Breakfast Meeting With The Managing Director (Based on the Book Berry Hill)

Duggy had enough excitement for a young man from his first job, time for a change with another international group.

?Little was he to know the next challenging encounter had greater risks than the first, what a lucky boy!

“I have left yesterday’s mail on the sideboard, one was by registered post, and I had to sign for it,” said his father.

For his social class, registered letters were rare and always indicated matters of a serious nature, normally bad news. Duggy thought it best to act nonchalantly hoping his father would think it was a letter he was expecting after his sojourn to South Africa. No such luck.

“I think you better open it, it could be important, and you might want to go over to ‘Jivers’ before he goes out, you may want to use his phone.” Jiver, as he was nicknamed, was a professional xylophone player, sometimes featured on tv, playing in the variety shows hosted by the celebrities of the day. He was on call all the time, and as a result, a telephone was a necessary tool of his trade allowing his agent to organise bookings. He was the only one on the street who had one, and possibly on the whole council estate.

For many, having a phone would only beg the question who could you possibly ring? It was a facility not to abuse and always any user would offer more than the cost for the inconvenience, but most of the time it was refused. Sometimes tv celebrities would visit ‘Jiver’ on the street in their very posh cars much to the neighbours’ delight.

Duggy wasn’t a one to disobey an instruction from his father. Even a gentle statement, Duggy would construe as no idle passing comment but a command. Duggy opened the envelope to see straightaway it was from Tony the head of Internal Audit Department. There were no preliminaries, just a handwritten note in green ink and some air tickets to inform Duggy that he was to get the East Midlands flight in two days’ time to Aldergrove Airport, Belfast. All that was added was he would be met there by a Richard. That was it, except a curious postscript saying, ‘80,000 had flown the coup!’

“No need to disturb ‘Jiver,’ I just have to go on a business trip on Tuesday for hopefully just a few days,” said Duggy pre-empting a question from his Pa.

Having already had his mind deeply disturbed with the furore in South Africa, the less than informative curt message was all adding to the uncertainties. No call from London; solely a brusque note and no explanation of the task to be achieved.

The flight was like any other, except on walking down the corridor to the plane’s door there were two smartly dressed suited gentlemen beyond the departure gate asking again for passports from passengers. This struck Duggy as unusual as he always assumed that once he had gone through the last gate check-in, he could put all his flight papers away. Expecting to be asked for his documentation again, he was just ushered through with a wave of a hand.

Duggy was on his way for who knows what, to meet a Richard. Use to having some semblance of self-control, he felt twitchy, especially as Northern Ireland was suffering from the deepening ‘Troubles’, He was hoping the luggage had been thoroughly checked for any improvised devices designed to bring planes down into the Irish Sea.

Finally, he landed at Aldergrove Airport, collected his bags, and proceeded to the arrivals area. It didn’t take a moment for him to see the name Richard scrawled on a large white envelope written in blue crayon. Richard was a very smartly dressed suited young man, probably approaching his thirties, with a dark black beard. He shook Duggy by the hand and said,

“We are putting you up in the company house in Dungannon where you can meet Gerald the managing director, he’s expecting you within the hour.”

Apart from the heavy army contingent at the airport, several five-man army foot patrols, and many Land Rovers on the perimeter of the airport, the journey to Dungannon was through gentle rolling lush green hills on little used open country roads. Richard didn’t say much except to say he worked as the chief accountant at the group’s head office just down the road and only had an oversight role over the subsidiary, a poultry company. At this reference Duggy was able to at least connect two pieces of scant information, the reference to poultry and the postscript on the registered letter.

Duggy was expecting either a luxury apartment or a terraced house for the company house. What else would you expect for a subsidiary of another subsidiary in the group. He was to get quite a shock, they were ushered through the security- controlled wrought-iron gate, down a long driveway lined by oak trees before opening up to a huge green lawn dominated by a mansion.

