Menu
Ireland's political and cultural magazine
October-November 2024 41
I
n the covert world of military
intelligence, where secrecy cloaks
every action and trust is a rare
commodity, chaos often rears its
head in the most unexpected forms.
Enter Edwin Bates, a cravat-wearing,
once-proud Royal Air Force veteran from
Coventry, occupying a shabby, paper-
strewn office along Main Street in
Enniskillen in the 1990s. His workspace,
like his career as an accountant, was in utter
disarray—a perfect reflection of the man
behind the desk. Bates had long since
abandoned the discipline and precision of
military life. He not only worked for military
intelligence (as an informant) but was a
bag-man accountant for the IRA.
My orders, as issued by an Army handler
I knew only as “Carl”, were simple enough:
meet Bates in a Chinese takeaway in the
sleepy historic town of Irvinestown near
Enniskillen.
I still recall Bates’ voice cutting through
the air as he called out my name in a cut-
glass English accent. The handshake was
firm, his grin unsettling, and as he
mentioned a name I recognised, my
instincts told me to turn and run. Yet, duty
bound to the Army’s instructions, I pressed
on.
He spoke in confidence about bizarre
operations, all with the approval of military
intelligence. It wasn’t long before Bates
proposed his first insane idea: torching a
private aircraft at St Angelo’s airfield in
Enniskillen, just to cash in on a fraudulent
insurance claim. All I had to do, he said, was
insure it. Naturally, I refused, but the Army
wasn’t ready to let me walk away from Bates
and his erratic ploys just yet.
I informed them that he was involved in
the importation of narcotics. And the sale
of stolen farm equipment to Republicans.
He was ferrying Republican terrorists
across the border. He took me across the
border to a pub in Bundoran where we
mingled with Republicans who discussed
the killing of an RUC officer — he was
murdered a few days later. But, although I
had reported the threat, nothing was done
about it. It says a lot about British
intelligence at the time that the army
wanted me to work with such a messer.
We undertook “missions” across the Irish
border—identifying Republican targets and
also crossed the border to inspect the
headquarters of Irish military intelligence,
and barracks as far away as Monaghan and
Longford; feeding back to military
intelligence.
Bates’ greed became a constant
undercurrent. Demands for cash, disguised
as reimbursement for the dangerous
journeys we made, piled up. It says a lot
about this murky world that nobody knew
who was paying whom: James Bonds we
were not. Each refusal on my part widened
the rift between us, but military intelligence
kept me close to him, pushing me deeper
into his erratic world of corruption and
deceit.
The craziest escapade of them all was a
plot to lure a prominent Irish Republican
onto a fishing trip off the coast of Bundoran
—only to make him “disappear”. At first, I
thought it was a joke. How could anyone
seriously consider returning from a fishing
trip with one person missing and expect the
story to hold up? Bates calmly explained
that a SUBMARIBE would surface at sea to
take the target away. I laughed in disbelief,
but Bates just smiled — a chilling grin.
My refusal to partake in his insane
schemes only deepened his resentment.
Bates’ next move was personal: he began
interfering in a construction project I was
involved with, threatening me with
Shark Bes
Reflections on life s n gen on he
border in he 1990s
By Sm Rosenfeld
blackmail. “Pay me for our trips across the
border”, he sneered, “or I’ll destroy
everything”.
Edwin Bates wasn’t just any shady figure.
He was also an informant for the Royal
Ulster Constabulary (RUC). The tangled web
of military intelligence, the RUC, and my
unwitting involvement in their cross-border
disputes had left me vulnerable.
Over the years, I suffered great injustice
and detriment from this association, but
each time I raised concerns, military
intelligence ignored me, burying any
accountability beneath layers of
bureaucracy and secrecy.
I spent 19 years living under a MoD
injunction which was secretly obtained in a
closed hearing at the High Court in London,
after the MoD committed perjury.
Bates’ sins were many. He admitted to
participating in a black propaganda
campaign against me, sanctioned by the
Ministry of Defence itself, two of its officials
later confirmed.. His dark involvement with
the powers that be ran deep, stretching into
the very heart of the Counter-Terrorism and
United Kingdom Operations Directorate, a
shadowy department led by Jennifer
Armstrong.
Through all this madness, I maintained
relationships with some of Britain’s most
senior officers within the Intelligence Corps.
These were men who had faced the gravity
of Northern Ireland’s troubles head-on.
Brigadier Chris Holtom and Colonel George
Williams were among them.
I visited Williams’ grave some years ago.
His name, barely visible on a neglected
headstone, was a sobering reminder of how
quickly true heroes are forgotten. I cleared
the debris, uncovered his name, and left a
stone—a silent gesture of respect for a man
who, unlike Bates, never traded integrity for
deceit, and who does not deserve to be
forgotten.
NEWS
Narcotics, murder, solen
frm equipmen, orching
plne: I sys lo bou
Briish inelligence he
ime h he rmy wned
me o work wih such
messer
VillageOctNov24.indb 41 03/10/2024 14:27
