrupted Avedissian who was beginning to tire of being dressed down by a man who, but for circumstances, would have been his peer rather than his superior.

'Are you serious?' asked Harmon.

'Yes.'

Harmon let out a long sigh and said, 'God, how I'm sick of secrets and intrigue and…' His hands sought the air as he searched for words. 'Charades. Some days I can't move for men in grey suits hiding behind plastic ID cards.'

'What do you mean?' asked Avedissian.

‘For the past month every A amp; E unit in the province has had an ‘intelligence presence.'

'I would have thought that normal under the circumstances,' replied Avedissian.

'Oh, I don't mean just the usual police interest in who's coming and going. There’s something else going on. Something has happened, or is about to happen, and they're listening. I've no idea what it is they're after and I don't think I want to know. I just wish that they would stay out of my road.'

'Maybe it's connected with O'Donnell's death,' suggested Avedissian. They could be listening for information about the new hierarchy.'

Harmon nodded and said, That might have been true but for the fact that this all started before O'Donnell died. But as you have brought up the subject I suppose you know that we are all sitting on a powder keg?'

Avedissian admitted that he had heard rumours about the new IRA leadership and the possibility of a show of strength.

The last time we went through this we finished up with four bin liners full of assorted limbs,' said Harmon.

Avedissian screwed up his face.

'I wish the bastards could come down here after their bloody bombs go off. I'd like to see them stand in the middle of that room out there and talk about their "struggle for freedom" among the blood and broken lives. They would have to shout above the screams, mind you. Who knows? They might even find the sound memorable.'

Avedissian nodded his agreement but reserved judgement on whether Harmon's words had a political basis or whether indeed they had come from the heart. He would decide when he got to know the man better.

'Well, Gillibrand, or whatever your name is, how does the prospect of assembling human jigsaw puzzles appeal to you?' asked Harmon.

'It doesn't,’ replied Avedissian. 'It fills me with disgust.'

A momentary flicker of surprise registered on Harmon's face. It was followed by a slight pause as if he had been forced to make some kind of reappraisal. He said quietly, 'it does me too. I'm glad you didn't see it as "a challenge". I've had too many buggers here who see it all as "a challenge". No people, just challenges.'

Avedissian smiled as he warmed to the man. 'Belfast on the c.v. equals another ten grand stateside,' he said.

It was Harmon's turn to smile. 'Exactly,' he said.

A nurse put her head round the door and apologised for interrupting before saying that Harmon was required in the Admission Suite.

'Join me,' said Harmon getting up.

Avedissian pulled on a white coat and felt good as he did so for he had come to believe that it was something that he would never do again. But his pleasure was tinged with apprehension. It had been a long time. Could he still cope?

'In at the deep end, eh?' said Harmon as they walked along the corridor together.

'Might as well,' replied Avedissian.

After a brief introduction to the nursing staff Avedissian was left to ask a man in his thirties how he had come to have fallen off the ladder in the first place.

As the day progressed Avedissian found himself dealing with a perfectly manageable procession of cuts and breaks and sprains. Harmon warned him that it was the lull before the storm but, even if it was, thought Avedissian, he was grateful for it was giving him precious time to ease himself back into medicine.

The first real pressure on him came in the late afternoon when six people who had been involved in a serious car accident were admitted. Two were dead on arrival and the other four were very badly injured. A cursory examination by Harmon to establish where priority lay left Avedissian to deal with a young man in his twenties suffering from severe chest and lower limb injuries. The man arrested as Avedissian worked on him and it was a very long ninety seconds before Avedissian's attempts to revive him were rewarded and the patient's heart was restarted.

Although his own pulse was racing and self-doubt had threatened him from all angles Avedissian had outwardly remained cool and professional throughout and Harmon had noticed. He looked across and said, 'Welcome to A amp; E.'

Avedissian acknowledged the comment with a nod but there was no time for conversation. He still had a lot to do to stabilise the boy's condition and there was another patient waiting.

‘There's a drug overdose on the way,' announced the unit sister. 'Female, 42, Librium.'

‘Thank you, Sister,' said Harmon without looking up. 'Prepare to wash her out will you.'