The entrance was fronted by a gravelled area leading to a jet-black door sporting a highly polished brass doorknob. Pulling to a halt, Richard grabbed Duggy’s small case and briefcase from the boot and led the way into the entrance hall. Duggy managed to catch sight of a housekeeper scurrying into an adjoining room holding a silver tea tray. Duggy followed Richard.

Dropping the cases in the centre of the hallway, Richard led Duggy into the room from which the housekeeper was leaving. Gerald, the managing director of a subsidiary of a subsidiary was no diminutive figure. Tall dark slim, black Brylcreamed hair swept back in a side parting, thin lipped, dressed also in a smart business suit. He stood by a red leather chair. He obviously had warning of the impending visit from the sound of gravel under the car tyres but as Duggy was later to learn the whole estate was surrounded by electronic radar beams and cameras.

“Hello Duggy, welcome, we have been looking forward to your visit. Would you like to join me in a tea and a nice cream and strawberry jam scone,” said Gerald?

“Please to see you but I have to confess I am not entirely sure I know why am here, but I was told you could fill me in,” said Duggy already striking a business tone.

“Let’s worry about that later over dinner, just relax and enjoy your refreshment first after your long journey,” said Gerald.

Already Duggy was beginning to learn there were certain social graces and a different pace to life in Ulster. Manners were just as important as the business in hand. Duggy began to realise it was quite a few hours since enjoying breakfast with his Pa, having nothing to eat or drink on the way. Tea and scones were just the pick-me-up before dinner at 07:00pm.

Duggy took an instant liking to Gerald, whereas he felt a little wary of Richard. These were just instinctive reactions learnt over his brief career span. Duggy found it interesting whether first impressions were confirmed or were substantially revised through events and experience. So far, his instincts had served him well. There was only the odd surprise, including the day he met his future wife.

The main topic of the conversation were the problems with republicans and protestant extremists, they seemed intent on killing each other at the slightest provocation. Gerald made an extreme remark saying he felt the funerals for the victims were in effect competitions as to how many mourners each side could muster. It was a perverse expression of the justice of their cause. They were both sides harbouring murderous criminal thugs chasing causes that could be resolved democratically and peacefully with a little goodwill on both sides.

He did begin to learn later the catholic community had been unfairly locked out of the economic benefits of the country. The British Army had been brought in to prevent a massacre of the Catholics by the Protestants and conversely protection of the Protestants from the Catholic reprisals. So intense was the mutual hatred the terrorists were able to feed off their mutual fear and hatred to promote their campaigns of domination of their communities through sheer terror.

By the time they had finished tea and scones, there was an hour and a half for Duggy to unpack, freshen up and prepare for dinner and the briefing from Gerald of what needed to be done. He was first down to dinner so took the opportunity to take in the view through the French windows before it became too dark. The view was magnificent. A lush green lawn descending to a lake dotted by great bare leaved trees. He was reminded of a similar view from Willoughby Hall, Nottingham that he had been accustomed to right from a baby, when his mother would push him around in a great wheeled Victorian pram complete with white tyres and leaf sprung cot. The coachwork would not have been lost on a luxury limousine.

Gerald was just a few minutes later, but no sign of Richard, he had already left while Duggy was changing. A coal fire was burning brightly in the dining room and a series of silver covered platters were already arranged on a giant deep oak sideboard.

“Let us get started straight away before the food gets cold. We usually do not have a starter just a main course and a choice of desserts. Apologies, entirely my fault, the danger is to overeat cooped up here; little chance to exercise. I fly in Monday and then out on the last flight on Friday to Manchester,” continued Gerald.

Despite his slim figure, Gerald it seemed enjoyed his food tucking into the generous fare of delicious dishes. Duggy paced himself thinking Gerald could do all the talking while Duggy finished his helpings.

Eventually Duggy piped up,

“So how can I possibly help you?”

Gerald then gave quite a long dissertation of his issues. In summary they were an exceedingly small subsidiary in the Group operating a poultry business, an activity far removed from the rest. There had been a control failure indicating 80,000 chickens could not be accounted for.

