Kitty's Hive

Prologue

London, England

June 1953

William Barry

The police van swerved violently. William gripped the metal bench in an attempt to steady himself just as they came to a bone-jarring halt. William’s guard, who reacted a moment too late, was thrown from the bench and fell forward on top of his prisoner. There was a loud bang at the back doors. They burst open and two men leapt in. Their faces were hidden by wool scarves, their eyes shadowed by cloth caps pulled low and one still carried a crowbar. As the guard struggled to his feet the first man caught him by the back of his uniform jacket and smashed his head against the edge of the bench. It sounded to William like a croquet ball being struck, hard, by a mallet. A hollow, cracking, sound. The guard slumped to the floor, blood oozing from the wound on his forehead. Even as he fell, the second man seized William and shoved him toward the open doors. He stumbled over the body of the guard, almost landed headlong on the road, and was grabbed by unseen hands. They hauled him upright, half-dragged, half-elbowed him down a side-street toward a waiting car. The engine was running; a driver sat behind the wheel. A heavy-set man stood at the open front passenger door, his face also disguised by muffler and cap. William recognized him instantly. Monaghan! The man’s bulk and his belligerent, shoulders back waiting for a fight, stance, and his perpetually clenched fists, would give him away anywhere.

When they were close enough William’s captors released his arms and shoved him toward Monaghan. The big man opened the back door and pushed him in. William stumbled, put out his hands to try and break his fall, landed awkwardly. Get on the floor, you fool, and throw that blanket over you, Monaghan snarled.

William did as he was told. He felt Monaghan sit heavily into the front seat. He barked Go as he slammed the door closed. The car accelerated away.

With the blanket over his back and head as best he could, and unable to lie completely flat, William crouched on his elbows and knees, his stomach arched over the central bulge of the transmission.

Get yer arse down, Barry, we’re not playing hide and bloody seek here.

He tried to crouch lower. Monaghan leant back and tugged at the blanket to cover him fully. It reeked of engine oil, petrol, and dirt.

They drove at breakneck speed through the London streets, Monaghan shouting a stream of invective at him as they went. Blabbing your mouth off in a pub. Drawing attention to yourself everywhere. What are you, a bloody amadan?

William was tossed from side to side, and back and forth as the car swerved, turned corners, and occasionally slowed.

Making yourself out to be some kind of Robin Hood, so that the police had you watched.

They hurtled around yet another corner. William was thrown forward, against the door. He hit his head on the handle, was stunned for a moment, then crouched lower, on his elbows, trying to protect his head with his hands. And still Monaghan shouted.

You stupid damn fool. You could have wrecked everything with your boasting blather.

Swerving around another sharp turn, William tried to grip the edge of the back seat to steady himself. It didn’t help.

What the devil did you think would happen if you shouted your mouth off like that? Thought you’d get a bloody medal from the British Government did you?

William heard the furious man punch something, hard. Probably the dashboard.

"Now we’ve had to use valuable time, and men, to get you out. And everyone else has to go to ground."

Several times during the tirade William tried to interrupt, to defend himself, but Monaghan ignored him. In between his abuse and ranting, he made it clear the movement was only helping him to escape, not because he deserved it, but because they didn’t trust him, because they didn’t want him to identify any other members of the group. At one point the Irishman became so angry he yanked back the blanket, pounded his fist on the side of the driver’s seat and bellowed at William, his face twisted with fury, I know your kind; glory hunters! Undisciplined, adolescent gob-daws with bugger-all common sense and less reason. God knows why they let you join the movement. You’d probably send us all to the gallows if it came to deal-making with those bastards, just to save your own precious, Brit hide! He threw the blanket back over William’s head in disgust.

From under the blanket William denied that he would ever betray the movement, tried to explain he wasn’t really British. Monaghan shouted over his protests.

We’ve had to risk our bloody necks to get you out and away from here before the coppers put up their bloody road blocks.

Eventually, mercifully, he was silent. Hopefully, he had run out of invective.

***

William guessed they had been driving for about two hours before the car slowed to turn a final corner, and stopped. He didn’t move. The silence, when Monaghan stopped, was almost worse than the shouting. He’d had plenty of time to consider what had happened, was happening, and what might happen next. Now, raw panic made his stomach clench, and sweat soaked his shirt. Were they going to kill him? Is that how they intended to deal with him?

The door opened, the blanket was yanked off. Monaghan ordered him out. He had to squint to see his surroundings; the bright sunlight hurt his eyes. They had stopped in a narrow country lane. Another car was parked further along the lane, tucked in the dappled shadows of a tall oak tree. Monaghan manhandled William toward it. Without a word the new driver flicked away his half-smoked cigarette, climbed in, and started the engine.

So, he wasn’t going to die here, then.

Where are you …?

Shut up. You’ll get your instructions once you’re out of the country. Monaghan opened the rear passenger door. He thrust his face so close William could smell the nicotine and stale food on his breath, see his yellowed teeth, and the bristles on his unshaved chin. Cap and scarf were gone now.

