Assassin 3 - The Wrong Man (Assassin Series)

by Bryan Murray

  CHAPTER 33

  In a pub some miles back from where Jake and Sarah were currently taking it easy, parked out of sight in the Toyota pick-up, Jim Meadows, the owner of the vehicle, was having a pint at the bar, telling his mates about the strange happenings at the river.

  They were totally incredulous. His friend Harry was the first to comment. “You mean somebody took that old pick-up of yours and left you a shiny red VW rental car in its place for a couple of days for no apparent reason? And the renters were a couple of tourists from the US?”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’, according to the rental agreement in the glove compartment.” Jim replied.

  The TV was on at the back of the bar and on the 9 o’clock news the authorities were now asking for people to call in if they spotted the car that the two CIA assassins were driving and as the newscaster was speaking, a picture of the red VW came on the screen behind Jim’s shoulder.

  Jim’s other friend Dave saw the picture and he was in shock. He grabbed Jim’s arm and swung him round, pointing to the TV. “Does it look like that?”

  Jim, who hadn’t been listening to the telecast, looked at the picture quickly. “Yes, why?”

  Dave was grinning. “Because that’s the freakin’ car the terrorist who tried to kill the Queen was driving, that is until he stole your pick-up!”

  Jim’s face turned ashen. “Oh, my God! What do I do now?”

  Dave looked at him. “Call 999 right now, tell them what happened. Otherwise you could be an accomplice!”

  Jim screamed across to the bartender. “Eric, pass me the phone!”

  * * *

  Back in the MI5 offices in London, Hargreaves was working late. He was still very frustrated and irritable that they were making no progress. His phone rang and Strickland was on the line.

  “Yes, Hugh” he inquired.

  “Our friends have changed vehicles again, sir!” Strickland replied

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll say this for the ex-CIA chap, he’s damned creative. Seems he saw this guy’s pick-up by the riverside where the guy was fishing, stole it and left him the red VW with a note telling him he would return his truck on Sunday and to enjoy the Passat with the keys in it and a tank of petrol!”

  Hargreaves was incredulous. “And did this stupid fisherman actually go for it?’

  Strickland continued. “Apparently yes, that is until he was telling his mates all about it in the pub and saw the same car on the TV bulletin asking people to look out for it and call us!”

  Hargreaves was becoming mentally weary. This American was making a complete fool of MI5 and he just didn’t know what to do next. “So, now we know the details of the pick-up and go back to square one?”

  “It looks like it, sir.” Strickland replied.

  “Keep me posted?” Hargreaves hissed as he slammed the phone down.

  * * *

  After another brief phone call with his grandfather who brought Jake up to speed on the events of the day, Jake had confirmed that they were heading for Fishguard the following day and that he would try and call Jake Sr. if they made it across into Northern Ireland. They had agreed to continue to use the Cherry Tree Pub as their nightly contact point for the time being,

  After their junk food diet of the last few days, Jake and Sarah were sitting in the pick up, salivating over a meal known famously throughout the British Isles, a meal with its own distinctive taste. It was a meal of fish and chips, covered in salt and vinegar and wrapped in newspaper! To those who have eaten such a feast, it is almost as if the absorption of the vinegar by the newspaper adds that special aroma that is hard to explain.

  They had spotted the mobile fish and chip van at the side of the road and Jake had parked alongside, partly hiding his face and with no people standing in line, he had been served quickly and left. The Chinese guy behind the counter never gave him a second glance.

  The food tasted incredible and they gorged themselves quickly. The truck radio was on and once again they marvelled at the efficiency of the Brits as within minutes another nationwide news bulletin announced that they were now driving the Toyota pick-up.

  Jake looked at Sarah as she was hungrily biting into her second piece of fish. “I wonder what kind of grief they gave to our benefactor the salmon fisherman?”

  Sarah smiled. “I guess he saw the earlier bulletin on the red car and suddenly realized he’d been left a lemon!”