Bingo, that is where the 80,000 came from thought Duggy. As it was 1st April Duggy thought this had been an elaborate wind-up by Tony, but it soon became apparent there were much deeper and more serious problems in store.

HMG had invested millions of pounds expanding the poultry processing factories to five times the current production levels over the next eighteen months. A production control problem was not only unwelcome, at this sensitive stage, but could jeopardise the whole project, the government pulling the funding rug from under them.

Probing by Duggy revealed though another massive problem down the track when questioning the capacity of refrigerated lorries to take this massive increase in product to their main market in GB. The company had relied exclusively on Protestant hauliers. Duggy suggested he started immediately on the production control issue first but in the meantime could Gerald list all the Catholic hauliers in the Province? Gerald response was positive, except he did add,

“The Protestants won’t like it.”

“They can go and stuff themselves, we are not going to allow them to be a political barrier to a practical solution,” answered Duggy tersely. A little of the abrasive and bluntness of the South Africans had rubbed-off.

Within a week the production control weaknesses had been identified and importantly a range of system changes introduced that were not only robust but could be the firm foundation for a much greater enterprise. Tony called late that Friday afternoon enquiring how Duggy was getting on.

“Are the chickens back in their coup,” he quipped?

“All tucked up in bed with a nice cup of cocoa,” replied Duggy.

“Are you coming back today then,” said Tony?

“I am afraid not, I need to deal with a logistic issue first before I can leave, it may take a couple of weeks to resolve that one,” said Duggy.

“What’s the problem”, asked Tony?

“Don’t quite know yet but it could be complicated and delicate, give me a couple of weeks and I will let you have a progress report,” requested Duggy.

“Fair enough but take care my friend I am learning it is getting a bit tasty over there,” said Tony.

Over dinner Gerald produced a list of twenty-five potential hauliers and usefully adding the number of refrigerated lorries each had. Most had at least two, whilst some others had up to ten. A quick calculation and Duggy concluded he needed to convert at least ten of them and for them to commit 100% for at least one lorry.

“I will be onto it, this week,” said Duggy.

“I will arrange a car for you and change from time to time your registration plates and sometimes perhaps the car, just as a precaution,” added Gerald.

“Is that really necessary,” asked Duggy?

“It is getting a ‘tidge’ tricky now. Not only is it necessary, but for some visits to the haulier it is better they pick you up than you go alone into bandit country,” answered Gerald.

Duggy thought Gerald might be over doing the security stuff but then came the visit to Donahue’s in County Armagh. Duggy was making substantial progress in his meetings although there was still some scepticism amongst Catholic hauliers. That could only be overcome by exchange of haulage service contracts and a significant rise in business. Donahue’s were located on an isolated farm in the county of Armagh. This was considered bandit country and cars driven by suited gentlemen with short haircuts were bound to attract suspicion and worse. There would be no army protection. Duggy took Gerald’s recommendation and organised for Barry Donahue to pick him up by the courthouse in Armagh town centre.

Barry was a barrel-chested hard lump. Not fat, but you knew he was physically tough. He picked up Duggy dressed in a grey cardigan that did not quite meet the top of his trousers. It was apparent his trousers were kept up by green and white striped braces. Despite his slightly unshaven appearance he was quite an affable character.

He suggested they first went to the haulage sheds to show Duggy the space for five lorries with one parked in situ. A conversation could take place over a tea and biscuits to outline what a deal could look like. On arrival he could see acres of potatoes fields and grazing cows far into the distance. There were five-hangar like sheds adjoining one another with one set of sliding doors slightly ajar sufficient to gain entry.

Duggy followed Barry into the vast open space containing the five inspection pits and at the far-end sets of tools neatly stored against the wall. You could not help but be impressed especially as there was standing in one bay a brand new 40-foot refrigerated Volvo lorry.

