Page 19 of Celtic Dragon
“What’s going on?” Rebel asks.
“Dbag was just showing me some of the recent shit that’s been going on in Ireland,” I say, indicating my displeasure.
“I was afraid of that,” Rebel replies sheepishly.
“What the fuck, Rebel? You knew all this shit was going on and you neglected to tell me!”
“I didn’t want you to say no.”
“You know I can fucking say no now, don’t you? What the fuck is happening to you? You’re turning into a fucking pussy. You know better than this.”
He shakes his head because he knows I’m right. I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with him. Ever since his family has been brought into the picture, he is like a different person.
It’s quiet at the table for several minutes and then Rebel breaks the silence. “So, are you saying no?” he asks.
Fucker. “No, I’m not saying no. Not because I want to do this or that I even think what we’re about to do is right. The only reason I’m doing this is because you are my brother, my cousin, and my friend. You’ve never asked this club for anything and I can see this is important to you.” He looks at me relieved until I add, “But don’t you ever fucking leave me hanging with just my dick in my hand again. You want something from me, you tell me everything and hold nothing back. You got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Good.” Turning to Dbag, I say, “Got anything else?”
“Yeah.” He hands me several pages of typed text. “Here is all the intel I have found on the British Security Forces and the British prisons in Northern Ireland.”
I scan the list quickly. Several things stand out, but there’s tons of information scribbled all over the page. Does he really think I have time to decipher this? “Care to explain?” I ask.
“Sure, boss. I did a lot of digging into the British Security Forces and what I’ve found is that half of all the top IRA men and women work for these security services. The IRA has a network of informants in public agencies such as social security offices and vehicle licensing departments.”
“You’re shitting me.” I look over at Rebel and say, “How the fuck do you people know who to trust?”
“Hell if I know.” Rebel shrugs.
Dbag continues, “After the Troubles, it was discovered that the IRA’s head of internal security also worked for British intelligence. Apparently one in every four IRA members is an agent for the British, rising to one in two among senior members.”
“Fuck! And the prisons?” I ask.
“There are only two that are relevant to us: HMP Magilligan in Londonderry and HMP Maghaberry in Lisburn. There is a third, but it’s a juvie.”
“Reb, you know anything about these prisons?”
“Dbag is right, the juvie is definitely out. They would never take my parents there, even if they thought it might be a good place to hide them since the prison would be unlikely. Bringing adults into a juvie prison would draw too much attention.”
“And the other two?”
Dbag steps in. “Maghaberry is a high-security prison, mainly housing adult males with long-term sentences. Prisoners are located in both separated and integrated conditions. Although it is not widely known, my expert digging did find that this prison also holds individuals sentenced and convicted of crimes against the crown, such as IRA members.”
Dbag continues, “Magilligan is a medium-security prison housing shorter-term adult male prisoners. It also has a low-security area for such prisoners who are nearing the end of their sentence.”
“Reb?” I ask.
“My gut tells me Maghaberry. I think we start there.”
“Do you think they’re being held there?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. But I think that is our starting point.”
“Ok. We go with your lead on this, bro.”
“Thanks, man.”
