Hornet's Nest: Bruce Cole Series, #1

By Max Dent

BOOK ONE
On the 24th of April 1993, the IRA detonated a massive bomb in Bishopsgate, in the heart of London's financial district.
The bombing nearly brought the British Government to its knees.  It was clear they couldn't afford a second attack. The Prime Minister wanted the IRA cell responsible located. His orders were simple - find them and eliminate them. They turned to the SAS.
One man stood out. Bruce Cole. His job? To infiltrate the IRA Active Service Unit in London. The problem? He won't be armed or have any backup from any of the security services. He is on his own.
Will his years of training keep him alive or will the IRA cell realise they have a bee in their hornet's nest?
Hornet's Nest is Max Dent's first novel and is based on real IRA activities in London at the time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oink Books
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215821688

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Since the beginning of its campaign in the early 1970’s, the IRA had carried out a number of bomb attacks on military, political and commercial targets in England.

They had hoped that by bombing commercial targets in England, they would damage the British economy. The IRA believed that their attacks in mainland Britain would put pressure on the British government to negotiate a withdrawal of British troops from Northern Ireland and eventually bring about self-rule.

In 1988, Gerry Adams of Sinn Féin and John Hume of the Social Democratic and Labour Party had been engaged in private and very secret meetings, with a view to establishing a broad Irish nationalist coalition.

The problem was that the IRA refused to give up their arms and this became a major stumbling block in this, and future peace talks.

In 1987, the IRA carried out almost 300 shooting and bombing attacks. These attacks killed 31 RUC, UDR and British Army personnel and 20 civilians. Over 100 members of the security forces and 150 civilians were also injured in these attacks.

In 1990, IRA had killed 30 soldiers and RUC members and injured 340 people.

By 1992, the figure for IRA attacks had risen to 426.

The risk of an IRA attack on the City of London had increased due to the lack of progress with political peace talks. This resulted in a warning being circulated to all police forces in Britain, which highlighted intelligence reports of a possible attack. It was felt the IRA had enough personnel, equipment and funds to launch a sustained campaign in the mainland.

On the 10th of April 1992, the IRA detonated a truck bomb outside the Baltic Exchange on St. Mary Axe. The Baltic Exchange bombing caused £800 million worth of damage (nearly £1,640 million in today’s money. This was £200 million more than the total damage caused by the 10,000 explosions that had occurred during the ‘troubles’ in Northern Ireland up to that point.

The British Government had tolerated these actions long enough and the Prime Minister made a statement:

We cannot and must not pretend that things can continue as they are. Enough is enough. Things need to change.

1

THURSDAY 17TH MARCH 1994

Police Emergency, Go ahead operator.

Connecting landline 081 725 42675.

Thank you, go ahead caller. You are through to the police, what is the address or location of your emergency? 

Er…King’s Gym. said the young woman, clearly upset.

Do you have an address?

Yes, er…552 Kingsland Road.

Which area?

Dalston, yes Dalston, London.

Thank you. Can I take your name please? 

Maggie.

Ok Maggie, what is the nature of your emergency? 

They are on the floor, I think they’re dead. said the woman crying again.

Ok, who is dead?

The men, I think they’re dead.

Is this inside the property? 

Yes, in the sauna.

Ok, have you or anyone else been injured? 

No, I’m alright. But the men aren’t moving.

Ok Maggie, I need to get some more details from you…now tell me exactly what happened. 

The men were in the sauna….they are usually done by eleven and I went to see if they were finished and ……

Maggie, do you work at the gym? 

Yes, I work at the reception. They were all lying on the floor.

Have any weapons been used or did you see any weapons?

Weapons?….I don’t understand.

Guns, knives, things like that?

No, I didn’t see anything like that. Are the police coming?

Yes, we have a unit making its way to you as fast as they can. They will be there as soon as they can.

Er …… I think I can hear the police...

"Good. Is the front door open, if it isn’t, can you open it for them when you see them? And please make yourself known to the officers.

Three police cars screamed to a halt outside the King’s Gym on Kingsland Road, where a small crowd had started to gather on the pavement. 

Right everyone, can you all move back please. The paramedics will be here soon and we need to give them some space, thanks. Come on, move back please. said one of the police officers, as he heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance. 

Maggie was still on the telephone with the emergency police operator.

They are here now, said Maggie.

Maggie, you have done really well, I will leave you with the officers.

Maggie put the phone down and unlocked the front door as the policeman knocked on the glass. 

Are you Maggie? the leading policeman said softly.

The woman looked extremely upset and wiped her hand across her wet nose and nodded.

Ok Maggie, my name is Tony. Don’t worry, we are here now.  Were you the person that rang the police?

Maggie again nodded, still crying.

Ok, can you tell me where the casualties are?

In the back…they’re in the back, in the sauna……in the back. She pointed to a door to the side of the counter. 

OK, good girl. Now is there anyone else still in the gym Maggie?

The receptionist shook her head.

Tony looked up. Mark, stay with her and try to get a brief statement from her if you can. Terry, you come with me.

