‘Nine months later, she had a bastard, you.’
Here he jabbed a finger in my direction.
‘But not content with that corruption, she had to seek him out again and steal him away from his legitimate family.’
There were tears in his eyes now.
‘He told me I was the loveless spawn of a loveless marriage. The day he left is the day I died and I’ve been dead ever since.’
‘That’s hardly my fault is it?’ I said quietly.
‘But it is,’ he screamed. ‘He said he loved you more!’
I felt the familiar emotions bubble over.
‘My father,’ I said, hissing the word father and then spitting on the imaginary spot where it landed, ‘left me when I was seven years old. Let me tell you something, he was no father to me.’
‘That’s only because he was blackmailed into it. He'd already made the decision to go and live with the slut and her bastard. So you see, in my eyes, whether you like it or not, you were effectively responsible for the death of my family.’
‘So all of that detailed planning with false names and documents?’ I asked, still reeling from the onslaught. ‘What was all that about?’
‘I wanted you to suffer the way I've suffered,’ he said. ‘I wanted you to feel the same mental anguish I had to go through.’
He paused for breath, the anger and rage was really taking it out of him.
‘When we were doing the research on you,’ he continued, ‘we found out about Kathleen Murphy and your relationship with her. We then had a complete stroke of luck and managed to track you to the house in Louisiana through one of the Irish genealogy websites.’
‘Yeah I was going to ask you about that?’ asked Roussel suddenly.
‘Thomas Eugene O’Neill is not a common name,’ replied Black Swan, glancing briefly at him. ‘And it is even less common when it surfaces on a sporadic search of deeds to properties in the US. It was easy from there to fake a birth certificate.’
‘But why?’ I asked again.
‘I wanted you to go through what I went through,’ said Eoin. ‘I wanted you to become a father and then have your child cruelly taken away from you. I wanted you to go through all those positive emotions. Thinking you had found a long lost blood relation, finally a son and heir. Then I wanted to be the one to tell you myself, just before I killed you; that it was all lies and you were going to die sad and alone.’
I looked across at Dale; he was shaking his head. It was as he had predicted, but with a less than subtle and frankly quite disturbing twist.
‘So all of that elaborate plotting and scheming was solely for my benefit,’ I said incredulously.
‘I’ve dreamt of nothing else for the past thirty years,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I hated you. And what's especially gratifying for me? Now that I’ve met you in person, it has not dulled that hatred one iota; in fact, if anything it has amplified it.’
I glanced across at Roussel and Dale. I could tell they were as shocked as I was. The depth and ferocity of the hate was something I had rarely encountered. I looked at his face; at the uncontrollable twitching of the muscles, the tensing and relaxing of the jaw, the maniacal glint in the eyes. I was not a coward, but at that particular second, I was seriously afraid. He was almost at the point of no return. I could sense that he was just at that crossroads where his subconscious desire for revenge was about to overrule his sane sense of self preservation.
‘How did you find us in Kinsale?’ I asked.
‘That stupid working girl you were trying to protect; she spilled her guts to me first chance she could get. Didn’t think she would betray you that easily did you? Mind you, I did give her a handsome reward.’
His response chilled me, but I didn’t get a chance to question him further.
‘So this has nothing to do with Storm?’ asked Roussel, suddenly breaking the tension.
Black Swan didn’t even look at him; his stare was unblinkingly focused on me.
‘I didn't even know about it until last week,’ he said.
He pointed his finger at me again.
‘This is all about him,’ he said. ‘Always has been, always will be.’
‘What happened to....’
I was about to say my father before another word escaped.
‘....him?’ I finished.
‘My father, you mean?’ he asked, using the possessive word deliberately. ‘I never forgave him. Even though he tried to talk to me, I never spoke another word to him.’
‘Even after he went back?’ I asked.
‘Especially after he came back.’
He spat the words out.
‘After hearing what I'd heard from his own lips and seeing it in his face, I could never forgive him. It remained between us till the end. I never regretted it.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Well Mr O’Neill or whatever the fuck your name is. I don't care how long more it takes. I don’t care where you go or what you do. I will locate you, I will hunt you down and I will kill you, because it’s the only way I can get my dad back; it’s the only way I can grant him absolution.’
I looked at the rapture on his face as he described my death, and realised he was totally genuine; he meant every word he said.
‘And you?’ I said, gesturing to the man next to Black Swan; the only one I had not spoken too; the one who had remained silent and immobile throughout the whole story.
‘Dave Keegan,’ he said. ‘I suppose you could call me a soldier of fortune. I was facing a life of boredom and slow self-destruction until the boss here showed me a glimpse of an exciting alternative lifestyle.’
‘Ex army I'm guessing,’ I said.
‘Is it that obvious?’ he answered.
‘You can normally tell,’ I said.
‘Yeah, it’s taken me years to realise it,’ he said. ‘But do you know what?’
He looked from Foster to Roussel and back to me and then finally across to his boss.
‘I’m a bit of a thrill seeker.’