“Bloody hell, why haven’t we been using your lorries before,” said Duggy?

“I suppose that is why you are here,” answered Barry.

They then walked across the huge concrete yard and entered the farmhouse. As he sat down Duggy said,

“And what makes you think you are good enough to work for me?”

That was not a very clever opening statement by Duggy in such a sensitive political environment. Barry rose in his chair clearly offended and took a swing. Duggy ducked as he did so and before he could try with the other arm said,

“Whoa, I meant no offence, I am genuinely trying to help you. You well know our Protestant friends would love for my initiative to fail and I need to ensure I do not give them the pleasure.”

Calm was restored and as the discussions continued both agreed to a service contract for two years committing three refrigerated full-time. For Barry, this meant purchasing another two lorries but with a guarantee of their income for at least two years. Effectively Barry’s business had been given the boost it needed to establish his business long-term.

Just as they concluded and shook hands a buzzer went and Barry shot up out of his chair and peered out of the window through a pulled curtain, now in gathering darkness he saw two sets of car headlights approaching. He turned to Duggy and said,

“We have unwelcome visitors, you must hide immediately they must not know you are here,” said Barry exuding for the first-time petrified fear.

Duggy could already hear footsteps of nail studded boots on the hard-concrete yard. There was no time for the best options. He looked at the fireplace, looked up the vast chimney and noted there were some protruding half bricks for the first ten feet before narrowing and smoothing out further up. He climbed up and near the narrowing of the chimney firmly wedged-in his feet, tucking his bottom on a conveniently place half brick just at the point the chimney narrowed.

Within a couple of minutes, the door swung open, and he could hear several people entering the room. There were many voices all speaking Gaelic as far as he could make out. He worked out there were about six people in all with various names. One asked Barry something followed by an instruction leading to Barry leaving the room.

Were these drug dealers or worse still terrorists. Duggy thought they better not decide to light a fire, or I am in real trouble. Not exactly the time of the year for Santa Claus to come down the chimney!

Duggy thought he must try and pay close attention, work out names and hopefully confirm how many people were gathered. For an hour and a half, he half sat there his legs beginning to become progressively numb.

He had worked out there were six and applied their names to the voices but there were two additional names came up he could not place. One was the name of Duggan, a frequent reference but no voice to attribute it to. The other was what he believed was not a person but the ‘Scilly Isles’. Nothing made much sense.

Just as quickly as the visitors had arrived, they left with a few words exchanged with Barry.

As he heard the cars drive-off Barry put his head into the chimney and looking up said,

“You can come down, now they have gone,” beckoning Duggy down with an outstretched arm.

Duggy looked a comical sight, his suit and shirt covered in black sooty patches. “Hold on I will get the vacuum cleaner,” continued Barry.

As Barry energetically set about removing all the loose soot Duggy exclaimed, “Steady on with the suction I could get all excited,” said Duggy laughing.

The comical remark diffused a very tense moment.

“Who were they,” asked Duggy?

“Please do not say a word about tonight otherwise I am a dead man. They were the Derry Brigade of the IRA,” said Barry.

“They commandeer isolated places around here like mine to avoid recognition and will assassinate anyone who betrays their whereabouts.”

“What did they say to you,” enquired Duggy.

“Well one of them said he could smell soot. I told him a bird had fallen down the chimney a few days ago covered in soot. That is why he dare not light a fire in case it caused a fire in the chimney until it had been properly swept. They did give me the standard warning except they said kneecapping would seem an act of mercy if I talked,” reported Barry.

Duggy just played the scared businessman and swore he would tell no one as he was just as at risk as Barry was. In a peculiar way this brought the relationship between Barry and Duggy that much closer as soldiers experience during combat.

“Look Barry let us get on with the business. I will grow your business gradually, a little behind the others to begin with, in order not to draw too much attention so close to the events of today,” said Duggy.

It was quite late before Duggy returned with a worried Gerald waiting in the lounge delaying retiring to bed until he was sure Duggy was OK.

