He opened his eyes and looked up through the branches above his head. His arms were shaking and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. He wanted his time over again, he wanted to be back on the boat, because he knew this time he would make the right choice, that he would die trying to save his daughters rather than leaping over the side to save his own life.
He would not fail this time.
Mary Hennessy lay with her head on Morrison’s shoulder and made small circles on his chest with her index finger. He kissed her on the top of her head and she smiled up at him.
‘It’s been a long time, Sean Morrison,’ she said.
‘It has that, Mary Hennessy,’ he said lazily. He looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock.
‘My time’s not up, is it?’ she said. She ran her hand slowly down through the hairs on his chest. ‘I bet I could change your mind . . .’
Morrison laughed and reached down and intercepted her wandering hand. ‘Mary, even you can’t raise the dead.’
She giggled. ‘Not dead, just resting,’ she said, but she put her hand back on his chest. ‘You’re not going to throw me out, are you?’
‘I’m waiting for somebody to call me,’ he said.
‘A girl?’
‘There’s no girl, Mary Hennessy.’
They lay together in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth.
‘You shouldn’t have left me, Sean,’ Mary said eventually, so quietly that at first Morrison thought that she was talking in her sleep. ‘There was no need for you to have gone.’
He sighed. ‘There was every need.’
‘Because of Liam?’
‘Because of us. Because it was wrong.’
She laughed harshly. ‘The way the world is and you worry about the right and wrong of what goes on between a man and a woman. You amaze me sometimes.’
‘And you, Mary Hennessy, are a constant source of wonder to me.’
‘I didn’t even know how to get hold of you in New York.’
‘That was the idea,’ he said. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’
She shook her head. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
‘You were the one who wouldn’t leave her husband,’ said Morrison. ‘You were the one who said that an affair was fine but that it couldn’t go any further.’
‘I’ve been married for a long time, Sean. A long time.’
‘I know. I know that.’
She sighed and he felt her warm breath on his chest. ‘If I was free, you know that I’d be with you like a shot. If you wanted me.’
‘If!’ he exclaimed.
‘I’m so much older than you, Sean.’
He squeezed her and stroked her hair. ‘It never mattered in the past, and it doesn’t matter now.’
‘But it might in the future. It might.’
Morrison closed his eyes. This discussion was a repeat of thousands they’d had before. Sometimes, before he’d left New York, it seemed to him that they’d spent more time discussing the relationship than living it.
‘I wish Liam was more like you,’ whispered Mary.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Stronger. Harder.’
He laughed and she slapped his chest. ‘That’s not what I meant, idiot. He’s changed, he’s gone soft. Soft on the Cause. I used to be so proud of him, he had power and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Now he’d rather talk, negotiate. He acts like an old man, trying to make his peace with the world.’ Her voice was becoming increasingly bitter and she spat out the last few words like an angry cat. Morrison didn’t know what to say so he lay in silence and concentrated on smoothing her hair, trying to calm her down physically rather than by talking to her.
‘I’ve never forgiven him for Gerry, you know,’ she said. Her brother had been shot and killed by a Protestant death squad three years earlier. Four men in balaclava masks had forced their way into his house and shot him in front of his wife and three children on Christmas Eve. Mary had been there delivering Christmas presents and she’d been splattered with his blood. Morrison had seen her in the City Hospital several hours later, standing with Liam in the white-tiled corridor with flecks of blood over her dress, a red smear across one cheek, her eyes puffy from crying. That’s when he’d fallen in love with her, he realised now.
‘He found out who did it, you know?’ she said.
‘Yes. I know.’
‘They killed a farmer on the border a month later and got caught, stupid bastards. I begged Liam to have them killed before they got to court. He said no. They’re in Long Kesh now, all four of them, and still he won’t do anything. One of them is studying sociology with the Open University, Sean, can you believe that? Gerry’s dead and buried and he’s getting a fucking degree. And Liam says that justice has been done and that the time for revenge is past, or some such philosophical crap. He’s lost his fire, and he lost it when I needed it most.’