The two policemen entered the empty weights room and looked around. The first thing Tony noticed was that it was incredibly tidy; all the free weights were neatly placed on the racks and the mats were all in line. The large TV screen on the wall was turned off. 

At the back of the room, Tony could see the wooden door of the sauna. It was slightly open and he walked slowly towards it. As he reached the door of the sauna he drew his baton from its holder on his belt and using the tip of it, he pulled the door open. 

Jesus! he said.

There were five bodies, some face down and some on their backs. As he looked around the small wooden room he established that they were all male and all over the age of thirty. Two of the men had white towels wrapped around their waists but the other three were naked. He could see their towels had been thrown on the floor. 

Tony knelt down between the two nearest men laying on the floor and felt for a pulse. 

Terry, get the chaps to seal this place off. I want a cordon set up. These two are dead……and check the changing room for their clothes ….. let’s see if we can find some ID’s…….and check to see if we have a rear entrance here. See if it’s open or locked……and see if the girl at reception can shut this sauna off, it’s boiling in here! 

You got it.

The police officer then made his way across to the other three bodies and placed a finger on each of their necks. He then stepped backwards out of the sauna. 

It wasn’t the first time he had seen dead bodies but it was the most in a single incident. He took a moment or two to clear his mind, steady his nerves and compose himself. He then reached up to his radio.

CP from Tango 428. I can confirm I have 5 deceased  - repeat 5 deceased - 5 adult males. At location Kings Gym, 552 Kingsland Rd, Dalston, London E8 4AH Stoke Newington. Causes of death unnatural - major crime scene - request SOC and on-call SIO be informed. Cordon has been set up. Will require additional officers for scene management. T428 will be the incident vehicle at this time until further notice.

2

ONE YEAR EARLIER

A blue Toyota Hiace panel van turned into a long residential street in north London and pulled up outside one of the two-storey terraced houses that lined both sides of the street. 

The driver looked at his watch and then at number fifty-eight  Maryland Road. As he tapped the steering wheel with his finger tips, he saw the hallway light come on and the front door open. A man then appeared in the doorway, wearing black ‘donkey jacket’ and a woollen beanie. He glanced up and down the road before opening the small wrought iron gate and stepping onto the pavement. He then crossed the street to the passenger side of the vehicle and got in. 

You alright laddie? asked the driver, in a thick Irish accent. 

The passenger nodded, blowing a lung full of warm air into his cold, cupped hands. 

"Got any blooding heating in this heap Brendan? asked the man, reaching forward and sliding the heating control to full. 

Ah, be quiet Diarmuid, ya always bloody moaning, Brendan replied, as he put the van into gear and pulled away up the quiet street. 

Diarmuid didn’t bother to reply, instead, he looked at the side mirror, checking to see if they were being followed. 

The blue van reached the end of the street, turned right into Wolves Lane, then immediately right again into Arcadian Gardens, before turning right again onto the A105. 

As it paused at the traffic lights at the junction of the North Circular, Brendan spoke again.

Diarmuid, there’s a flask of coffee and some sandwiches under the seat for ya.

Cheers Brendan.

Very little more was said between the two men as they drove around the North Circular, then on to the Great North Way, joining the M1.   

As they turned off the M1, and onto the M6 Brendan spoke again.

Diarmuid, you got the keys don’t ya?

It’s a bit feckin late now if I don’t. Yes, I've got the feckin keys. He said as he took another bite of his cheese and pickle sandwich.

Ah, that’s great, said Brendan 

As the van turned into the deserted industrial estate on the outskirts of Newcastle-under-Lyme, Brendan looked at his watch again.

Five on the dot! I should get paid for this, he said, pulling over on the side of the road. 

Which one is the yard? asked Diarmuid.

Up there on the left. Time to go to work laddie. 

Diarmuid got out of the van and walked up the road towards the large wooden gate of the builders’ yard. He was still cold and turned up the collar on his jacket. 

As he got to the gate, he rummaged around in his pocket for the set of keys that Driscoll had given him and unlocked the large brass paddock. He then pushed the heavy gates open and walked towards a large white eight-wheeled Iveco tipper truck that was parked in the yard. Sorting through the set of keys still in his hand, he unlocked the truck door and climbed into the cab. He could feel himself become impatient as he waited for the glow plugs to warm the engine. He looked down at the truck’s dash and fixed his gaze on the orange light. Come on, for fucks sake. 

Finally, the light went off and he turned the key and the diesel engine came to life. 

Thank fuck! he said, putting it into gear and drove the lorry out of the yard and pulled up next to the panel van. 

Brendan had already got the four jerry cans out of the van and was attaching the nozzle to the first one. 

Diarmuid climbed down from the cab and walked back to the yard gates. Pulling them closed, he slid the metal bolt across and snapped the lock through the bolt holes. He then took a set of heavy-duty bolt-cutters from inside his jacket and cut the steel U-shackle. The shattered pieces of the broken lock fell to the ground at his feet. He then casually walked back to the lorry.

There you go Diarmuid, eighty litres. That should easily get you back to the farm.

