Dancing With Mortality Read online

  Michael did as he was told. In the meantime O’Donnell manoeuvred a spotlight into position. He wheeled over a stainless steel trolley containing various surgical instruments and disinfectants.

  ‘Right, I’m going to unwind these towels. Just stay as still as possible, and we’ll take a look at you.’

  ‘Sure you’re up to it Doc? Seems you’ve had a few this evening.’

  O’Donnell held up a hand for inspection. ‘See this? Rock steady. It’s when I’m stone cold sober you can start to worry. Now don’t talk.’

  Michael’s shoulder was now revealed. There was coagulation around the bullet’s entry point, and O’Donnell gave a snort of satisfaction.

  ‘You’re not losing any more blood, which is obviously good. And it means no arteries were involved, or you’d not be here with me now. I’m going to give you a local, then I need to take a look around.’

  He administered the local anaesthetic and waited a few minutes. Then he prised open the entry point and inserted a small pair of forceps. After about a minute of poking around he withdrew them.

  ‘Nice clean hole, but I can’t feel the bullet. I think it’s lodged in the muscle. If I go deep enough I will probably be able to get it out for you, but I think that might start a haemorrhage, and I don’t want to take that risk here, so I’ll disinfect it and stitch you up.’

  ‘Whatever you think best.’

  ‘As long as you have mobility in that arm, you’ll be ok. You’ll need a surgical procedure in hospital if you want the bullet out though. And I take it that isn’t an option.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  O’Donnell did as promised. He suggested that Michael stay the night to recuperate. The offer was gratefully accepted.

  Early the following morning the doctor walked into his kitchen to find his patient sitting at the table with a glass of water.

  ‘How’s the arm?’

  ‘Stiff, but I can move it.’

  ‘Good. I’ll give you some bandages and antiseptics to take with you. Change them every day for the next week. But you should really rest for at least another twenty four hours. You can stay here one more day, if you don’t mind being shut up in my back room while I go about my business.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc, but I need to see someone. I can’t hang about.’

  ‘In that case, let’s get some breakfast organised. And by the way, where do I send the bill?’

  ‘I thought you helped people like me out of political conviction, not for money.’

  ‘Political conviction is expensive.’

  Michael laughed. ‘Where did you send it last time?’

  ‘To the Belfast address. Fitzpatrick Carpentry.’

  ‘Sure, that will be fine.’

  Eammon McKenzie was the General Manager at the Harcourt. And this morning, sitting in his office, he was concerned. His personnel manager was missing, and as a consequence he felt that his high standards of customer service were being eroded. It was Siobhan’s job to roster bar staff and chambermaids, ensuring they turned up and performed as required. And to find replacements when they didn’t. She was so good at it that he never had cause to interfere. So in her unscheduled and most unusual absence, he would need to do it himself. And he was just plain worried. He’d dialled her number to no avail. What could have happened?

  Well, it was now almost 11am, so if she wasn’t coming in he needed to check the roster, which she normally kept in her office. As he stood up from his desk to do just that, the internal phone rang. Ah, he thought, perhaps she’s arrived. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘McKenzie speaking.’

  ‘Eammon, It’s Aoife at reception. I’ve got Siobhan’s brother with me. He would like a word.’

  There was a moment’s silence. McKenzie remembered a snippet of conversation he’d had with Siobhan at a staff drinks evening some time ago about their respective families. After what was probably one drink too many, she’d mentioned that her older brother was a ‘political activist’. The euphemism had not been entirely lost on him, and he didn’t press her for more detail.

  ‘I’ll come down Aoife.’

  He left the office, and descended a flight of stairs leading to reception. Apart from Aoife there was only one other person present. He walked up to Michael, offering his hand.

  ‘I’m Eammon McKenzie, the general manager here. It’s Michael, if I remember correctly. Am I right?’

  Michael smiled back. ‘So she mentioned me.’ He took the offered hand. The smile was replaced with a wince as they shook. ‘Sorry, sore arm.’

