The Judas gate

7

It was ten o'clock in the morning when Dillon and Holley turned up at Holland Park and found Roper in his usual place.

'You're late for breakfast,' Roper said.

'We've already had it,' Dillon said. 'Daniel and I had a night out. First Le Caprice. Wonderful food. Finished in the bar at the Dorchester with far too much champagne, then retired upstairs where my friend, being appallingly rich, has booked one of those Park Suites with two bedrooms.'

'What about the hangovers?'

'We don't indulge in those. I'm Irish and Daniel is half-Irish and his other half is Yorkshire, the biggest beer drinkers in the world.' Dillon grinned and, as Tony Doyle entered, said, 'Any chance of one of your big mugs of tea, Tony?'

'Coming right up, Mr Dillon.'

Daniel Holley had pulled a chair forward, sat down on it and started to scan the computer screens. Something caught his eye, and he said, 'What's this about Talbot International?'

'Colonel Henry Talbot passed on last night,' Roper said. 'It'll mean Justin Talbot will want the Chairman's seat for himself.'

'Which makes sense. The ultimate job for the man who's got everything. If you don't mind, Roper, let's have a look at him.'

Roper turned up a family history, which was considerable, stretching back to the Talbots' first appearance in Northern Ireland from Wales in the late seventeenth century.

'Scroll through,' Dillon said. 'Just show us glamour boy.'

Roper did as he was asked, but said, 'Why do you call him that?'

'Because he's too good to be true.' A photo came up of Talbot receiving his Military Cross from the Queen, a dazzling smile on his face.

'You can't argue with his service record,' Roper pointed out. 'Both Gulf Wars, Bosnia and Kosovo, two tours in Afghanistan, badly wounded and decorated during the second.'

Dillon said, 'No Irish time, what do you make of that?'

'Could be he opted out of service there.'

'But it was still a matter of choice,' Dillon told him. 'Somehow it doesn't fit the hero image. I bet if you started digging online, as only you can, you'd probably turn something up.'

'I'll see what I can do.'

A picture of Jean Talbot and Justin appeared on the screen and Holley said, 'Now there's a nice-looking lady.'

'Jean Talbot, his mother.' Roper's fingers moved. 'Here's her background.'

'Clever lady,' Holley said. 'Oxford and the Slade.'

'And look at the results,' Dillon pointed out. 'She won the Hollyfield Award for her portrait of the Queen Mother. Visiting Professor in Fine Art at London University.' He shook his head. 'I didn't think Colonel Henry had it in him to produce someone like that.'

'I'd say her mother had more effect than he did,' Roper said. 'Ah, here we are. Twenty-first of July, Nineteen sixty-four, delivered of a son named Justin Talbot. No entry for name of father.'

'Her privilege,' Holley said. 'Not to name the father. Could be all sorts of reasons.'

'I wonder how Colonel Henry took it?' Dillon said. 'At least he got an heir bearing his name.'

'Here we go: there's more,' Roper said. 'She bought a house in Marley Court, Mayfair, on the thirteenth of August, that year.' He nodded. 'So she was raising her son in London, not Ulster.'

'Probably didn't want her beloved father anywhere near the boy,' Dillon said. 'We'll leave you to it and indulge in a workout in the gym, followed by a sauna. Don't forget to turn over Talbot's dubious past.' Information of the type that Roper sought was impossible for most people to obtain, but Roper wasn't most people. Two hours of patient probing finally produced a result, and it was a treasure trove. He was sitting there when they returned.

'You seem deep in thought,' Dillon said.

'I've a lot to think about.'

'Justin Talbot?'

'I've printed it out. You can read it, but I wonder whether I should put a match to it.'

'As bad as that?' Dillon said.

Roper pressed his buzzer for Doyle. 'A first-rate soldier just doing what they told him to do, I suppose.' Doyle appeared and he said, 'Toilet, Tony, shower, clean everything, shirt and track suit.'

