Hybrid

by Shaun Hutson

  His mind was spinning. Events of the past few weeks. What was going on in his life?

  He smiled wanly.'Your life,' he told himself,'is collapsing around your fucking ears. And so is your sanity.' He laughed humourlessly.

  He didn't want to be in the house surrounded by his thoughts. He knew he needed to escape, albeit fleet-ingly.

  He wandered out into the hall and scooped his car keys out of the small dish beside the front door. It took him fifteen minutes to drive to the cinema. All the way

  over, the cassette-player blasted loudly and Ward sang along occasionally, joining in the words that ripped from the speakers.

  He parked and sat motionless behind the wheel for a moment.

  'When you get home, your novel might be finished,' he said to himself. He laughed loudly. A little too loudly. There was desperation in the sound, not joy.

  A WELCOME DARKNESS

  Ward stood looking at the electronic board that carried the titles and times of the films showing at the multiplex. The newest comedy from the Farrelly Brothers, an adaptation of a bestselling novel (there was always one of those), some mindless Steven Seagal action picture.

  Not much choice and he'd seen most of them already.

  Then he noticed with delight that there was a special one-day presentation of La Reine Margot. He'd seen it before, he owned it on video, but it was a welcome alternative to the other dross on display.

  The girl behind the cash-desk window eyed him warily as she gave him his ticket.

  'You know where to go by now, don't you?' she said, attempting a joke.

  Ward smiled and nodded.

  There were few people at the cinema. One of the advantages of being able to attend in the afternoons.

  He found the screen he wanted and selected his seat. Two other people came in before the picture began but, thankfully, they sat at the back of the auditorium.

  The darkness closed around Ward as the film began. And he welcomed it.

  PRODUCTIVITY

  It had happened again. Ward didn't count the pages. He didn't know whether to feel gratitude or bewilderment at what had happened. He merely glanced at the desk and its contents.

  It was almost 5.30 p.m.

  Mel was the first to hear the noise. She assumed it was just the beams of the house settling. Expanding with the constant downpour of rain. Nevertheless she stood motionless on the landing of the safe house and looked up.

  The white ceiling was discoloured in places, the paintwork peeling. Especially around the entrance to the attic. There was a single rusty ring in the hatch. A small pole with a metal hook could be used to pull it open. Doyle had clambered up there when they'd first arrived, and according to him all that was up there was some battered furniture, cardboard boxes full of old magazines and Betamax video tapes and a water tank. All covered by a layer of dust.

  Mel wondered if the water tank was responsible for the noise. She stood still a moment longer then walked slowly towards the window at the end of the narrow landing.

  Cupping her eyes to her face she peered out into the night. She could barely see ten yards in the gloom. The rain that had been hammering down for most of the day and night did little to help visibility. She knew that Joe Hendry was somewhere out there. Doubtless

  complaining about the weather and wondering how long it would take him to dry off in front of the two-bar electric fire that provided most of the heat inside the house.

  Doyle too was wandering around in the gloom. He'd already made two treks around the building, on one occasion walking as far as the end of the dirt track that connected to the road beyond. Mel had accompanied him, watching as he scrutinised every single inch of hedgerow, checking for anywhere that might provide cover.

  The house possessed three security lights on its battered walls but none of them were switched on.

  Mel heard the sound again.This time she was certain that it came from above her.

  She slid a hand to the butt of her pistol and pulled it gently from the polished leather. Again she stood motionless, ears alert.

  The noise was definitely coming from the attic.

  Mice?

  'Mel.'

  The sound of her name startled her but she didn't move, merely held up a hand to silence the source of the voice.

  She beckoned Doyle up the stairs then raised one index finger as a sign for him to remain quiet.

  The counter terrorist moved swiftly to join her.

  Mel tapped her ear then pointed at the peeling paintwork above them.

  Doyle looked at her quizzically.

  She mouthed the words, 'Something moving.'

  Doyle pulled the 9mm automatic from its shoulder

  holster and nodded, his own gaze now fixed on the ceiling.