  McKenzie withdrew his hand. ‘You’ve injured yourself?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ O’Donnell had found him a replacement jacket, a similar zip up model in black, with convenient inside pockets for weaponry. With no telltale bloodstains.

  ‘Is Siobhan all right?’

  Michael’s lips narrowed for a moment. ‘Is there somewhere private we can talk?’

  McKenzie didn’t reply immediately. He took a few seconds just to size Michael up. Yes, they have the same eyes. He noticed Aoife gawking at both of them with undisguised curiosity, not that he wasn’t just the least bit curious too.

  ‘We can use my office. Follow me.’

  Back upstairs, McKenzie motioned Michael to the chair facing his desk then sat down himself. Looks like he could use a good night’s sleep, thought McKenzie.

  ‘What’s happened to Siobhan, then?’ He tried to keep the tone light, in contrast to his rising sense of foreboding.

  Michael looked directly into his eyes. ‘She was shot last night.’ He saw the eyes widen in disbelief, but before the man could interrupt, he raised his hand. ‘Sorry to come right out with it. I need your help. They took her to St. James’s with a stomach wound, and I need to find out just where she is now, and what her condition is.’

  McKenzie stared at him. Now it was his turn to raise his hand.

  ‘Wait, wait just a moment.’ He lowered his eyes, staring at the desktop. He wanted a little time to digest this. After a few seconds of rapid thought he looked up. ‘You can’t ask them yourself?’

  ‘No. Look Mr McKenzie, I feel responsible.’ He noted the alarm on the other man’s face. ‘Don’t think that – I didn’t shoot her. But the man who did was after me. That’s all I can tell you. And I can’t go to the hospital and ask directly. I don’t want to phone them either. It will put me at risk, and Siobhan at further risk. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not entirely. But I appreciate your position. What can I do?’

  ‘I’d like you to phone the hospital as her employer, and inquire about her condition, the ward she’s on, and visiting hours. Will you do that?’

  ‘Alright. But they’ll wonder why I’m calling out of the blue.’

  ‘Let’s invent a reason then.’

  After further discussion it was decided that on not being able to raise his most reliable employee on the phone, McKenzie had concluded something must have happened to her. And as a concerned boss he was checking all the medical facilities in town.

  He found the number and made the call. A few minutes passed as he asked the questions Michael had primed him with. Then he hung up, and turned to Michael.

  ‘They confirmed that she’d been admitted, but because I’m not family they won’t say why or tell me what her condition is. They did say however that she’s in a private room on Alexander ward. No visitors allowed for the time being, though. They wouldn’t give me more than that.’

  ‘That will do. Thank you. And when she is allowed visitors, don’t forget to go and see her.’

  ‘I intend to, Michael.’

  ‘I’m indebted to you, Mr McKenzie. If anyone asks, and they probably will, you made the call under duress.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’

  Michael reached across the desk and shook hands once more. Then he rose from his seat, and walked swiftly to the door. McKenzie heard his rapid footsteps descending the stairs, and he was gone.

  Michael had found a c
heap hotel on the Drumcondra Road on his return from Blackrock. He didn’t intend staying more than one night though. He would change hotels for a few more nights and then decide what to do next. He couldn’t stay in Dublin. The Garda might or might not know what he looked like, but they knew that Siobhan O’Reilly had a brother who was at the scene of a fatal shooting. And Fitzpatrick’s boys would certainly have a good description of him.

  He was in the privacy of his room, changing the bandage on his shoulder. He tried to concentrate on that immediate task, but his mind wandered. He was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was now considered an informer. He’d been left in no doubt as to what his superiors thought that meant. Not even a court martial.

