The Irish Terrorist: A Novel

By T J Mack

Ireland has been occupied by the military force of England for centuries, and rebellions are just a fact of life.

But things take a turn for the worse in 1972, in Northern Ireland, when demonstrations and peace marches end with English paratroopers firing on the crowd and senselessly killing thirteen people in what becomes known as Bloody Sunday.

The violence leads many to join the ranks of the Irish Republican Army—including cousins Jack Danaher and Sean Curran, who carry out their missions with will and determination.

In the past, many survivors of The Great Famine would leave for distant shores. Those who remained would drive a Fenian uprising and leave their descendants to continue the fight toward Irish independence. But sides were taken and alliances formed.

Loyalists and Republicans engage in clandestine planning and continue a war that seemingly has no end in sight, but one side may take the upper hand in The Irish Terrorist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Mar 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483424606

Book preview

XXXIII

PROLOGUE

The Peace March, Derry’s Bogside

Northern Ireland

January 30, 1972

It sounded like a firecracker to the protestors until another shot was fired, coming from behind and to the left. People heard a woman scream and turned, but they kept walking until someone yelled, They’re shooting at us! Screams could be heard above the chaotic eruption of panic as protestors moved in a frenzy, bumping and pushing their way down the street. Then more shots rang out. Colors whirled, English soldiers with their rifles pointed, people passed, rushing—and then another scream.

Jack grabbed the arms of his older sister, May, and her red-haired friend Joanie Hanlon, protectively steering them away from the crowd in an attempt to find shelter. The panic spread quickly; people were really frantic now, scattering like startled sparrows. Suddenly May tripped, unable to get her footing as she stumbled amid the bumping horde of desperate people.

Jack tried to catch her and help her get her footing, but the crowd continued to push them from behind as the wave of people sought safety. Joanie screamed abruptly in fear and confusion as she saw May fall and Jack’s grasp slip away. May dropped, sprawled on the ground.

Jack bent over and looked up at Joanie and his cousin, Sean, knowing that they had to move quickly. As he was trying to help May stand up, he heard another shot. Jack didn’t realize May had been shot by the English paratroopers. The crowd had moved Joanie and Sean, in spite of Sean’s large frame and height, and they were not in Jack’s sight. When Sean realized they were not with Jack and May, he stopped and turned around, searching the sea of faces for them. Finally, he spotted them. Jack had lifted May and was holding her. Sean looked in puzzlement and, realizing May was hurt, called out in his strongest voice, Jack! Here!

Sean ran to them, bumping and knocking others, and then turned, blazing a path toward the doorway of an apartment building for Jack and May. Joanie was lost in the mayhem, caught in a wave of panic and the force of the crowd.

The three reached the building. The door was locked, but with his strength and size Sean rammed into it with his shoulder, jarring it open. Jack carried May through the door into a small hallway and laid her at the base of a stairway. He looked into her dimming eyes, searching for some sign of hope amidst her listlessness. He held her hand as blood flowed from her side.

May… May? Jack called to her. Jack looked at his hand and saw that it was wet with blood. May was unconscious and fading fast. Jack tried to stop the bleeding, putting pressure on her side. He cupped her head in his hands and said her name gently, intimately as a brother, watching her sink. His eyes were fearful, and his chest swelled with an ache as he looked up at Sean. She needs help, he said in a desperate whisper. Without hesitation, Sean burst through the doorway back into the chaos outside.

Jack thought about what had happened two days earlier. The four had gone to church at May’s insistence. She was conscientious about church and the politics that caused the struggle between the Protestants and the Catholics—the Loyalists and the Republicans.

Sitting at the end of the pew on the aisle, Sean had felt a tap on his shoulder as Mike McGrath passed by with his mother. Jack, Sean, and Mike were nearly inseparable. Mike was smart in school and liked to study. He had often helped Sean with his schoolwork, growing up. Sean usually paid him back in cigarettes and beer, when he could swipe them from his father.

The priest had given a good homily on the benefits of participating in a peaceful demonstration that would show the good intentions of the people of Ireland. But he was adamant that it was criminal to hold people under arrest and interrogate them without counsel for the permitted seven days. It is torturous! he cried out as he slammed a fist on the podium and then paused as if regaining his composure. Let us stand for the profession of faith.

During the quiet time of the Mass, people could hear the rolling of armored army trucks and jeeps carrying paratroopers as they passed the church. The tension had already begun.

The clouds showed the dull white and gray of an overcast January day when twenty-one-year-old May Danaher was buried. When their mother passed away, May, as the only woman, had become the center of the family and had felt the responsibility toward her father and brothers. They had lost their center, their moral gauge and compass. Now the family clung to one another. May’s dad was grayer, a weaker figure as he walked in a suit and tie. He had always kept to himself, and today was no different as he walked with his three boys—Bill, Bobby, and Jack—and their families in silence, deep within himself. Sean Curran and his ma, and Mike McGrath and his, walked behind the family.