'Right, sir, let's go,' Doyle said.

'It's the jobs he handled on his own that I find astonishing,' Roper said to Dillon. 'A one-man killing machine. But you'll see for yourself.'

He switched on his wheelchair and cruised out, Doyle walking beside him. Dillon read it, then poured himself a whisky while Holley worked through it. 'What do you think?' Dillon asked.

Holley handed the report back. 'You and I have done as much. We're not soldiers of virtue, Sean, we are soldiers of fortune. A bad thing happened to me a long time ago and my response changed me forever, and made me what I am. I don't do it for money, I have money.' He shrugged. 'As long as it's bad people I'm up against, I don't care. I'm certainly not going to condemn Justin Talbot for what he's done. Every IRA member I've known told me he was fighting a war. That's exactly what Talbot was doing, only it was for the other side.'

Dillon smiled reluctantly. 'You're right, damn you.'

An Ulster Television news flash appeared on one of the screens, and a reporter in a dark suit read, 'The death of Colonel Henry Talbot at his home in County Down last night may seem by many to symbolize the end of an era of extreme politics for which there is no longer a place in Northern Ireland.'

'Well, that's telling them,' Dillon said.

The reporter continued, 'The funeral will be for family and friends only and followed by cremation.'

The news moved on and Dillon said, 'No Orange Order, no marching bands?' He shook his head. 'Just like the poet said, Daniel. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.'

'Maybe the family didn't like all that kind of thing in the first place. Maybe Justin's just trying to make a fresh start. You noticed they didn't give a where or when for the funeral.'

'You're right,' Dillon said. 'But I know where I can find out.'

'And where would that be?' Holley asked.

'My uncle on my mother's side, Mickeen Oge Flynn, lives at Collyban. I grew up there after my mother passed on, until my father took me to live in London when I was twelve. Mickeen is close to eighty now, but still runs a small garage with one mechanic who's been with him for years, a man named Paddy O'Rourke.'

'They sound like something out of an old Abbey Theatre play in Dublin.'

'Don't mock. I'm off to the library for some peace and quiet where I can have a word with him.' Flynn's Garage was on the edge of Collyban, and with its ancient pumps and concourse of cracked cement, it was probably as ancient as Mickeen Oge himself, a small, tough old man in a tweed suit and cap. He was badly needing a shave, but there was nothing new in that. The doors were up and the garage was surprisingly large, with four different old motor cars inside. Mickeen was seated at a desk in his old glass office, trying to sort a few bills, when his phone went.

'I don't know who it is, but I'm on my own at the moment and can't do a thing.'

'Would you listen, you silly old bugger? It's your only nephew.'

'Jesus, Sean, can it be true? Where are you calling from?'

'London.'

'Are you coming to see me?'

'Not at the moment, but I'm hoping you can help me.'

At that moment, the old recovery truck drove in, Paddy O'Rourke at the wheel. Mickeen said, 'A wee minute, Sean.' He called, 'Get on with the new tyres for the front wheels on Father Grady's car.' He returned, 'Sorry, Sean, in what way?'

'Colonel Henry Talbot's just died.'

'I know. Last night it was.'

'Ulster Television has just said that the Talbots are going to have a very private cremation ceremony for the family and friends, but they didn't say where and when.'

'They've been doing that since nine-thirty to get the public used to the idea that the family don't want a fuss. Kilmartin's behind them. The Talbots' housekeeper is wife to Jack Kelly, the old IRA chief. Half the villagers work the estate and they know they're all on a damn good thing.'

'Justin Talbot and the family must be glad of the support, being Protestants.'

'Christ, you know nothing, Sean. Justin Talbot's a good Catholic. It's emerged that his mother had him baptized for his dying father's sake, and kept it from Colonel Henry. The wrong side of the blanket, that one.'

Dillon was astonished. 'I would think that piece of news would have been enough to send old Henry flying into the next world. But you still haven't told me where and when. Do you know?'

