by David Costa
Chapter Nineteen
When Costello entered the lobby of the Hilton Hotel, he could see the White Widow seated on a settee in the café to his right. The café at the front of the building had large glass windows from the floor to the ceiling looking out onto Deansgate. The windows were slightly tinted to make it difficult to see into the building from the outside but easy to see out from the inside.
Lyndsey was almost alone in the lounge area with only a man and woman sitting in the furthest corner from where she now sat. On seeing Costello, she stood to greet him, kissing him on both cheeks. Costello sat in one of the large armchairs facing her.
‘It’s good to see you again, Sean, would you like some coffee?’
‘Could I have a pot of tea? I’ve been drinking too much coffee lately.’
She called over the waiter who had been cleaning glasses behind the bar and gave him the order for a pot of tea for two. Costello noticed how the years away in foreign countries had dulled her Irish accent even more than he remembered.
She noticed Costello searching the area with his eyes.
‘Don’t worry, the people in the corner are American tourists. Their conversation is loud like all American tourists. I can hear them from here, they’ve been arguing about where to go today and tomorrow. The only security cameras I can see are one directly above them and one over the bar. The cameras are there to spot drug use or for people using their own booze from handbags. We can relax for our little chat.’
‘I must say, the change in your hair colour and the contact lenses completely changes your appearance, Sharon.’
‘It’s a lot easier to change my appearance that way than with plastic surgery.’
‘I’m inclined to agree.’ He smiled.
The tea came and after pouring, she asked, ‘Well, how are things going, is the safe house OK?’
‘Yes, it’s perfect. I just finished my first look about and everything is looking good to go.’
‘So, you think it can be done?’
‘The details will need to be worked out. When will the rest of the team be here for a get together?’
‘I’ve instructed everyone to be at the safe house for eight tonight. Is that OK for you?’
‘Yes, that’s great. Is the finance in place?’
‘Yes, all bases are covered, with extra available if you need it. The house has been paid for in advance using false ID. Of course, when we leave it, we leave it clean so no trace back to us. I presume you’ve brought all the equipment we need?’
‘Yes, no problem, we have all we need.’
‘Is there anything you need from me in the meantime?’
Costello took out his tourist map, placing it on the coffee table between them. He pointed to the map. ‘This building here, it’s called The Great Northern Tower Apartments, is ideal for what we need. Take a walk there yourself, bring Mohammad and work out how we get access to the building and one of the apartments to the rear above the eighth floor. Even if it means renting or buying one. At worse, we may have to take one of the apartments by force. I’ll let you work that out, whatever’s best. We might even organise a viewing on the day.’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll text him now. Hopefully, we’ll have some news for tonight’s meeting.’
Costello finished the last of his tea. ‘Until tonight then. I’ll do one more walk about before getting the train back to Irlam.’
As he left, Lyndsey noticed he didn’t look back and the two Americans were once more falling out loudly over their tourist plans. If only they knew the plans she’d just been discussing, they might be a little quieter.
Chapter Twenty
The Prime Minister’s Downing Street study wasn’t large as studies go. The desk, made of dark stained oak, sat at an angle facing the door with two large winged back leather chairs in front. The room had the dark furnishings of a gentleman’s club. The Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Peter Brookfield, sat behind the desk reading a report consisting of two pages of A4 marked Most Secret or Red X as these types of documents were known thanks to the large Red X that covered the front of the buff folder the reports came in.
Sir Martin Bryant sat in one of the large leather chairs quietly watching as Brookfield started reading the second page of A4. Bryant had always liked this room. Its size and lack of windows gave it an air of intimacy, privacy, and most important, secrecy. Bryant always associated his one-to-one meetings with the Prime Minister as confidential. The room different from the sterile rooms of his own office building and its intimacy had greatly helped him build a close bond of trust with the PM which he believed was reciprocated.
Putting the second page on his desk, Brookfield’s greyish blue eyes looked back at Bryant.
‘How serious are we taking this, Martin?’
The PM always addressed him in personal not formal terms as two friends to each other. Despite this, Bryant, when on business as this meeting was, always addressed the office.
‘Very seriously, Prime Minister. I’m assured by the Department head that the agent providing the information is reliable.’
‘But this is Islamic Jihad and Republican terrorists working together to kill me.’
‘That’s the assumption, sir. The high-up target, hints at Manchester being the location for the attack, the same week of the Conservative Party Conference; everything points in that direction. We believe the spectacular result, if achieved, is the bond that’s bringing these groups together.’
‘Will we be able to firm that up?’
‘Hopefully, but as time is short, I’ve given the go ahead for SG9 to take the lead on this, especially as the agent in question is reporting to the SG9 officer. The operation, code name Long Shot, will run things from the Department’s Operation Room at the airport. The officer in question, David Reece, will be leaving with a special team for Manchester today.’
‘Has he got everything he needs?’
‘I’ve given Broad the full co-operation of the Anti-Terror Squad in Manchester and a dedicated SAS CBT trained team at his disposal. Reece will pull the whole thing together on the ground when he gets there and report directly to Jim Broad, who will then keep myself and C in the loop.’
