They worked feverishly for another fifteen minutes, shocking him three or four times in the process. He was pronounced dead precisely twenty minutes after they first arrived.
At that stage, the three of us had been asked to wait. We were to be questioned by a member of the Gardai. A number of witnesses had come forward from the pub and had pointed us out as Agent Bruce’s last companions.
‘So, what do we do now?’ I asked quietly.
‘We answer their questions, we answer them truthfully, and we’ll be sent on our way,’ said Roussel.
‘Are you sure about that?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely,’ said Roussel. ‘We have to tell the truth, especially because of my situation. I have the most to lose here. If James finds out about this and I wasn’t the one to tell him, who knows what could happen?’
‘Just remember what's at stake here,’ I said. ‘You’d better be right.’
‘I'm right,’ he said. ‘I don't like it, but I’m right.’
Eventually, a young Garda came over to take our statements. The ambulance had long since left and the crowd had all but dispersed.
‘So, which one of you gentlemen wants to go first?’ he asked with a smile.
Dale and I both looked at Roussel.
‘Hi there,’ said Roussel, extracting his ID from his pocket. ‘Detective Charles Roussel; over here following up some leads from a case I’m working on back home in Louisiana.’
‘Would that be in Kinsale?’ asked the Garda, showing a remarkable lack of surprise. ‘Those leads that you’re chasing, that is?’
‘No, Cork City,’ answered Roussel.
‘So, do you mind me asking what you're doing here?’ asked the Garda.
The smile was slightly more fixed and wooden.
‘Just taking a few days off with a couple of friends,’ said Roussel.
‘Can you tell me who your liaison is then?’ asked the Garda.
‘Yeah, no problem,’ said Roussel. ‘It’s Detective James Murray of the Cork drug squad.’
‘Just a second,’ said the Garda, and walked off.
We heard the static as his radio bristled. He then extracted his phone. We heard the digital tones of the dialled number and then the brief conversation that followed. We all strained our hearing, but we couldn't tell who he was talking to and all his answers were fairly monosyllabic. The discourse was brief and he returned with a very different look on his face.
‘Detective Murray would like you all very much to wait at the station for him.’
The way he said it left us in no doubt that our options were limited.
Dale was the first to put the theory to the test.
‘So, do we have a choice?’ he asked.
‘It would be in your beneficial interest, sir, to accompany me.’
‘Is that a no, then?’ asked Dale.
‘Please follow me.’
Dale shrugged and we followed the young officer in single file back to the Garda Station in Church Square. He escorted us to the main interview room, and in fairness to him, he made us all a cup of tea while we waited, after taking note of our names.
It was funny, but given my background, it was odd to think that this was the first time I had been in a police interview room. I knew Roussel and Dale would be veterans, but I was sure their experiences were always from the other side of the desk.
We waited another forty minutes, none of us in much of a mood for talking. We were all reaching the point where we were starting to slip into boredom induced naps, when the door suddenly flew open.
The garda who’d escorted us to the station entered the room first. Then another gentleman, this time in plain clothes, came in behind him; obviously Detective James Murray.
The young officer pressed the record button on the voice recorder; the one that we had all failed to spot before.
‘Garda Pat Spillane and Detective James Murray have just entered the room. For the tape, already present are Detective Charles Roussel, Dale Foster and John O'Reilly.’
He looked at his watch.
‘Interview started at four forty six.’
We had already decided it would be best not to use my real name.
Roussel started the ball rolling.
‘So, is this an interview?’ he asked.
Detective Murray looked up with a measured stare, his eyes narrowing.
‘I’ll tell you something Charlie,’ he said. ‘I don't know what the hell it is, but I promise you something. We are not leaving this room till I get some answers.’
We were sitting in a line opposite Detective Murray, and I noticed that Dale was keeping his head down. I also knew why.
‘You guys are going to an awful lot of bother for an accident,’ I said, slipping back into what I hoped was my natural brogue.
‘And who the hell are you?’ he asked.
‘Just a friend,’ I said. ‘I got talking to the boys in a pub. We seemed to share the same kind of interests.’
‘You lived in America.’
It was a statement, not a question.
‘I did,’ I acknowledged, ‘along with half the other guys of my generation. I didn't realise it was a crime until now.’
‘When did you get back here?’ he asked, not taking the bait.
‘About a year ago,’ I said.
‘Anyone who can verify that?’ he asked.
I looked him straight in the eye.
‘About half of Cork,’ I lied with bravado.
‘So who was this guy?’ Roussel asked. ‘The one who died, I mean.’
‘You tell me, you were with him,’ he said.
‘We met him,’ I corrected, ‘we weren’t with him. He heard Charles’s American accent; he was American himself, so asked if he could join us. We said, yeah, no problem, had a little chat, I gave him a few tips on places to visit and then we left. Two minutes later, bang, he’s dead by the roadside.’
‘Did you know his name?’ asked Detective Murray.
‘We didn't,’ I answered, this time untruthfully.
It could have caused us complications.
‘He didn't even tell you his name,’ said Detective Murray incredulously.
