Cry of the Hunter Read Free

eyebrows. ‘He must be quite a boy.’
    ‘He is indeed, Mr. Fallon,’ Doolan said, ‘and one we can’t do without. He’s walked the path of danger these two years, a hero and a legend to his people.’ He paused and the only sound in the room was the crackling of the logs in the fire and the drumming of the rain against the window. O’Hara coughed asthmatically and Doolan said, heavily, ‘He was taken the day before yesterday.’
    There was another short silence and then Fallon said, ‘Well, it comes to us all in the end. He lost, that’s all.’
    ‘We must have him out,’ O’Hara said suddenly. ‘He must never stand trial.’
    Fallon’s eyes narrowed and he looked first at Doolan, who dropped his gaze, and then at O’Hara. He laughed briefly. ‘What kind of a line are you trying to give me? Why shouldn’t he stand trial? I stood trial. What makes Rogan so different?’
    Doolan sighed and said to O’Hara, ‘We'll have to tell him the truth. It’s no good.’
    O’Hara nodded. ‘I knew we would. I didn’t think he’d be fooled for a minute.’
    Doolan turned to Fallon. He seemed to search for words and then he said, ‘You see, Mr. Fallon, Rogan is everything I said he was. He’s served his country well. He’s done good work in Ulster, but … ’
    ‘He’s not to be trusted,’ O’Hara said. ‘It could be the end of the Organization in Ulster if he ever stands trial.’
    Fallon poured himself another drink and said coolly, ‘The work of years going up in smoke, eh? That wouldn’t be so good. How can he do it?’
    Doolan sighed wearily and leaned back in his chair. ‘The polis are holding him at Castlemore. He managed to get a message smuggled out to us yesterday. He says we must get him out before they move him to Belfast. If we leave him to stand trial he swears he’ll make a deal with the polis. He'll tell them everything they want to know about the Organization in Ulster if they promise to go easy on him.’
    Fallon frowned. ‘He must be mad. He knows the first thing he’d get from the Organization, even if he was freed, would be a bullet. He’d do better to take his sentence and bide his time.’
    O’Hara shook his head. ‘There’ll be no biding his time, Martin, if he is sentenced. He shot a peeler dead and crippled another. They’ll hang him so high the crows won’t be able to get at him.’
    Fallon whistled softly. ‘God help him then. They’re hard men to deal with at the best of times. Devils, when one of their own has been killed.’
    ‘You can see why we came to you, Mr. Fallon,’ Doolan said. ‘There’s nobody else left up there. Nobody that’s good enough to handle a job like this.’
    Fallon laughed coldly. ‘And you think I’m going to stick my head into that hornets’ nest? You must be mad.’
    ‘You mean you refuse to help us?’ Doolan said.
    ‘I wouldn’t raise a finger,’ Fallon told him. ‘Rogan shot a peeler. He knew what he was doing. Now he can take the consequences.’ There was a hard finality in his tone.
    Doolan turned to O’Hara, but the old man didn’t seem to be attending. He sat erect, his head slightly on one side as if he was listening for something. Suddenly he pulled himself to his feet and went across to the window. He peered out and when he turned there was a slight smile on his face. ‘Don’t worry, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be all right. The trouble with you is you don’t understand the Irish temperament.’ He chuckled to himself and shuffled back to his chair by the fire.
    At that moment Fallon became aware of the sound of a car engine muffled by the rain. He turned and said, ‘What dirty trick have you got up your sleeve now, O’Hara?’
    The old man smiled genially and took out his pipe. ‘No tricks, Martin. Psychology. It’s a grand thing, and after all – we must move with the times.’
    As the car stopped outside Fallon filled his glass with a steady hand and poured the whisky down his throat in one easy