An image of his
friend Kevin McCauley, the Scot, came to mind. They’d become
friends the day Kevin grabbed and held him by the collar when a rogue
wave tried to take him over the side while they worked on deck. When
it was over they’d laughed, called it part of the job; but Kevin
had saved his life. I can’t be a part of this, Sean thought,
as other faces appeared in his mind’s eye. They’re not
my enemy. I couldn’t live with myself. God help us, what have
we been taught?
Within a few days, the stress accompanying his predicament began to
exact a toll. The humiliation of Rafferty’s entrapment filled
him with rage and fear: anger at himself for not standing up and simply
walking away, and fear of the consequences the threatened exposure
would bring. Consumed with thoughts of what they expected of him and
his inability to see a way out, he became short-tempered and quick
to argue with shipmates. Sleep became difficult.
Each time he was able to lie down he’d find himself pounding
his fist into his pillow. “Goddamn that bastard Rafferty,”
he’d murmur into the dark, “goddamn him to hell!”
Worse still, the submarine school’s endless supply of trainees
kept the Ares almost constantly under way between England and the
Northern Ireland port; the stress of continuous operations left no
time for relaxation.
Each time they arrived back in England, he continued to meet with
Rafferty. If I don’t, he thought, they’ll make good on
their threat and leak my name.
As time passed, the feeling of entrapment began to ease. The crew
had been back and forth to Derry many times, and he’d heard
no more about the plans Rafferty’s people were working on.
“I’d like you to stop by for a visit, Sean,” Rafferty
said one afternoon as he set the usual Irish dry stout on the bar
in front of him. “We’re having a bit of a get-together
this evening, and your friends have been asking about you. We’d
like you to join us.”
McGuire felt the dreaded chill strike the pit of his stomach again.
He looked at Rafferty and saw that his smile hadn’t diminished;
any onlooker would see only the friendly, jocular, outgoing Irishman
he portrayed.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I wouldn’t
miss it for the world.”
The stone faces of buildings crowded side by side along the streets
leading to Rafferty’s home and made the brisk, cool breeze that
swept between them seem colder. McGuire leaned into the wind, his
head slightly tilted downward as he trudged toward his destination.
Though uneventful, the walk seemed long. The smiles he’d had
when recalling his childhood and the prejudices he’d come to
view as laughable, were gone. The prejudices that his family members,
especially his uncle, had tried to instill in him now hung heavy.
There’s no escaping them, he thought. Why do we do it to each
other? We’re all just people, yet we have to take sides, make
ourselves different when there is really no difference at all.
Sean slowed his pace slightly as he approached Rafferty’s door.
The urge to turn around and simply walk away flashed through his mind.
But he knew it was useless; they’d find a way. If he tried to
turn them in, it would be impossible to convince anyone he’d
never been involved. He’d seen their work while growing up.
Records would turn up, putting him in places and situations he’d
never heard of, and once they’d finished with that part of ruining
his life, the rest of his family would be next.