May’s numerous connections to people in their neighborhood and her friends brought many together in this tragedy. All who loved her attended the Mass and burial. Joanie went with her parents. But immediately after saying good-bye to the Danahers and to Jack, her father sent her to stay with relatives in England. It was then that Joanie knew her feelings for the annoying little brother of her best friend.

PART I

I

Belfast, Northern Ireland

1974

The light of dawn had just broken through the darkness, revealing the thick clouds in shades of gray. The morning was still quiet, with a lonely chill in the air over Mahon’s Groceries, which would not open for three more hours. The stillness was accented by the absence of birds chirping, wind moving, or any activity on the street. It was if the world had fallen into a silence in the ominous calm of the anticipation of a storm.

There was only stillness, trapped in the eerie silence when the bomb exploded. The earth shook and the store erupted in orange; billowing flames shattered windows in nearby buildings and rocked the neighborhood. The explosion burst through the front window and the door of the store before climbing up through the two-story building. Orange and yellow flames, mixed with black smoke, spewed skyward. People jolted awake, ran from their beds, and peered out through their windows, waiting and wondering about their safety before going onto the street. Soon there were army vehicles blocking the intersections, sirens blaring, and firemen, police, and soldiers everywhere.

Several blocks away Seamus Mahon sat at the kitchen table with his wife, Judy, who was crying after learning of the store explosion. She trembled as the impact of what had happened to their grocery store shocked their peaceful family. Both Seamus and Judy took comfort in the fact that no one was hurt. Seamus was sure that that was by design. If they’d wanted him hurt, he’d be dead by now.

Why, Seamus? she asked, searching his eyes for a reassuring answer. How could this happen to them? How would they survive? What about the children? Were they safe? Seamus stood and then sat back down, rattled and unsure of how to proceed.

He smoked a cigarette while sitting at the kitchen table, his hands shaking as he reached for the glass of Old Bushmills whiskey he had poured. He had wanted to live a good, proper life and to earn a living worthy of his efforts. The troubles of the North were a reality, and he could not avoid them entirely. He was thirty and had a wife and three children under the age of eight, and now his business was destroyed. He cursed the conditions of his homeland and the people who did this to him. His head dropped in anguish. He ran his hand through his hair and felt the pain of discouragement and fear. He felt helpless and at once vengeful, but he had to think of his family. What had he done to deserve this? It wasn’t what he had done, but what he hadn’t done. He didn’t want to be a part of it all, the fighting and the sectarian groups. He just wanted a normal life with his family without violence, but it found him anyway. He stared at the caramel-colored whiskey and then drank it down.

What would he do now? Finding a job would be difficult, because he was in the minority: a Catholic in Protestant-dominated Northern Ireland; and they weren’t hiring Catholics. The centuries-old animosity between the two religions had come to him personally. He was being forced into choosing sides. His thoughts and worries were for his family. The answer to the question his wife asked over and over was clear to him. He understood. He knew. Deep down inside he knew, and that bothered him more.

Judy Mahon stood from the kitchen chair and then paced the floor, crying and talking in her distress. Seamus tried to comfort her, but it was of no use, since he couldn’t feel comfort in himself. He had stopped listening to her as he withdrew into thought before coming to a decision. He knew what he must do. Judy suddenly sat down in the kitchen chair beside him and clutched his arm. Her hair was tangled and disheveled. He could see the stress on her face, but she also knew what he must do.

You’ve got to go see Mr. O’Hare, Seamie, she said with a desperate look in her eyes. You’ve got to go ask for help. You can’t do it alone. The next time it might be you or the children. She leaned forward, her forearms on the table. His hands were still shaking as she clutched them. He looked at her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. Her words sounded more frantic as she spoke again. Please, Seamie. What else can we do? We don’t want to leave, to go to England or America. Oh, dear God! Seamie, you aren’t thinking of anything like that, are you?

Judy! What the hell? Shut up a minute! Seamus stood; his head was spinning.

Judy sat quietly, but her hands were still shaking. Seamus knew he needed to calm them both. He gathered himself and spoke calmly. We’re not going anywhere. I will go talk to O’Hare. That bastard. He lit another cigarette and drew from it deeply, then leaned against the countertop and blew the smoke into the air. You’re right, Judy. This can’t ever happen again. Seamus took another puff from his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray.

He took his wife’s hands in his own. As he looked at her, he realized that the most important thing in his life, his family, was all right, and with that knowledge he could do what he had to do to keep them safe.

We’re all right, Judy. The kids are okay; that’s what is really important. He looked into her eyes, and she knew it would be better. Seamus kissed her, then grabbed his jacket and left the house.

