Free Echobeat by Joe Joyce Page B

up to get it, noticing that the window was now a dull grey, no longer a darkened mirror. The tiredness hit him suddenly, his mouth felt dry and scratchy from too many cigarettes and his stomach was hollow with hunger.
    ‘How’s the captain?’ a cheery voice said.
    ‘Busy,’ Duggan said, letting his shoulders sag partly at the sound of his uncle Timmy’s voice.
    ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Timmy said, as if busyness was to be taken for granted. ‘You missed a great party last night. Drop around for the dinner and I’ll tell you all about it. You’ll love all this stuff.’
    Duggan yawned, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Had Timmy been at the Friends of Germany event after all? Had he missed him going in? ‘I’m just on my way to bed. Been up all night.’
    ‘Wait’ll you hear this,’ Timmy chortled. ‘It’ll wake you up.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Can’t tell you over the phone.’
    ‘I won’t make it for dinner,’ Duggan sighed, knowing that Timmy had his dinner in the middle of the day. ‘Maybe later. There’s a lot going on here.’
    ‘Sure you don’t know the half of it,’ Timmy gave a happy laugh.
    ‘You heard what happened last night. This morning,’ Duggan corrected himself.
    ‘You’d have to be as deaf as a Blueshirt faced with the truth not to hear it. Wasn’t that far from here. As the crow flies.’
    ‘I’ll call you later.’
    ‘Do that.’ Timmy dropped his voice to underline his seriousness. ‘This is more than gossip. Things you fellows need to know.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Like don’t be looking in the wrong direction.’
    Duggan didn’t try to hide his impatient sigh, knowing what Timmy meant. At least he was predictable. On this subject, at any rate.
    ‘This is the time of year for pantomimes, isn’t it,’ Timmy’s voice rose again, back to the cheery tone. ‘Look out behind you!’
    Duggan put down the phone and rested his hands on the table, letting his head drop down between his shoulders as the adrenaline of the last few hours ebbed. Timmy in that kind of good humour was more wearying than staying up all night. It meant only one thing: he was up to some kind of political skullduggery, deep in some conspiracy or other. That was the only thing that could make him so happy.
    ‘Captain,’ McClure snapped his fingers from the doorway. ‘Go to bed. That was an order.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Duggan straightened up.
    ‘And be back here by two o’clock,’ McClure lightened the instruction with a grin.
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ Duggan replied, deadpan.

Five
    The city seemed to be holding its breath. Air-raid wardens strolled the streets, alert for warning sounds. They had been put on standby for the night after a day of intense debate. People with air raid shelters considered spending the night in them, not wanting to overreact to one bombing, not wanting to regret their casualness later. Officials argued over whether sirens should be sounded at the approach of any aircraft. Should the reduced city lighting be turned into a full blackout? Everyone wondered if the early morning bombing had been a one-off event or the start of something. Whichever it was, the distant war had become more real.
    Duggan cycled the way he had driven earlier but was stopped at a cordon blocking off the bomb site on the South Circular Road. A small group of people stood at the barrier looking past the bored young garda. There was nothing much to see: the area was lit by arc lamps and workmen moved to and fro against the sounds of hammering and sawing. He thought of using his ID to get through but decided not to: there was nothing more for him to see there. The investigators had finished their work, recovering enough fragments of the bombs to confirm that they were German.
    He turned right onto Donore Avenue and crossed the GrandCanal and cycled down by its right bank. Across the dark water he could make out the gash torn in the other bank by the second bomb. Frost was beginning to settle on the raw