I never want to see your sorry face again, Barry. D’you hear me? Now get in there, get down, and keep quiet. He pushed William into the car, threw the blanket in after him, and slammed the door. The car pulled away immediately.

William’s knees and elbows were sore from crouching; his back hurt and his head throbbed where he’d banged it earlier. His mouth was dry and he realized he should have relieved himself when he had the chance. But he didn’t dare to say anything, and this driver was as silent as the last.

Where were they taking him? ‘Out of the country’ Monaghan had said. Why? William tried to make sense of what was happening. Monaghan said he had been ‘blabbing’ in the pubs, but he’d only been standing up for the cause, supporting a united Ireland. Wasn’t that what it was all about? Nothing illegal about that! And, how could he have betrayed them? He didn’t know anything that he could betray them about, never been given a mission. They’d kept telling him he was a ‘sleeper’ that they would use when needed; that he was just to lie low and wait.

He’d lived in that disgusting bedsit for a year, along with Carmody and Phelan, lying low and waiting. In all that time none of them had done anything illegal. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been arrested. The plainclothes policemen his landlady brought to the door said it was the Prevention of Violence Act. But he hadn’t committed any violence. William had been confident his court appearance would be the end of it. So why was the movement making all this effort to help him escape? Monaghan said they thought he might betray them. But betray who? Carmody and Phelan? They were the only members he knew, and Monaghan of course, his minder and contact.

His roommates had gone missing from the bedsit a week before his arrest, with no explanation. William assumed they had gone home for a while. They had done that before, and at least they could.

Oh, dear God! William suddenly realized what they might have done. Why they might have disappeared from the bedsit. He just hadn’t added two and two. The newspapers were full of it. They said there had been an attempt to explode a bomb as the queen passed by on the way to her coronation. But the device hadn’t gone off. No one even knew about it until the next day when it was found by refuse collectors. They thought it looked suspicious and called the police.

No, oh no, surely not! Not Carmody and Phelan! Not the new queen!

Fresh sweat soaked his armpits, the small of his back. Dear God, don’t let it have been them!

***

William thought they must have driven for another two or three hours before they stopped again. When they did he stayed where he was, not even trying to peek from beneath the blanket. He was too scared, too terrified to move. Had Monaghan simply lulled him into a false sense of security? Was this new man going to kill him? Here? Now? But Monaghan had said he would get ‘further instructions’. Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it?

The driver’s door opened, then William’s door, and a voice said Get out. He was so stiff he wasn’t sure he would be able to move, but the driver caught him by his arm, dragged him out, and pulled him upright. It was quiet, and dark. The only light came from the dimmed headlights of the car. They shone on an untidy cluster of fish baskets and nets, casting long, lacy shadows on the cobbles. William could smell the salt of the sea air, and the stink of fish. It must be a small fishing harbor, though he had no idea where. Their car was parked at the start of the pier. William rubbed life back into his arms and legs. It was good just to be able to stand, to stretch his limbs.

His driver again grabbed him by the elbow. Move it. Shift yer arse, Barry.

I need to …

The driver released him, pushed him toward the harbor wall. Make it fast, and stay where I can see you.

As soon as William returned the man forced him along the shadowy pier toward a lone fishing boat moored at the far end. As they walked closer William could just see a faint light in the wheelhouse and the silhouette of man standing there, watching their approach.

The driver whistled softly, two crewmen appeared from a darkened hatchway. They helped William aboard and the larger man hustled him down a metal ladder. He directed him into a cabin and closed and locked the door as he left. The place reeked of fish, diesel oil, and stale sweat. William heard the crewman’s return up the ladder, then a muffled conversation above. He couldn’t make out the words. After a few minutes the men stop talking and everything was very quiet.

Had they been told to throw him overboard at sea? Was that how they were going to do it? He felt sick with fear.

The engine burbled into life, reached a steady, low chugging, and a stronger smell of diesel fumes seeped into his cabin. William assumed the vessel was moving slowly away from the harbor. His stomach roiled. He just had time to lean over the small basin before he began to retch. Acid bile burned his throat and mouth. He stayed, bent over the sink, until his stomach muscles ached and he thought he could vomit no more, then he sat on the side of a bunk, scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, and tried to clear his thoughts. Where were they going? What could he do to help himself? He knew he couldn’t have escaped from the cars, and he could hardly escape from a boat! Wherever they were going, he had no choice. He was a fugitive from justice now, thanks to Monaghan and his cronies. And he was just as much a prisoner here as he had been in jail.

He was overwhelmed with tiredness, needed to rest. He lay on the bunk, too exhausted to care about the smells, or who else might have slept there. The thud, thud, thud, of the engine soothed him. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

****

He must have dozed off. When William woke he looked around, confused. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and what had happened. He sat up, wondered how long he’d been on the boat, how much longer he would be kept here. He was hungry and thirsty. It was a long time since he had eaten, or had anything to drink. He heard the clatter of feet on the companionway, the door was shoved open, and the heavily-built crew member told him to follow him up on deck.