Morrison could feel her heart pounding against his chest and he kissed her softly on the top of her head.
‘That’s why I’m here, you know. In London. Because he’s running away from a bloody Chinaman. One man and he’s hiding like a frightened child. And he wants me to hide, too.’
‘What do you mean?’ Morrison asked.
Mary sat up. ‘Of course, you don’t know. He followed us to the farm. He blew up one of the outbuildings and the car. Jimmy’s in hospital.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘I don’t know, I left right after he blew up the car. Liam thought it would be safer if I came to London. I didn’t argue because I knew it would give me the chance to see you.’ She straddled him and kissed him and then rolled off the bed and skipped into the bathroom. He heard the shower kick into life.
The phone rang and Morrison jumped involuntarily. Guilt? Probably. He reached for the receiver. It was Hennessy.
He told him about the car bombing and the attempt to flush The Chinaman out of the woods and how it had ended in disaster. Morrison expressed surprise and asked who had been hurt even though he’d already been told by Mary.
As he talked, Mary came out of the bathroom wearing a towelling robe that was far too big for her. She was rubbing a towel through her hair. Morrison felt a sudden rush of guilt and he turned to one side so that he didn’t have to look at her.
‘We’re obviously after a man who is used to fighting, some sort of terrorist maybe. Maybe he has jungle warfare experience, you know. Malaysia maybe,’ said Morrison. Mary had finished drying her hair and she began to brush it slowly, watching Morrison in the dressing-table mirror.
‘The area around the farm is hardly a jungle,’ said Hennessy.
‘It’s not a jungle, I agree, but there’s acres of woodland and a million and one places to hide. A man who knew what he was doing could stay put for weeks, living off the land, hiding during the day and making a nuisance of himself at night. And the more men you send in looking for him, the more damage he’ll do.’
‘That’s pretty much what Jim Kavanagh’s been telling me. He says we should go back to Belfast. He says it’ll be easier to protect me there.’
‘That’s true, but at least you know where he is now. If you can deal with him in the countryside you should be able to keep a lid on it. In Belfast it could turn into a blood-bath.’ Mary stopped brushing her hair and sat looking at Morrison.
‘You have a suggestion?’
‘Set a thief to catch a thief. We send in one man, a man who’s an expert at tracking, and we let him get on with it. No manhunt, just sit tight and let our man winkle him out.’
‘Come on, Sean. Where are we going to find such a man?’
‘What about Micky Geraghty?’
‘Retired,’ said Hennessy.
‘Well un-retire him, Liam,’ said Morrison, exasperated. ‘He’s the perfect choice. He was a gamekeeper as a kid, his father was one of the best in Ireland.’ Gamekeeping wasn’t the only talent Geraghty had, but his skill as an IRA assassin wasn’t the sort of thing to be discussed on an ope
n telephone line. Morrison knew of at least three kills he’d been responsible for, two long distance with a rifle and one close up, a senior RUC officer who’d blinded a young Catholic during a particularly nasty interrogation. The boy had been a second cousin to Geraghty and he’d asked for the assignment. It had been personal, but professional. If he had truly retired, it was one hell of a loss to the Cause. ‘Doesn’t he work as a deer tracker or something in Scotland now?’
‘He’s retired,’ Hennessy repeated. Mary stood up and walked over to where Morrison was sitting on the bed. He looked up at her and smiled and she shrugged off the robe so that she was standing naked in front of him. His mind whirled and he fought to keep his voice steady, certain that Hennessy would be able to sense that something was wrong.
‘The sort of skills he’s got you don’t forget.’ Morrison wasn’t just referring to gamekeeping, and Hennessy knew it.
‘I don’t mean retired from work, Sean, I mean he retired from the Cause.’
