The brotherhood

Good company

Chapter 9 The brotherhood

Donnergill street in Belfast, Northern Ireland, is in a quiet housing area. There were two pubs at the beginning of the street. Mike turned the motorcycle into the narrow road and parked it in front of Nate's. It was the arrangement for the meet with the boys from the Fenians.

As he walked into the pub, the door slammed behind him and he was thrown into the dimness of the interior brick walls. Someone waved to him from a corner.

They pointed him to a chair at the table.

“So you are an American?” the big one said, as he sat down.

“Mike Flanders. I'm retired from the Navy,” Mike replied.

“I'm George,” the gray haired one introduced himself. “This is Charlie,” he said, pointing at the big one. “Charlie is going to give you a quick check up, if its all right.”

Charlie got up and patted down Mike and retrieved the commando dagger.

“We'll just keep this for you, a while,” Charlie said.

“Okay, what can we do for you?” George asked.

George appeared like an easy going family man who might as well have been discussing the grocery list.

“I need you to speak to the Bonners. They are covering for a man from Kosova. I need him.”

“Why isn't this coming through official channels?” George asked.

“It's not official. It is personal,” Mike replied.

“He raped your sister or something?” Charlie said in a broad smile approaching guffaw.

“Tell me a story,” George suggested.

The waiter brought Mike's lager and refreshed the drinks for the other two.

“2002, Kressinica, in Kosova. I led my team to rescue an informant and his daughter. They are Croatians. We were ambushed by a Croatian unit that was apparently waiting for us. I lost two members of my team and took a bullet in my hip. We wiped out the Croatian unit and rescued the informant.”

 

Charlie smiled. Mike turned to look at him. Charlie suddenly became sullen.

“Well....here's the thing....turned out, the son sold out on the father. They must have paid him well. He contacted the Bonners in Paris and paid them to hide him Northern Ireland.”

“You said you were retired,” said George, “ so how did you come by this information?”

“My former unit and the Fenians in Boston,” Mike replied, ensuring that Adele's name is kept out of it.

“Why Northern Ireland?” George asked again.

“Your fight is not with Canterbury. It is with Buckingham. You are the first free men in the world.”

He paused to look at Charlie. Charlie looked at George. George couldn't take his eyes off Mike. Mike continued,

“The Serbs, in a round-about-way represent the royal idea. The Croatians claim to be fighting for god and country..... for the common man. ”

George leaned back on his chair and reached for his beer. Mike took a gulp. A cool quiet had descended on the other patrons in the pub. George told Charlie to go take a leak.

When Charlie left, he dialed a number on his cell.

“It's me,” he said. “I'm speaking to him now,” he said into the phone. There was a moment of silence and then he said, “Okay.”

“I'll be right back,” he said and left.

Mike watched as he crossed the road into Scott's Place, the pub across the road. Charlie returned from the washroom and leaned on the counter. He started to chat with another patron seated there.

Mike finished the lager and ordered another. He was half way through the second when George returned with two men in black leather jackets. They joined him at the table.

They didn't introduce themselves. It was their way of saying that they are the Bonners.

“We seem to be having a little problem,” one of them said.

“They won't give him up,” George said.

“It's a job like any other,” the man said, “ we got paid, we have to keep our word.....you know what it means to be a republican.”

Mike took a moment to consider.

“In that case, can I speak with him?” he asked.

“And in return, you will promise not to bring the entire blooming SAS onto our backs,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with anybody else,” Mike said.

He considered briefly.

“I need to know what you plan to do?.....just talk?” he asked.

Mike was considering several alternatives. It had to be just right.

“I have something for him.... from his father,” he added.

“What is it?”

“Its under the seat of the bike outside,” Mike said.

The other one went out and returned with a grease cloth package in his hands. He put it on the table. They opened it. It was a Luger P08.

“You want to give this to him?” the man repeated.

“Yes,” Mike replied and casually took a gulp from the beer. “It is the hand of the father, before he went mad,” he said stoically.