Seamus opened the heavy red door and entered O’Hare’s pub. The light inside was much dimmer than the contrasting daylight outside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Then he saw Jimmy O’Hare behind the bar. Seamus walked up to the spot where Jimmy stood and faced him directly.

Jimmy, a man of about sixty years, scratched his head through thinning, curly gray hair. His white eyebrows with wisps of black and wrinkles surrounding his dark blue eyes made him appear kind, almost grandfatherly as he worked behind the bar. There were a couple of patrons at the tables who appeared at ease enjoying a pint. As Seamus entered he saw the customers look at him and felt self-conscious when heard their whispers. Isn’t that himself? a voice said.

There was a slim, older man leaning against the wall at the left end of the bar. He was talking with O’Hare as though they were old friends.

Seamus waited patiently, though appearing slightly nervous, for Mr. O’Hare to look at him. Finally, O’Hare walked to Seamus and smiled, which instantly made him feel both comfort and confidence in the presence of this man.

Mr. O’Hare…

That is me, he said still smiling.

Sir, I would like to talk to you about something very important. At that moment Jimmy knew who this young man was, and that patience would help orchestrate the best outcome. To Seamus, the young man in desperate need, life and family were nothing to leave to chance. It had to be straightened out now. My name is Seamus Mahon.

Jimmy raised a finger to silence him. The walls have ears, Jimmy whispered. He knew why Seamus was here. He nodded his head slightly and, with an understanding wink of his eye, motioned for Seamus to follow him.

Jimmy was a man of inherited leadership. His father had left him the business at a young age, as well as the implied responsibilities for neighbors and friends that went with it. The presence and character of Jimmy O’Hare, the strong voice and compassionate heart that he exhibited, proved magnetic for those who knew him. But they also knew that there could be another side to him.

Come with me, he spoke with the relaxed voice of a good uncle. He limped slightly around the bar behind Seamus. They continued past tables and booths, around the corner to a room in the back. A man in his mid-twenties sat on a chair next to the entrance to the room. Smoke from the man’s cigarette rose toward the ceiling. It was Sean Curran.

As Jimmy approached with the stranger, Sean stood up. He didn’t say a word but eyed Seamus for any sign that would indicate trouble. Sean’s assignment was to help Jimmy whenever necessary, and he was always suspicious of strangers. The two men entered the room, and Jimmy went behind a desk. Seamus stood unsure.

Sit down right there, Seamus Mahon. Jimmy sat as he pointed to a straight-backed wooden chair in front of the desk and then leaned forward with his arms on his desktop. You had trouble today, then?

I did that, he spoke softly, echoing the emptiness he felt. I want to protect my family and myself from that ever happening again. I want to start over and find another place, or rebuild … something, but I don’t … His voice quivered, and he hesitated long enough to regain composure. He then began to speak again, with carefully chosen words. I just want to get on with my life. His voice was hopeful, but his eyes were intense.

And—Jimmy smiled warmly and raised his eyebrows inquisitively—how does this concern me? O’Hare cocked his head a little to the side, seemingly to hear better, keeping the smile fixed on his face.

Sir … well, I’m not sure where to turn. I want to keep this from happening again. Whatever I have to do … I mean … its fine. I’m … asking for your help.

"My help?" asked Jimmy as if he had never been asked that before.

Yes, sir. I know about you, or at least I hope I do.

And what is it you know? Or think you know?

That you help people when they need it. I only want to live my life like a normal human being.

Ah, well, who doesn’t, Seamus? I know I surely do, but life has not been that generous to me either. There are things that we encounter that are unique in this world, and the only way to endure them is to join together in one way or another.

I only want to do what I have to do to help protect my family. If I have to join the devil himself, I’ll do it.

Jimmy gave a snicker at that. I understand; that’s good, Seamus … good. I think I might be able to help you. Jimmy stood and walked around the desk toward a cabinet. As he passed Seamus, he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder in a fatherly way. His manner was comforting, and it reaffirmed for Seamus the strength of Jimmy’s character and position. Seamus now knew his family would be protected.

Jimmy took out two glasses and a bottle of Old Bushmills from the cabinet and poured them each a drink and set one in front of Seamus on the desk.

There now, lad, drink to better days. Seamus sipped the whiskey, feeling its warmth on his lips as he swallowed.

Jimmy O’Hare always helps his friends. All good men do. He smiled seriously with his lips tight and a solid strength in his look.

They drank and the fiery liquid soothed the ache in Seamus’s chest and calmed his nerves as the warmth spread its magic though him. His anger had swelled and then lingered since dawn. Frustration drove him to seek solace in something that could control the uncontrollable. He felt confidence in the security that Jimmy O’Hare held and offered. There were many that found out that being a part of them offered a security and comfort that could not be found alone.