I felt something hit me hard in the face. I should have been expecting something, but instead I recoiled. He’d used one of the oldest tricks in the book; flicking all the loose change out of his pocket at me. As I staggered back, he stooped, picked up the gun, rolled and fired.
I felt a stinging pain in my leg and fell awkwardly to one side. I heard the whistle of another bullet as it flew over my head. Roussel and Foster recovered from their momentary paralysis. I heard the chatter of the machine guns as they laid down sporadic covering fire. Thankfully I had also fallen directly onto my gun. I scrabbled frantically for the weapon and then managed to skitter around the back of one of the larger disassembled machines.
As soon as I made cover, the short bursts of machine gun fire ceased. Both Roussel and Foster had limited ammunition and I’d told them to conserve it, just before we’d entered the arena.
‘Looks like we have a bit of a stand-off,’ shouted Black Swan.
My leg was pumping blood and I was starting to feel exceptionally lightheaded. I shrugged myself out of my jacket with difficulty, ripped the sleeves into strips, and then tied the fragments around the top of my thigh as tightly as I could. It seemed to staunch the bleeding somewhat, and the pain stabilised into a dull ache.
‘Seems you may be right,’ I shouted back.
‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement,’ said Black Swan.
I felt two or three more bullets thud into the machine that I was hiding behind.
‘I’m sure we can,’ I said. ‘Give me all of the material relating to Storm and I’ll think about letting you all live.’
‘You’re in no position to bargain,’ said Guido. ‘I think you’ll find that one way or the other we hold all of the aces.’
My brain was trying to ignore all the outside influences and concentrate on the injury, but try as I might to divert myself from the reality, I couldn’t see a good outcome.
I feared Guido was indeed co
rrect.
We were outgunned, outnumbered and a long way from home.
Chapter 58 – Culmination
23rd May 2011 – Thirteen days after the Storm.
Action should culminate in wisdom. – Hindu Scripture.
James had two pet hates. He didn't like being lied to, and he didn’t like being taken for a fool. He knew Roussel and Foster were up to something, and he knew it had something to do with the case Roussel was working on. With Foster involved as well, drugs were bound to be part of the equation.
Garda Spillane had been as good as his word. It was difficult to find good hard-working staff, but he’d taken over from his off-duty friend and followed the trio all the way to Clonakilty.
He’d reported back to James twice.
Once, to brief James on what was happening and give him directions on where he should go, whilst also alerting him to the gunfire and the assault he'd seen on the building.
The second contact had been made when the three targets, Foster, Roussel and their Irish friend had headed into the thick of the action.
When he’d received the second call, James was glad he had managed to convince his colleague, Sean Fitzsimons, to come along.
‘What do you make of the situation?’ asked James, for something to say.
‘Well, as you’ve explained it, we’ve got a rogue detective from Louisiana, a lone DEA agent with no jurisdiction and an unknown Irish-American quantity, staking out an IDA building in Clonakilty. We’ve had reports of a number of people entering the premises and then a further report of an unknown group of men taking the same building by force.’
‘Do we know what that building houses?’ asked James.
‘Just checking it now,’ replied Sean. ‘It’s registered to G&E Chemicals, which in turn is partnered with the ADXR Corporation.’
‘So, on the surface it seems legitimate,’ said James.
‘On the surface, yes,’ said Sean, ‘but ADXR are a pharma giant; does give credence to your DEA drugs tie in.’
‘Maybe they are manufacturing controlled substances,’ said James. ‘Morphine or heroin or something like that would make a tempting target for any gang.’
‘It would certainly explain why a group would want to take it by force,’ replied Sean.
James closed his eyes briefly, even though he was driving. All the thinking was giving him a headache.
When he opened them again, he glimpsed the sign for Clonakilty. He followed Garda Spillane’s verbal directions. As agreed, he pulled off onto the verge, a short way from the campus, where Garda Spillane himself was waiting.
He hopped into the back, before the car had even come to a complete stop.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ said James, turning around in his seat.
‘No problem at all,’ said Garda Spillane.
‘So, have there been any developments?’ asked James.
‘Not since the last time I spoke to you,’ said Garda Spillane. ‘Like I told you before, I followed the guys here. They went up onto that hillock.’
He pointed out an area overlooking the front of the building.
‘No sooner were they in position, than a number of other smartly dressed gentlemen arrived in two cars; about six or seven of them. They spoke briefly, before entering the building. Ten minutes later, a sizeable number of men took over the building by force.’
He swallowed hard.
‘There was gunfire; at least one man is down I think, but I did what you said and waited until you arrived.’
‘Discretion is always the better part of valour,’ agreed James. ‘Anything else?’
‘That’s it I’m afraid. Five minutes ago the three of them headed down from their lookout towards the building. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like they were armed.’
‘Okay, show me where you think this casualty is,’ said James.
They alighted from the vehicle and Garda Spillane led the way.
He brought them close in to the hedgerow and around the left side of the building. They kept low and moved as quietly as they could. It was typical West Cork scrubland; heather and gorse in abundance, with patches of small rocks and coarse green grass.
