Free Dead Man Running: A True Story of a Secret Agent's Escape from the IRA and MI5 by Martin McGartland Page A

She replied. ‘Jesus,’ I said, ‘I’ve wanted you to come over here from the moment I arrived.’ ‘Promise?’ she asked, sounding demure. ‘I’d cross my heart and hope to die,’ I replied. ‘Sort everything out,’ I told her, ‘but remember, tell no one except your Ma. No one must know that you’re coming over here because the IRA might somehow come to hear of it and you know what that means. They might tail you all the way to this house, just to get at me.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured me. ‘No one will know I’m planning on joining you until after I’ve left.’ ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Keep it that way. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’ I put the phone down and punched the air, overcome with happiness at the thought of having Angie and the boys with me once again. Seconds later I redialled her number in Belfast. ‘I suddenly had a panic attack,’ I told her, ‘thinking you might not come. You promise, don’t you?’ ‘Marty,’ she said, sounding so sensible for a 20-year old, ‘I’ve told you I’m coming and I will.’ ‘Promise?’ I asked’ ‘On my mother’s life,’ she replied. ‘Oh Angie, that sounds great,’ I said. ‘You’re a wonderful girl and I love you to pieces.’ One week after arriving in Wallsend I decided it was time to get fit again. I had had no exercise since my leap from the flat in August and I was feeling dreadfully unfit. So I bought a pair of trainers and a track suit and each evening I would run two to three miles along the road by the perimeter wall of the famous Swan Hunter shipyards. One night in late October I went out as usual and had run my normal three miles around the streets when I suddenly became aware that someone was behind me, running, keeping in step with me. I turned and saw the shadow of a man about one hundred yards behind me but closing fast. I was shattered from my running but somehow found the extra strength to increase my pace. It was no use. This man was gaining fast and he was only yards from me when I reached my front door. I knew, I simply knew the man was an IRA killer. I fumbled with the front door key, trying to remain calm as my nerves took over. I convinced myself that if I didn’t get into my house within seconds I would hear the blast of a hand-gun and I would be done for. Eventually, I managed to open the door and this man put his foot in the door to stop me shutting him out. We tussled back and forth but I did notice that I had not given him time to get out his gun. Suddenly I had an idea and pulled the door towards me knocking him off balance. In the second he needed to regain his balance I slammed shut the door, locked it and then ran like hell through the flat, out of the back door into the yard. I shinned as fast as possible over the back wall and, without thinking, ran round to the front of the house. The stranger was still standing at my front door, banging on it with his fist. I crept up behind him, grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him round and hit him in the stomach, making him fall forward. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ I shouted in anger ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, gasping for breath. I pushed him against the wall of the house, held him by the throat and demanded a proper answer to my question. ‘What the fuck were you chasing me for?’ I asked him again angrily.‘I was after you,’ he said. ‘What were you after me for?’ I asked, unable to fathom what on earth the man was trying to explain. ‘You kicked in my car the other night,’ he said. ‘I did what?’ I asked indignantly, wondering if this was a ploy to get me to relax. I still believed he was probably an IRA thug waiting for the chance to grab his hand-gun. I continued to hold him, making sure he couldn’t make a grab for his gun. ‘You kicked my car in the other night,’ he said again. ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but I kicked no car,’ I told him. He appeared to be looking at me more closely. Suddenly the