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  Due to the school being so close to the river and bush it was necessary to have a number of strict rules forbidding pupils from wandering outside the school boundaries. An abundant number of wild animals, both in the bush and in water, could take a child in a moment, and it was a daily drill for the teachers to lecture their students on this subject.

  The river nearby flowed just outside the school grounds and when the water level was low tiger fish could be seen leaping; not a danger to the children in this case, but with crocodiles and hippopotamuses it was a different matter. Crocodiles lurked just under the water near the bank, always patient and waiting for the opportunity to strike quickly and drag their prey back into the water.

  Hippopotamuses were a little different. Vegetarian, their power came from their size and temperament; they rampaged incessantly, and were normally most dangerous at night, hauling their huge bodies along the banks of the river, trampling anything that got in their way. An African social law related to this phenomenon: One should never, ever get between the hippo and the river; it will run right over you.

  On one particular day after a brisk game of netball, Naomi was last in the shower and was enjoying the luxury of what she thought was privacy. Her smooth, beautiful body was lathered, her hair wet, and she was happy and the glint sparkled in her deep brown eyes. She rinsed her body and hair with clear water until all the soap was gone and finally opened her eyes, but was surprised to see two black African girls staring at her.

  At first Naomi, feeling contented, ignored them, but, sensing an unnatural interest from them, decided to clarify the situation and strode naked towards them, as she did so swirling a towel around her body.

  She spoke in English rather than the Bemba language. With her customary direct attitude, she looked down at the girls. “What are you two staring at?” she asked, towering above them.

  The girls were nervous and stammered, each hoping that the other would be the leader.

  “Well?” Naomi looked imposing.

  The girls remained quiet, although transfixed.

  Naomi tried to cover herself with the small towel. “What is the matter with the two of you? Do I have to slap a response out of you?” She was amazed at her own aggressiveness.

  The smaller of the two girls answered timidly, “My name is Rose, and we apologise for embarrassing you. So sorry.” She waited for a moment, and without looking at Naomi stammered, “Our bodies appear different than yours.”

  “What do you mean, different?” hissed Naomi.

  “You are beautiful, but may not find a man to marry later,” Rose stammered.

  “Not find a man, what is that all about?” Naomi did not understand.

  “The elders in our tribe say women must make themselves attractive to men by pulling down here.” And she demonstrated a pulling movement in her loins.

  Naomi realised what they were saying, and laughed for the first time since the conversation began. “Then you must listen to your elders because they are wise, but as for me, I am happy. I do not want a husband, especially if he dictates how I look, but let us be friends.” She extended her hand in friendship and gave the two smaller girls a good hug. Both sighed with relief as they looked up at their new friend.

  “Let’s get dressed and go for something to eat.” Naomi continued to smile at the smaller girls. She thought that school was becoming more interesting by the day.

  Quietly and compassionately, Naomi mothered the two girls from then on, protecting them, talking to them in the evening before lights out. The school was large, with about three hundred pupils, of whom thirty-five were in Naomi’s class. Her studies progressed and she qualified for taking the matriculation examination. Her prowess in sport, mainly because of her size, surpassed anything the school had seen before. She was selected for sporting honours and played for the Zambian schools’ national netball team. Her life was at an exciting threshold.

  But there was a dark shadow lurking over her, in the form of the Ghanaian teacher who seemed to be stalking her constantly; during her outdoor sports sessions and at her study breaks in the courtyard. He was becoming a worry.

  8

  A Reunion at MI6,

  1st May 1981

  All the great rivers around the world can tell a story. They flow and ebb and are the core of the city they dominate. The River Thames in London is no different.

  The horror and tragedy that spur notoriety over hundreds of years become bizarrely attractive to city tourists. These grim reminders of bad deeds that happened long ago were not in the visitors’ minds on this beautiful spring day in 1981. The river was alive with colour, pleasure boats purred up and down between Greenwich and their city moorings, and hundreds of tourists walked along the Embankment, enjoying the sun and festivities. City workers hurried about their business as though there wasn’t a moment to lose, dodging tourists and carrying loaded briefcases, sweltering under the hot May Day sun and keeping cool the best way that they could.

  George Webster, an MI6 agent, had over the past few years built up an established information network, mostly from the ordinary public. Although it was an invaluable source, it was often sensationalised and unreliable. Today he left his flat in the South London suburb of Balham dressed in a light suit. He was without any topcoat, and felt he was dressed adequately for the mild weather.

  After departing the Tube at Waterloo, he walked along Westminster Bridge Road and slowed down to collect his thoughts, organising his mind for the day ahead. By the time he reached the office steps he was perspiring; his thoughts had cost him dearly, for he was now behind on his personalised schedule.

  In precisely fifteen minutes he was to attend a meeting concerning security arrangements for the opening ceremony at Sullom Voe, the oil terminal in Shetland. HM The Queen was to officiate but other dignitaries would accompany her including her husband the Duke of Edinburgh, and King Olav of Norway. This meeting had been called due to information George had received from a worker at the site, and the event had subsequently been put on red alert.

