Blackest of Lies Read Online Free Page B

Kitchener was killed by the IRB – if that is, indeed, the case.”
    Thompson nodded agreement: nothing had been proven yet. Hubert pressed further. "I'm of French Swiss-Canadian parentage so, to a certain extent, I think I can view Anglo-Irish relations from something of a distance but, even so, I have absolutely no doubt that we’d have internecine war in the trenches if this came out – the English against the Irish.  Kitchener was like a God to the British Army.”
    “We know he was popular but surely that’s overstating the case a tad.”
    Hubert cast his mind back to the carnage he had left behind at Ypres.  “Well, think about this.  When the mud had set on the Ypres Salient after one of the larger pushes, the Red Cross were trying to identify some of our boys who had died on the field.  They came across a young lad – no more than a schoolboy, really – but there he was, lying face down in the mud of an empty trench.  His only company was a couple of mutilated horses that had been blown in by the blast of a shell.  In one hand he had his empty Enfield and, in the other, a crumpled, blood-stained photograph of Lord Kitchener, torn from a magazine.”  He paused and smiled sardonically at the others.  “Not much more than a child, I agree, and probably very impressionable, but men grow up quickly over there, Commissioner.  It's either that or not growing up ever.  Clearly, this lad had worshipped Kitchener – and he wouldn’t have been the only one – so, one sniff of this business and all hell will break loose.  We'll lose the War within the week."
    "Point taken. But a week – that quickly?” asked Thompson.
    Hubert paused as the driver honked the horn like some demented goose.  "I do.  And it's for that very reason that I can't really take this idea of the Irish being involved.  Surely it can't be in their own interests to allow the Hun to win the War?  I mean, Ireland would fall with Britain.  What makes you think they're behind this – apart from the type of gun?"
    "As I said – Gallagher.  We had reports that he was seen in London recently.  As usual, he buggered off and disappeared God knows where.  Now, perhaps, we know.”  Thompson shook his head emphatically.  “But you’re wrong if you feel that an English defeat wouldn’t serve the Irish cause.  There’s strong evidence the IRB have been in close talks with the Hun over who gets what after Britannia sinks below the waves.  At any rate, Gallagher is just too important to be here without a suitable target in mind.  The IRB don’t waste his talents – although it is rumoured there’s some rough and tumble going on at their Dublin Brigade HQ.  One or two of his colleagues-in-arms seem to be less than happy about the way he ploughs a lonely furrow – but that's beside the point.” 
    “And what, exactly is to the point, Commissioner?” asked Fitzgerald.
    Thompson shifted arthritically in his seat as the firmly sprung car hit a rut in the road.  “What is to the point, Colonel, is the fact that the Mauser is his preferred weapon.  It’s a little bulky, but you can be assured that when you pull the trigger, anything in front of the business end is going to feel terminally unwell.  And the clincher, I suppose, is that we simply have nothing on the Hun espionage front to suggest enemy involvement – they're all playing nice with their sketchbooks and cameras.”  He chuckled and wiped his nose.  “Well, the ones we didn’t sweep up on Day One of the War, that is.”
    “I’ll bet that pleased the Kaiser,” said Hubert.
    “It did that.  Apparently, he raved for the best part of two hours when he heard the news.  Steinhauer must have had his ears reamed out.”  Seeing Hubert’s eyebrows raised in question, he added, “Steinhauer’s Major Kell’s opposite number.”
    Kell uncrossed his legs in irritation.  "All very interesting but, as you say, we’re drifting from the point. Colonel Fitzgerald