‘Nobody retires from the Cause,’ said Morrison. Mary pushed Morrison back on to the bed and pulled his robe apart. He closed his eyes and almost gasped when he felt her take him in her mouth. Her soft hair brushed his groin and as she caressed him with her mouth she ran her hands up and down his chest, gently scratching him. She was making small groaning noises and he was sure Hennessy would be able to hear her.
‘He was a special case,’ said Hennessy. ‘His wife died five years ago. Cancer. It was very, very bad. He lost heart after that. He was no more use to us.’
‘So who decided he could retire?’
Hennessy didn’t reply, which gave Morrison the answer. ‘It was you, wasn’t it, Liam?’ Still Hennessy said nothing. ‘If it was you, he owes you a favour. All you have to do is to make it personal. And let’s face it, this is as personal as you can get.’ Mary began moving her head up and down, running her tongue along the whole length of him. He wanted her to stop but at the same time he didn’t, and his confusion was compounded by the overwhelming guilt of it all, talking to Hennessy while his wife knelt naked in front of him.
‘He might agree to help track this man down, but that’s all. He wouldn’t take it any further.’
‘OK, but that’s a start. At least let me talk to him. He might jump at the chance of helping his old friend.’ A thought suddenly occurred to Morrison. A solution. ‘In fact, I’ll ask him to take me with him. He can find him, I’ll do the rest.’
Hennessy thought about it for just a few seconds and then agreed. He told Morrison to wait while he rummaged through his desk and dug out an old address book. Morrison could feel himself about to come and reached down with his free hand to stroke Mary’s hair and to gently push her away. She slid him out of her mouth and moved over him, licking her lips like a satisfied cat, her eyes flashing. He knew what she was going to do and he shook his head and tried to roll away but she pushed him down and continued to move over his body until her thighs were either side of his hips. She seemed to be revelling in his discomfort, knowing that he couldn’t resist too much while he was on the phone, and knowing too that deep down he didn’t want to resist, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She held him with one hand and positioned herself above him, rubbing him against herself, allowing him inside but only an inch or so and then easing herself away, teasing him and watching his face all the while. Hennessy came back on the line.
‘He still does some deer tracking, mainly for Japanese tourists, but he also runs a survival school for executives, based near Thurso,’ he said.
‘Thurso?’ replied Morrison and as he spoke Mary pushed herself down so that he was completely inside her. He gasped involuntarily. She moved slowly up and down, grinding her pelvis against him, her eyes half closed, her mouth open and panting.
‘It’s in the far north of Scotland, about as far north as you can go before you hit the sea.’ He gave Morrison the address and a telephone number. Morrison told him he had to get a pen and paper. Mary stopped moving and, with him still inside her, leant over to the bedside table and gave him a black ballpoint pen and a sheet of hotel notepaper. He asked Hennessy to repeat the details and he wrote them down, thankful that Mary had at last stopped moving. He felt as if his groin was about to explode.
‘And Sean, don’t push him, OK? If he doesn’t want to do it, forget it.’
‘OK, Liam,’ said Morrison. Mary squeezed him with her internal muscles and began to ride him again, throwing her head back and gripping him tightly with her thighs.
‘How did the meeting with Bromley go?’ asked Hennessy.
‘Fine,’ answered Morrison, closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing and trying with all his might not to come. ‘But when he gets the codeword he’ll call you direct. He insisted.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘Everything ready at your end?’
‘Yes. I’ve given out the words. All we can do now is to wait for the next bomb. See you soon, Sean.’
‘Will do, Liam. Take care.’ He threw the phone to one side and reached up to caress Mary’s breasts. She took one of his hands and placed two of his fingers in her mouth, sucking and licking them as she rode him.
‘You, Mary Hennessy, are a bitch. A teasing, dangerous, gorgeous bitch.’ She laughed throatily and rode him all the harder.