Ahead, the sky was the deep purple of pre-dawn. Behind them, low on the horizon, the first hint of the morning sun colored the edge of navy clouds. He felt the boat turn, again peered into the darkness ahead, and saw a light flashing in the distance. Dark shapes rose behind the flashing light. They were coming into a harbor.

The crewman handed him a scrap of paper. When we tie up, fetch your way to this house; it’s not too far from the harbor. Just go straight up the hill, and keep to your right at the fork by the church. The people there will get you across the country.

William peered to where the crewman pointed, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. They were heading directly toward a squat lighthouse at a harbor entrance. He could make out a line of neat, whitewashed cottages that snaked up the hill away from the harbor. Halfway up the hill he could see the spire of a church, and to the left, closer to the harbor, he saw the enormous, solid, mass of a derelict magazine tower.

He knew where he was! Howth! His family had visited here when he was younger. Howth was close to Dublin. He had been brought to the Irish Republic. Thank God! He would be safe here.

The sun, creeping above the horizon, turned the white cottages to pink, then gold. They were white again by the time they put him ashore. The crewman had seemed disinclined to say anything more after handing him the paper, and the others completely ignored him as they busied themselves securing mooring ropes, and hauling dripping baskets of fish from the hold. William made the slippery jump onto the pier, waved a token thanks to the crewman who continued to watch him, and made his way along the pier. It was good to breathe the fresh air, to have a sense of freedom. He was in Ireland!

He looked down at the piece of paper and considered it for a moment. His uncle Thomas lived in Fairview. If he remembered correctly that wasn’t too far from Howth. Uncle Thomas would surely help him; tell him what he needed to do. Far better to do that than to go to a stranger’s house. Who knew what they would be like, how they would be, or what they might do. No, much better to talk to Uncle Thomas before he did anything else. Who better to trust? He didn’t know anyone else in Dublin, but still… family was family after all. And he was in the Republic now. He was safe here. Why would he need to be helped across the country?

William stood in the shadow of the granite block wall at the entrance to the pier, close to the station. Perhaps he could travel some of the way on the tram? He thrust his hands into his pockets. No money, nothing, except for a handkerchief. The warden hadn’t even returned his watch, told him he didn’t need it for court. So, no money for a tram or a taxi. Then William looked down at his clothes. What was he thinking of? Getting public transport! Stupid! He must look a complete mess. His ‘court appearance’ suit was in a sorry state, with dirt ground into the elbows and knees; his shirt was no better, sweat-soaked and grubby. He rubbed his hand over the faint stubble of his beard. He was unshaven, unwashed, and without even a comb for his hair. He probably didn’t smell too good either.

No, he would have to make for his uncle’s house on foot, try to remember the way. If he was right, it was probably only three or four miles. He could walk that. To be on the safe side, once he left Howth, he avoided main roads. He didn’t want to attract attention.

***

The walk took him longer than he expected and it was full daylight by the time William arrived at Bailey Street. Thankfully he recognized the street, and the house, because he’d not been able to remember the address. As he walked he had tried to decide how he would explain his situation. He just hoped his uncle would be more understanding than his parents had been when they learned of his association with the IRA, and then his arrest.

He watched the house from the corner for a while, to be sure there was no one lurking around, waiting for him. He finally ran his fingers through his hair, wiped his hands down the sides of his pants. Taking a deep breath he crossed the street and knocked on the door. It was the maid who answered the knock and almost closed it on him before he could explain who he was. When he did she sniffed her disapproval, and let him in. She made him wait in the hall, just inside the door, and said she would go and fetch his Aunty Kitty.

Chapter 1

Hennessy

The bicycle, ridden by Patrick Hennessy – Garda Sergeant Patrick Hennessy – glided down Bailey Street and slowed to a halt outside number twenty three. The sergeant alighted and lifted the black-painted, well-oiled, and spotlessly clean bike over the curb. Carefully resting it against the garden wall he bent to remove his bicycle clips, stowed them safely in his pocket, and checked that the cuffs of his uniform trousers sat neatly over his high-polished boots. He tugged at his jacket to remove any possible rumpled appearance, ensured his cap was straight and that the badge was in direct alignment with his nose, then stepped to the gate.

A woman knelt at the entrance to the house porch, her back to the roadway and her elbows pumping back and forth as she scrubbed at the speckled-grey granite step. Her neat, floral-wrapped behind waggled rhythmically as she did so. The sergeant paused briefly to admire the woman’s diligence before he quietly unlatched the gate.

Still, she must have heard the faint scrape of metal on metal because she glanced behind her. Seeing the sergeant, she sat back on her haunches, and waited.

He tipped his cap. Good morning to you, Ma’am. Would the gentleman of the house be in?

The woman tossed the scrubbing brush into the bucket of murky water and struggled to her feet. As she did so Hennessy brushed a few of the splashed water droplets from his trouser leg. Once standing, the woman rested her hands on her hips and glared up at the policeman.

"I’ll thank you to close that gate behind you if you don’t mind,