  'Everything all right,' he called, raising his voice slightly.

  'Fine,' she answered, also increasing the volume of her response.

  From above there was another creak. Louder this time. It was a foot or so in front of him.

  He raised the Beretta, following the sound with the barrel.

  Another creak.

  Mel also raised her pistol and trained it at the noise.

  A louder creak.

  Doyle opened fire. Six shots drilled into the ceiling blasting pieces of plaster and timber in all directions. Empty shell cases spun from the Beretta and landed with a metallic clink on the wooden floor next to the counter terrorist.

  He waited a moment, the thunderous retorts still ringing in his ears, the smell of cordite stinging his nose.

  Blood began dripping slowly through two of the holes. It puddled on the landing.

  Doyle reached for the hooked pole and tugged at the rusty ring in the attic hatch. The body fell with a loud thump and lay before him.

  The counter terrorist lowered his pistol and trained it on the corpse. There was a Browning Hi-power gripped in one fist.

  One of Doyle's bullets had hit the man in the thigh. Another in the stomach. A third in the neck just below the left earlobe.

  'How the hell did he get in?' Mel wanted to know.

  Doyle didn't answer.

  'How did he know we were here?' Mel persisted. 'The only people who knew our location were the RUC

  Doyle knelt beside the body and rifled through the dead man's pockets, finally pulling out a wallet which he flipped open.

  'Call Cl Robinson,' he said, his face set in hard lines. 'I want that bastard here now.'

  Doyle stood beside the body, watching as Chief Inspector Peter Robinson took in the scene. 'Daniel Kane,' he said, tossing the wallet at the RUC man. 'Name ring a bell?'

  'I don't know what you're talking about, Doyle,' Robinson protested.'What you should be asking yourself is how he managed to get inside this bloody house. You were meant to protect Leary. How the hell did Kane get in here?'

  'Perhaps he had a helping hand.'

  'Meaning what?'

  'Oh come on, Robinson, don't bullshit me.' Doyle took a menacing step towards the CI.'The only people who knew where Leary was going to be held were me and my team and two or three of your boys. Now I know that no one connected with me opened their gob so that narrows it down, doesn't it?'

  'What the hell are you trying to say?'

  'That someone grassed us up. Somebody in your organisation gave Kane the whereabouts of this fucking safe house so that he could get inside and kill Leary. You've got a rat in your cellar, Robinson. You'd better find them and quick.'

  That's absurd.'

  'Is it? Then how did Kane know where Leary was?'

  There's nothing to link Kane and Leary.'

  'Leary's brother was killed by Kane. Leary himself had murdered a number of Daniel Kane's men. I'd call that a link, wouldn't you, Chief Inspector? He emphasised the last two words with disdain.'I read the files.'

  Robinson exhaled deeply. There's no proof he was tipped off as to Leary's whereabouts.'

  'Give me a break,' Doyle snapped.'How big's the Six Counties? And out of all that
space, all those places, on the first night Leary's in a safe house a member of a rival terrorist organisation just happens to stumble on this place. Fuck off. Someone pointed him in this direction. They might as well have put the fucking gun in his hand. For all I know, they did. And if it's happened once, it'll happen again.'

  'What do you intend to do?'

  That's my business.'

  'He's still my prisoner, Doyle.'

  'Not any more. Not as long as you've got an informer working with you. From now on, I'll decide where Leary's kept. I was hired to make sure the bastard stayed alive long enough to supply the relevant info and that's exactly what I'm going to do.'

  'It's not up to you. You have to report to me and—'

  'Bullshit. We're moving out of here tonight. I'll make sure Leary shows me the sites of the ten graves. When he has, I'll phone through their locations. When all ten are revealed I'll give you a time and place where you can pick him up.'

  'You can't do that,' protested Robinson.

  Doyle took a step towards the policeman. 'Don't tell me what I can or can't do,' he hissed. This is my fucking job and from now on I do it my way.' The counter terrorist walked to the top of the stairs then paused and looked back at Robinson. 'If it's any consolation I want Leary dead as much as you.'

