NSA have ‘proof’ to call into question Bertie’s excuses

IT’S not often you feel sorry for the CIA, but pity the poor fools at their Langley HQ trying to make sense of the blatherings of Bertie and co.

Ahern was taoiseach at the time the US was tapping Angela Merkel’s mobile, so it’s a fair bet every other EU leader was treated the same way.

But then, if they really are an agency of intelligence (yes, I know, a loaded question) they would not have needed a tribunal of inquiry to realise what Bertie said could not be believed.

The Mahon corruption probe needed nearly a decade-and-a-half to deliver its damning verdict that Ahern’s evidence was unbelievable.

Bertie, now exposed as a liar, has since gone to ground, unable to comprehend how the judges, whom he once had the sheer nerve to publicly brand “low-lifes,” while he was still in office, could not believe his ‘explanations’ for the dollar and sterling lodgements sloshing about the 23 bank accounts he operated while finance minister in the early 1990s.

You can imagine the guys at Langley putting their earphones down, shaking their heads and going: “Can you believe this guy? Nope, nether can I”.

Intercepted messages from Bertie would have gone something like this: “Der, der, der, I, I, I, I’ze, I won the loot on da gee gees, swear to bleddin’ Jaysus, who’d figure it, eh?”

Or: “Der were deez fellaz, righ’? Deez blokes I’ze didn’t really know made me take it at dis posh nosh-up over in der, der, er, er, er, Manchester, yeah, Manchester, that was the craic like, honest to sacred bleedin’ Mary! Would I lie to youse, big fella? Would I?”

Or: “Now just hang on a minute there buster, righ’? I can explain the £28,772.90 lodgement. Simples. Me mate, righ’, he plonks it down on me desk at St Luke’s — used tens and twenties, like — no, no paper work, no paper trail, just like all the other loot, yeah. I was just about to become taoiseach in December 1994 — we’ll, I thought I was ’til doze Labour rats went in wid’ the other mob — so me mind was on other things, like, ya know?

“I remembers, ’cos me mate kept the readies in his wardrobe at the Ashling Hotel the night before, yeah, you heard righ’ — his wardrobe. Sounds plausible to me, pal, that’s alls I’m tellin’ ya.”

Or: “Ah, ah, ah, ah, hang on now, youse got it all wrong ya low lifes, ya lousers — it was from deez two spontaneous digouts, a year apart, from deez two separate sets of fellaz who had no knowledge of each other, but wanted to give the then finance minister — me, like — enough dosh for a deposit on a little house, what’s so strange about dat?” Bertie has yet to reveal from where the money came. What can he have to hide?

Whatever it is, he had no problem hiding it during an interview with Pat Kenny last month — his first since the incendiary findings of the tribunal were made public early last year — mainly because the highly paid host did not bother himself to ask about it.

Instead, they joshed and joked about GAA, as if Bertie was just another bumbling ex-taoiseach to be rolled-out and indulged with chit-chat about old sporting heroes.

Maybe Pat lost his edge when he changed the dial, but the first question from anyone who gets a microphone near the elusive, and somewhat slippery, Bertie is pretty simple: “You are the only taoisach in the history of the State whose evidence was found to be unbelievable by a tribunal of inquiry. They effectively called you a liar — what do you have to say?”

But, anyway, maybe we will find out the answers, thanks to the CIA, because it has been reported the gardaí may investigate whether Enda Kenny has been done-over down the telephone line in the same way as Bertie.

You can just imagine the scene, as a couple of guards rock-up at Langley, in Virginia, and demand the agency chiefs help them with their inquiries.

“Hello, we’re here to talk to the bugging boyos who’ve been tapping our taoiseach over in Ireland, if you don’t mind?

“Oh, you don’t phone-tap friendly countries? That’s all right, so, we’ll be on our way, then.

“But, while we’re here, like, d’you want to ‘fes up to anything about all that dodgy stuff going through Shannon Airport?

“I know you lot have promised not to do anything to infringe our ‘neutrality,’ but as we never bother carrying out any checks, how would we ever know if you’re telling the truth or not?

“Ah, OK so, we’ll take your word for it — no kidnapped suspects en-route to terror stations in third countries to be tortured? No special-forces movements? No weapons? Well, apart from that ‘stray’ one that got spotted the other month, of course, wonder how that slipped through? Ooops! Coola boola so.

“Oh, just one last thing. You haven’t seen any blond kiddies hanging around with ‘parents’ who, well, you know, don’t look quite like us — if you get my drift?

“Right, just asking. There’s no need to get an attitude, we are leaving now, yes, there’s no need to escort us off the property, Mrs....”

At least the CIA guys might have had some bewildered fun listening to the deluded ramblings of Bertie. What would they have got from Biffo?

“Uuurghahhah, burp, wha’? Wha’ ya on about? Who sayz dat? Wha’? Dat little bollix Simon Coveney’s said I sounded halfway between drunk and hungover on da radio?

“Burp, ahhh, de little....hey, I’ll give ya a few versus of ‘Da Town I Know So Well’. Ah, come on now, join in wit’ me, we’ll sing all those billions I flushed down da Anglo toilet a little lullaby, here we go...Hello? Hello? Burp....”

So there you go: Bertie — a low-life in high office, and Biffo, who, of course, never sounded “half way between drunk and hungover”.

It can’t have been easy-listening for the CIA.