April 2009

In rural south Armagh, where the hillside sloped into the Irish Republic, there was a farm lane right off a single-lane road. It was a decent alternative to a snooker and pool club or one of the MI5 safe houses peppered throughout the area. The biggest advantage: a car could be parked and remain nearly invisible from the road.

Despite that, ZERO knew meeting in a remote location meant fuck all. The countryside may be less populated, but the dissident Republicans who lived there knew the unmarked footpaths and farm tracks like the back of their hands. Setting up a rendezvous in Belfast or Newry was risky, though staying within the limits of Bandit Country was riskier. All it would take is one person seeing him with the agent for ZERO to be dragged from his home for an unpleasant meeting with Dessie and several members of the Internal Security Unit.

The IRA always had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to touts. Although, before Dessie was promoted as the brigade's officer commanding, informers once stood a chance at making it out of Northern Ireland alive. A court-martial and order of exile were no longer a possibility. After a tout led to his downfall, Dessie didn't believe in showing mercy.

That meant ZERO could first expect a brutal beating. Then a black hood would go over his head, where he'd be ordered to confess to his crimes guilty or not. For the grand finale, a six pack - bullets to the ankles, knees, and elbows. If he was lucky, a round would lodge itself into the back of his skull to end the suffering.

Sitting in his car, ZERO couldn't focus enough to read the issue of the Belfast Telegraph he picked up earlier in the morning. He concentrated on the deep gray, almost black clouds as they opened up into a heavy downpour. He looked at the neon numbers on the clock on the dashboard - it was nine in the morning.

"Why am I fuckin' doin' this?" he wondered.

The answer was obvious. He hadn't seen employment for the better part of the year. Not since the economic crisis struck and Northern Ireland's housing market started to nose-dive. There was no longer a demand for builders for him, and he still needed to put food on the table. The mortgage he took out during the bubble of 2005 still needed to be paid. The fifteen-hundred pounds which were deposited directly into a clandestine bank account was making life a bit easier.

Initially, fear of losing his house made him cave under the heavy MI5 pressure. Now it was fear of Dessie suspecting a leak that made him want out.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, ZERO saw the pristine white SUV pull up behind him. He folded the newspaper as Tyler Pierce - his handler - climbed into the front seat.

"The tip panned out just as ya said." Tyler wiped droplets of rain off his glasses with a handkerchief.

"I bloody told ya it would."

"You're lucky this one went down smooth. Unlike last time when ya led us right into a goddamn ambush on the border."

ZERO swallowed the choice words he wanted to spit at the agent. He warned them an ambush on a convoy was precisely what Dessie looked to achieve. It wasn't his fault MI5 hadn't listened to his warning about not rolling up on the operation while it was in progress. The PSNI and MI5 only had themselves to blame for the injuries caused by the roadside bombs and sniper rounds.

What they failed to realize was that their overzealous behavior had driven Dessie underground. The sheer number of law enforcement officers who stumbled upon ground zero spooked him. Dessie hated only being in control logistically, but Catherine successfully convinced him that being sent back to Maghaberry to serve out a minimum sixty-year term wasn't a good way to start their marriage.

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me when I say not to show up. Dessie...he's smart and dangerous. One minute you'll think you've got him nabbed, then the next...boom! He'll turn your feckin' head into a pink mist with a .50 cal."

"Do ya think I'm that much of a bleedin' eejit?" Tyler sneered. "How about I send your OC a wee note, tellin' him you're the bloody tout. It'll be nothin' definitive - just enough for 'em to carry out an inquiry. I have a wee feelin' touts still don't go down well in south Armagh. You'll end up with the bag over your head; that wife of yours'll be a widow and the weans fatherless."

"Go straight to hell, ya Orange bastard!" ZERO snapped back, clenching his hands tightly on the steering wheel. "You know shite about what it's like to be down here, with your cozy government job and fat pension and all. I risk me arse for you every goddamn day. I'm sick of it, so I am! I want out!"

"You're finished when I say you are. Maybe it won't just be your OC I slip the word to, but the police, too. How does a stretch in Maghaberry sound? Of course, that's assumin' Dessie doesn't get to ya first. I'm payin' ya, I'm keepin' you alive - don't fuck with me."

ZERO couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. The walls of his life were caving in and there was nothing he could do to stop it. At this point, he was too far in. Realistically, there were only two options: end up in prison or die by the hands of the men in his unit, as Tyler eloquently put pointed it. Thankfully, there was a third - grab as much cash from the loot stash after the bank job and head someplace warm.

"What's Dessie got planned next? You can't leave me waitin' with my thumb up my arse here."

ZERO closed his eyes, dropping his chin into his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "A pipe bomb in Belfast tomorrow. Poleglass. Woodside, I think."

"Ya think, or ya know?

"I know. Should happen early in the morn' just as he's leavin' for his shift."

"Brilliant. See, that wasn't so difficult," Tyler taunted. "One last thing. ATF's been sniffin' around for intel on the Belfast crew; what can ya tell me about Catherine O'Toole? "


The dark clouds swirling over the peak of Slieve Gullion reflected Dessie's mood as he climbed out of his Volkswagen. He crossed the parking lot to the other cars where Kieran, Connor, and Rory stood waiting.

It was putting it mildly to say Dessie spent the last several days in constant anxiety. The shit-storms hit one right after the other.

Earlier in the week, he received a call from his cigarette supplier in the dead of night Boston-time. He was told they had caught an ATF tail and to not expect this month's shipment of three million cigarettes. They promised they'd make it up with a shipment of seven million in four weeks. Telling Jimmy the news rubbed his nerves raw. Not to mention the Kings were up his ass, bitching about the lost profits.

