A Life for a Life
Chapter Seven
"Hear me out on this." Diarmuid held his hand up to stop Miceál protesting any further. "Unfortunately, it's in the Shankill area, but –"
"Now you're definitely having a laugh." Miceál burst out. The Shankill Road was a road a few miles away from the Ardoyne area, and was staunchly Protestant. Not a place a young Catholic boy in the IRA would like to go dandering, especially with a name like Miceál Callaghan.
"Listen, Miceál." Diarmuid's voice was again holding the natural authority that caused everyone to stop and listen to him; Miceál was no exception to this rule and he fell silent. "You'll be filled in completely when the others get here, and all of your questions will be answered then. But for now, listen to what you actually have to do. As you work there, you're obviously going to be on your best behaviour and not give them any reason to believe that you're in any way involved with the IRA, or even that you're a Catholic, for that matter. You'll start to be able to look at notes, get names, addresses, car registrations, things like that."
Miceál nodded, beginning to see what Diarmuid was getting at. He liked the idea, but he had no clue on how to cover up his real identity.
"Of course, it will be hard to cover your tracks, but I have full faith in you, and I think that you'll be able to do it."
At that moment, there was a rapid and business-like knock on the door, and immediately Diarmuid jumped up to get it. A few seconds later, he re-entered, with three other men. One was the man Miceál had met before – Ginger. The two other men Miceál had never seen before.
"Have you told him?" one of them, the tallest of the three, asked in a business-like tone.
"He's been briefed." Diarmuid nodded. "Miceál, this is Ciaran," he pointed to Ginger.
"I met you the other day, lad." Ciaran nodded.
"Aye, I remember." Miceál smiled at him.
"And this," Diarmuid pointed at the taller man. "Is Fearghus and the other man here is Aonghus. Right. Formalities aside, let's get on with it."
"First thing's first." Ciaran took over in his business-like manner. "Do you want to do it? Are you going to agree?"
"I need to know everything first!" Miceál said, knowing it wasn't going to be a decision that he should take lightly.
"We can't tell you everything unless you agree. This is a top-secret operation that the minimum amount of people should know about." Miceál frowned, weighing everything up. He was being thrown into the deep end, but all of a sudden that familiar image of his dying father flashed into his head, and he felt his eyes harden.
"I'll do it. I'm in." Miceál noticed Diarmuid grinning with pride, and the other IRA men smiled as well.
"Diarmuid told us we could rely on you. Right, this is not going to be easy, kid. You're going to have to act a lot older than you are."
"When am I starting?"
"Tomorrow."
"What?" Miceál gasped, his blue eyes widening. "But how? I don't have a job there, I can't go home to the Ardoyne every night –"
"We're the IRA, Miceál, we've sorted all of this out for you. We've already got you a job, filling in the form on your behalf."
"With a name like Miceál Callaghan?"
"You'll be known as Michael Craig. That'll be easier for you to remember. Michael is just your name in English form and you'll have the same initials as normal. That's what you'll be known as, and you can't forget it."
"I won't. Michael Craig. I've got it."
"We've also got you a house." Miceál jumped up at that.
"WHAT? No! No! I'm not doing that. I can't! I'm sixteen … and I can't leave Aoibheann and Caolan!"
"Who?"
"His younger siblings." Diarmuid explained. "His mother went to pieces after what happened to Darragh and Miceál's been keeping the family together ever since."
"You don't have to stay there all the time, although the longer you stay the less suspicious you'll look."
"What will I tell them?"
"That's up to you to work out, lad."
"Living … living where?"
"Off the Shankill Road."
"You must be fucking joking. Seriously. This is a joke, right?" Miceál looked at all four men, his eyes wide. They widened even further when he saw that they were being serious. "I can't pull that off. One, I'm only sixteen, so how suspicious will it look that I'm living by myself?"
"You can pull for older if you wear the right clothes."
"But I don't have any that I look older in … I just dress in whatever I've got."
"We've sorted that out as well."
"How?" Diarmuid took over.
"Your father's old clothes, and some of Oisin's as well. They were forever leaving their stuff here." Diarmuid said gently.
Miceál felt tears cloud his eyes and for a second he felt dizzy, but he composed himself.
"Oh." was all he could manage.
"You'll be able to do it." Ciaran said. "If we didn't think you could, we wouldn't have asked you."
"And think of the good you'll be doing for the IRA." Fearghus put in. "All of those bastards we could take out with your help. We could get some of those soldiers as well."
"Like the one that got Darragh and Oisin." Aonghus muttered, but Miceál heard him and his eyes flashed with anger, and the rage gripped him so hard that he could barely breathe, and his began shaking, clenching his fists tightly.