There were to be two more drug overdoses, three more car accidents, a scalding and the aftermath of a 'domestic dispute', as the police put it, before Avedissian felt able to sign off and leave the night to the duty housemen.

He climbed the stairs to his small room in the medical residency and flung himself down on the bed. He was tired, in fact he was exhausted, not just with the work, although that had been considerable, but mainly because of the mental stress that he had been under. The fear that he might have lost all his old ability as a doctor had proved to be unfounded but it had been no easy task laying it to rest.

Now he began to feel good. The truth was that it had been a very long time since he had felt so good and the austerity of his surroundings could do nothing to diminish the feeling, it would not have mattered had it been a deep, dark dungeon instead of a dingy, Victorian turret room in peeling NHS green. Bryant had been right. A amp; E was exactly what he needed. Belfast was doing for his self-esteem what Llangern had done for his body.

When his mind had calmed Avedissian's thoughts turned to food and he went to eat in the hospital staff restaurant before returning upstairs to begin reading. Harmon had thoughtfully furnished him with copious reading matter on the various aspects of military medicine and he began with a tome on the treatment of gunshot wounds.

Tension grew in the city as the days passed with still no move from the IRA to justify the rumours that had been circulating in the pubs about what they would do to avenge the death of Kevin O'Donnell. The more optimistic began to suggest that O'Donnell's death had been a bigger blow to the IRA than had previously been thought while the more realistic just waited. The weather did little to help for it was warm and uncommonly humid as if a still, wet cloud were pressing down on the city. It shortened tempers and made skin glisten at the slightest effort.

Avedissian ran his forefinger round the inside of his collar as he came on duty in the afternoon. There was an unpleasant, sour smell of sweat about the department which had persisted for days despite competition from anaesthetics and disinfectant. 'What have we got?' he asked the duty sister. 'Not much. One sprained ankle and a broken thumb.' The day continued routinely with troughs and peaks of activity until nine in the evening when Avedissian was thinking about calling it a day. As he took off his coat an ambulance drew up outside and the attendants carried in a woman who had obviously been badly beaten. As it was Harmon's day off and the houseman was busy with another patient Avedissian decided to stay and deal with the woman himself.

Her face was swollen and barely recognisable under a halo of beautiful red hair that was matted with blood along her forehead. Avedissian examined her limbs gently for broken bones but found no evidence of any damage other than severe bruising. He sent her to the X-Ray Department with a nurse in attendance and waited for the results.

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.

Avedissian had never seen such terrible injury to human beings before on such a scale. The nearest had been a train crash many years before but even that paled into insignificance beside the horror before his eyes. Dreadfully mutilated people bled to death in the ambulances before reaching hospital, while others, half stupefied by shock but still with the misfortune to be conscious, stared at their own insides through gaping blast wounds in their stomachs. A boy with no legs tried to get up and run from the stretcher that brought him through the doors. A woman with no face left screamed continually through a gaping, misshapen orifice that had once been her mouth. The sound was like nothing Avedissian had ever heard before.

Avedissian worked on as if caught up in a nightmare. He felt icy cold and, at times, almost on the verge of detachment from reality as his mind baulked at accepting what his eyes were seeing. The thing that kept him going more than any other was the sight of Harmon, very much in control, talking to the nurses, encouraging them, deciding priorities, keeping everything on a cool professional level.

Avedissian already knew that Harmon could be an emotional man for he had heard him speak of this very kind of situation with passion. But here, in the midst of the real thing, he was in complete control of things, an inspiration to all around him. At that moment Avedissian admired Harmon more than any other man he had ever known.

As the time passed some kind of order started to emerge from the carnage and chaos. The dead were removed by the porters to the hospital mortuary, those stabilised for surgery were taken out on trolleys to join the queues outside the theatres while the remainder were still held in A amp;E on life support pending removal to Intensive Care.

Avedissian had lost all track of time. He was still desperately trying to stop the bleeding on a young boy whose arm had been severed too near the shoulder for standard procedures when the radio announced that two gunshot victims were on their way.

The new patients arrived in a convoy of police and army vehicles and were afforded scant respect by their attendants. Several dead bodies were in the trucks. Harmon and Avedissian verified that they were dead before they were taken away. 'And now the other side,' said Harmon as they came back into the treatment room.