  The date for the opening ceremony was the 9th May 1981, and to make matters a little more complicated than just dealing with one perpetrator, George had also received unsubstantiated evidence that the KGB had taken an interest in activities at the oil terminal.

  Leonid Brezhnev had succeeded Nikita Khrushchev as leader of the Soviet Union in 1964. He and his communist regime continued to survive, but the Russian public were being influenced by Western capitalism, and unrest within the ranks was spreading through the whole of the Soviet Union.

  To make matters worse, Lech Wałęsa headed the Solidarity movement in Poland, a powerful non-governmental trade union that started in 1980 in the shipyards of the country. It was the first independent labour movement in the Soviet Bloc and claimed nearly ten million members. The Pope supported Wałęsa, and Solidarity were later to have a major impact in the fall of communism in the Soviet Bloc.

  His Eminence Pope John Paul II was a popular figure throughout most of the civilised countries, gaining respect and admiration worldwide. His stance against the Soviets was intense and they were becoming impatient with him. He wanted religious freedom for all countries within the Soviet Union, and especially for his native Poland.

  9

  Double Trouble,

  May 1981

  Michael O’Byrne was suspected of being a double agent working for both the KGB and the Irish Republican Army. He was subsequently arrested on his way to Sullom Voe in 1979, but later released from police custody in December 1980 due to lack of evidence. O’Byrne started his campaign by securing work with the terminal operator (client), and soon after being accepted made plans to visit the site.

  Unfortunately, whilst he was waiting for a flight from Glasgow to Shetland, Glasgow Police and the Security Services intercepted him. As further information was received it became apparent that O’Byrne was indeed involved with both t
he IRA and the KGB.

  In gathering further information, it transpired that a further IRA cell was suspected to be active in the Shetlands, involving two suspects. One remained unknown; the other had been confirmed as Barney Coughlin, a construction worker on the site. In July 1980 Coughlin absconded from Shetland before any serious damage was done, but the full relevance of both O’Byrne and Coughlin was being considered.

  Webster had prepared his agenda. O’Byrne had been in custody but released due to lack of evidence, and his movements were now carefully monitored. Coughlin, on the other hand, needed to be located and arrested as soon as possible, before the IRA got to him.

  The highest priority at the opening ceremony was to ensure that HM The Queen and her entourage were safe at all times.

  The director general walked past George as he departed the lift. “Everything in order, Webster, eh?” He paused for a second, and before George could answer continued, “Call me when all personnel are here, and let’s get this thing started.”

  “I will check now and let you know, sir.”

  “Good man.” And the director general strode onwards to his office and shut the door.

  The meeting was well attended, with a representative from each major unit, when George entered he made a mental note of all personnel in attendance and assured himself that all invited were present.

  Those represented covered MI5, Shetland Constabulary, Ulster Constabulary, Glasgow Constabulary, and Martin Ellis from Special Forces. Ellis was best known for his cunning and his unscrupulous methods in dealing with the most difficult investigations.

  All were seated when the director general entered the room and closed the door behind him. He did not sit, but stood erect, not even reviewing his notes. “I will not beat about the bush. If anything goes wrong with this event in the Shetlands, heads will roll. Today you will not advise me on what needs to be done; but give me the answer; it has been done. He quickly scrutinised his notes. “Give me all the information on O’Byrne and Coughlin and advise me if one or both are still active. I am to understand that at least one other terror suspect is in operation in the Shetlands; are these direct replacements for O’Byrne and Coughlin?”

  “Coughlin has not yet been located and we understand he has a replacement now in operation, yet unknown.” Ellis informed the meeting.

  He went on. “O’Byrne departed the country for the Soviet Bloc but we have no information on his whereabouts to date.”

  The director general looked around the room. He made eye contact with each of the attendees, and it wasn’t as much staring as glaring. “Do not speculate unnecessarily; there may be many suspects but do not waste time on scraps of information that lead to nowhere. We must have enough information to nail the culprits. If there is nothing else, I will bid you good day and remind you that the next meeting is in two weeks’ time, on the 14th May to be precise.”

  That Evening...

  It was a chic restaurant close to King’s Cross Station, and George Webster and Sean O’Leary, the chief inspector of the Ulster Constabulary, were ushered to a table in a quiet part of the restaurant.

  “Is this dinner on your expenses or mine?” The chief inspector was being facetious.

  “I will pay for the meal if you get the drinks, Sean.” George, pretending to read the menu, was waiting for a satisfactory reply.

  “All depends what we drink, I guess,” joked the inspector.

  “It’s not what we drink, as my expenses will not cover alcohol,” said George.

  “Make the wine reasonable and I am in.” And they shook hands and laughed.

  George became serious. “Our man Coughlin, have you checked him out?” he queried.