  “I guess so,” Jake smiled. He looked around the deserted barn they were now sheltering in. “Let’s try and find some hay in the loft.”

  She nodded. “Anything’s better than the vehicle!” they set to work to make an improvised bed. Sarah was still thinking out loud. “You know, we haven’t made much progress distance wise since this crazy chase started, Jake. D’you think we’d have been better off heading directly north away from all these road blocks?”

  Jake thought a moment. “I’d been tending to think the same thing, that is until we realized that these bastards from the RIRA were involved and after that, once we got rid of the other irritants such as Flanagan and the two assassins from the CIA, there seemed little point in going too far north if we had to ultimately try and make it across to Northern Ireland and follow them.”

  She yawned as they lay back to relax after another exhausting day. “I guess so, so what do we do, lie low again tomorrow and head for Fishguard later in the day?”

  “Exactly!” he replied as they cuddled into each other and were asleep within minutes.

  CHAPTER 34

  The next morning in a safe house in Belfast, the RIRA Army Council were in a meeting having just debriefed with Quinn on his return from the UK. Brady was recapping with his colleagues on the current situation after Quinn had left.

  “If there’s any consolation following this debacle, it’s that Quinn recovered the funds an’ made a profit on the side. I guess his boldness, crazy as it was, also taught the Brits a lesson that even top people over there can still be hit by terrorist activity. Now, the people are talkin’ about us again in the same breath as al-Qaida an’ the Taliban!”

  They all nodded in agreement as he continued. “The downside is that Quinn seems to have seriously pissed off this Harrigan fella who the Brits are still chasin’, since Quinn impersonated him in the attempt on the Queen! We needs to keep that quiet for the time bein’, so the Brits will still keep goin’ after the wrong man! The Brits are also seriously pissed off that we terminated the woman waiting to greet the Queen and some of the security guards”

  Tim O’Brien was quite concerned. “Right you are, Seamus and believe me, what I’ve heard about this Harrigan is that he’s a lethal killin’ machine, Not only did he terminate the assassin that Quinn paid to kill his granny, but he also took out two udder CIA assassins sent over to take him out. And now he’s told that moron Mickey that he’s comin’ after his boss. Apparently he don’t know that it’s Quinn!”

  Brady was thinking out loud. “Well, if he’s comin’ over to Belfast with this woman, we’ll be ready for them. But what about Quinn?”

  O’Brien had thought it through. “We don’t want to lose Quinn, Seamus,” he began. “But goin’ up against this Harrigan, maybe he needs some reinforcements?”

  Brady nodded in agreement. “I agree, so until this blows over, can you assign three of your best men to stick close to Quinn, maybe that’ll be enough to finish off this damned Yankee?”

  “That I will.” O’Brien replied as the meeting ended.

  * * *

  Back in Belfast in more familiar surroundings, Quinn was much more relaxed. His debriefing with the council had gone better than he expected and the fact that he had topped up his funding after the bank job and still made a profit, with the cash still in his tote bag, together with the tell-tale face mask of Harrigan, had undoubtedly helped to appease the council. He was quite upbeat as he drove up to The Soggy Shamrock Pub for a drink and lunch with his team.

  On arrival, he was somewhat surpris
ed, but also pleasantly relieved to see that the council had seen fit to augment his team with the three top gunmen of the RIRA, who were already enjoying their Guinness with Mickey.

  Quinn greeted them all. “God bless all here!” he joined them at the table and the bartender already had his pint of foaming Guinness waiting for him. Mickey and the three new guys were watching the TV behind the bar, where the news was indicating that Harrigan was still on the loose and giving MI5 a hard time trying to run him down.

  Colleen was also at the bar chatting to one of her ‘girlfriends’ and she excused herself and came over to talk to Quinn and the rest of them.

  “So, how was de debriefin’?” she asked.