‘Do you need anything from me?’
‘No, not at this stage, Prime Minister. I’ve given the go ahead for SG9 to use the extreme force it was created for. The best you can do is to go about your normal government business. I’ll update your security detail that there is an increased threat, unknown what exactly but to stay on their toes.’
‘Well, there’s no way we can cancel the Party Conference or even increase the security presence without raising questions from the press.’
‘I agree, sir, this is the very reason I’ve given the Department the lead role on this. It’s their intelligence source, their agent, their handler, and the main target, Costello, is known to Reece. Now everything is in hand and moving forward to Manchester.’
‘That’s good. Keep me updated, I’ll be available at all times.’
Sir Martin stood to leave.
‘I’m not happy about the Islamic involvement, Prime Minister. It’s always unreliable but on this occasion the fact we have an agent reporting on the Republican Costello might just give us the opening we need.’
Brookfield shook Sir Martin’s hand.
‘Let’s hope so, Martin, good luck.’
After Bryant had left the office, Brookfield read over the two pages once more and wondered how he could appear normal to those close to him knowing what the words on the two pages were telling him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Mary McAuley had decided to pay a visit to her old haunting grounds of Newry. She didn’t know why but she felt in her blood that some of the answers she was looking for, and that Joseph needed, were to be found there. She’d always trusted her instincts and once again, she was to find that trust was to prove so true.
She’d deliberately taken her time walking around the shopping area in the town cent
re. She knew that if she was spotted, word would be quickly passed that she was in town. She bought a blouse in Dunnes Stores to ensure she had one of their distinctive green bags. After two hours of walking around and talking to people she knew, old neighbours and friends, she headed to the local Republican Club. When she entered, she noticed it had had a paint job and new chairs and tables. Since the ban stopping smoking in public places had come in, the club smelt of the fresh paint with just a hint of beer. She walked up to the bar knowing the eyes of the few men and women in the room were watching her.
‘Well hello, Mary,’ said Paddy Maguire from behind the bar. He hadn’t changed much except his hair was a little thinner than she remembered, and his beer belly a little larger.
‘Jesus, Paddy, are you still here?’
‘Club Steward, now if you please. I think the Committee thought that since I’ve been here since the year dot, I needed a new title to reflect the new paint job. How are you? How have you been? You look great.’
‘Not bad. You know me and Brendan got divorced and he’s inside?’
‘Yeah, he was always a bloody fool. Dint know what a good thing he had. We all knew he knocked you about a lot, sorry about that.’
Sorry it was happening or sorry no one did anything about it, she thought.
But someone did, and it was because of him she was here.
‘Well, what will it be, are you staying for a drink, do you know we even have coffee now?’
‘Well, that sounds great. I’ll have a white coffee please no sugar.’
Maguire pointed to a table in the corner.
‘You sit yourself down and I’ll bring it over.’
‘Why don’t you pour yourself one and we can have a catch-up?’
‘Sounds like a great idea. Sean can cover the bar.’
Mary sat at the table choosing the chair with her back to the wall and facing the door, another little tip from Joseph. Now she could see anyone coming into the club, friend or foe, and from where she sat, she could also see the half-dozen people sitting in the room plus the two young men playing at the snooker table. She noticed Maguire whisper in the ear of Sean and point in Mary’s direction before he arrived at the table placing a tray with two mugs, a milk jug, and a pot of coffee on the table, then he sat down opposite her, but she could see the entrance door over his shoulder.
‘Should I be mum? How do you like it?’ Maguire asked, but his eyes showed he had another meaning to his question than how she liked her coffee.
She thought she’d play him at his game.
‘Strong, with a little milk no sugar, a bit like my men.’ She smiled.
This had the desired effect and Maguire’s hand trembled slightly as he poured the liquid into the mugs. Mary had always enjoyed the effect her beauty had on men, especially weak men like Maguire. When they were thinking about her, their mouths ran off in all directions trying to impress her. Mary had learnt to ask the right questions and lead them in the direction she wanted, without them realising they were being led. This was when she listened, the trick always being to make them think they were in control of the conversation.
‘So, Mary, what brings you back to Newry?’
She’d been expecting the question. She knew the answer could open the whole conversation in the direction she wanted it to go or raise suspicion as to her motives if she got it wrong. She looked over the top of her coffee cup into Maguire’s eyes and smiled when she replied which she knew would have the desired effect of knocking him off guard.
‘Oh, you know me. Newry has some of the best shops.’ She held up the Dunnes bag for effect as she continued, ‘I get bored living in the big city sometimes, and I love the drive down here. I take the long way down to Newcastle then through the Mournes to catch up how beautiful it is. Then when I get here, I catch up on my shopping and meet with some old friends as well.’
Now she turned the tables.
‘Well, the old town the people and the shops still seem the same. What about you, how have you been?’
She’d deliberately dressed for the occasion in a black button-down blouse with bright flowered pattern skirt, short heeled, red shoes, and just the right amount of make-up; not too much not too little.