  How had they found him? Either he’d been careless, or they knew Siobhan now lived in Dublin and just stuck to her till he showed up. And he’d thought her whereabouts was a well kept secret. He sighed – it was irrelevant now. He’d been found. And Siobhan had suffered for it. Guilt about exposing his sister to a danger he hadn’t anticipated mingled with the emptiness of knowing his career with the Provos was essentially over. The one thing he couldn’t understand was how quickly someone had been despatched to deal with him. Suspected informers were normally brought in for questioning before sentence was passed. Why hadn’t they extended him that dubious courtesy?

  He pinned the bandage into place then donned his shirt. He stood up and looked in the cheap mirror on the wall adjacent the equally cheap single bed he’d be sleeping in later. A tired and somewhat bemused reflection stared back at him.

  ‘Not a care in the world,’ he muttered. ‘And I have no idea what to do next.’ He reached for his jacket. What he did know was that he wasn’t leaving Dublin before finding out how Siobhan was doing. And to hell with the risk. He checked his watch. If he left now, he should be in plenty of time for afternoon visiting hours.

  A hospital is the easiest place in the world to walk into unchallenged and unnoticed. Nevertheless, he couldn’t rule out that possibility, and he took a long look around the reception area before turning to the board listing the various wards and departments. There was a middle-aged couple at the desk talking to the receptionist. A group of nurses were passing through, laughing amongst themselves. They were oblivious of his presence. Two doctors in white coats stood avidly discussing something on the far side of the room. There was a family – parents and two young children – who seemed to know where they were going. They strode off down the corridor into the hospital proper. Alexander Ward was on the second floor. He followed the family, looking for a stairway.

  On the second floor, still following the family, he walked down yet another corridor. He passed the haematology department then took a left turn. He could see about 20 yards further on that the corridor opened into a hexagonal space, and beyond that, above a pair of swing doors, there was a sign reading: ‘Welcome to Alexander Ward’.

  And in that hexagonal area, outside the door of one of the two private rooms that occupied that space, sat a Garda officer with his nose in a book.

  Michael looked around quickly. He was partially obscured by the family in front of him. On his immediate right, there was a recessed seating area under a bay window. On the left, a theatre trolley stood unattended against the wall. In one swift movement he wheeled the trolley from left wall to right and sat down. Now he had a vantage point with extra cover, hopefully. He was just in time. The Garda man looked up as the family came in, gave them a cursory glance, and returned to his book. No doubt where Siobhan was. But unless that man took a break at some point, this was as far as he went. He decided to wait.

  Half an hour passed and nothing had changed. Michael felt conspicuous as he sat there with no apparent purpose whatsoever. The Garda man must go for a cup of tea or a toilet break at some point. It was just a question of patience.

  Suddenly the door opened. A nurse emerged, quietly shutting it behind her. She said something to the Garda man, who just smiled and nodded. Then she began walking towards Michael. He leaned back in his seat, trying to adopt a relaxed posture. As she passed by she turned her head and smiled. He smiled back, trying to appear nonchalant. At the same time he took a good look. Her light grey uniform made her look rather shapeless. It consisted of a calf length dress and a starched white cap. No belt, and she wore white flat heeled shoes. She was slim, however, that much he could tell. And quite young, no more than twenty. Her straight black hair was swept up into a bun, and she wore no makeup that he was aware of. He just had time to notice her hazel eyes and well-defined mouth before she turned her head back and continued on her way.

  He watched her go. He gave her a ten second start and then followed right behind, keeping a discreet distance. She went up a flight of stairs and then into the canteen. He stopped just outside the door and watched as she ordered a cup of tea, which she took to a table by a window overlooking the road. She sat quietly, sipping tea and contemplating the view.

  Michael considered the situation. She was in a private spot. The six other people in the room were at tables some distance away, and there was one woman serving behind the counter, who had her back to him. This could go badly wrong, but his options were limited, so he decided to risk it. He entered the canteen, walking casually in her direction. He sat at a table next to hers, in a position that put her diagonally in his line of sight. Then he waited for her to look at him.