Afterwards, she lay curled up with her back against him, her skin moist with a thin film of sweat. Morrison licked her back, enjoying the salty taste of her.
‘That’s nice,’ she whispered.
‘I wish you’d come to New York with me,’ he said.
She sighed, and pushed herself back against him. ‘Don’t start, Sean,’ she chided. ‘Just enjoy the time we have together. You already have more of me than anyone else in the world.’
‘Except your husband.’
‘You wouldn’t want to swap places with him, believe me.’
Morrison knew that they were going over old ground, replaying the same arguments they’d had before he left for the United States, but he couldn’t help himself. It was like picking the scab of an old wound.
‘How did Liam sound?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘Worried. Very worried.’
‘About The Chinaman?’
‘Yeah, and the London bombings. I’m not sure which worries him the most.’
‘Do you think he’ll be able to find out who has been setting off the bombs?’ She reached behind herself and began stroking his thighs with the back of her hand.
‘It’s the only chance we’ve got,’ he said.
‘That’s what Liam says, too. But do you really think his plan will work?’
‘If there is another bomb, and if the bombers give the codeword when they claim responsibility, it’ll lead us straight to whoever’s behind it. With a bit of luck, it’ll work.’
‘I hope so,’ she sighed.
Her hand became more insistent but he pulled himself away from her. ‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said.
‘Where?’
‘Scotland. To talk to a man who might be able to track down The Chinaman for us. What will you do?’
‘I’m to stay in London until Liam says it’s safe to go back. So if you’re not here I’ll just have to amuse myself.’
Morrison went to the bathroom where he shaved and showered and when he came out Mary had dressed and was brushing her hair. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she said. ‘Don’t stay away so long next time.’ She turned and picked up her trench coat and blew him a kiss before closing the door behind her.
Morrison shook his head, trying to clear her from his mind. Two years, and it seemed as if he had never been away. If anything he wanted her more now than before. He forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. He wondered why the normally confident Hennessy was so touchy on the subject of Geraghty and if it really had been the painful death of his wife that had led to his exile in Scotland. He looked at his watch. Two o’clock. He hadn’
t a clue how to get to Thurso, or how long it would take, but he knew he had to speak to Geraghty in person, it would be too easy for him to decline on the phone. He rang down to reception and told them he’d be checking out and also asked if they’d find out the quickest way to get to Thurso.
‘Is that in Cornwall?’ the girl had asked. She said she’d phone back once she’d checked with a travel agent and Morrison began to pack his suitcase. He’d just about finished when the girl rang to say that he could go by train but that he wouldn’t get there until the following day. The best way would be to fly up to Inverness and go the rest of the way by train or hire a car and drive. Morrison said he’d fly and asked her to arrange for a car to take him to the airport and have it put on the bill.
Woody was, as usual, short of cash, so he took the Tube to Clapham.
An unsmiling middle-aged Oriental woman was serving behind the counter of the Double Happiness Take-Away, and when it was Woody’s turn he asked her for sweet and sour pork and chips. ‘Is the owner here?’ asked Woody.
‘Huh?’ she said, her mouth dropping open.
‘The owner. Can I see the owner?’
‘In kitchen,’ she said.
‘Yes . . . right . . . OK . . . could you ask him to come out? Tell him it’s Ian Wood, from the newspaper.’
‘Ian Wood. Newspaper,’ she repeated. She stuck her head through the serving hatch and shouted. There was an equally raucous reply and she turned to Woody again.
‘He busy,’ she said.
‘I know, he’s cooking my food,’ said Woody. ‘Look, he knows me.’
‘He say he not know you,’ she said emphatically and folded her arms across her chest.
Woody waited until his order arrived and she plonked the carrier bag on the counter in front of him. He paid for it and then asked to see the owner again. She glared at him before yelling through the hatch once more. This time a bald, Oriental giant came out carrying a huge carving knife. He stood next to the woman and barked: ‘I here. What you want?’
The Chinaman Page 21