'What do you mean?' asked Avedissian.

'This lot are the IRA,' replied Harmon, indicating the men lying on the tables.

One of the soldiers who had heard what had happened at the shopping centre lost control and raised his weapon to fire at one of the wounded men. He was manhandled out of the unit by an NCO amidst shouting and chaos.

'What's been going on?' Harmon asked a police inspector.

'It looks like the IRA and the INLA tried to pull a joint operation. The IRA attacked the shopping centre while the INLA raided a number of banks in the city.'

'What happened?'

'Apparently it all went wrong. The diversion didn't work and the INLA were wiped out.'

Harmon looked around him at the pools of blood and pieces of human tissue that had still to be cleared up and whispered, 'A diversion.. this was a… diversion?'

'I think you had better come,' said one of the nurses who had been attending one of the men on the trolleys.

The duty sister had cut away the man's blood-soaked clothing to reveal the extent of the damage. He had been hit twice, once in the shoulder and once in the left thigh. In both cases the bullet had splintered the bone but had still managed to exit.

'Army weapon,' said Harmon. 'If you're hit you go down and you don't get up.'

Avedissian attended to the other gunshot victim who had been less seriously hurt in that the one bullet that had struck him had done so at an angle and gouged out a channel of flesh from his left calf. But the severe bruising about his face and body said that he had been subject to a 'difficult' arrest.

When the place had finally been cleared Harmon sat down slowly on one of the benches and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Avedissian who declined and they both sat in silence before the duty sister came over to them with cups of tea. 'Will you marry me, Sister?' said Harmon, accepting the cup as if it were the Holy Grail. 'Join the queue,' said Avedissian.

Next day the newspapers found it difficult to strike the right balance in their reporting of the news, for the triumph of-the security forces over the INLA had been so violently offset by the tragedy of the Shamrock Shopping Centre. Seventeen people had died, five were still on the critical list and forty-three had been injured, some destined to carry the scars and mutilations for the rest of their lives.

Church leaders made renewed pleas for an end to the violence but, as always, the men who would heed such pleas were not those who perpetrated it. Hardline Protestants threatened revenge for what they called the 'bloody outrage' and politicians said whatever suited them best politically. As usual the man in the street was confused and angry. Everything was back to normal in Northern Ireland after a lull in the proceedings.

Avedissian was off duty and alone in his room when there was a knock on the door. His invitation to whomever it was to come in met with no response so he got up and opened the door himself. Paul Jarvis was standing there.

'I don't believe it!' exclaimed Avedissian, both surprised and delighted.

'Life is full of surprises,' grinned Jarvis.

Avedissian invited him in and asked him to sit down on the one chair in the room while he himself sat on a corner of the bed. 'It's not much but it's home,' said Avedissian, looking around him.

'Not for much longer,' said Jarvis.

'Something is happening?' asked Avedissian.

'We are to meet with Bryant tomorrow. Your time here is over. That's what I came to tell you.'

Avedissian nodded and accepted the news with mixed feelings for, after his initial feelings of apprehension, he had come to enjoy working with Harmon. He had almost allowed himself to believe that he had returned to practising medicine again. 'I'd better tell Dr Harmon,' he said.

'I think you'll find that he has been informed,' said Jarvis. 'He had to be warned so that a replacement for you could be found.'

'Of course,' said Avedissian quietly. 'Have you come from Wales or your base?' he asked Jarvis.

'Neither, I was given three days' leave. I spent it in Edinburgh with my girlfriend.'

'Annie,' said Avedissian.

'You have an excellent memory,' said Jarvis.

'It improved when I gave up the gin,' said Avedissian.

'Oh yes, I'm sorry about that.'

'Why sorry?' asked Avedissian.

'I'm afraid it was me who took your bottle at Llangern.'

'I see… I suppose I should thank you really.'

'You were in a bit of a mess,' agreed Jarvis.

'So what are we going to learn tomorrow?' asked Avedissian.

'I know as much as you. I was just asked to inform you tonight and pick you up tomorrow.'

Avedissian invited Jarvis to stay and eat dinner with him but Jarvis declined, saying that he had to report back. He would see him in the morning at ten o'clock.