You see, Seamus, its people like us who have to stick together. Outside—Jimmy waved his hand at the world beyond—there are plenty of people that want us out of our own land. Jimmy wasn’t trying to persuade Seamus as much as he wanted the young man to understand the seriousness of standing with others against what he thought of as the injustices of the world. "There’s a small number of us, and so many of our own countrymen have turned against us, as you probably know. It’s still us, you know, ourselves alone.

I remember some of your family. Your uncle, I think it was—God rest his soul—was a member of the Brotherhood a long, long time ago. Jimmy nodded knowingly as he squinted slightly in stern admiration of the memory. Wasn’t he? Jimmy wasn’t asking, but rather stating a rhetorical question. Jimmy wanted to stress the relationship implied by Seamie’s uncle’s involvement, which he hoped this young man would see and cling to.

The Provos are still the best bet for the salvation of the Irish people, he said, tapping the desk with his index finger, referring to the Provisional Irish Republican Army. That’s who’s going to win this in the end. The Brits will leave and Ireland will be one again and all this violence will be over. We need the support of people like you. This fight has gone on for three hundred years, you know? Our grandfathers’ fathers were fighting to oust the British and their landlords. Jimmy seemed to be getting angry as his own voice grew louder. He stopped and sighed. But we’ll be the ones to do it! He smiled slightly as a feeling of potential accomplishment arose from his words.

I understand, Seamus said. I’m willing to help if it will set things right. Jimmy was pouring another drink from the bottle into Seamus’s glass. I mean, what else am I to do? It’s for my family. I don’t want violence. I don’t want trouble, for Christ’s sake! I want peace! Can’t you people understand that? Doesn’t anyone understand that? Most of us just want peace. He seemed to be talking more to himself now.

Ah now, careful there, lad. You’ll be getting yourself in trouble, Jimmy said, waving his hand in front of the young man and turning away as if he refused to hear that talk. We’re a family, and we all have our own families.

I know, Seamus said in a whiskey voice. I’m sorry for that, but you understand, don’t you, that I’m just a family man trying to take care of things?

Sure, I understand, believe me. I mean, who the hell doesn’t want peace? I just want to run my pub and sit around with my friends drinking and have a good smoke. My friends want that too, and they want it for you, if you are one of us. There are plenty of men out of work that want peace, too. Jimmy sat on the edge of the desk. He looked sternly into Seamus’s eyes. Are you in or not? His voice was deeper, stronger, and a little intimidating to Seamus.

Aye, I’m in.

Jimmy looked to the doorway at Sean, who nodded in understanding.

You go with Sean, there. He’s a good man, and he’ll take care of you. We’re going to get a good place for your business and help you get started again. I’ll check in on you later. Jimmy turned and walked around to his desk chair as Seamus stood.

Could you tell me, Mr. O’Hare, would you know who could have done this?

Boyo, I couldn’t pick him out of a crowd, but I could take a good guess, and I’ll bet you could too. Seamus’s head was bent, appearing depressed, beaten. Hold your head up, Seamus Mahon. Be proud of what you are… and go on, go with Sean. Things will be better now.

[Darkness was interrupted by the streetlight near the house of Tom Miller. The quiet spring evening in Armagh was typical and relaxing for most. The door to the white house opened, and Miller came out. He looked suspiciously up and down the street, as was his habit. His military assignment had included duty in Northern Ireland. His no-nonsense personality created antagonism with many of the members of the community he had to challenge on a daily basis.

He searched the homes of citizens, turning their quiet evenings upside down. He and his troop were searching a suspected hideout of the IRA soldier’s when they were fired at. A firefight erupted, and he wounded Paddy McLanahan. Paddy scrambled and got away, but he saw Tom Miller walk toward Paddy’s friend and fellow IRA soldier, Brian Muncey, who was already shot in the chest and lay back against the wall, gasping and desperate for air.

Tom Miller got near his car, and two masked men rushed from out of the shadows and opened fire from handguns. It lasted only eight seconds, but the bullets peppered his body as he slid down the side of the car, dead. The men were mere phantoms as they approached and then fled in the cover of darkness.]

II

The dim light inside the tavern reflected on the old woodwork and pale green paint, offering a comforting place for patrons to relax and chat with their friends. The windows facing the street let in enough daylight to show people passing. Jimmy took a bottle of the Old Bush off the shelf and turned back to the wooden bar he had installed quite a few years ago. The solid features of the bar and the decorative wood enhanced its beauty. He poured a shot for his old friend of nearly sixty years, Patsy Devlin. Patsy sat patiently on the last bar seat, leaning against the wall, his seat when he was at Jimmy’s. Everyone knew that. Patsy watched his friend pour the shot as he wiped a hand across his dark, shiny hair.

Jimmy leaned on the bar top, holding the bottle with