  'Why should /want him dead?' Robinson asked,swallowing hard.

  'Four years ago your daughter was killed in a bomb blast. Responsibility for that bomb was claimed by the Real IRA. A cell known to contain Declan Leary. You tipped off Kane, didn't you?'

  There was a long silence.

  'How did you know about my daughter?' Robinson said finally, his voice cracking.

  1 did some checking. It's part of the job. Did you really think that Kane was going to get past me?'

  Robinson didn't answer.

  'Don't try to find us until this is over,' Doyle said. He hurried off down the stairs.

  Robinson continued to gaze down at the bullet-riddled body of Daniel Kane. He was still staring at it when he heard the car engine roar into life outside the house.

  It was another fifteen minutes before he walked slowly downstairs, crossed to the phone and dialled.

  Joe Hendry eased his foot off the accelerator of the Astra and flicked the headlights on to full beam.The twin rays of white light cut through the darkness and the fine mist of drizzle but illuminated only hedges, trees and fields.

  'Are you sure we're in the right place, Doyle?' he asked.

  There's a left coming up,' the counter terrorist told him. 'About fifty yards ahead. Take it.'

  'Maybe you're lost,' Declan Leary offered from his position in the back seat next to Doyle.

  'Shut it, Leary,' Doyle snapped without looking at him.

  Hendry slowed down, found the turn and guided the car on to a bumpy road that was pitted and holed. The Astra lurched alarmingly as the driver struggled to keep control.

  'It's like driving over the bloody Somme,' he remarked, using the back of his hand to wipe some condensation from the windscreen.

  There, just up ahead,' Doyle said, pointing in the direction they were travelling.

  There was a high wire fence stretching away on both

  sides of a heavily reinforced gate. Razor wire had been laid in rolls across the top of the fence, some of the wickedly sharp blades now rusted. Beyond the gate there were a dozen or more buildings. Grey, monolithic structures with gently sloping roofs.

  'What is it?' Mel wanted to know.

  'An old army base,' Doyle informed her. 'It overlooks Lough Egish. It's perfect for us.'

  Leary looked ahead then back at Doyle.

  The counter terrorist patted Hendry on the shoulder and the driver brought the car to a halt. Doyle clambered out and walked up to the gate. He pulled and, to his delight, found it unlocked. He waved Hendry through, the strong wind whipping his long, brown hair around his face. Doyle pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and strode in behind the car. The vehicle had stopped in front of the nearest Nissen hut.

  Doyle pulled open the rear door and dragged Leary out.

  'I was expecting more luxurious surroundings,' the Irishman smirked.

  Doyle shoved him hard in the back, pushing him towards the hut, watching as he struggled to stay on his feet. He was finding it hard to keep his balance with the handcuffs pinning his arms behind his back.

  The hut was also unlocked.

  There's a generator in that building, Joe,' Doyle told Hendry.'See if you can get it started. We'll at least have some light.'

  Hendry nodded and moved off in the direction indicated.

  'Won't that attract attention?' Mel wondered.

  'You can't see this place from the road,' Doyle assured her.'You could have a firework display on the drill square and no one would notice.'

  Mel led the way into the hut, recoiling immediately from the cloud of dust that enveloped her. 'How long has it been empty?' she coughed.

  'Eighteen months,' Doyle said.

  As he spoke one of the bare bulbs in the ceiling flickered orange then died. It flared again, more brightly this time then gradually swelled into a purer white luminescence.

  'Well done, Joe,' Doyle murmured. He crossed to the bank of switches on one wall and flicked them all on. Then he looked around the room.

  Apart from a couple of broken plastic chairs it was empty. A carpet of dust covered everything.

  'Looks like we're sleeping on the floor,' the counter terrorist said.

  'I don't know how long that generator's going to run,' said Hendry, walking into the hut. There's not much fuel left. The army must have taken everything with them when they left.'

  'We can always get extra,' Mel interjected.'And food as well.'