Avedissian returned to the A amp;E department and sought out Harmon. He found him in his office working through a pile of paperwork with an air of frustration. 'Bloody nonsense!' he snorted, putting down his pen as Avedissian came in. 'Reports, reports, endless bloody reports. Nobody’s going to read the damned things; they're going to file and forget about them!'

Avedissian smiled and said sympathetically, 'It's the way of the world.'

'You've been told?' said Harmon, reading the look on Avedissian's face.

Avedissian nodded. I’m quite sorry to be going,’ he added.

Harmon took off his glasses and said, 'I never thought that I would be saying this, but I am sorry to lose you. Things worked out fine… Dr Avedissian.'

'You knew?'

'Not until a few days ago, but there was always something familiar about your face. Then I remembered the case. I didn't remember all the details so I went and looked them up.'

'I see.'

'If it's any comfort, I have every sympathy with you.'

Avedissian got to his feet and said, 'Thank you, Doctor. It was kind of you to say so.' He held out his hand.

'I meant it,’ said Harmon taking Avedissian's hand. 'I can't ever offer you a job, of course, only my best wishes for whatever your future has in store. Good luck.'

Avedissian left the room and had a last look round the unit. then he went upstairs to gather his things together before eating and settling down for an early night.

Jarvis arrived promptly at ten and Avedissian got into the car beside him. He found the drive through the city streets depressing for it reminded him of his own time in Belfast with the military. All these years, he thought, and so little had changed. A whole generation of children had grown up thinking of guns and uniforms as the norm. There was no escaping the bigotry of the graffiti, which was everywhere. Here in Ireland the enemy was your neighbour.

The car slowed and turned into an entrance bounded on both sides by high black railings. A wrought-iron gate swung open in response to an infra-red device operated by the driver and they passed through to follow a semi-circular driveway up to a low Georgian building with ornate lampposts on either side of the front entrance. 'N.I. Land Archives District 7' said the plaque on the wall.

Avedissian and Jarvis were left to wait in a small back room which looked out on immaculately kept gardens after being asked if they would like coffee, an offer that both accepted. The coffee arrived and they sipped it in silence while they continued to look out of the window.

'Mr Bryant will see you now,’ said the woman who had brought the coffee.

Avedissian and Jarvis left their cups and saucers on the window-ledge and followed the woman through to a much larger room where Bryant was sitting behind a long mahogany desk.

'The waiting is over, gentlemen,’ said Bryant. I'm going to tell you why we need you.'

Avedissian and Jarvis looked briefly at each other before giving their full attention to what Bryant had to say.

'A few weeks ago a child was abducted and has not been seen since. We would like you to help us get him back.'

Avedissian was confused. 'But the police?' he began.

'Were never informed,' said Bryant.

Jarvis was as puzzled as Avedissian. 'I'm sorry, I don't understand, sir,’ he said.'

Bryant opened one of the desk drawers and brought out a photograph of a family group. He turned it towards Jarvis and Avedissian and held his forefinger to one of the children. 'This is the child,’ he said.

Avedissian felt his jaw drop and sensed Jarvis share his disbelief. 'Are you seriously telling us that one of the royal children has been kidnapped?' he asked.

'I am,’ replied Bryant.

'But how could something like that be kept secret?… And why?' asked an incredulous Jarvis.

‘Because of the repercussions,' replied Bryant.

‘I don't understand,’ said Avedissian. 'What repercussions?'

‘In the absence of any information to the contrary the IRA would be blamed and the backlash would be unstoppable,’

'Civil war, you mean?' said Jarvis.

'I do. Hard-line loyalists would swarm into Catholic estates and the streets would run red.'

'You said, "In the absence of any information to the contrary". Does that mean that you don't know who took the child?' asked Avedissian.

'Correct.'

'Then it could have been the IRA?' said Jarvis.

Bryant shook his head and said, 'No, we know it wasn't them.'

'How?'

'Because they have been asked for the ransom.'

'What?' exclaimed Avedissian and Jarvis almost together.

The kidnappers asked the IRA for the ransom, not us.'

'But why?'

'Presumably they thought the IRA would be easier to deal with and might want him just as badly to use as a bargaining measure.'

'But surely the IRA wouldn't touch it for the reasons you mentioned? There would be civil war.'

