Back in the cell, I sat on the bed with my mind spinning. There was no way I could start telling lies within the Regiment. The only thing to do would be to admit the truth. But, Jesus — the humiliation of it! Not only had I broken all the rules and tried to take out a target on my own, but I’d failed to carry out the operation efficiently. I’d failed to recce the ground properly, failed to notice that I was under surveillance, failed in everything.
The minutes crawled past, and I felt sick with remorse. Nine o’clock. Tracy would be home by now. Suddenly I wanted contact with her. I’d promised to call.
I pressed the button beside the door, to sound the buzzer. Presently the hatch opened and a face appeared outside the grille.
‘Is it possible to make a telephone call?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘Can you make a call on my behalf?’
‘Only to inform someone that you’re in custody.’
Bloody hell! That was the last thing I wanted her to hear. So I said, ‘Forget it, then,’ and tried to settle down.
At last, about 9.30, there was a stir out in the corridor, and I heard several pairs of boots on the floor. The door of the cell swung open, and my heart jumped. There was Tom, a bit haggard and drawn, but big and reassuring all the same. I could have embraced the old bugger, I was so glad to see him.
‘Is this him?’ asked the custody sergeant.
‘It is.’
‘D’you want to have a word with him?’
‘Sure.’
They ushered Tom into the cell and closed the door. For a few seconds he stood looking at me as if I was a ghost. Then he said, ‘For fuck’s sake, Geordie, what’s this about?’
I glanced round the shiny yellow walls. ‘Tom, I can’t talk in here. I’m sure the place is bugged. For Christ’s sake get me out.’
‘Yes, but what the bloody hell have you been doing? You’ve dropped a king-sized bollock, I can tell you. The shit’s hit the fan in a big way. You’re a fucking disgrace to the Regiment.’
That was the nearest I’d ever heard Tom come to shouting. Then he calmed down a bit and said, ‘Don’t worry. We’re going. You’re not under arrest. But what the hell have you done?’
‘Nothing. I haven’t killed anybody. I haven’t threatened anybody. I haven’t damaged any property. Nothing.’
‘What’s the problem, then?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get out of here. There’s one thing, though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The bastards here have entered me in their records. I saw them doing it. We’ll need to get the entry erased.’
‘Don’t worry. That’s in hand. This has gone right to the head-shed in Hereford.’
‘Already?’
‘Yep. They’re closing everything down in double time. If any mention of it gets out, you’ll really be in it. Meanwhile, I’ve got to take responsibility for you. Let’s get you out of those fucking pyjamas, for a start.’
Tom banged on the door until someone opened it, then called for my kit to be returned. While I was dressing he went out to deal with the chief superintendent. I don’t know what arrangement he made, but somehow he got things well enough squared away to take me with him. The hire-car was still on my mind; I felt in the pocket of my windproof, and found that the keys had gone. I had visions of the Datsun sitting in the wood for weeks, and a phenomenal bill from the hire company winging in my direction. But when I mentioned the problem to the custody sergeant, he said the same thing as before: the car had been dealt with.
Tom had brought two vehicles, for mutual back-up, but as I rode back across the city in his company we couldn’t talk, because the driver was from the pool and possibly insecure. Only when we reached the ops room was it possible to open up.
By then it was eleven o’clock. The boss had come in, or stayed up, specially to see me. He sat at a desk, with me in front of him and Tom beside me, together with a clerk to take notes and work the tape recorder. I was relieved to find the atmosphere reasonably sympathetic; everybody was puzzled and worried, but not too hostile.
‘You look knackered, Geordie,’ the boss began. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
‘Not since lunch.’
‘What about a cup of tea?’
‘Great.’
‘And a sandwich? Yes.’ He called through the open door, ‘Get us a sandwich and a cup of tea, will you?’
As somebody went off to the canteen, he said, ‘By rights I should be sending you down to Lisburn, but there’s something big on there and they can’t deal with you. I can’t deal with you either, but I’ve been told to take down a preliminary statement. So — what happened?’
I told them everything — that I’d found out that Farrell was behind the bomb that killed Kath, and that I’d tracked him down and stalked him. When the boss asked how I’d got my information, I just said, ‘From the RUC.’ Then Tom asked where the Luger had come from, and I had to admit that I’d nicked it after the car hit. Everything I said seemed to sound flat and ordinary. There was nothing impressive about my performance, and I finished up lamely by saying, ‘I suppose I got a bit obsessed.’
‘You can say that again.’ Tom scratched his grizzled head. ‘You went off your bloody rocker.’
Somebody brought the sandwich and mug of tea, and I got them down me. I felt curiously calm, as if everything was now over and done with. I said, ‘Can I ask something?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘How was it I got lifted?’
The boss gave a wry smile. ‘I checked with the Det, and it appears you weren’t the only person chasing that target. People have been watching him for a couple of months. You’re right that he’s one of the leading players, and now he’s getting into drugs. Apparently our little plans are maturing nicely — so the last thing they wanted was to have Farrell topped just as he was about to lead them on to something hot. When you came on the scene, they weren’t very pleased.’
I sat silent as this information sank in, remembering how, on my first CTR, Farrell and his two companions had staggered from the Mercedes to the barn with those heavy cases. I thought, Should I mention that now? Then I decided not to, as I didn’t want to start being cross-examined by RUC agents. The boss jolted me back to the present by saying, ‘Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I can say is that you’re off back to Hereford first thing in the morning.’
I looked at Tom, as if to question the ruling, but he only said, ‘That’s you finished in Northern Ireland, right enough. You’d better shift your arse and get packed, because the chopper’s coming in at nine o’clock.’
It felt extraordinary to be back in camp so suddenly, so far ahead of expectations. People I knew were surprised to see me, and asked what was up. I took refuge in simple evasions — ‘Just back for a few days,’ and so on. In theory I could have been on leave, as guys from the troop got a week’s leave every month. But if I was on leave, why was I hanging around the Lines?
By the end of my first day back I’d had bollockings aplenty. But on the whole the mood was sombre rather than angry; there was no screaming and shouting, more puzzlement. When I went in on CO’s orders, I was sat down and told how stupid I’d been. ‘Surely you realize by now that we do things in small teams,’ the colonel said. ‘That’s the whole basis of the Regiment.’ He had very clear, pale blue eyes that penetrated like lasers, and now I was getting the full glare.
‘What we do not do is bugger off and try to carry out idiotic missions on our own. For all you knew — for all the checking you’d done — we could have been running an operation of our own against Farrell. You could have ended up shooting some of your own mates, or vice versa. It’s bad enough to have fallen foul of the HMSU. It makes us look a load of pricks. An own-goal would have been that much worse.’