“Did it go OK,” asked Gerald?

“The business side brilliantly, but we had some unwelcome visitors,” replied Duggy.

Having recounted the whole event Gerald thought pensively for a moment and then said,

“We ought to tell Special Branch and leave them to deal with it.”

“I wouldn’t want to put Barry Donahue at risk,” countered Duggy.

“Don’t worry I have a contact who will keep the information highly confidential and knows how to protect informants,” answered Gerald.

Duggy felt a little uneasy that he had opened so much to Gerald but also realised it was important the security forces had all the information they could lay their hands on; lives were at stake.

As with all strategic business problems they go deeper than you at first imagine. It took several weeks to bed-in the new haulage logistics. Duggy began to realise the need for a more robust distribution system in GB to cope with the sheer scale of the production volume about to be switched on. Duggy had kept Tony fully informed of his work and just as his work was ending Tony on one of the routine Friday afternoon calls said to Duggy,

“You need to get out of Ireland soon, stuff is ‘hotting up’ and we are picking up malevolent background noise.”

Duggy could not quite grasp what this might mean for him until the next Monday when he was breakfasting with Gerald. Gerald unusually was first down for breakfast and was tucking into a bowl of cereal. Normally, Gerald had hot steaming porridge with a slug of honey in the middle, but this time the cereal was different.

“No porridge this morning, what’s that stuff you are enjoying,” asked Duggy?

“It’s a new cereal I bought over from GB, it’s a muesli called Alpen. It’s great, try some, I left the packet for you on the sideboard,” said Gerald chirpily.

As Gerald spooned the last of the cereal into his mouth and Duggy sat down to enjoy a bowlful of cereal swimming with full cream Irish milk, Gerald casually said,

“I had a call from Special Branch last night.”

Duggy immediately switched his mind back to the situation at Donahue’s farmhouse, wondering whether there had been some developments. Gerald continued,

“They told me I have been put as number 81 on the IRA’s Death List.”

Duggy thought if anyone were serious about knocking you off, they wouldn’t advertise the fact beforehand to avoid risk of capture. He responded by saying,

“Did they tell you who number 80 was,” asked Duggy?

Gerald did not give a direct answer except to say,

“They told me not to be concerned and they would take care of matters.”

Taking a serious tone Duggy then said,

“Is there anything they suggested we need to do to make sure you are, OK?”

“I am used to this nonsense; they are just thugs trying to terrify everyone to bend to their will. Do not worry, I will be OK, but you need to know your next on the list, number 82,” answered Gerald.

Duggy nearly choked on his cereal but outwardly showed no reaction as much to reassure Gerald as to any thoughts for his own safety. He reflected on Tony’s comment and realised there might be something to worry about and he shouldn’t stay any longer than he needed to. Changing the subject, Duggy went through the progress he had made and believed he could finish his work by Friday once all the service contracts had been signed off.

“You have done an excellent job for us but more than that I shall miss your company. Please feel free to see us again anytime, you don’t need to have a reason,” said Gerald.

“That is very kind of you. I have learnt an awful lot particularly how to approach people. You sometimes need to realise what pressures they may be under and not necessarily the ones under your nose,” said Duggy.

“That is an important lesson especially around here. As it is your last week, I will be your waiter over breakfast. I know what you like,” Gerald said with a cheeky grin.

Friday soon came around and Duggy made for the late afternoon flight from Aldergrove to East Midlands. Tony had been right; you could feel the tension in the air and Duggy was pleased that at last he was on his way home but sad to leave Gerald behind.

Travelling across country he decided to take a short-cut down a farm lane just fifteen miles from the airport. Suddenly a figure stepped out from behind a tree wearing a balaclava waving 45-automatic in his hand. Duggy came to a hard stop and the gunman, probably a teenager no more than fifteen years old, gestured with the gun for Duggy to wind down his window. Duggy pretended to put on his handbrake in case he got the opportunity to make a rapid getaway.