‘Look, we had a pint with him. We chatted to him for twenty minutes. He left, we left. He walked with a limp, and then he was hit by a car. What more can I say.’
Detective Murray regarded me impassively for a few minutes.
‘He had no ID on him, you see. Nothing in his wallet, no driving licence, no passport, no travel documents, nothing. That in itself, let me tell you, is very rare.’
‘But it does happen,’ said Dale, looking up.
I watched Detective Murray's face as it went through the various stages; surprise, shock, incredulity and then anger.
‘You!’ he exclaimed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Dale froze and it fell to Roussel to answer.
‘We met outside the police station,’ said Roussel. ‘The afternoon after you gave me that tour, remember? As two Americans in a strange country, and fellow law enforcement professionals to boot, we decided to hook up and do some sightseeing together.’
I secretly applauded Roussel. It was thin, mighty thin, but it was plausible, just. Detective Murray was having none of it.
‘And you expect me to believe that?’ he asked, laughing bitterly.
‘I don't expect you to do anything,’ said Roussel. ‘That’s the truth, end of story.’
‘I don't think so Charlie boy,’ responded James. ‘I have an instinct for these things. You guys are up to something and you are also hiding something, two traits that I just cannot stand.’
‘At the end of the day,’ said Roussel without pausing, ‘there is no case to answer here. You know as well as I do that there are five or ten witnesses who can put us on the other side of the road when that guy was hit. It was a hit-and-run for god’s sake. I don’t know what you want from us? So either charge us or let us go.’
Roussel finished the sentence in
exasperation and stared at Detective Murray defiantly.
‘I like you James,’ he said, ‘but at the end of the day this is about the law. We’re not doing anything wrong, we didn’t do anything wrong. We casually hooked up with a guy for a pint; he ends up dead, a hit-and-run. I'm sorry about that, but that's as far as it goes.’
Detective Murray regarded Roussel balefully for a few moments.
‘I work in the drug squad as you well know,’ he said. ‘Because of that, I'm used to dealing with people who are dishonest. There is no one more underhand and untruthful than a junkie looking for his next fix, so I have an instinct for when something smells bad. There is a stink coming off this situation like you wouldn't believe, and I’m going to promise you now that I will find out what you're up to. But you're right, at the moment I can't charge you with anything, much as I’d like to.’
He nodded to the young garda, who leaned across and hit the button on the voice recorder.
‘Interview suspended at five o’clock precisely.’
‘So that’s it, we’re free to go?’ asked Roussel.
‘You’re free to go, Charlie,’ said James. ‘But let me tell you this.’
He looked at each of us in turn as he spoke.
‘If I find out that any of you are mixed up in anything that you shouldn't be, then I will have the book thrown at you, do you understand? In fact, I won’t have it thrown; I’ll take the greatest of pleasure in throwing it myself.’
We all nodded meekly.
‘Now get out of my sight.’
We didn't need asking twice. We leapt up from our chairs and virtually ran out of the office, walking briskly and not stopping until we were in the relative safety of Church Square.
I scowled at Roussel.
‘This is entirely your fault,’ I stated with venom. ‘I told you that we shouldn’t have gone to the police.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Roussel with a broad smile. ‘It’s had precisely the effect I hoped it would.’
Dale and I looked at him in puzzlement.
‘I knew James would not be happy, especially when he found out about Dale. I got to know him pretty well over the last few days. He’s a very good police officer and he’s not going to let this go. I think that will work in our favour.’
‘What you mean?’ I asked.
‘Well, he is more convinced than ever that something is amiss. I don’t think there is any harm in having someone like James on our side, even if all he is going to do is re-examine some of the facts.’
I shrugged.
‘I'll take your word for it,’ I said. ‘Law enforcement is a sweet mystery to me. But one thing I do know; we need to plan tonight very carefully. Let’s head back to the hotel. I have a feeling that it's all coming to a head.’
#
‘So what do you make of that, Garda Spillane?’ asked James.
‘I don’t think they’re on the level, sir,’ said the garda.
‘Damn right they’re not,’ said James.
He tapped the end of his pen thoughtfully on the desk in front of him.
‘All we need to do now is try and find out what it is they're involved in.’
‘Already on it, sir,’ said Garda Spillane.
‘What do you mean?’ asked James.
‘One of my buddies is heading out; he’s off shift. I’ve asked him to keep tabs on our friends. My shift is over in about ten minutes. I’ll get changed into civvies and relieve him.’
James smiled broadly.
‘I like your style Garda Spillane. You’ll go far.’
‘You can call me Pat, sir,’ said Garda Spillane.
#
As he changed into his suit, Ernesto could not shake off the uneasy feeling that had been brewing since the morning. Neither of the brothers was what you would call emotional, but Ernesto certainly put more store in his feelings than Guido did.
He’d had the dream again. He was a successful farmer and everywhere he turned there were acres of wheat and corn stretching as far as the eye could see. It was such a bountiful harvest, shiny and gold, that he felt like a modern day Midas. And then, his self-satisfied smile turned to horror as he realised his bounty was not golden, it was ablaze. The flames were literally rushing towards him. He could hear the roar as they consumed everything in their path. The fiery wall of death reared up in front of him, and just before it hit, he screamed and woke up.