  Quinn smiled. “It went well, me darlin’,” he began. “De funds is safe wid me, we made a profit and dese tree gentlemen is seconded to us for a while.” The three tough-looking men looked on and nodded knowingly.

  “An’ what will dey be doin’?” Colleen asked

  “Not a ting, me darlin’,” Quinn replied. “But should dat bastard Harrigan come lookin’ for us, we’ll give him a warm welcome!”

  “And d’you still tink he’ll come lookin’, Sean?” Mickey asked for a second time.

  “If I was a bettin’ man, my son, I’d say he’ll be comin’ for sure!”

  “Den we’ll be ready!” Mickey replied, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.

  CHAPTER 35

  The following day, after lying low until later in the day, Jake and Sarah had figured out that their only route across the Irish Sea was from the Welsh coast in Pembrokeshire and that Jake Senior’s suggestion of trying to get across from Fishguard was a good idea. They had realized that there was even a ferry going across from Fishguard to Rosslare, but that was in Ireland, not Northern Ireland and it was a foregone conclusion that the ferry would be crawling with security forces.

  Nevertheless, they had both decided that there could be other boats in Fishguard with captains prepared to look the other way if the price was right to get them across the water. And if the price wasn’t right, Jake was also a very persuasive guy! Unfortunately, with no access to a TV, a computer or an I-phone, since Jake was afraid to turn the latter on, they had no choice but to rely on the recommendations of Jake Sr.

  After setting the invaluable GPS on a course for the A40 and north, they headed in towards Fishguard, a small port with a population of just over three thousand people. They had been fortunate in not seeing any road blocks along the way and by the time they approached the outskirts of town, it was only as they headed down the road towards Lower Fishguard Harbor, that things started to turn bad really quickly.

  Jake had been hoping to walk down on the quay and chat up some of the skippers about a ride across to Belfast, but he didn’t even get close!

  They turned a corner, following a sign to the quay, when Jake suddenly slammed on the brakes and came to a halt when he saw a road block up ahead stopping all cars heading onto the quay. The car behind Jake almost collided with the pick-up and the irate driver honked his horn in anger at Jake.

  The sudden sound in the quiet surroundings got the immediate attention of the cops down the road and as Jake quickly did a U-turn and headed back the way they came, he saw in the rear view mirror that a police car had already spotted the pick up and was accelerating up the road after him.

  He gunned the engine on the pick up, silently praying that it would respond and in front of the shocked bystanders the chase was on.

  Being a stranger in town, Jake had no idea of the local geography, other than that if he could get back on the A40, he would at least be able to make some reasonable speed while looking to get away from the police car that seemed to be gaining on him already.

  It was now almost dark, making life even more difficult for Jake, but luckily, the GPS was still working and he could see what lay ahead. He glanced at the small, illuminated screen, while still trying to keep the pick-up on the road.

  They were now screaming around the outer streets of the small fishing town, the police car, lights flashing and siren wailing still in pursuit and as Jake took another bend, he could see a gas station ahead.

  He looked in his rear view mirror and decided to make a move to lose the police car. He roared onto the gravel patch alongside the gas station, where he did a quick fishtail and holding the hand brake, he swung the pick-up back in the opposite direction, tires spinning without losing revs and proceeded to head back towards the oncoming police car that had just come round the bend. He looked at Sarah quickly. “Buckle up!” he screamed.

  She finished the sentence for him. “I know, chicken time!”

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving the road. “Exactly, hold tight!”

  He switched on the headlights and aimed straight for the oncoming police car.

  Partly blinded, the driver instinctively swerved as Jake roared past, but the police car was heading straight for the gas station at too fast a speed.

  The Driver slammed on the brakes, but his forward motion was still enough to carry him forward to crunch into the wall beside the pumps. The front of his car was smashed in and steam was coming from under the hood as the Driver jumped out, afraid it would catch fire.

  He grabbed his intercom and checked in. “Twenty six to base, come in?”

  A voice came on the intercom. “Base here, did you get him?”

