Confessional. Part 43

'Father!' Tisini cried. 'In the name of G.o.d, absolve me!'

Cussane said in a firm clear voice, 'May Our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you and I, by His authority, absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and the Son and of the Holy Spirit.' He nodded to Hardy. 'Now!'

The foreman took a breath and dipped under the surface,

his hands gripping the edges of the beam. His shoulders seemed to swell, he came up out of the water, the beam with him and Tisini screamed and floated free in Cussane's hands. The wall started to bulge. Hardy pulled Tisini up and dragged him towards the entrance, Cussane pus.h.i.+ng from the rear as the walls crumbled around them. He put an arm up to protect his head and shoulders, was aware that they were at the steps now, willing hands reaching down to help, and then a brick struck him a glancing blow on the head. He tried to go up the steps, fell on his knees, and there was only darkness.

HE CAME AWAKE SLOWLY to find the young woman from the shop crouching over him. He was lying on a rug in front of a coal fire and she was wiping his face.

'Easy,' she said. 'You'll be fine. Remember me? I'm Moira McGregor. You're in my shop.'

'What about the Italian and that fellow Hardy?'

'They're upstairs. We've sent for a doctor.'

He was still confused and found it difficult to think straight. 'My bag?' he said slowly. 'Where is it?'

The big policeman, Brodie, loomed over them. 'Back in the land of the living, are we?' There was an edge to his voice. An unpleasantness. 'Worth a couple of dozen candles to the Virgin, I suppose.'

He went out. Moira McGregor smiled at Cussane. 'Take no notice. You saved that man's life, you and Hardy. I'll get you a cup of tea.'

She went into the kitchen and found Brodie standing by the table. 'I could do with a touch of something stronger myself,' he said.

She took a bottle of Scotch and a gla.s.s from a cupboard and put them on the table without a word. He reached for a chair and pulled it forward, not noticing Cussane's bag which fell to the floor. The top being unzipped, several items tumbled out, a couple of s.h.i.+rts and the pyx and the violet stole amongst them.

'This his bag?' Brodie asked.

She turned from the stove, a kettle in her hand. 'That's right.'

He dropped to one knee, stuffing the items back into the bag and frowned. 'What's this?'

By some mischance, the false bottom of the bag had become dislodged in the fall. The first thing Brodie discovered was an English pa.s.sport and he opened it. 'He told me his name was Fallen.'

'So?' Moira said.

'Then how come he has a pa.s.sport in the name of Father Sean Daly? Good likeness too." His hand groped further and came up, holding the Stechkin. 'G.o.d Almighty!'

Moira McGregor felt sick. 'What does it mean?'

'We'll soon find out.'

Brodie went back into the other room and put the bag down on a chair. Cussane lay quietly, eyes closed. Brodie knelt down beside him, took out a pair of handcuffs and, very gently, eased one bracelet over Cussane's left wrist. Cussane opened his eyes and Brodie seized the other wrist and snapped the steel cuff in place. He pulled the priest to his feet, then shoved him down into a chair.

'What's all this then?' Brodie had the false base up completely now and sifted through the contents. 'Three handguns, a.s.sorted pa.s.sports and a sizeable sum in cash. b.l.o.o.d.y fine priest you are. What's it all about?'

'You are the policeman, not me,' Cussane said.

Brodie cuffed him on the side of the head. 'Manners, my little man. I can see I'm going to have to chastise you.'

Watching from the door, Moira McGregor said, 'Don't do that.'

Brodie smiled contemptuously. 'Women - all the same. Fancy him, do you, just because he played the hero?'

He went out. She said to Cussane desperately, 'Who are you?'

He smiled. 'I wouldn't bother your head about that. I could manage a cigarette, though, before bully-boy gets back.'

Brodie had been a policeman for twenty years after five years in the military police. Twenty undistinguished years. He was a sour and cruel man whose only real authority was the

uniform, and his religion had the same purpose as the uniform, to give him a spurious authority. He could have rung headquarters in Dumfries, but there was something special about this, he felt it in his bones, so instead, he rang police headquarters in Glasgow.

Glasgow had received photo and full details on Harry Cussane only one hour previously. The case was marked Priority One with immediate referal to Group Four in London. Brodie's telephone call was transferred at once to Special Branch. Within two minutes he found himself talking to a Chief Inspector Trent.

Tell me all about it again,' Trent told him. Brodie did so. When he was finished, Trent said, 'I don't know how much time you've got in, but you've just made the biggest collar of your career. This man's called Cussane. A real IRA heavy. You say the pa.s.sengers on the bus he was on are being transferred to the train?'

That's right, sir. Flooding on the road. This is only a milk stop, but they're going to stop the Glasgow express.'

'When is it due?'

'About ten minutes, sir.'

'Get on it, Brodie, and bring Chummy with you. We'll meet you in Glasgow.'

Brodie put down the phone, choking with excitement, then he went into the sitting room.

Brodie walked Cussane along the platform, one hand on his arm, the other clutching Cussane's bag. People turned to watch curiously as the priest pa.s.sed, wrists handcuffed in front of him. They reached the guards van at the rear of the train, the guard standing on the platform beside the open door.

'What's this?'

'Special prisoner for Glasgow.' Brodie pushed Cussane inside. There were some mailbags in the corner and he shoved

him down on to them. 'Now you stay quiet like a good boy.'

There was a commotion and Hardy appeared at the door, Moira McGregor behind him. 'I came as soon as I could,' the foreman said. 'I just heard.'

'You can't come in here,' Brodie told him.

Hardy ignored him. 'Look, I don't know what this is about, but if there's anything I can do.'

On the platform, the guard blew his whistle. Cussane said, 'Nothing anyone can do. How is Tisini?'

'Looks like a broken leg.'

'Tell him his luck is good.'

There was a lurch as the train started. 'It suddenly occurs to me that if I hadn't drawn you in to help, you wouldn't be here now,' Hardy said.

He moved out to join Moira on the platform as the guard jumped inside. 'Luck of the draw,' Cussane called. 'Don't worry about it.'