It had the desired effect, Maguire started to talk and as he spoke, his answers became more unguarded especially when Mary smiled and on occasion laughed at his attempts to be funny.
‘Oh, I’m OK,’ he replied. ‘I’m still here. The club has a good committee who look after me and listen to my problems and pay me well enough. I’m happy enough.’
‘Did you ever marry?’
‘Why, are you proposing, Mary?’
‘No.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve had enough of that lark. Just wondering, I haven’t been in here in a while.’
‘No. There was one or two who came close but I’m fine and available if you’re ever interested,’ he said with a wink.
‘No, thank you. I’ve had my fill of men for some time. Brendan saw to that.’
‘Ah, sure that’s a waste. Is he still inside? Why was he not released with the rest under the Agreement?’
He knew the answer to that question, but she’d play along, anyway. Under the Good Friday Agreement terrorist prisoners were released on licence after two years served no matter what their crime.
‘Brendan was an idiot as you know. He did the robbery off his own bat without sanction from the IRA, so his crime was classed as criminal instead of terrorism. He couldn’t claim membership of the organisation after disobeying orders.’
‘Yes, he always was the idiot, especially with a drink in him.’
Now, Mary thought. Now is the time.
‘I know he was an idiot. I was young and immature when I met him and trying to please my mother when I married him. She’s old-school Catholic and wanted to see me married in the chapel where she prayed, so the pressure was coming from two fronts, Brendan and my mother, and I suppose, in a way, the Catholic religion. The hope of every Catholic mother in those days. Brendan was all right in the beginning as far as husbands go. But then he started to change, and it was only later that I found out why.’
‘His involvement with the boys.’
‘Yes, if Brendan had one other failing, it was that he was easily led. He got involved with the wrong people who used him, who saw that he was weak and pliable.’
‘You mean people like Sean Costello?’
There it was. She knew Maguire was more than just a barman. A good barman doesn’t just serve beer…he sees and listens, and he learns to keep what he sees and hears for a day when he might use it for his benefit. This was just what he was doing now, she thought, in the hope of getting closer to Mary.
‘Yes, people like Costello. I thought we were supposed to be at peace, that the war was over, but it seems not.’
‘Ah, Costello’s just a big bully. I’ve seen his sort many times over. Why, during the whole Peace Process he was in here threatening and blowing his big gob off. “There’ll be no peace while I’m around”, says he. “No peace until the Brits leave Ireland for good. Anyone who signs up to this peace deal and that includes Adams and McGuinness are traitors and they deserve to be shot”.’
Mary didn’t interrupt. This was exactly what she wanted Maguire to do, keep shouting his mouth off in the hope she was pleased. She let him continue his flow of words.
‘Sure, Costello and a couple of his mates were in here a few times after the Agreement putting a bit of muscle about, letting it be known they’d left the PROVOS and joined this new group, this new gang…the Real IRA. Well, it wasn’t long before the word went out from South Armagh telling Costello and his mates to stay away from their places of business, including here. We’re just a Republican Club mind. We don’t take sides. My customers just want a quiet pint and a bit of peace to drink it.’
‘So, where’s Costello now?’
‘The last I heard, him and a few of his mates were hanging about Dundalk. I did hear that Costello still wants to carry on t
he war but that he is so afraid of the Brits and the PROVOS that he paid some money to have some plastic surgery done on his face, so no one will recognise him. Did you ever hear such nonsense, the big brute is so ugly it would have cost a fortune, maybe he robbed a few banks?’
Mary laughed again which seemed to please Maguire and helped lift the conversation away from the serious subject it had become.
‘Well, I’m just glad people like him are out of my life. I’m like you, Paddy, a bit of peace to do my shopping and a quiet chat with friends over a cup of coffee.’
Maguire took the hint.
‘Another cup, Mary?’
‘Why not? I have a bit more time to spare, why not?’
It took Mary another hour of general chit chat, smiles, and laughter and finally a promise to return soon before she could escape the Republican Club and what, she had no doubt, the lecherous attempt by Maguire to keep her there. Driving back to Belfast, the thought of Costello changing his appearance kept coming back to her. It was time to get this bastard out of her life once and for all. She would need help to do it. She needed Joseph. She would call him when she reached Belfast.
Chapter Twenty-two
The Manchester rain had reached Irlam when Costello got back. The house was empty and quiet, and he’d gone to his room and lay on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately. When he woke it was dark outside, the noise that brought him out of his slumber was a car engine stopping and car doors closing. He reached for the Browning on the bedside cabinet. He lay in the darkness as he heard the key in the front door and voices, one was Mohammad and the other Lyndsey and one he didn’t recognise. Tucking the gun into his belt beneath his T-shirt at his back, he went downstairs to find Lyndsey and two men sitting in the living room.
‘Mohammad’s in the kitchen putting the kettle on,’ said Lyndsey.
He studied the two men sitting on the large couch. They both looked back, one smiling the other frowning.
‘Sean, let me introduce you.’