“Where are you going,” asked the gunman?

“None of your bloody business came the swift reply,” Duggy resorting naturally to his roots from a rough council estate.

The gunman was so shocked he went silent and dropped momentarily the pistol to his side, just as Duggy in that split second drove off running over his feet in the process. Luckily for Duggy, the gunman was forced to release the pistol, letting it drop to the ground for it to go off with a stray bullet, while as Duggy saw from his rear-view mirror, the stranger hopping around in total agony.

Luckily for Duggy there were no back-up snipers covering the position. For the first time in his life Duggy went into deep involuntary breaths and a degree of shock realising the gravity of the situation he had just escaped from. He needed to be more prudent and patient next time the red mist came down over his eyes, whatever the provocation.

Finally, he arrived home for his Pa to immediately say as he came through the door,

“Cup of tea, son?”

“You don’t realise how much I need it,” said Duggy.

“Jiver came over last night to say someone called Tony wants an urgent word,” said his father.

“The tea first and then I will go and see if I can use Jiver’s phone,” said Duggy.

Duggy learnt Tony was wanting Duggy to come to London the very next day for a meeting in another office. They were to meet at a café on the Albert Embankment at 09.30. No rest for the wicked.

Exiting from Vauxhall Bridge Underground, Duggy checked his bearings knowing he had to walk eastwards on the pavement nearest the river. Sure enough, he found the café not too far away and Tony waiting inside tucking into a thick bacon sandwich laced with HP sauce. In between gulps of tea and as Duggy tucked into his delicious hot snack, Tony in a cryptic conversation told Duggy they were due for a meeting at 10,30 and Duggy could expect some detailed questioning over some recent experiences. Duggy immediately sensed the subject was to be the Donahue episode, but who were the other people he was about to meet?

Shortly after they left, Tony picked up the tab and returned along the same route Duggy had just taken. Suddenly, Tony made a sharp right turn into clearly a well-secured building but unusually for London no name plates outside. Passing through three security gates manned by armed guards they were ushered into a meeting room.

Three gentlemen strode in dressed both casually and suited. Under the last persons arm was a very thick file containing papers of non-uniform sizes and colours. After a brief exchange of introductions, the first person turned to Duggy and asked him to recount again in as much detail as possible what he had heard at the meeting in Donahue’s farmhouse. As Duggy brought up Duggan and Scilly Isles the head man turned to the others as though to confirm some information.

Once the intense interrogation had finished, Duggy asked across the table,

“Is there a problem?”

“No problem, just a very grateful appreciation you for what you managed to do in difficult circumstances,” said the interrogator.

“Sorry I don’t understand what you mean,” said Duggy looking across to Tony with an expression of what the hell was going on.

Before there was a response Tony intervened by saying,

“What I am about to tell you stays in this room. The information I had gained proved the final link they needed in current investigations to one place, one time and one perpetrator.

The Scilly Isles and Duggan a well-known IRA assassin. Last week Duggan decided to visit Saint Mary’s, booking in a hotel for three days. He had reserved a tourist boat trip around the many islands, one of which was to the island of Annet. His purpose was to make radio contact in Penzance for the clearance to execute the plan, the taking out of a Prime Minister on holiday.

It required him to launch a helium balloon as an aerial on the uninhabited island, except for a colony of puffins, an ideal location. What he did not know was that the guy in the boat dropping tourists off at the other islands, mainly Trescoe, was from the SAS. He had been dropped off first and the others later to the other islands. A mist came down, the others were picked-up, he was left on the island alone, the fellow tourists not noticing one was missing on their return.”

“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Duggy realising for the first time the magnitude of what he had uncovered purely by accident.

“What happened to him.”

“There was another visit after four days and his remains were found on the beach. We got a RAF helicopter to come and pick his body up in a plastic bag and dumped him out in the Irish Sea. We thought he might like that,” he answered with a satisfying grin.

How did your breakfast meeting go with the managing director?