"Get me some of them clothes," he hissed. "You can explain to me on the way there."
"Now you're definitely having a laugh." Miceál burst out. The Shankill Road was a road a few miles away from the Ardoyne area, and was staunchly Protestant. Not a place a young Catholic boy in the IRA would like to go dandering, especially with a name like Miceál Callaghan.
"Listen, Miceál." Diarmuid's voice was again holding the natural authority that caused everyone to stop and listen to him; Miceál was no exception to this rule and he fell silent. "You'll be filled in completely when the others get here, and all of your questions will be answered then. But for now, listen to what you actually have to do. As you work there, you're obviously going to be on your best behaviour and not give them any reason to believe that you're in any way involved with the IRA, or even that you're a Catholic, for that matter. You'll start to be able to look at notes, get names, addresses, car registrations, things like that."
Miceál nodded, beginning to see what Diarmuid was getting at. He liked the idea, but he had no clue on how to cover up his real identity.
"Of course, it will be hard to cover your tracks, but I have full faith in you, and I think that you'll be able to do it."
At that moment, there was a rapid and business-like knock on the door, and immediately Diarmuid jumped up to get it. A few seconds later, he re-entered, with three other men. One was the man Miceál had met before – Ginger. The two other men Miceál had never seen before.
"Have you told him?" one of them, the tallest of the three, asked in a business-like tone.
"He's been briefed." Diarmuid nodded. "Miceál, this is Ciaran," he pointed to Ginger.
"I met you the other day, lad." Ciaran nodded.
"Aye, I remember." Miceál smiled at him.
"And this," Diarmuid pointed at the taller man. "Is Fearghus and the other man here is Aonghus. Right. Formalities aside, let's get on with it."
"First thing's first." Ciaran took over in his business-like manner. "Do you want to do it? Are you going to agree?"
"I need to know everything first!" Miceál said, knowing it wasn't going to be a decision that he should take lightly.
"We can't tell you everything unless you agree. This is a top-secret operation that the minimum amount of people should know about." Miceál frowned, weighing everything up. He was being thrown into the deep end, but all of a sudden that familiar image of his dying father flashed into his head, and he felt his eyes harden.
"I'll do it. I'm in." Miceál noticed Diarmuid grinning with pride, and the other IRA men smiled as well.
"Diarmuid told us we could rely on you. Right, this is not going to be easy, kid. You're going to have to act a lot older than you are."
"When am I starting?"
"Tomorrow."
"What?" Miceál gasped, his blue eyes widening. "But how? I don't have a job there, I can't go home to the Ardoyne every night –"
"We're the IRA, Miceál, we've sorted all of this out for you. We've already got you a job, filling in the form on your behalf."
"With a name like Miceál Callaghan?"
"You'll be known as Michael Craig. That'll be easier for you to remember. Michael is just your name in English form and you'll have the same initials as normal. That's what you'll be known as, and you can't forget it."
"I won't. Michael Craig. I've got it."
"We've also got you a house." Miceál jumped up at that.
"WHAT? No! No! I'm not doing that. I can't! I'm sixteen … and I can't leave Aoibheann and Caolan!"
"Who?"
"His younger siblings." Diarmuid explained. "His mother went to pieces after what happened to Darragh and Miceál's been keeping the family together ever since."
"You don't have to stay there all the time, although the longer you stay the less suspicious you'll look."
"What will I tell them?"
"That's up to you to work out, lad."
"Living … living where?"
"Off the Shankill Road."
"You must be fucking joking. Seriously. This is a joke, right?" Miceál looked at all four men, his eyes wide. They widened even further when he saw that they were being serious. "I can't pull that off. One, I'm only sixteen, so how suspicious will it look that I'm living by myself?"
"You can pull for older if you wear the right clothes."
"But I don't have any that I look older in … I just dress in whatever I've got."
"We've sorted that out as well."
"How?" Diarmuid took over.
"Your father's old clothes, and some of Oisin's as well. They were forever leaving their stuff here." Diarmuid said gently.
Miceál felt tears cloud his eyes and for a second he felt dizzy, but he composed himself.
"Oh." was all he could manage.
"You'll be able to do it." Ciaran said. "If we didn't think you could, we wouldn't have asked you."
"And think of the good you'll be doing for the IRA." Fearghus put in. "All of those bastards we could take out with your help. We could get some of those soldiers as well."
"Like the one that got Darragh and Oisin." Aonghus muttered, but Miceál heard him and his eyes flashed with anger, and the rage gripped him so hard that he could barely breathe, and his began shaking, clenching his fists tightly.
"Get me some of them clothes," he hissed. "You can explain to me on the way there."