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He admitted during the debriefing that he just could not keep up with the pace. Since then he was given nothing but ‘soft’ tasks. However, the problem with doing nothing but safe jobs for years was that complacency set in. The true dangers of the profession remained known, respected even, but with time there was a fogging of the grim realities. In the space of a few short minutes Ed was being fully reacquainted with one aspect of them, and that was risking one’s own life to try and save another.
     
    Back at the operations room, Ed’s voice, the fear in it evident, boomed over the speaker. ‘One three kilo, towards orange five.’
    The ops room was now a flurry of activity. The intelligence officer, and his two people were busy in the int cell that adjoined the ops room.Two off-duty bleeps had arrived in case they were needed, although if truth be known they were really hanging about to witness this unique event.
    ‘Toward orange five, roger that,’ Mike replied into the handset as Graham walked back in.
    ‘Stratton’s on his way,’ Graham said.
    Mike nodded as he pored over the map. The entire province was coded at the major junctions and landmarks, all committed to memory by the operatives even though they had secure communications, just in case that system ever went down and they had to revert back to open comms as in the old days. Graham grabbed a bar cloth off its hook, wiped away the previous chinagraph pencil marks and circled orange five.
    ‘They’re heading for Dungannon,’ Graham said.
    ‘Probably, but where will they cross the border?’
    ‘If they do.’
    ‘We must assume it for now,’ Mike said, scrutinising the thick yellow demarcation line that ran from the top left to the bottom right corner of the map.
    ‘Where’s Bill Lawton?’ Mike asked referring to the detachment’s liaison officer.
    Graham snatched up a phone. ‘He’s at a special branch meeting in Belfast,’ he said as he punched in a number.
    ‘Get hold of him. We need at least a dozen checkpoints covered.Tell him to call the Garda before he talks to anyone else. He’s to tell them we’re concentrating on an area five miles either side of Aughnacloy.’
    ‘Bill Lawton?’ Graham asked into the phone.
    ‘He’s to call them before he talks to anyone in Whitehall. I don’t want to hear from London until this is over . . . How soon can Stratton be at the border?’ Mike asked, well aware Graham could handle half a dozen different tasks at once and give them equal attention.
    ‘Twenty, twenty-five minutes,’ then into the phone, ‘Tell him it’s urgent, life and death,’ then to Mike, ‘Bill’s gone tramp around in the building somewhere. Someone’s gone off to look for him.’
    Mike looked worried, as if trying to see the actual ground on the map beyond the two-dimensional topographical information. ‘If he’s in a bloody pub I’ll have his arse in a sling. The checkpoints will never be set up in time. The army and RUC are too bloody slow.’
    Everyone in the room was thinking the same thing. Poor old Spinksy.
     
    The Irishman kneeled heavily on Spinks’s sternum, searching his jacket pockets as the car bumped along at speed. ‘You one of those who don’t carry one because you think it’s a waste of time? Eh?’ He checked the trouser pockets, front and rear. ‘Grubby little bastard, ain’t ya?’ he growled. The man gave up the search and sat back a moment to take a look at Spinks, who lay there like a frightened seal. ‘You stink, Pink, so you do,’ he said, wearing a look of disgust as he wiped his hands on his own jacket.
    Brennan was his name. He was from Dundalk in County Louth. His primary livelihood was armed robbery, cash targets mostly, such as banks, post offices and building societies. He preferred to work during business hours for two reasons: he felt it was the safest time of the day to rob a high street business, and he enjoyed seeing the terrified faces of the people when he burst in