'Of course I do. I slipped down to the pub for a quick one half an hour ago. Ould Henry will be into the oven at three-thirty over at Castlerea. Nobody would ever expect it so fast, so it'll be over and done with before they know it.'

'But somebody's leaked it,' Dillon said.

'Only the locals, and nobody's going to go ringing up a newspaper or anything.'

'I'm sure some people will turn up. Would you be thinking of going yourself?'

'Well, now that you mention it, I could take a quick spin that way.'

'Why don't you do just that and let me know what it was like.'

'I'll be in touch, so I will. God bless you, Seaneen. I'd love to come over to London and see you, but I'm too old for the travelling, so there it is.'

He put the old phone back and went to check on how O'Rourke, another old man, was getting on. He had the priest's car jacked up and had already replaced the first tyre.

'Was that Sean you were talking to?' O'Rourke said.

'It was indeed, all the way from London.'

'Is he coming to see you or what?'

'And why would he be coming back to Collyban, the arse end of the world?' Mickeen shrugged. 'Just checking I'm still alive.'

'Well, to get down to business, there's a problem with the exhaust on Father O'Grady's car. Do I take it into Newry and get a replacement?'

'He'll scream blue murder about the price. He's away at the moment, so there's no rush. Leave it up on the jack when you've finished the wheels and I'll have a look at it later. I've decided to go for a wee drive and see what's happening with the Talbot funeral at the Castlerea crematorium.

'I didn't have my lunch,' O'Rourke said.

'So you'll have a late one. They keep the Irish stew simmering all day long down at the Green Man. Just finish the tyres like I tell you while I search the cottage for a tie. You can't go to a funeral without a tie,' and he walked out and left O'Rourke there.

At Talbot Place, Justin waited in the study for his mother to join him. He wore not only a black suit but the tie to go with it, presenting a more sombre picture than he cared for, but this was Ireland and it was expected.

He was about to get himself a drink when the Preacher phoned him. 'I was wondering when I was going to hear from you,' Talbot said as he opened a French window and went out on to the terrace.

'I won't offer my condolences,' Hassan Shah said. 'I doubt they'd be appreciated.'

'A time for rejoicing, as far as I'm concerned,' Talbot told him. 'The future beckons.'

'There are infinite possibilities for us working together,' Shah said.

'There are infinite possibilities for Talbot International to expand in world markets.'

'You have so much,' Shah said, 'and yet you want more.'

'Nothing is enough,' Talbot told him, and switched off. He swallowed a large vodka, then went out into the Great Hall to find the Kellys and Tod Murphy. His mother, dressed completely in black including a hat, was just coming downstairs. Her make-up was perfect, but her face was an ivory mask. A wake was expected later, and several village girls supervised by Emily were setting up long tables at one end of the hall. Throwing convention to the winds, Justin Talbot had insisted the coffin would be waiting for them at the crematorium, but the funeral company had provided a driver and a black Voltern which could accommodate them comfortably.

Emily said to Jean, 'God bless you, my dear, everything will be ready by the time you return.'

'Thank you,' Jean said. 'Do you think many will come?'

Emily was shocked. 'But of course. They'll abide by your wishes over the funeral, but they'll want to pay their respects afterwards.'

A horn sounded outside. Justin Talbot said, 'I'd say that's for us.' He gave his mother his arm. 'All right, love, let's get this over with.' Paddy O'Rourke sat at the end of the bar, drinking his Guinness. Except for two old men playing dominoes in the corner, the pub was empty. Martin Curry, the landlord, entered and put a plate of Irish stew in front of him.

'Get your head round that.'

Paddy started, glancing up at the bar clock. 'Two-thirty. Only another hour to go and ould Colonel Henry burns in Hell.'

'Good riddance to him,' Curry said. 'Where's Mickeen? He was in early for a drink, but he hasn't eaten.'