  The police officer looked sheepish. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “Where are you?” the voice asked.

  “Had a bit of an accident, sir,” the Officer replied. “I hit a wall at Edward’s Garage!”

  “Shit!” was the angry reply.

  * * *

  Up the road, as Jake continued out of town, they both heaved a sigh of relief. Sarah was still in shock. “We’ve got to stop doing this Hollywood stunt stuff, my heart can’t stand it!” she gasped.

  “Amen to that!” Jake took a deep breath.

  “So, what do we do now, Mario?” she asked.

  Jake was thinking hard when suddenly they passed a sign on the road, illuminated by their headlights. He quickly stopped and backed up to re-read the sign. It read ‘Coastal Flying Club’. He looked at her and grinned. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  She looked at him as she realized what he was saying. “You mean steal a plane?”

  “Well, borrow was more what I had in mind.” he answered.

  She looked at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  He was deadly serious. “We’re running out of options. When those cops regroup and come after us, we’re in big trouble.”

  “I guess we could try it out.” she sighed and they moved on up the road until a further sign came up showing a right turn towards the flying club.

  They pulled up outside the fence and in the light from the nearby street lamp, they could see a line of small private planes lined up at the end of a runway with a control tower at the far end with lights showing. The fact that the runway was not illuminated probably indicated that there were no incoming or outgoing flights expected.

  Jake opened the pick up door and turned to Sarah. “Okay, let’s go and don’t forget the GPS, which could be vital.”

  “Why am I not enthused?” Sarah asked.

  They quickly locked the truck under the trees at the side of the road where they had parked and headed towards and over the fence at the side of the airfield. Once over the fence, Sarah grabbed his arm. “And what if whoever is in that control tower sees us taking off?” she asked.

  “That’s not what we should be worrying about,” Jake began. “He can’t stop us from taking off, but what he can do, particularly if these pissed off cops warn him we’re in the area, is call in the military and within minutes we’ll have Air Force jets on our ass!”

  She gave a heavy sigh. “What the hell, it’s been a quiet day so far. What now?”

  Jake pointed at the line of planes. “First we try and find one that isn’t locked, so you start from this end and I’ll start from the o
ther?”

  They moved quickly along and on the third try, Sarah found a plane that wasn’t locked. She signalled to Jake who rushed over, climbed in and jumped back out.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked.

  “No fuel, let’s keep looking!” he replied.

  On the sixth try they found a Cessna 172 Skyhawk that wasn’t locked with at least some gas in the tank as Jake started to feverishly undo the tie down ropes and check that the tires were inflated.

  * * *

  At the far end of the runway, as it started to rain, up in the control tower the lone occupant, Fred, a man in his sixties, was watching a soccer game on the TV with three empty beer cans next to him having just cracked a fourth in his hand. He was totally engrossed in the loud game on the TV.

  * * *

  Back at the plane, Jake and Sarah had scrambled inside and they closed the door. He checked the battery was charged, which was a huge relief and he started to flick switches.

  Sarah was watching him closely. “I take it you’re not just showing off clicking switches and that you do actually know how to fly this thing?” she asked nervously.

  He smiled. “Piece of cake. Now all we’ve gotta do is get off the ground and figure out which way is Belfast!”

  Sarah still looked nervous. “One other tiny question, how do you know we’ve got enough fuel to get there, because the last time I looked there was a hell of a lot of water between here and there!”

  He smiled reassuringly once more. “The answer to that is simple, - we don’t!”

  She shuddered. “I take back what I said about boy scouts, I’m gonna die!”

  He clicked on the ignition, the engine coughed twice and the prop started to turn and accelerate. “Not on my watch,” he replied. “Now, fix the GPS where I can see it, Belfast here we come!”

  Sarah was already saying a silent prayer as the aircraft lurched forward and Jake headed for the end of the runway.

  * * *

  Back in the MI5 office, Hargreaves was livid as he spoke to the senior officer at the port in Fishguard.