Veil of Civility

Chapter Sixty-One

"Well, if nothing else," Shane said, as he looked around at their surroundings, "we've established that there is, in fact, a bunker underneath Greumach Manor. I can make a small fortune writing books about it from my jail cell. My kids will appreciate it, I'm sure."

Lying on one of the eight sets of barracks-style bunk beds that occupied the stone walled cellar they were in, Declan opened one eye and flashed a smile. "You don't have any kids."

After their failed attempt to win the aid of Lord Dennis Allardyce, they had been taken beneath the castle and locked in what appeared to be the barracks part of whatever there was underneath the small fortress. As they'd been led below, they'd passed through several oak doors that appeared to be as old as the castle itself, and that had been reinforced with iron beams. With each of the doors undoubtedly locked as Allardyce and his security guards had returned to the upper floors, escape was impossible. The only other entrance stood at the far end of the room and was secured with three iron crossbars that had been riveted to the stone walls. Whatever was beyond had obviously not been used in a very long time.

"Right," Shane said, standing from his own bunk and causing a cloud of dust to rise from the thin mattress. "Well, I'll find one of those old birds that have a thing for inmates, you know? We'll get married, have conjugal visits and adopt a whole cadre of orphans from around the world. Just like Brangelica."

"Brangelina."

"Right, whatever."

Shane was never beyond a joke, but Declan knew the seriousness of their situation wasn't lost on him. Without the help of Allardyce, not only would they both be arrested and tried for their various crimes, but the only hope of learning the identity of the person who'd passed Declan's information from Great Britain to America was gone and with it, the last chance he had of exposing the conspiracy he'd become the center of. While Allardyce had said he would “get the matter straightened out,” Declan couldn't think of anyone that the aristocrat would have contact with that would possibly know the truth of what was going on. Short of an undercover sting operation being run by the governments of both Great Britain and America to entrap the conspirators, Allardyce would only get the official version of the events which, as far as Declan knew, had been designed and directed by the people who had been controlling the investigation through Seth Castellano. Despite the gravity of his own situation, Declan rested easy knowing that Constance was in good hands. Fintan would protect her, help her change her identity, and while her life might not be what she'd hoped for, she'd be alive and in time could possibly find happiness again.

A loud sound echoed from outside the room and Declan knew immediately that it was the sound of the doors being opened along the hallway that led to their current location. But why? Had the authorities finally arrived to take him into proper custody? By his best estimation, it had been just over eight hours since he'd broken into Greumach Manor and confronted the MI5 director, and eight hours was almost exactly how long it had taken them to drive from London the previous day.

With another loud slam as one of the iron deadbolts was released, the door to the barracks room opened and two of the black-clad security guards slowly stepped in, each aiming a pistol. Neither Declan nor Shane moved as the two guards regarded them coolly for several moments. Finally, they stepped aside and Lord Dennis Allardyce appeared in the doorway, wearing the same clothes he had the previous night.

"Leave," Allardyce said, waving his two security guards out, "now."

The two men exchanged surprised looks and then slowly turned and left the room. Allardyce pushed the heavy wooden door closed behind them and took a deep breath. "I've spent the last several hours going over this," he said, as he tossed a thick file onto one of the two rectangular, wooden tables that separated the two rows of bunks. Dust shot into the stale air as the file landed with a thud. "It's very interesting reading, but it leaves a lot to be desired. Starting with the confirmed guilt of any of the one hundred or so men mentioned as possible suspects."

Declan looked at the legal-sized manila folder, its edges worn with age and its contents held inside by a thick rubber band. Faded red letters stamped on top of the folder read CLASSIFIED over the official seal of the United Kingdom's Cabinet Office. On the folder's tab the words PIRA — BLACK SHUCK were clearly visible in blue ink.

"Your name appears thirty-eight times in this file," Allardyce continued. "Every single mention of you is pure hearsay and speculation on the part of the informer, in fact every single mention of anyone in this file is hearsay and speculation, yet the American, and now the international, media seem to be under the impression that you've already been tried and found guilty of every possible crime listed."

"The radio show hosts don't call them the Drive-By media for nothing," Declan said, "guilty until proven innocent."

"Yes, well, your statements to me last night would, in fact, indicate your guilt, but I'm getting the feeling this isn't something you're interested in hiding anymore. Am I correct?"

"I'm sure every man listed in that file is guilty of something," Declan continued. "For my part, I was a member of the South Armagh Brigade of the Provisional IRA from 1986 until 1993. During that time I trained with a secret unit codenamed Black Shuck. But to answer your question, no one is guilty of Black Shuck, because the entire operation never made it past the intelligence-gathering phase. The attack the unit was created for never happened. The media believes I'm guilty because the people controlling the release of that information aren't interested in the truth. They're interested in burying my credibility, along with my lifeless body."

"And that's your saving grace," Allardyce said. "This information was provided on the condition that it would only be used to affect an arrest of the chief suspect, you, in both the bombing and subsequent assassination. However, the release of this information, in any form, to the media was not part of that deal. I may look like an aging politician, but I assure you I'm a military man with a long career in the world of espionage. I know a black bag job when I see one. My phone has been ringing off the hook since this hit the airwaves on Thursday afternoon and, despite having just taken this position over less than a month ago, it's been made clear to me that my leadership of the Security Service will be extremely short if I don't get a handle on this and keep it from becoming a very embarrassing episode for the government of the United Kingdom."

"You and I both know there's only one way that information was mishandled," Declan said. "On purpose. The person or people you released it to weren't working for who they said they were."

Allardyce nodded slowly. "Yes, well, they're not the only ones with contacts abroad. Before this file was delivered to me a few hours ago I spent time gathering information on the two of you. I was quite shocked at your identity, Mr. O'Reilly. Imagine my surprise when I learned that the legendary IRA informer, Homeless Viper, was a low ranking intelligence officer in my own Irish & Domestic Terrorism Department. One of our own aiding an international fugitive is a serious offense."

Shane grimaced and his eyes darted between Declan and Allardyce. "Declan's no fugitive. He's the best friend I've ever had and if you want to get to the bottom of this, he's the best friend you have."

"Yes. That would seem to be true. As far as I can tell there's only one person who's told me the truth since this entire thing began in the briefing room on Wednesday morning, and that's you, Mr. McIver. Try as I might, I cannot come up with any reason why you'd be involved in either the bombing or the assassination. You certainly have the experience to commit such an attack, your apparent friendship with Abaddon Kafni gave you the necessary access to commit such an attack, but as far as I can tell, you have absolutely no motivation to commit such an attack. The idea being passed around in the media that your motive is financial is ridiculous. You're sitting on nearly two million dollars in assets and your wife is heiress to another small fortune. If there's one thing you have in good supply, it's money."

"You've done your research," Declan said, flashing a brief smile.

"The man who requested that the Committee release its information on you is the London Station Chief of the American CIA."

Declan and Shane exchanged a knowing glance. "Just like we thought," Shane muttered.

"Where can I find him?" Declan asked.

"I'll take you to him."