'He decided to take a run over to Castlerea and see the Talbot funeral.'

'Now why would he do that when everyone knows the family don't want a fuss?'

'I'm not sure. He was having a chat on the phone to his nephew Sean in London. From what I heard, they were discussing the funeral and so on.'

Martin Curry said, 'By his nephew, Sean, you're speaking of Sean Dillon?'

'Well, Mickeen's only got the one. Big for the Provos in his day, Sean.'

'And big for the Brits now,' Curry said. 'What were they talking about?' He poured another drink. 'On the house.' The chapel at Castlerea Crematorium was supposed to be open to any member of the public who wished to enter, but not that afternoon, not with a visible Provisional IRA presence arranged by Kelly, several large and intimidating men in dark suits making it plain to the public that they weren't welcome.

There was a pleasant memorial park surrounding the chapel and other buildings and, here and there, individuals were visiting their loved ones or delivering flowers. Mickeen pretended to be such a person and was at least able to observe the hearse waiting by the chapel door. The Voltern appeared with the party from Talbot Place and everyone got out and waited.

Jack Kelly produced a mobile and answered it for a minute or so, glancing round, then put it in his pocket, moved to the men guarding the door and spoke to one of them. The man turned and was obviously searching the memorial park and Mickeen moved away. One look had been enough to tell him who they were and, for the first time, it occurred to him that he might have been foolish to come.

The service in the chapel, with the well-meaning vicar and the piped music, could not have been over too soon for Justin, who felt a certain release as they went out to find it raining.

Jean and Hannah were talking to the vicar and Kelly pulled Justin over. 'Sean Dillon, the one who works for Ferguson, was born in Collyban. He left for London at twelve, but his uncle, Mickeen Oge Flynn, owns the garage there.'

'So get on with it, Jack. Is there some problem?'

'His garage mechanic says he overheard Mickeen having a telephone conversation from London with Dillon. From what he heard, they were discussing the funeral and the fact that you wanted to keep it private. Mickeen said he knew it was today and that he'd attend.'

'And did he?'

'As you can see, there are a few people in the memorial park.'

The two women had got into the car and sat waiting. Talbot said in a low, dangerous voice, 'Can't you give me a straight answer? Did he come?'

'Yes, one of the men thinks he saw him.'

Talbot produced a silver hip flask, opened it and swallowed vodka. As he closed it, he said, 'Charles Ferguson is a major problem in my life, and Sean Dillon seems to be his top enforcer, so when he phones a relative who lives only seven miles from my own home and the said relative turns up as he has done, I get highly suspicious. Tell my mother and Hannah to carry on. Say we'll see them soon.'

'Then what?' Kelly asked.

'Get one of the men to give you his car and we'll take a quick trip to Collyban, just you and me.' At the garage, Mickeen found O'Rourke brushing the floor. 'I'll finish Father Grady's car in the morning,' he said. 'How were the service and the cremation?'

'It was like a Provisional IRA convention, with Jack Kelly and a few of his men from Kilmartin discouraging the public from going in the chapel. It didn't seem healthy to stay around, so I came away. Get off with you now and I'll see you later for a drink.'

'I'll do that,' Paddy said and went out.

It was after five, and Mickeen stood there thinking about what had happened. The presence of so many old IRA hands had given him a shock. People like that were still a power to be reckoned with. Paddy had left the priest's car on the jack so, with nothing better to do, he switched on the inspection lamp, eased his old bones down, his back on the trolley, and rolled underneath the car.

He was aware of footsteps approaching and stopped his inspection. 'Can I help you?'

He had turned his head and seen two pairs of shoes and started to roll on the trolley but, as his head appeared from underneath the car, he stopped as a foot stamped beside it.

'Stop right where you are,' Justin Talbot told him. Mickeen stared up at him, suddenly afraid. 'Do you know who I am?'

'Yes, Mr Talbot.'

'And you know me well enough,' Jack Kelly said, and Mickeen nodded.

