The Fall Guys (Revised Edition)

Gerry Rose

Description

It is the Autumn of 1981 and British Prime Minister, following the ending of the Maze Prison Hunger Strike, finds her Cabinet facing a new and more dangerous threat from an Irish Republican splinter group demanding the unification of Ireland.
As she and her government prepare for the State Opening of Parliament, to be attended by the Royal Family including Prince Charles and his new bride Princess Diana, there ensues a frantic race against time to stop a team of international assassins from wreaking havoc and revenge at the very heart of the British establishment.

Sujets

• Political
• Thrillers
• Pace (speed)
• Politics
• Thriller
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse UK
• Date de parution: 09 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823080507
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

THE FALL GUYS (REVISED EDITION)
GERRY ROSE


AuthorHouse™ UK
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403 USA
www.authorhouse.co.uk
Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK) UK Local: (02) 0369 56322 ([phone] from outside the UK)
 
 
 
 
 
 
© 2023 Gerry Rose. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 04/26/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-8052-1 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-8051-4 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-8050-7 (e)
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Fact and Fiction
In this novel, references are made to many historical facts. However, in the time-honoured fictional tradition, the actual story may be entirely made up.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
 
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
 
Epilogue
About The Author

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Elliot Trilogy:
The Fall Guys
Rinsed
Children’s:
The Mole Man Part 1: Benjamin Crew
The Mole Man Part 2: Captured
Giraffe Box Jorge

