stood trial. What makes Rogan so different?’
Doolan sighed and said to O’Hara, ‘We’ll have to tell him the truth. It’s no good.’
O’Hara nodded. ‘I knew we would. I didn’t think he’d be fooled for a minute.’
Doolan turned to Fallon. He seemed to search for words and then he said, ‘You see, Mr Fallon, Rogan is everything I said he was. He’s served his country well. He’s done good work in Ulster, but…’
‘He’s not to be trusted,’ O’Hara said. ‘It could be the end of the Organization in Ulster if he ever stands trial.’
Fallon poured himself another drink and said coolly, ‘The work of years going up in smoke, eh? That wouldn’t be so good. How can he do it?’
Doolan sighed wearily and leaned back in his chair. ‘The polis are holding him at Castlemore. He managed to get a message smuggled out to us yesterday. He says we must get him out before they move him to Belfast. If we leave him to stand trial he swears he’ll make a deal with the polis. He’ll tell them everything they want to know about the Organization in Ulster if they promise to go easy on him.’
Fallon frowned. ‘He must be mad. He knows the first thing he’d get from the Organization, even if he was freed, would be a bullet. He’d do better to take his sentence and bide his time.’
O’Hara shook his head. ‘There’ll be no biding his time, Martin, if he is sentenced. He shot a peeler dead and crippled another. They’ll hang him so high the crows won’t be able to get at him.’
Fallon whistled softly. ‘God help him then. They’re hard men to deal with at the best of times. Devils, when one of their own has been killed.’
‘You can see why we came to you, Mr Fallon,’ Doolan said. ‘There’s nobody else left up there. Nobody that’s good enough to handle a job like this.’
Fallon laughed coldly. ‘And you think I’m going to stick my head into that hornets’ nest? You must be mad.’
‘You mean you refuse to help us?’ Doolan said.
‘I wouldn’t raise a finger,’ Fallon told him. ‘Rogan shot a peeler. He knew what he was doing. Now he can take the consequences.’ There was a hard finality in his tone.
Doolan turned to O’Hara, but the old man didn’t seem to be attending. He sat erect, his head slightly on one side as if he was listening for something. Suddenly he pulled himself to his feet and went across to the window. He peered out and when he turned there was a slight smile on his face. ‘Don’t worry, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be all right. The trouble with you is you don’t understand the Irish temperament.’ He chuckled to himself and shuffled back to his chair by the fire.
At that moment Fallon became aware of the sound of a car engine muffled by the rain. He turned and said, ‘What dirty trick have you got up your sleeve now, O’Hara?’
The old man smiled genially and took out his pipe. ‘No tricks, Martin. Psychology. It’s a grand thing, and after all – we must move with the times.’
As the car stopped outside Fallon filled his glass with a steady hand and poured the whisky down his throat in one easy swallow. He said, ‘You’re wasting your time, old spider.’
A knock sounded on the door and Doolan stood up, a frown on his face, and said to O’Hara, ‘What’s going on? You told me nothing of this?’
O’Hara smiled. ‘A small plan of my own.’ He nodded reassuringly. ‘Answer the door, Jimmy.’
Doolan walked slowly to the door and opened it. At first Fallon saw only the man and then he realized that a woman was leaning on his arm. For a moment he thought that she was wearing a cloak and then, as she moved forward into the light, he saw that she had an old, yellowing trenchcoat thrown lightly over her shoulders. In one hand she held a cane with which she tentatively felt her way. Her hair was snow-white and shone like a halo in the lamplight.
A terrible unease touched Fallon’s heart and his hand tightened around his glass. The woman halted in the centre of the room and her escort moved back to the door. O’Hara got to his feet and said, ‘I’m glad you could come, Maureen.’ He moved forward and took her hand. ‘This must seem like a strange meeting to you, but I knew you would want to speak with him before he goes to save Patrick.’
The woman turned her face into the light and stared across the room with opaque, sightless eyes. ‘Where are you, Martin Fallon?’ she said.
O’Hara turned to Fallon, his face expressionless. ‘Martin, this is Patrick Rogan’s mother come to see you.’
Fallon placed his glass carefully on the floor and got to his feet. When he looked at O’Hara there was contempt on his face and the old man dropped his eyes. He moved forward and said, ‘I’m here, Mrs Rogan.’
She raised her hand and gently touched his face with the tips of her fingers. The skin was drawn tightly over her bones and it was parchment yellow. She looked incredibly ancient and timeless and there was the mark of great suffering upon her face. She said, ‘I’ve given a husband and a son to the cause, Martin Fallon. I’ve given enough.’
He took her hand gently in his. ‘Enough and to spare, Mrs Rogan.’
‘You will save Patrick for me,’ she said. ‘You will bring him home safely.’ It was a statement of fact that admitted no denial.
Fallon looked into the vacant, useless eyes and tried to find words to answer her. Bitterness welled up inside him and a deep hatred for O’Hara who had placed him in such an impossible situation. How could he say no and continue to look upon the suffering in the face before him? He tried to speak and then, as if she sensed the turmoil within him, an expression of panic crossed her face and her hand tightened on his. It was as if she could see into the very depths of his soul. She swayed suddenly and he reached forward to steady her. ‘You will save him?’ she said in anguish. ‘You must!’
There was a great silence as she waited for his answer and Fallon smiled and gently squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll bring him safe home to you, Mrs Rogan,’ he said. In his heart he knew that from the moment she entered the room, fate had taken control.
She sighed as though from a great distance, and swayed again and he steadied her and said, ‘You’d better come and lie down for a while.’
She nodded several times and leaned heavily on his arm. Doolan moved quickly to open the door for them and they went out into the passage and passed through into the bedroom.
When Fallon returned O’Hara and Doolan were in the middle of a heated argument. Doolan said, ‘I still think it was a shameful trick, using the woman.’
O’Hara raised a hand. ‘Don’t talk to me of tricks,’ he said. ‘In this game anything goes. Ask that man there,’ he added, pointing to Fallon as he joined them. ‘He’s used a few in his time.’
Fallon threw himself down into his chair. ‘Oh, he’s right enough,’ he said to Doolan. ‘Anything goes. It’s the only way to get things done, but the old spider’s over-reached himself this time.’
‘And how do you make that out?’ O’Hara demanded.
‘Simple