They had gone no more than fifteen feet, when James saw a splash of colour that did not belong in a West Cork field. As he approached, the outline of a man emerged from the heavy damp undergrowth. James estimated he was in his forties. He was lying on his back.
He wore black trousers and James guessed that at one time his shirt would have been white. He bent over and felt for a pulse; nothing. It was then that he noticed something shiny a couple of yards away. As he walked, another body emerged from the heather and gorse. He stopped and checked the pulse on this one too; nothing.
He picked up the object that had attracted him and hefted it in his hand. It was a well balanced 9mm pistol. Like all drug squad officers, he’d done his firearms handling. He expertly unloaded the clip; still plenty of ammo.
He flashed the clip at his partner who guessed his intention and searched the prone body of the victim. There were two more clips stashed in his inside pockets.
‘Unusual armament for a security guard, wouldn’t you say?’ asked James softly.
They crouched down to take stock. James accepted the spare clips from his partner, and loaded the gun.
‘Can you shoot?’ asked James.
He knew he was a better marksman than Sean, but was unsure about the young garda.
‘Only an air rifle, sir, when I was younger,’ he said. ‘I used to help clear the crows out of the fields. And even then, I missed more than I hit.’
‘I’ll keep the gun so,’ whispered James.
Suddenly, they all flinched and threw themselves to the ground. Two rooks took off in a shriek of beating wings as the unmistakeable stutter of automatic gunfire carved through the silence and echoed off the rolling hills behind them.
‘Jesus Christ,’ whispered James. ‘Is everybody okay?’
He looked left and right to make sure his companions were nodding.
‘What the hell is happening here?’ asked Sean slowly.
‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ said James decisively. ‘Garda Spillane, you head back to the car.’
‘Pat,’ he whispered with a smile.
‘Ok, Pat,’ said James, with the glimmerings of a smile himself. ‘You head back to the car. There’s a police band radio in there. Get reinforcements down here now. If you have to, get patched through to Inspector Ryan in Cork city drug squad. Tell him where we are and what’s happening. He’ll get something moving for you.’
He turned to his colleague.
‘Sean,’ he said. ‘You and I will head inside.’
He corrected himself.
‘You and I will sneak inside, and try and find out what’s going on. And preferably without getting each other killed in the process.’
Garda Spillane didn’t hang around. They watched his retreating back for a second, while James scanned the outside of the building.
‘Let’s go in via the front,’ he whispered. ‘Are you ready?’
Sean nodded.
‘This is why I joined I suppose; for all the excitement,’ he whispered back.
They smiled wryly at each other before they headed off in single file towards the main entrance. As they traversed the roundabout, they dropped to the floor again as a number of more sustained bursts of gunfire opened up, much louder now, as they were almost at the entrance.
The shooting ceased, and they heard a couple of shouts. They moved inside, with James leading the way. They ducked behind the desk for temporary shelter and located a second victim.
James motioned to Sean silently, indicating that he should search the body. Sean gently rolled him over. It was easy to see what had killed him; there were two large holes in his forehead. Sean raised his eyebrows as he extracted another pistol and a spare clip; weapons, weapons everywhere.
There seemed to be only one way onto the factory floor. As they ap
proached, they could hear shouts and the zing of the occasional bullet.
James gestured to Sean and they both got down, sniper style, and inched their way in. As they cleared the end of the corridor, they saw the man that James knew as John O'Reilly. His face was masked with pain, his back propped against one of the large machines that dotted the production line floor.
#
I closed my eyes in an effort to drag my focus away from the injury. When I opened them again, I saw Roussel's liaison officer, DS Murray, emerge from the gloom of the entrance. Even though I was surprised to see him, the emotion did not appear to be mutual. Give him his credit though, his first thought was for my welfare.
‘Are you hurt badly?’ he whispered.
‘Just a flesh wound,’ I said softly, ‘but it’s bleeding quite a lot.’
‘Here, let me,’ he said, keeping his voice low.
He undid the makeshift knot, and then pulled it as tight as he possibly could. As he secured it in place, the now effective tourniquet seemed to make a huge positive difference. I immediately felt stronger and more alert. He saw me glancing at his companion, who had shuffled into place on the other side of me.
‘DS Sean Fitzpatrick, meet John O'Reilly,’ whispered James.
‘Thomas O'Neill,’ I corrected him, ‘a.k.a. the Street.’
I watched his eyebrows almost crawl off his forehead.
‘I know, I'll discuss it all in detail later over a pint,’ I said softly. ‘If we live that long, of course?’
‘So what’s the story?’ asked James, demonstrating remarkable self control.
I could almost feel the questions exploding out of his head.
‘Well for starters we’ve got Black Swan and a guy called Dave Keegan,’ I whispered.
‘They’re here?’ prompted James excitedly.
‘With about ten or twelve other men,’ I said.
‘Go on,’ said James.
‘We have David McCabe and a Ben....’
‘Collins?’ finished DS Fitzpatrick.
‘That’s the fella,’ I whispered. ‘He’s here too.’
I could hear muttering from within the room, so I tried to lower my voice still further.
The Storm Protocol Page 55