GOLIATH
-A RYAN MITCHELL THRILLER-
BY
RICHARD TURNER
Copyright © 2014 by Richard Turner. All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
1
Dublin, Ireland
July 2nd, 1922
The sound of sporadic gunfire echoing through the narrow streets of Dublin sounded to ten-year-old Patrick Murphy like the rolling thunder from a summer storm brewing somewhere in the distance. Patrick peered around the corner and saw that the street was deserted. With a smile on his dirt-smeared face, he realized that his luck was holding.
For days, Irishmen fought one another, as soldiers from both the Irish Republican Army and the Provisional Government battled for control of Dublin. Patrick looked back over his shoulder and waved to his brother, sitting behind the wheel of a borrowed, white-paneled truck, O’Doul’s Butcher Shop emblazoned on the sides in large blue lettering. A moment later, Liam, Patrick’s older brother, waved back and drove to the corner before stopping to let him climb back on board.
Sitting beside his brother was a man they had only met this morning. He wore a long, gray trench coat and a cap pulled down low on his head. The man had short red hair and a stern-looking face. His name was Mister Lewis, or so he said, and that was all they needed to know. On the floor of the truck sat a large, battered wooden box, with one of Mister Lewis’ legs resting on top. His constant fidgeting with the pistol in his hands made Patrick uneasy. He had seen weapons before, as his older brother was a volunteer with the government militia, but their passenger seemed nervous, as if expecting something to happen.
Slowly, they drove out of the city, making their way past a couple of heavily armed police checkpoints, where officers were busy looking for gunrunners and IRA sympathizers. After driving for an hour, they approached the outskirts of Old Conna Village, and Mister Lewis told them to turn off the paved road and into an empty farmer’s field. Parking the truck, Lewis ordered Liam and Patrick to remain in the cab while he stepped outside to conduct his business. Lewis took the heavy wooden box in his arms, climbed out of the truck, walked out into the middle of the open field, put the box down, and lit a cigarette, standing there as if he were waiting for a train to come by and pick him up from the middle of nowhere.
Patrick looked over at his older brother, who seemed relieved to be free of their mysterious passenger, even if only for a short while.
“What’s the fella doing?” asked Patrick.
Liam shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest clue. I was told to drive Mister Lewis wherever he wanted, and to not bloody well get caught doing it. That’s all I know, Patrick me boy, aside from the fact that I’m getting fifty pounds for a few hours’ work.”
Patrick may have been a young boy, but he knew his family did not always entirely operate within the law. His father and oldest brother were in prison and, for all his youth, he somehow knew that someday he would be, too.
After a half hour of waiting and staring at Mister Lewis sitting on his box, Patrick heard the sound of an engine in the distance, gradually growing louder as it drew closer. Rolling down the window, Patrick stuck his head out and looked into the sky. Gray clouds hung low, blocking out the sun. Patrick turned his head and was surprised to see an aircraft emerge out of the clouds like a hawk diving out of the sky after its prey. It was unlike any other he had ever seen in his life. It was a monoplane, with a single engine mounted in the nose of the craft, painted all white, except for a long, red streak that extended all the way down the fuselage.
Also seeing the plane, Lewis stood and waved his arms in the air.
A moment later, the plane banked over in an almost leisurely fashion, and lined itself up with the farmer’s field.
Patrick could barely contain himself; he had never seen a plane so close before. He went to leave the cab, when his brother firmly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back inside. Liam’s eyes narrowed, telling him that he had best stay put.
With a huff, Patrick sat back on the bench as the plane swooped down and landed in the pasture. The pilot looks like he’s done this before, thought Patrick, with his eyes glued to the aircraft.
Movement caught Patrick’s eye, and he watched as Lewis stood up, threw his cigarette onto the ground, grabbed the wooden box, and waited for the plane to come to a complete stop. The plane’s engine remained on, ostensibly to be ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
Patrick chafed at being cooped up inside the cab of the truck when all the excitement was going on outside. He thrust his head out the open window and watched as Lewis walked over to the idling plane. A door on the side of the craft opened, and out stepped a beautiful woman with long, golden-blonde hair. She was wearing a green leather jumpsuit with a gray fur collar. Seeing Lewis, she stepped down and waited while he opened the box. The woman peered quickly inside. She looked back over her shoulder and called out. A thick-necked man with broad shoulders climbed out of the airplane, took the box from Lewis, and handed him an identical one in return. Without saying a word, Lewis moved back from the plane, the new box clenched firmly in his hands. The woman and the large man turned and climbed back inside the plane, closing the door behind them. The plane’s engine grew loud as it began to taxi down the field. Bouncing once or twice on the uneven ground, the plane slowly lifted off and flew into the clouds and out of sight, as if it had never been there at all.