  “Absolutely, my friend; he was brought up a good Catholic altar boy, took up boxing and won more fights than he lost; he boxed out of Warrenpoint Amateur Boxing Club. After school he was taken on as an apprentice at a garage and reports are that he was an excellent mechanic. No regular girlfriends, liked a beer but nothing big, and he was the last of his mates to leave for greener fields – well, joint last, as he left with one of them, a lad called Declan.”

  “Can we pick him up? It’s bloody important that he does not pull the trigger.” Sean was firm.

  George interrupted. “Why do we not know of this situation, Sean? Is this Secret Squirrel or something?”

  “George, we have just found this out; it will be in our report to you guys in about a week.”

  “And this Declan, have you checked him out on site?”

  “Yes we have, and he is clean, apparently not even socialised with his friend Coughlin.” Sean sounded confident.

  “I must act now and get a tag on him, see what he is up to.” George sat back in thought.

  “Remember what your boss stated. Do not waste time on unproven information; it’ll lead to the same embarrassment as what happened to O’Byrne.”

  “Agreed: holding a man without evidence has a limit.”

  “Well, what are we drinking? I am hungry and thirsty.” Sean laughed.

  George broke from deep thought. “It’s the halibut and a red; I’m for the Italian Barolo ’66.”

  They both were deep in thought.

  “By the way, George, how do we know that Coughlin is the man we want? I understand that there was an Irishman called Barney who suddenly absconded from the site – or are they one and the same?”

  The waiter brought the Barolo, showed Sean the label and poured a taster drop into his glass.

  “That fine.”

  The waiter poured a little more into George’s glass, and they clinked before each tippled.

  “They are the same person; it was a report that I received from an informant.”

  “What did the report suggest?”

  “Overheard a conversation and put a name to a face.”

  “That’s not a strong case,” said Sean.

  “I know that, but we have a number of other pointers – need to follow them up,” advised Webster.

  The halibut was served and they both fell silent as they sampled the fish.

  “What has been done about finding him?” said Webster.

  “We have scoured the Shetlands, and are now doing the same in mainland Scotland, but London is for someone else to handle.”

  “Who is covering that?”

  “Your man Martin Ellis, and working with you,” Sean advised.

  “That’s interesting; well, he hasn’t contacted me yet.” George was thoughtful. “By the way, I will skip dessert and have a coffee with a brandy instead.” He laughed.

  It was late when they parted at the door of the restaurant.

  “Sean, please advise me of any titbits when you hear them and I will do the same, OK?”

  “Absolutely, I’ll do that.”

  They shook hands and went their separate ways.

  10

  Never Say Goodbye,

  Spring 1981

  The British winter of 1981 was typical: cold, damp, a sprinkle of snow, but nothing over the top.

  Barney was about to make his move. It wasn’t because he was unhappy or threatened, but he couldn’t live the life of a fugitive in hiding. This is what it felt like to him, cooped up in Sarah’s house during the day and scurrying out wrapped up like a mummy at night.

  His association with her remained very good, but it seemed to Barney that their association was more like a ‘friend with benefits’ rather then a serious love affair. They slept together only sparingly, Barney returning to his bed after the few times when they had the need.

  Sarah was attentive and loving, suspecting that some day Barney would go, so she made the most of it while it lasted, and when it did it was free and uninhibited.

  Barney was aware of her feelings, and it was no easy task for him to plan a departure in June. The remaining few weeks would give him ample t
ime to fine-tune his movements.

  His thoughts occupied him most of the day as he continually reviewed his plans. It had taken him a long time and his research provided him with the direction he would take; he had decided to head for Africa. For what reasons, he wasn’t sure, but he felt that it was easier to lose oneself there than on any other continent, and of course for the majority of Africa’s countries, the language spoken was English.

  He plotted the places of uncertainty and the risk they carried; these included the ports of Dover into France and Spain into Morocco; each of the borders here might disclose him as a fugitive. The towns of Tarifa and Algeciras had ferry schedules that sailed to Tangier, and were close to the busy British colony of Gibraltar. The non-ferry-terminal towns were a risk to Barney for different reasons; Gibraltar patrolled by British police and the town of La Linear for its lawlessness. He may need to consider the best option for lying low if the situation arose.

  Barney’s opinion was that travel in Africa may be more straightforward, and that the border guards would be less meticulous and easier to bribe than those in Europe and the Far East. He had ascertained that his problem would be his own personal safety – most of the countries would be poor and life there cheap; if people knew he carried money it would be especially dangerous. He would need to carry less than he’d originally planned and use the local banks whenever necessary.

  The timing of his journey should match the good weather of the northern hemisphere at this time, and he could not wait to get started. He chose the 1st June, and on a damp and cold day left Sarah’s house when she was out meeting friends. He left her a brief note that was tender and personal. It read:

  Living here with you was nice. You are my closest friend in the world and I will never forget you. When I write, please destroy the evidence, and I hope we can meet again sometime in the future.

  Barney

  Five weeks later, Barney stepped from the train in Casablanca and headed for the Rendi Hotel; it was not the best place to stay in town but it shouldn’t attract attention, and the staff were not expected to ask too many questions.