That morning when he got to work, Dessie had just started on a suspension/steering rebuild when Catherine called him in a panic. His careful planning to take out a Protestant constable in west Belfast unraveled right before his eyes. She told him the roads had been blocked off and were littered with armored vehicles as the army defused the pipe bomb stashed under the constable's car.

He was left angry and confused, trying to figure out what the odds were that the Belfast operation would be foiled. Catherine and one other volunteer had known about it, so they were obviously at the top of Dessie's list. Then, on the other hand, he had been sent a video in the afternoon that made him whip his wrench so hard against the wall, it sent the titty calendar from 1994 to the ground.

Taking his smartphone out of his pocket, Dessie summoned his men. "C'mere ya feckers and take a look at this. A lad in Newry sent it to me."

Reluctantly, the three men gathered around him to look at the screen. Dessie tapped the play button and a shaky video started. It was footage of a teenage boy in a St. Paul's school uniform attempting skateboard tricks. What originally caught Dessie's eye was the pristine white SUV parked on the other side of the road, in front of the high school.

"Forget the shite on the skateboard and focus on the car," Dessie said, pausing the video. "The bloke gettin' out...looks a lot like you, doesn't it? Havin' a wee chat were ya?"

Dessie glanced at Rory, who was standing beside him. He carefully watched as Rory's eyes widened and he fought to control his tightening expression.

"When was that taken?" asked Kieran.

"Tuesday before last," Dessie answered.

"It's nowhere near ya think it is, Dess. I was havin' a chat with a fella I know who owns a construction company about a housin' development he got a contract for. I'm without a job in case you eejits have forgotten. For fucks sakes. I'm your bloody intelligence officer - if I was toutin' you'd've been back in prison years ago."

Dessie disregarded what Rory said. "This Belfast job marks our fourth foiled operation in six weeks. At this point, I'm ready to pull youse off the job tomorrow, just have Catherine and the Belfast crew handle it." Turning back to Rory, he crossed his arms and held a cold stare. "The other fella in the car...what's his name?"

"Martin O'Neill," he answered without hesitation.

Dessie nodded, still feeling he was being lied to. When the video was first sent to him, he had reached out to one of his volunteers to run a check on the number plate on the car. No information had come back yet. He just wanted to give Rory a chance to confess before things became messy.


By the time Dessie made it back home, it was well after eleven. He gently closed and locked up the front door, trying to make as little noise as possible. Eamonn and Sean were dead to the world as they slept soundly on the sofa bed. It bummed him out he didn't have the extra space to give them proper sleeping quarters when they were in Crossmaglen, but Dessie reminded himself in only a few short months, they'd each have their own bedroom for the first time.

Heading down the hall to his bedroom, Dessie opened the door to find Catherine wide awake, sitting on top of the blankets watching South Park on MTV. He was immediately assaulted with the harsh fumes of acetone and nail lacquer filling the cramped space.

"Jesus, Catherine. You know I can't stand it when ya do that shite in here," he scolded, moving to open the sole window. "I doubt you should be anywhere near those chemicals while your pregnant."

Catherine was thankful for the cool breeze rolling in when Dessie stripped from his shirt. He hadn't mentioned it to her at all, but it was obvious he'd been hitting the gym for some time now. His once defined muscles were starting to make a comeback, with his belly now down to a slight pudge. The irony, as Catherine saw it, was that as he lost the pounds she was quickly finding them.

"This ya have a wee problem with, but not me still bein' involved in the business?"

Dessie sat on the bed in front of Catherine. "What can I say? My priorities aren't always morally correct."

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him, kissing the black dara knot tattoo between his shoulder blades.

"How'd it go with the lads?" she asked.

Between the soft caressing and warm kisses on his chilled flesh, Dessie was having a hard time concentrating. He was only focused on the way Catherine touched him. He didn't want to think about anything else, but that wasn't possible.

"One of 'em is lyin' to me, that I'm sure of. Please don't fight me on this, but I don't want you havin' anythin' to do with tomorrow. You and the boys can come to Forkhill with me; that's it."

"I don't want you havin' anythin' to do with tomorrow, either." Her words were deliberately soft and slow. She raked her fingernails through his chest hair, pressing delicate kisses to any patch of exposed skin her lips could find. "Don't forget you're chief of staff for Oglaigh na hEireann, Dessie, and this is an Oglaigh na hEireann operation. You have a tout on your hands, be it the volunteer is True army or ONH, you need to protect yourself. You're the leader we need, and ya can't do it while sittin' in Magahberry." She knew exactly what she was doing as she grabbed his wrist, slightly twisting his arm behind his back so she could place his hand on her belly. "We need you home, too."

Dessie squeezed his eyes shut as her words soaked in. For the first time in his life, he was realizing it wasn't just about him anymore.

"Okay," he said. "I won't go to the bank with 'em, and I'll put Kieran in charge of runnin' the ground. Once we get word they're back in Forkhill with no problems, then we'll head over there. In the morn', I will need ya to get in contact with Misha because I wanna snag Jimmy's shipment of AK's this month if we can."

Catherine thanked him in Irish, to which he chuckled. She was slowly picking up the language, though not as fast as he hoped she would.

"You've vacation days saved up at the garage, yeah?"

"Aye, but I wanted to keep 'em to use in October when you have the baby. Why? What are you thinkin'?"

Resting her chin on his shoulder, she could feel the wave of anxiety for the future rocking her insides. "Once Jimmy finds out ONH is off the ground without him and it was us who stole the Russian pipeline, we may need to make a run for the Republic."

"There's no need for you to be worryin' your gorgeous self over that. Jimmy'll be long gone before the Kings even have a chance to realize what happened."

"Promise?"

Dessie turned his head and kissed her forehead. "I promise."