In memory of Ann and James Rose

On Saturday 2 October 1981, the Hunger Strike by Irish Republican prisoners in the Maze Prison Belfast was called off. The Hunger Strike had begun at eight o’clock on 1 March 1981 and was to see the deaths of ten men, men who gave their lives for a lost cause.
For many Republicans the campaign, known throughout the world as the H-Block campaign, was seen as a great propaganda victory. To other hardliners however, it was considered to have been a comprehensive defeat. The anticipated wide-scale carnage threatened by the IRA as hunger striker after hunger striker died never came. The British Prime Minister had merely called their bluff.
With the ending of the H-Block campaign came the inevitable volley of suggestions, arguments, and questions as to what would happen next. This is the story of an attempt by renegade Republicans to redeem the lost cause. If successful it would have altered the face of British, Irish, and even world political history for years to come.
PROLOGUE
Friday 22 January 1982
T he wizened grey haired old man had been calling the dog for some time and there was still no sign of the spaniel. Carefully, he clambered over the small wire fence that separated the road from the sand dunes and the beach.
Now able to hear the dog barking above the powerful roar of the wind and sea, and with a hint of apprehension in his large stride, he moved gingerly over the wet sand in the general direction of the sound. Suddenly, he could see the dog in the distance among some rocks and dark green seaweed, foam swirling about its paws, its floppy ears dripping wet.
As the old man approached, he could now make out that the dog was standing over what appeared to be a body. Racing to where the dog stood, he pushed it away without looking at his canine companion, unable to take his eyes away from what lay in the water before him.
It was a body all right, and despite having no experience of such things, the old man guessed that the dead man had been in the sea for some considerable time. Leaning over the body, he grabbed it by the shoulders, noticing as he touched the slimy texture of the cashmere sweater the man had been wearing when he had met his death.
Laboriously, the man dragged the corpse up the beach, the cocker spaniel still barking continuously by his side. It took him all of ten minutes to reach the grass verge beside the road and, dropping the body, the old man slumped onto his backside on to the wet ground panting heavily for breath.
After a few minutes rest, he called the dog and returned to the road. Considering it unlikely that anyone would be driving along the old coast road in such terrible weather conditions, he decided to hurry back to his own cottage and telephone the police from there. So, setting off at a brisk pace, no longer feeling the cold, he thought hopefully that he had found some fame at last and daydreamed as he walked of having his picture in the newspapers, perhaps even being interviewed for the television news.
Below, London Transport’s world-famous red buses vied with the equally familiar black taxicabs and throngs of other vehicles for acceleration space on the infamously busy streets of the city. John Birbeck watched from his office window without paying much attention to the traffic crawling slowly over Lambeth Bridge from the Victoria Embankment, a weary heart having drawn him away from his desk and the large office he had been clearing of personal belongings for the past few days.
In truth, he also felt slightly tipsy from the champagne that had been served at his modest retirement party that had ended a couple of hours ago - and drink had always had a melancholy effect on him. The door of his long-departed assistant’s office opened, and his successor and friend Ian Maitland entered the office and sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of the outgoing Birbeck’s desk, the desk that would officially be his own in the morning.
‘How does it feel then John?’ he asked as Birbeck turned away from the window for the last time and sat down behind his desk to face Maitland.
‘Ask me that one again in a month or two Ian. Now, I don’t know what I feel. One half of me shouts three cheers, and the other half tells me that it’s one foot in the grave time,’ replied Birbeck honestly.
‘Come on John, you’re a very fit fifty-five, another good thirty years to go,’ countered Maitland sincerely.
‘The thing I’ve been asking myself over the past few weeks Ian, is what have I really achieved? Terrorists still bomb innocents in our cities, politicians, royalty and the famous still need constant protection and I’ve come and gone, and nothing has really changed. Probably got worse if we were being brutally honest about it.’
‘Notched up a few good results though, haven’t we?’ suggested Maitland, unhappy to see Birbeck depart in such a depressed frame of mind.
‘You make it sound like a game Ian and I can’t accept that it’s as trivial as that, it can’t be.’
‘More like a complex jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces spread all over a ten-acre grassy field, some even lost,’ Maitland continued the theme, ‘but we can’t be expected to put society back on the rails, never could. That’s not our role. If our world was Utopia like, we’d all be out of a job,’ offered Maitland reassuringly.
‘I am out of a job,’ countered Birbeck in a more quiet, friendly manner.
‘Christ John, we’d better stop, or you’ll have me convinced that I should retire too and what good would that do?’
‘It would do no good at all Ian. As I said, ask me how I feel in a month or two, today has been very difficult,’ Maitland nodded that he understood and just then, the telephone on Birbeck’s desk interrupted them, ringing three times before he picked up the receiver. Silently, he listened to the caller before giving his thanks and disconnecting.
‘That was Jamieson. Do you want the good news or the bloody fantastic news?’ he asked suddenly lighthearted.
‘I’ll have the good news thanks,’ replied Maitland expectantly.
‘Well, my car is waiting, so it’s time for me to take my leave. The show, as they say, is all yours.’ Birbeck rose, walked around his desk, and stood face to face with the new Commander, before shaking hands firmly with Maitland.
‘All the very best Ian, and believe me, you’re going to need it. And remember, any time you feel like you need some old hand advice, please hesitate before calling.’ The two colleagues stood smiling at each other, the sad parting of men who had been through hell together.
At the door Birbeck stopped and looked back.
‘By the way, the bloody fantastic news is that Liam Blaney’s body has been washed up on a remote beach on the west coast of Scotland,’ he smiled and turned to leave, stopping at the office door to add, ‘you might want to inform the Prime Minister.’
‘I’d be delighted to,’ replied Maitland before continuing, ‘one more puzzle nearer completion, I told you that we hadn’t done too badly.’
The news of Liam Blaney’s death lifted John Birbeck’s spirits as his driver Jamieson slowly transported him, for one last time, through the still busy streets towards Waterloo station.
Having slipped into a first-class compartment and found a seat, he recalled the details of the dangerous puzzle, of which Blaney had been an important component part, and was saddened by the knowledge that there remained a few crucial missing pieces – some possibly lost forever.
As the train rolled out of Waterloo, he closed his eyes and began to recall the sad and dangerous events of three or four months earlier, events that could so easily have resulted in his early and disgraceful retirement from the force that he had served with great pride for more than thirty years.
It had all started on a farm in Ulster in October 1981….
1
Friday 16 October 1981
T he metallic blue Jaguar XJ-6 sped across the border that separates the six c