Celtic Remnants

Celtic Remnants by Deborah O'Toole is a powerful novel of enduring love and betrayal set in the political turbulence of Ireland, glamour of London and wilds of Scotland.

From Chapter Nine

1985

Hampstead Station, North London, England

HAMPSTEAD STATION NEAR London was an odd mixture of old and new, with an ancient stone terminal and newly constructed platforms. The station itself had been in existence since 1903, and had weathered many changes through the age of modern travel. Despite the availability of buses and personal cars, many still preferred to take the train on Track 9 in order to get to and from their places of employment in London. Gliding along the rails and seeing the various sites was a relaxing preface to a day in the city.

The wisps of smoke and steam curled up into the eyes of Ava Egan, blurring her vision momentarily. She tightened her grip on her jacket front, trying to bring it closer to her body. The wind whipped the drizzling rain through the echoing train station, spraying a fine mist on the platform and clearing the steam from the train. People were pouring into one of the waiting cars, most of them in a rush to catch the early train to London.

Ava glanced over at Tim O'Casey, who stood next to her sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup. He appeared unperturbed by the activity in the train station, and even seemed a bit bored. She noticed his blond hair had curled from the rain-mist in the station. She leaned closer to him so she could whisper:

"It seems like we've been waiting forever. How much longer, do you think?"

Tim barely looked at her as he answered: "Soon. It looks as if the last of them are boarding."

"Have you seen him yet?"

"No, but there's still time. Mike said the informant was reliable. Besides, this is the train back to London, which is where Mulrany has to be this afternoon. Unless he took a car or begged a ride off someone, he's bound to show up here."

"Maybe he passed by in a hat, and we didn't notice him?" Ava asked.

"Na. I think he's just late."

Ava pursed her lips softly. They were waiting for the arrival of Reverend Neal Mulrany, a member of the British House of Commons and an ordained Presbyterian minister. Mulrany had represented County Londonderry in the British Parliament for more than three decades, and was a known protagonist of militant Protestantism against Catholics in Northern Ireland. Mulrany supported the total integration of Northern Ireland into the United Kingdom. He had led several anti-Catholic marches, which incited riots and the passion killings of more than a dozen Catholics.

Mulrany had been a prime target of the Irish Militant Council for some time. He kept a house in a working class section of Hampstead while Parliament was in session, taking the train to and from London every day.

Ava was nervous, but tried not to show it in front of Tim.  He was bound to sense her anxiety as he knew her as well as he knew himself. Tim glanced at her briefly, finishing off his coffee in the process.

"This will get easier, Ava, I promise," he told her quietly.

She wasn't so sure but said nothing. Instead, she looked around the platform as the crowd thinned out, keeping her eyes on the double doors which led into the station building.

Tim nudged her gently. "Don't feel sorry for them, Ava. They don't give a damn about you, do they? If you feel any pity, think of what happened to your family, how they were blown to bits by British soldiers. Think about my Dad and sister Megan, shot to death by British soldiers. It has to stop, the persecution and the brutality. It will never stop as long as the English occupy our country. We have to fight back in a way they understand."

Ava nodded. "I know, Tim. I'll be fine. Isn't that Mulrany coming now?"

The stream of people on Platform 9 had trickled to just a few, but Tim and Ava saw the heavyset older man walking quickly to the train. They recognized Mulrany from photographs, not only those splashed in newspapers but from surveillance pictures shown to them by Ned Fermoy. Mulrany was in his sixties and grossly overweight. His hair was dyed a chestnut brown, closely cropped with straight-cut bangs. He carried an attaché case and a closed umbrella. Despite his girth, Mulrany made the train and climbed a set of car stairs, heaving himself up by grasping onto one of the side rails.

"God, he looks like Friar Tuck," Ava whispered in Tim's ear. "His arms are so big they're rolling about like sausages."

Tim choked on a laugh, flashing a look of warning at Ava. Then he touched her on the arm, applying slight pressure. They began to move out of the terminal, heading for an exit door at the end of Platform 9. To most eyes Tim and Ava appeared like an average young couple, taking their time as they left the station. Once outside the exit door, they found themselves on a cement walkway which led to a parking area.