He didn’t know what it meant, he never did, but he just knew the portents were not good.
He went to find Guido, noting with annoyance that he wasn't in his room. He went to find Antonio instead, who was patiently ironing shirts.
‘Do you know where my brother is?’ he asked.
‘I believe he’s gone downstairs to wait for you,’ said Antonio. ‘I will be down in a few minutes when I have everything packed and the bill settled.’
‘Thanks Antonio,’ said Ernesto.
When he entered the bar, Guido was sitting waiting for him, as was a glass of the finest cognac. Ernesto sat down, overwhelmed with a sense of love for his brother. By the time he had raised his glass to his lips, all feelings of misgiving had left his body.
‘To us,’ said Guido. ‘Salute!’
‘Salute!’ said Ernesto.
Their glasses clashed together as they toasted another successful partnership. In the fireplace behind them, the flames buzzed and flattened as the gathering wind blew an occasional gust down the chimney.
Chapter 54 – Destination
23rd May 2011 – Thirteen days after the Storm.
By prevailing over all obstacles and distractions, one may unfailingly arrive at his chosen goal or destination. – Christopher Columbus.
We all stood clustered around the battered old holdall.
‘Do you think we’ll need it?’ asked Dale.
‘I think it’s going to be absolutely essential equipment, unfortunately,’ I said. ‘The one thing we do have in our favour is the element of surprise, or at least I hope we do, but we need to make sure we exploit that above all else.’
‘So, where are we going then?’ asked Roussel.
‘Well, Agent Bruce confirmed our initial suspicions about the ADXR and G&E Chemicals tie up, may God have mercy on his soul. We’d pretty much worked that one out already, but it looks like David McCabe and the Mancini's are planning to produce high volumes of this stuff from a facility in Clonakilty.’
‘And then what? Stockpile it?’
‘If you’ve seen the west coast of Cork,’ I said, ‘then you’d understand what we’re up against. There are so many inlets along the coastline that it would be absolutely impossible to patrol it all. There are literally thousands of coves, beaches and natural harbours; a myriad of places to load any type of merchandise onto boats, and get it out of the country and into circulation with zero chance of discovery.’
I fetched the large-scale ordnance survey map we’d bought on the way back to the hotel, put the holdall on the floor, and spread the large paper sheet fully out across the table. I took out my phone and typed in ADXR Clonakilty. I went to Google maps and it helpfully highlighted the actual unit within the industrial park.
I panned out to get an idea of where it was in relation to the town, and then set the phone down next to the corresponding location on the map.
‘So,’ I said. ‘It looks like we go through the town and out the other side to this roundabout.’
I pointed to the spot, took a black marker, drew a little circle around the roundabout, and then drew a larger circle on another part of the chart that was not relevant to our journey or plan. I then joined the two with a straight line. Keeping my eye on the phone, I transposed a small sketch of the unit into the larger circle, mainly to highlight its orientation in regard to the map.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘It looks like there is nothing around it but fields, which is good. It helps contribute to the element of surprise. I'd say, given the organisation we’re dealing with, security will be fairly tight, so that co
uld be a problem. The ideal scenario would obviously be multiple entry points. The front entrance is likely to be heavily guarded, probably augmented by a camera system, so our best bet is going to be doors at the extremities of the building. Now, I don’t know what it’s like over here, but in the United States, there are regulations about certain size buildings having a certain number of fire doors. I think they will be the key to us gaining entry.’
Roussel chimed in.
‘You both heard what Agent Bruce said as well; about Black Swan and some of his crew possibly trying to muscle in on the action.’
‘If so, it’s going to get very busy around there,’ I acknowledged, ‘so we need to be very careful.’
‘How are we going to communicate?’ asked Dale.
‘Good point,’ I said. ‘Do we all have each other's numbers?’
We diligently swapped numbers and then we all made sure we had our hands-free kits with us and that they still worked. As we left the hotel with the holdall and the rest of our meagre belongings, I had a strong feeling that we would not be back.
#
Dave was in his element, as he always was when he had things to do. He was a man of action like his boss; he couldn't stand the long periods of nothing. Chauffeuring, chaperoning, guarding and protecting; all of it quite stressful, but there was minimal action in it. He smiled; the action, when it came, more than made up for the large chunks of boredom.
Dave was meticulous when it came to planning. It was why the failures of recent days had irked him, but realistically it was all part of the process. You couldn't account for the quality of your opposition; you just had to plan around it as best you could.
He studied the surveillance photographs that had been supplied to him. He had a guy watching the place now, an old friend from the army who knew what Dave was looking for when it came to buildings. He spread the pictures on the table in front of him, and made neat notes in small capital letters.
The building had one main entrance which would be heavily guarded, but it had a further six sets of emergency exits. There were two sets on each side of the building and two sets at the back. His plan was simple; they would overpower any external security, disable the alarm system, lever open the fire doors and assume control.
The Storm Protocol Page 51