Read Online Pray for Us Sinners by Patrick Taylor - Free Book Online Page B

what the forensic wallahs can find. Traces of explosives, burnt powder, lead from bullets, blood.” He paused. “An action squad from One Battalion raked the van with automatic fire. Killed the driver of the van, Sapper Ted Stuart. Nice young lad, I’m told.” He crushed out his cigarette. “Lance Corporal Sarah Jane Warke was lucky to escape with her life.”
    â€œSounds a bit dodgy to me,” Marcus said.
    â€œIt’s that, all right.” The major looked him directly in the eye. “I’ll not lie to you. It’s bloody dangerous. But we’re in a bind. MRF’s pretty well gone. The information I just gave you is hush-hush, by the way.”
    Marcus was flattered by the confidence.
    The major lowered his voice. “We’ve got to find a way in. Without intelligence, you’re blind.” The major’s jaundiced eyes narrowed. “We have to beat those Provo bastards. You will be a great help, you know.”
    Marcus warmed to the praise.
    â€œKeep up your studies, Mike.”
    It still felt funny to be called by another man’s name.
    â€œRight.” The major stood and moved to the door. “That’s enough from me for one day. Back to your books. Captain Warnock’s coming over from Stirling Lines next week. Give you a crash course in fieldcraft and surveillance.”

 
    TWELVE
    THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 14
    It was a hell of way to spend Saint Valentine’s Day, alone in a cramped kitchen. A week now since Fiona had gone, and Davy missed her sorely. He ached to see her, but he knew that she had made up her mind and would not budge unless he did as she had asked.
    Jimmy had been round on Saturday. He always came on Saturdays, had done for years. He’d tried to plead with Davy to do what she wanted, even hinted that he was thinking about quitting himself. He had a son and daughter in Canada. Both of them had been suggesting for years that Jimmy and his wife should emigrate and join one of them.
    Davy had known Jimmy’s kids since they were wee. Fergus and Siobhan had been like the children he’d never had. Never would have now. Fiona had said that as long as he was a Provo she’d bear him none.
    A ginger tomcat appeared on the window ledge, jumped on soundproof paws to the linoleum floor, sat, surveyed Davy, and began to wash. Davy watched as the animal hoisted one hind leg behind a tattered ear and began to lick its arse. It looked as though the cat was playing a cello.
    â€œHome, are you, McCusker? Do you miss her, too?”
    Fiona had left the tom behind. Davy remembered laughing when she told him the animal had been named for Bobby Greer’s pet on the BBC radio serial The McCooeys . The fictitious Greer’s cat had a taste for “soup with peas in.”
    He rose from where he sat at the table, leaving the remains of his supper, glad of the animal’s company. He bent and scratched McCusker’s head. “It’s all right for you. You can come and go as you please.”
    The cat stopped washing and pushed his head against Davy’s hand.
    â€œDo you think maybe we should enroll a few cats?”
    McCusker looked at Davy with pansy eyes.
    Davy ignored him, his sense of frustration growing as he thought about how heavily the Security Forces patrolled the streets now. Sixteen—for Christ’s sake, sixteen—sangars, fortified observation posts, armed and defended twenty-four hours a day, had been thrown up in Catholic neighbourhoods. The Brits had conducted a house-by-house census to try to identify the likely haunts of the Provos and their supporters, and the soldiers carried photo-identification cards, “bingo cards,” of known Provo volunteers to help them spot their prey.
    He silently thanked Sean Conlon for persuading Billy McKee and the rest of the Belfast Brigade staff that some of the experienced specialists, the bomb makers and armourers, should be kept isolated from the rest of