Tim and Ava walked in the direction of the parking area, where they took a detour and hurried up a pathway just above the cars and Hampstead Station. The path wound through a forest area, dense but well-kept, which was high on a slope overlooking Track 9. There was very little foot traffic in the pouring rain, although joggers appeared here and there. For the most part, Tim and Ava walked unobserved as they continued at a swift pace along the path. Then, suddenly, they were off the path as quickly as they had been on it.

Two men waited for them in a dense copse of trees which overlooked Track 9. Tim quickly gave them a thumbs-up signal. Ava joined them as they stood in a semicircle, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head. She nodded in greeting to the two men waiting for them, noting they were drenched from the rain. Mike Creed looked like he had been through a mud bath, while Brian Talbot appeared barely ruffled. While his thinning dark hair was plastered to his head, his eyes were clear. And they were hard. He hadn't worked with Tim and Ava for a few years. Hampstead Station was one of the few jobs they had organized together.

"The lines are set on Track 9," Mike said. "Has the train been loaded?"

"Yes," Tim replied before Ava could. "It's full to the brim, and our special guest just boarded."

"Good," Talbot noted. "The bloody caffler would be late to his own funeral if we let him. I figure we have about ten minutes' tops to get this off and skitter out of here. Thanks to Tim's surveillance notes, we were able to place the charges just before dawn this morning. The English are nothing if not consistent. They don't rouse lights in the station until six on the nose. We were done long before then."

"When this is over, I want you and Ava to get back to London," Mike spoke up, addressing Tim. "Lay low for a few days, but as soon as you think it's safe, take the Sealink to Dublin. We'll meet two days hence at the safe house."

Ava listened to the men talk, but she felt numb and merely nodded her head at appropriate intervals. She knew what they were about to do was atrocious, plain and simple murder, and her conscience was fighting with her common sense as it always did. It wasn't as if she had never taken another human life before, but it didn't seem to get any easier. They had to pay, these people, for killing her family, destroying her life, brutalizing her country . . .

Neither Mike Creed nor Talbot knew Ava as Tim did. He could see the flickering emotions cross her face as she struggled to justify what they were about to do.

"Maybe Ava should do the honors," Tim said, watching her surprised reaction. "Don't you think?"

Mike agreed. "Certainly. It's a good point to get started. I know this might be a bit overwhelming for you, Ava. It's a lot different from running guns, kidnapping informants and taking shots at soldiers, but I promise you'll get used to it. Now, are you ready?"

"Yes," Ava said firmly, her fears suddenly washed away. She was doing the right thing. Tim saw her resolution and breathed an inner sigh of relief. Once Ava made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her. Even as a child, she had singular purpose once she decided on a course, whether it was as simple as mastering the technique of cooking Dublin Coddle or more complicated, such as meticulously cleaning a rifle. As an adult her resolve had not wavered. The choices were a bit more serious, but her instinctive drive remained the same.

Talbot removed the detonator from his pocket and handed it to Ava. The object felt cold to her touch. She fingered it lightly. At that moment, they heard the whistle from the train at Track 9. Mike spoke up: "There are twenty-five cars on the train, Ava. After today there will be fewer Brits in the world, and maybe this time they'll take more notice."

She looked at Mike, her eyes clear but somehow very cold. "All right, then. Let's get on with it." She turned on the detonator as the men hurried to the small clearing which afforded a view of Track 9. Ava followed them slowly, almost holding her breath. She looked over Mike's shoulder and saw the green lights on the track blinking, indicating the receiver was getting the carrier wave. The noise from the train became louder as it started to pull out of Hampstead Station, chugging and hissing, steam rising from its engines.

In a split second, the first rail car rode over the explosives set in the tracks. Ava pushed another button on the detonator. For a brief moment nothing happened. The train gnashed its wheels in momentum as it moved, but then the noises below suddenly changed. A metallic ripping rendered the air with a deafening wave, followed by several more tearing noises as metal turned to shreds. The back cars of the train began to stack onto the cars in front of them. Then the noises became intermingled with the screams of metal and human suffering.

Then it was quiet, a hush filling the air, but the silence only lasted a few seconds.

As the human screams began in earnest, and smoke and flames filled the air, Ava gave one final passive look down below before turning on her heel to follow the men out of the copse. Her mind was racing, but her nerves were calm:

"That was for you, Daddy."