“Now remember this, Patrick—if ever asked, you never saw a thing today, okay?” said Liam, his voice full of warning as Mister Lewis walked back to the truck.
Patrick nodded, all the while wishing he could have gotten a closer look at the plane.
Lewis walked over to Liam’s side of the truck and, without uttering a word, he handed him the wooden box. Reaching over, Liam grabbed hold of the box. He placed it down on the floor of the truck, sat up and turned back to Lewis. Patrick watched, frozen in horror, as Lewis thrust a pistol through the window of the cab. Before anyone could move, or even speak, the man
fired. Blood and gore spattered the windshield; the sound of the gun discharging inside the cab was deafening.
The roar spurred Patrick into action. His heart pounded like a jackhammer inside his chest as he spun about in his seat, fumbling to open the door. The windshield exploded beside him, showering him with sharp shards of glass. With his heart racing away in his chest, Patrick shoved the door open and spilled out of the truck. He hit the ground running. He needed to get away and find a place to hide. Spotting an apple orchard barely a hundred yards away, he sprinted as fast as he could toward it.
Tears streamed down his face as he ran. Another shot split the air. Patrick felt the bullet pass by his head. The trees loomed large. With one last burst of speed, he reached the orchard. Without looking back to see where Lewis was, he ran deep into the woods, desperately seeking a hiding place. His foot caught on something, and Patrick fell head over heels, tumbling down onto the wet ground.
A voice called out, frighteningly near, “Give yourself up, you little bastard, and I’ll make it quick.”
Patrick did not intend to give himself up. Quickly looking around, he saw a thick stand of bush nearby. Scrambling on all fours, he dove under the scrub and lay there, frozen in place. He fought to control his ragged breathing, fearful that Lewis would hear him, find him, and kill him. A moment later, Patrick could see a pair of feet.
Lewis stopped where he was and looked around, searching for his quarry.
Patrick fought back another wave of tears and the terror in his heart. He knew if he made a sound, he would be as dead as his brother. How was he going to tell his mother that Liam had been murdered? With her husband and eldest son in jail, they relied on Liam for income. With him gone, too, they would be penniless.
“I know you’re around here somewhere,” called out Lewis. “I don’t have all day, you little bastard. Show yourself.”
The man’s feet approached his hiding spot.
Did Lewis know where he was? Patrick jammed his hands over his mouth; he was afraid to make a sound.
“You’re lucky I have to be somewhere, or you’d be as dead as your brother,” yelled Lewis. “You had better not say a thing, because if I ever hear that you did, so help me God, I will track you down and put a bullet between both your and your mother’s eyes,” snarled Lewis.
No, pleaded Patrick silently.
The feet turned and began to walk away.
Patrick lay under the bushes, waiting, silent and afraid. A moment later, the sound of the truck starting startled him. He continued to lay there, his heart still racing. He soon heard the truck driving away back down the road they had come up earlier.
Patrick waited until he could not hear the truck anymore before crawling out from his hiding place. Looking down, he saw that he was covered with a horrifying mash of blood, gore, and dirt, and had also soiled himself. As he walked back to where he had last seen his brother, Patrick’s feet felt like they were made of lead. Each footstep was labored and hard. He did not want to see what had happened to Liam, but he had to know. As though in a trance, he walked to where they had parked in the open field.
A bloodied shape lay facedown in the grass. Patrick could no longer hide his sorrow, and he let out a mournful wail as he dashed over to his brother. He dropped down to his knees. Patrick hesitated, before slowly reaching over and grabbing his brother by his shoulders, pulling the lifeless body into his arms. He sobbed uncontrollably as he held on tight to his brother. He wondered what had been in the box, and why someone would kill to keep it a secret. It was a question that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
2
Goliath Page 1