'The new leadership seems to think it's worth the risk,' said Bryant.

Avedissian, who had found himself being lulled into accepting everything that was being said, suddenly felt a sense of incredibility well up inside him. 'But how could something like this be kept secret?' he demanded. 'People must know the child is not there?'

'Officially, there has been a death threat made against the royal children. Security has been tightened and the family are maintaining a low profile, cancelling public engagements etc. Only a few trusted servants know that the child is really missing and they have been sworn to secrecy.'

'But there must be a limit to how long you can keep this up?' said Avedissian.

'Of course. That's why we must get the child back as quickly as possible now we know about the ransom demand.'

'How do you know about the demand?' asked Jarvis.

Bryant pressed a button on the desk and sat back for a moment in silence. At length the door opened and the woman who had met Avedissian and Jarvis on their arrival came in accompanied by another woman, who walked slowly as if she were stiff. It was Kathleen O'Neill.

'I think you two have already met,' said Bryant to Avedissian.

Avedissian got up and smiled at Kathleen who smiled back and said that it was nice to see him again. He enquired about her health and noted that the bruising to her face had subsided a good deal. Jarvis was introduced to her and they all sat down again.

Bryant said, 'It was Miss O'Neill who gave us the information about the ransom demand to the IRA. Apparently they were offered the child for some twenty-five million dollars just after he was taken but their leader, O'Donnell, hesitated for presumably the reasons that have been mentioned. But now there has been a change in the leadership. Kell is in command and he wants to bargain for the boy.'

'How does Miss O'Neill know all this?' asked Jarvis.

'I am Martin O'Neill's sister,' replied Kathleen O'Neill.

Bryant read the look on Jarvis's face and said, 'You are obviously wondering why we should believe a single word that the sister of one of the most wanted men in the province says?'

'Frankly, yes.’

‘Apart from the information that Miss O'Neill has given us about the ransom demand she also told us of a new alliance between the IRA and the INLA. She warned us that the INLA were going to hit the banks last Friday and which ones. She was largely responsible for our success in wiping them out in their attempt to raise money for the ransom.'

Avedissian turned to Kathleen O'Neill and asked simply, 'Why?'

'My brother, like Kevin O'Donnell, wanted the IRA to have nothing to do with this business. In fact O'Donnell ordered him to give the ransom note to the British but Kell found out.'

'What happened to your brother?'

'Kell had him shot before my eyes,’ replied Kathleen, looking down at her knees.

'But you managed to escape?'

'I was to be shot too, but the man detailed to do it had other plans for me first.'

'He was the one who beat you up?'

'Yes. After he raped me he fell asleep. I managed to knock him out and get away before he came round.'

'You've had a horrific experience,’ said Avedissian softly.

'I dare say the O'Neill family have been responsible for some horrific experiences of other people in their time,’ said Bryant coldly.

'So what happens now?' asked Jarvis.

'Two days ago the IRA placed an ad in The Times indicating their willingness to negotiate with the kidnappers. Our people will stay close.'

'Where will the IRA get the money?' asked Avedissian.

'Certainly not from the banks,’ said Bryant with a cold smile. It will have to come from outside interests.'

'Meaning?'

'NORAID,’ replied Bryant. 'Misguided, interfering American clowns.'

'But that much?' said Jarvis. Twenty-five million?'

'It's an all or nothing operation,’ said Bryant.

'And where do we come into it?' asked Avedissian.

'We have assembled a rescue team comprising people of every skill known to man. Drivers, climbers, parachutists, you name it, we have it. It will be their task to recover the child. When they have done their job the boy will be handed over to you two for the return home, while everyone else guards your rear, so to speak. It will be your job, Doctor, to look after the boy's health.'

'And me?' asked Jarvis.

'You will be the link between the team and Avedissian.'

'When do we start?' asked Avedissian.

'Soon.'

'And until then?'

'You will all remain here.'

'Miss O'Neill too?' asked Avedissian.

Bryant smiled and said, 'Her too. So far her information has proved invaluable to us. There is probably a lot more she can tell us about Kell and his people. There is a suite of rooms on the second floor where you will be comfortable. If there is anything else you want, no reasonable request will be denied.'