'Why did you try to come to my grandfather's funeral?' Talbot demanded.

'Sure, and I thought it would be open to anyone.'

'And how did you know that it was happening when it was?'

'Everyone in Collyban knew, Mr Talbot. They were all talking about it in the Green Man. Somebody you thought you could trust must have blabbed.'

And because he knew very well that was the logical explanation, Talbot become even more incensed. 'And what about your nephew, Sean Dillon? I know you've spoken to him earlier. What was that all about?'

'Nothing at all, Mr Talbot.' Mickeen was desperate. 'He's family. He just called me from London to say hello.'

'You're lying,' Talbot shouted. 'There's more to it than that. Tell me, damn you.'

He kicked at Mickeen's face, catching the edge of the trolley, sending him swinging further under the car. He almost fell over himself, grabbed at the raised handle of the hydraulic jack, releasing it, and the car subsided. Mickeen cried out in agony and then there was only silence.

Kelly shoved Talbot out of the way, reached for the handle and quickly raised the car. He crouched, picked up the inspection lamp and leaned in. Mickeen's face was covered in blood, there was torn flesh on the forehead and he detected bone. It was a dreadful sight and he moved back.

'You've done for him.'

'Are you certain?' Talbot said.

'See for yourself. Would you think anyone could survive injuries like that?'

'I've seen men wounded in battle survive some terrible things, and not just when I'm Shamrock. It would be simple to make sure if I had a pistol.' Talbot was strangely calm now. 'Do you have one?'

'No, I don't.'

'I assumed you always carried.'

'Not any more,' Kelly said. 'Only on certain occasions, and today wasn't supposed to be one.' He checked Mickeen again. 'No, I say he's dead.'

He lowered the car again and Talbot said, 'Why are you doing that?'

'So that when they find him, they'll think it was an accident. Now let's get out of here.'

They ran through the rain to the BMW and got in. As Kelly drove away, Talbot said calmly, 'Well, that's taken care of that. Dillon won't be pleased about his uncle, but the stupid old bastard had it coming.' He turned to look at Kelly, that strange cold smile on his face. 'Don't you agree?'

And Jack Kelly, not happy at all, managed a nod. 'Yes, I suppose you're right.'

'Good, then let's get back to the house as soon as possible. They'll be wondering what's happened to us.' It was Paddy O'Rourke, walking down to the pub, who noticed that there were no lights on in either the house or the garage and went to investigate. What he found when he raised the car again horrified him. Like Kelly, he assumed the worst, but called the county air ambulance service, which served remote country areas.

For some reason, he didn't want to leave his old friend, so didn't go seeking help, just sat there holding Mickeen's cold and apparently lifeless hand. After twenty minutes, he heard the sound of the approaching helicopter. He had switched on all the garage lights and went out and waved frantically, and a Chinook helicopter settled on the forecourt, bringing out all the customers in the Green Man, headed by Martin Curry.

The paramedics wasted no time, examining Mickeen, then pulling a kind of turban over his head, strapping him to a special stretcher and taking him inside the Chinook. As O'Rourke watched, they worked on the old man until he was festooned with tubes and bottles.

One of the paramedics shouted, 'You're the one who found him? Give me your name and phone number. The police will want to speak to you. It's a good thing you found him when you did.'

'I thought he was dead,' O'Rourke shouted.

'Almost.'

'Where are you taking him, Newry?'

'No, the Seaton Hospital in Belfast. They have a great neurological unit. Only forty miles. We'll have him there in no time.'

He scrambled back inside, the Chinook lifted and was away. The crowd moved back to the pub. Curry said, 'What happened?'

'He was working under the car and the jack slipped or something and the car fell on him.'

'Where did they say they were taking him?'

O'Rourke told him, and Curry said, 'That's a great hospital. They'll look after him. Anyway, you've earned a drink this night, Paddy, so join me in the pub.' The wake was in full swing and half the village seemed to be there, enjoying the spread offered by Emily and her helpers on the well-stocked tables. And drink was taken, of course, as one would expect at an Irish wake.