  'Hopefully we won't have to worry about that for too long,' Doyle said, turning his gaze towards Leary. 'We're only here until shithead gives us the locations of those ten graves. After that he's not our responsibility any more.'

  'I said I'd tell you where they were and I will,' Leary protested. That was the deal.'

  'You didn't make any fucking deals with me.'

  'I'll tell you where the graves are. I said I would.'

  'No, fuck that,' Doyle hissed. 'We're not running around like headless chickens on your fucking say so. You're not going to tell us where they are, you're going to show us. Every one of them. And when we get to the locations, you're going to dig up the bodies. Got it? You show me ten corpses and your part of the deal is fulfilled. You try to piss me about and I'll put you in the fucking ground myself.'

  Leary eyed the counter terrorist angrily.

  There's a shovel in the boot of the car,' Doyle said. 'You start digging tomorrow. And you'd better hope you can remember where all those poor bastards are planted.'

  The stench was appalling. Mel put a hand to her nose and stepped back from the edge of the shallow grave.

  Doyle merely stood impassively, hands dug deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. There was a cigarette screwed into one corner of his mouth.

  The grave was less than three feet deep and the counter terrorist could only guess at how long its contents had been there.

  The skeleton still wore its clothes. A sweatshirt. A thick anorak. Jeans. All rotting, just as their owner had done.

  There were bullet holes in the coat. In the skull. Pieces of jawbone had come loose.

  Leary looked up from the grave and tossed the shovel to one side.

  'Right?' he said, sucking in lungfuls of the rancid air.

  'One down, nine to go,' said the counter terrorist. He reached for his mobile phone and jabbed a number. He wandered back and forth waiting for it to be answered. When it finally was he spoke immediately. 'Robinson? It's Doyle.'

  The RUC man wanted to know where they were.

  'Just listen to me,' Doyle said. 'You wanted bodies? You've got them. First one's in a field off the A31, about two miles south of Milford. There's woods on either side of the road. Send your forensics boys about fifty yards in.
They'll find it. I'll call the others in as we find them.'

  Robinson wanted to know if Leary was co-operating.

  'All the way to a nice cosy five stretch,' Doyle said. He drew on his cigarette one final time then tossed the butt at Leary. 'We're moving on.'

  He switched the phone off.

  They found two more bodies that first day.

  Doyle lit a cigarette, drew on it then passed it to Mel. She accepted it gratefully and sank lower in the passenger seat of the Astra.

  'So this was your world, Doyle,' she said, staring out of the windscreen.

  About fifty feet from where the car was parked, Declan Leary, his clothes spattered with mud, was digging again. Ten or twelve yards away, leaning against an old barn, Joe Hendry stood with his arms crossed. He gazed at the grey sky, at Leary working away with his shovel and at the hills that rose steeply all around. Most of them were heavily wooded and the trees seemed to be clinging to the precipitous slopes with difficulty.

  The farm that Leary had brought them to had been abandoned over a year earlier.The farmhouse and most of the outbuildings lay over five hundred yards away at the perimeter of the field in which they now found themselves.

  'My world,' Doyle muttered. 'What do you mean?'

  'People like Leary. Jobs like this.'

  'It was all I knew. All I wanted. I was good at it. I still am.'

  'I'd noticed.'

  'We're not that different, Mel. It's just the surroundings.'

  I'd take a hotel in Mayfair over a field in Ulster.'

  Doyle chuckled. 'I might have to agree with you on that one,' he smiled.

  'Why did you want to get back to it so badly?'

  'I told you. It's all I know. What made you want to come with me?'

  She shrugged. 'I'm beginning to wonder,' she confessed.

  Again Doyle smiled.

  'And when it's over?' Mel asked.'What then? Leary's only got to show us two more graves and that's it. Job done. What do you do then? What do any of us do?'

  'It's up to you, what you do. I'm sure Cartwright would be more than happy to have you and Joe back working for him.'

  'What about you?'

  'I belong here, Mel.You asked me what I'll do when it's over. That's simple. It's never over.'