Thanks Brendan. Happy trails. He said as he climbed back into the cab, which was starting to feel a bit warmer now. 

As he adjusted the seat and the driver's side mirror, he watched Brendan drive away down the road. 

Ah for fucks sake, the feckin flask! he said remembering he had left it in the van. 

He then pulled the heavy lorry out into the road and down towards the junction. It was going to be a long drive to the farm.

3

SATURDAY 24TH OF APRIL 1993

Brendan Doherty stood at the old stove warming his hands next to the kettle that was starting to heat up on the gas ring. 

A watched kettle Brendan, a watched kettle, said Diarmuid Donnelly, as he shuffled into the cold kitchen. 

It’s the warmest place in this freezing hovel, so it is. Yer man Pat awake yet?

Yeah, he’s just having a crap. I suggest you don’t go in there, it’s evil! chuckled Diarmuid. 

Just then Patrick shuffled into the kitchen.

Morning! he said, stifling a yawn. 

Here, get that in yer. Breakfast will be a few minutes. He said, setting two mugs of tea down on the kitchen table. 

Brendan started to dish out the bacon, eggs, beans and toast onto three plates and sat down with the other men.

Hang on Brendan, how come you got two feckin eggs and us two only have one? demanded Patrick.

Cook’s privilege, replied Brendan.

Feckin greedy bastard!

Yeah, well you just watch those beans, your arse is a feckin cesspit already!

As they ate, not much more was said till Diarmuid looked at his watch.

Right lads we’d better get going.

The three men dropped the dirty plates into the sink.

Diarmuid stepped outside and looked up at the sky. Then he walked across the yard and climbed into the cab of the tipper truck. As the old diesel engine coughed into life,  he put the heater fan on high and turned the hazard lights on. He then jumped out of the cab and walked around the truck, checking that everything was working. The last thing he needed was to be stopped for having a blown bulb. 

"We all set?’ asked Brendan.

Diarmuid nodded and climbed back into the cab. 

Now it’s Bishopsgate, not Billingsgate, you dyslexic twat. I know how you like your fish. Talking of fish, how is your missis? laughed Brendan as he smacked the cab door.

Diarmuid half chuckled as he waited for Patrick to climb into the passenger seat next to him. 

You just make sure we stay together. I don’t want to be left standing on the street corner like a rubber dick!

Away with ya, I’ll be there.

Diarmuid turned to Patrick.

Ready?

Patrick nodded and settled himself into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. 

The truck slowly crawled forward and out of the yard, followed by Brendan in the BMW.

The roads were quiet as the two vehicles drove down the A10 towards central London. As the truck came into Dalston, Diarmuid looked at the entrance of King’s Gym and it caused him to think of Callum and Shane. He imagined them both tucked up in their warm beds.

As the truck passed under the rail bridge at Hoxton, Diarmuid looked at his watch and gave Patrick a shove.

Wake up you sleepy bastard.

Are we here? said Patrick, shaking himself from his slumber.

Ten minutes.

As Diarmuid drove slowly down Bishopsgate he looked in his side mirror and saw Brendan pull up next to a call box. 

This is it, get ready, he said to Patrick as they crawled past the imposing buildings of London’s financial district. 

Diarmuid’s eyes scanned the roads and side streets. 

Just look at that, not a bloody copper in sight, he said with a grin. 

Diarmuid parked the truck outside number ninety-nine on Bishopsgate by the junction with Wormwood Street and Camomile Street. He looked at the words Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank.

Is this the place Diarmuid? asked Patrick nervously.

Well, it’s not Billingsgate is it? answered Diarmuid, as he turned the engine off. 

He then reached across and turned the detonator timer on. 

Right, let’s get the fuck out of here! Remember, walk away, don’t feckin run. We have an hour, so there’s no need to panic, lad.

The two men walked casually back up Bishopsgate, which was still deserted.

Brendan, who had been standing in the call box next to the BMW, started to dial a number in Forkhill, Northern Ireland as he saw Diarmuid and Patrick walking towards him.

A male voice answered the phone at the other end. 

Brendan didn’t engage in any chit-chat, but simply said four words ….. It’s done. One hour. and then replaced the receiver and got back in the car.  

Diarmuid and Patrick casually arrived at the car and got in.

Let’s go. I don’t want to be anywhere near here when this thing goes up! said Diarmuid.

Brendan did a tight U-turn on the empty road and drove back out of London.

4

A MINUTE LATER

Back in Northern Ireland, the man in the callbox in Forkhill lifted the phone receiver again and dialled the British Police.

This is the Irish Republican Army. A massive bomb is set to go off on Bishopsgate in London in one hour. Clear a wide area. The code word is Ballymena.

5

A FEW HOURS LATER

Diarmuid, Brendan and Patrick were sitting around the large wooden kitchen table playing cards. The television was on in the background but none of them was watching it. 

The programme suddenly stopped and all three men fixed their gaze on the TV as the news flash came on.

Here we are lads, quiet,……Turn it up, Brendan.

"We interrupt your programme to go across