  Their eyes met, and he saw the flash of recognition.

  ‘Are you following me?’ She spoke with a European accent, but he couldn’t place it.

  Now that they were no more than six feet apart, he had a much better opportunity to look at her. She was smiling again, and he couldn’t help but return it. Her smile was infectious. Her eyes had an openness and clarity that he found attractive and disconcerting all at once. Her hands lay palm down on the table, long elegant fingers outstretched. She sat very still, but he could sense a latent energy in that stillness. It was an arresting combination. She saw him looking at her hands, but she left them where they were.

  ‘Are my hands that interesting?’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. And I’m not really following you. But I would like to ask you how your patient is.’

  The smile faded. She moved her hands into her lap, and looked at him curiously.

  ‘Why do you want to know? Are you a relative?’

  ‘I’m her brother.’

  ‘I see. You are the reason I have a policeman outside the door. I don’t think I should be talking to you, really.’

  Michael gave an inward sigh of relief. She hadn’t panicked or screamed. In fact she was ice cool.

  ‘You don’t need to tell anyone. Just tell me how she is. I can’t enquire so easily you see.’

  She considered this for a moment. ‘Alright. Your sister – Siobhan, was shot in the stomach. But you must know this. She went straight into theatre when she came in. The bullet is gone, but there was internal damage. The surgeon has tidied that up, and she is now stable, but still critical. And under heavy sedation. She is under constant observation for now. There is someone in there with her while I take a break.’

  Michael stared at the table. It was as much as he could have hoped for. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I must get back now.’ She made a move to get up.

  ‘Just give me five minutes to get out of here before you tell our friend on the door who you’ve been talking to.’

  ‘I won’t mention it. And yes, you should leave first.’

  They exchanged a long look. He was trying to read her, would she or wouldn’t she? His gut told him she was telling the truth. But he asked anyway.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Perhaps they will shoot you. I don’t want that on my conscience.’

  He stood up. ‘I’m sure that won’t happen, but thanks anyway.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I’m Michael.’

  ‘Sabine. Is it nice to meet you?’

  He laughed. ‘Where are you from, Sabine?’

  ‘Germany
, a place called Heidelberg. It’s in the South. You know it?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’d like to talk to you again, Sabine, just to know how Siobhan’s doing. Is that possible?’

  ‘So. You’re going to follow me again. Well, you know where I am.’

  ‘I do. Goodbye then.’ He hesitated. He wanted to stay longer and find out more about this woman. But this was not a time to be distracted. He contented himself with a last look then abruptly turned around and walked swiftly away.

  Chapter 6

  ‘There is news,’ Jack Hudson pronounced as Harry entered the office.

  ‘You mean the shooting of that girl? It wasn’t far from here, either. I saw the TV report. You know who she was? They haven’t named her yet.’

  ‘And they won’t for the moment. It’s been 48 hours though, and we can’t keep a lid on it for much longer. But yes, that’s the news I’m talking about. Her name is Siobhan O’Reilly. Mean anything?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘No, should it?’ Then it hit him. ‘You mean, as in Michael O’Reilly?’

  Jack smiled. ‘His sister. What the TV didn’t tell you is that there were three people at the scene when the ambulance crew arrived. Siobhan and two men, one of whom was dead. The other referred to Siobhan as his sister, so by a simple process of elimination…’

  ‘The man on the horse then, must have been.’ Harry pulled up a chair and sat opposite Jack. ‘But who shot his sister? And why?’

  Jack began to speak then thought better of it. He punctuated the pause by clearing his throat. ‘Actually, we don’t know the answer to that one. Wasn’t us though.’

  ‘Where’s O’Reilly now then?’

  ‘Don’t know that either. His sister is in hospital, alive but critical. Perhaps O’Reilly will go there at some point, though that would be unwise in my opinion. Apparently he was shot too. In the shoulder.’

  Harry leaned back in his chair. From his perspective, none of this was making him any happier.