Jean Talbot was working her way through the tenants and she paused to greet her son. 'Where have you been? I was worried.'

'Something Jack and I needed to sort out, didn't we?'

Secrets again. She knew instantly from his heightened colour and his glittering eyes. 'Whatever it is, just calm down. Have a word with Father Cassidy, I really think you should.'

He was exasperated and sounded it. 'If that's what you want.'

Young Jane was passing with a tray of glasses of champagne. He took two. 'Good girl,' he said and, as he turned away, emptied one glass in a quick swallow. He looked around the room, saw no sign of the priest. The study door had been closed for privacy, but he found Cassidy in there, sitting in a wing-backed chair leafing through a book.

'Too noisy for you out there?' Talbot said as he closed the door.

'I'm getting old; the years are overtaking me. How are you bearing up, you and your mother?'

'As if a very great weight has been lifted from our shoulders.' Justin tossed back his champagne.

Cassidy glanced up at the empty wall above the fireplace. 'I see you haven't wasted any time in taking down your grandfather's portrait.'

'They have a weekly bonfire behind the stables. I had considerable pleasure in consigning the portrait to the flames personally.'

There was a certain amount of pain on Cassidy's face. 'The man has passed on, Justin, let go, renounce this continuing hatred.'

'Forgiveness, is that what you're preaching today? Forget how I suffered, Father – the way he treated my mother was abominable.'

'Forgiveness is everything. Christ even forgave Judas when he stepped in through the gate at the Garden of Gethsemane to betray him.'

'Well, as he hanged himself, it didn't do him much good.'

'Because he couldn't forgive himself,' Cassidy said. 'Once he stepped through that gate – the Judas gate, as it has become known – there was no going back. It's the same for all of us when our actions betray our loved ones, we also betray ourselves.'

Talbot took it badly. 'Are you suggesting this applies to me?'

Before Father Cassidy could reply, the door opened and Jack Kelly looked in. 'Ah, there you are, Justin. Could I have a word? It's important.'

Justin was so angry that he didn't even excuse himself, and followed Kelly through the crowd and out of the front door. They stood in the porch, rain falling.

'What's the problem?' Talbot asked.

'I've heard from Curry at Collyban. Mickeen was found by his mechanic, who called in the air ambulance service and the Chinook flew in.'

'So what are you telling me?'

'They found a spark of life.'

Talbot grabbed him by his tie. 'You said he was dead.'

'And well he might be. They're delivering him to the neurological unit at the Seaton Hospital in Belfast. Plenty of people on the staff there are sympathetic to our cause. We'll have no difficulty finding out what's going on.'

'If he gets to open his mouth, I'm finished,' Talbot said.

'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it,' Kelly said. 'In the state he's in, he could die at any minute. For the moment, I want you to carry on as normal. Don't discuss this with anyone, and that certainly means your mother.'

'Did Mickeen have any kin in Collyban?'

'All gone abroad years ago.'

'So Sean Dillon could be his only relative.'

'I'd say so, and I know what you're getting at. He's bound to be informed one way or the other.'

'Then I'll have to be ready for him,' Talbot said.

'With a pistol under your pillow?' Kelly shook his head. 'You'll need more than that with Dillon. Anyway, I'm off to make some calls to Belfast. I'll talk to you later.'

He hurried away through the rain and Talbot turned and went back in. A match flared in the depths of the great porch, revealing Jean Talbot lighting the cigarette she'd come out to enjoy earlier when she'd been interrupted by the arrival of her son and Kelly.

Secrets, always secrets. As she inhaled, the glow of the cigarette illuminated that porcelain face and dark eyes. On the other hand, there was a mystery man named Sean Dillon. Perhaps there were things she could find out about him. She flicked her cigarette out into the rain and returned inside.