The Trust

by Ronald H. Balson

  “I assume you are Montgomery?” McLaughlin said.

  “Mister Montgomery. What is this all about? Why are the cops busting into my plant?”

  “Is it your plant, Mister Montgomery?”

  “I’m responsible for security. I will ask you again, what are you doing here?”

  McLaughlin handed the search warrant to Montgomery and said, “Step aside, Mr. Montgomery, and let us do our job.”

  “Not so fast. How do I know this is genuine? I need to call our lawyers and get their advice before I let you into my warehouse.” It seemed obvious that Montgomery knew the purpose of our visit and was determined to do what he was hired to do—keep us out.

  “Last time, Mr. Montgomery. Step aside or I will arrest you for obstructing a police officer.”

  “You think that scares me? I was a combat officer in Operation Telic. On the point in Iraq, three deployments. I’ve faced much tougher opponents than a skinny old cop in civilian clothes.”

  McLaughlin looked back at the five officers that stood behind him. “Arrest him,” he said.

  The first officer who approached Montgomery with cuffs in his hand went down quickly with a right to the midsection. All told, it took four of the officers to bring Montgomery down, cuff his hands behind his back and chain his ankles. Once he was subdued, we entered the warehouse.

  Rows of wooden crates with IRISH LINEN and NORTHERN EXPORTS stenciled on the sides, sat on pallets ready for shipment. As Janie had noted, the floor underneath the pallets was blue tile. McLaughlin ordered the workers to stand along the walls. Then he instructed an officer to open one of the boxes.

  The young officer kneeled down, pried open the top and looked up at us. “It’s linen, sir. The whole box is full of linen.”

  “Open another one.”

  Crate after crate revealed only bolts of linen cloth. McLaughlin looked at me and shrugged.

  “This can’t be everything,” I said. “There has to be another part to this warehouse.”

  McLaughlin turned to the workers standing along the wall. “Is there another part of this plant where crates are stored?” The men looked from side to side and said nothing. Finally, one string bean of a man near the end of the line jumped forward and raised his hand.

  “I ain’t going to jail,” he said. “This ain’t the only part, Commander. There’s another area filled with different boxes. The ones you’re looking for.”

  “Take me there,” McLaughlin demanded, and turning to a patrolman, he said, “I want the rest of these men processed. Call for additional backup.”

  We walked through a door into another portion of the plant where more rows of crates were stacked on pallets. Those crates were marked FINE CLASS-A IRISH LINEN—NORTHERN EXPORTS. As we all knew they would, under a thin layer of linen they each contained military assault rifles and ammunition. Once a Lefferty, always a Lefferty.

  McLaughlin radioed in an alert for Charles Dalton, aka Michael Charles Lefferty, and his photo was sent to public and private airports and harbors. “We’re on an island,” Farrell said. “Unless he got out this morning, we’ll catch him.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE MORNING SKY WAS dark, the wind was hard from the north, and intermittent rain fell at an angle, as though the weather gods felt our sorrow. We were at Deirdre’s, preparing to attend another funeral mass for yet another family member. No one had heard from Charles, and McLaughlin called to say that he hadn’t been found. It was likely he had made his way to the continent before we could get the notice out. In some ways, I was glad he was out of Northern Ireland and out of my life. One day he’d make a mistake, take a wrong turn, slip up at a border entry and he’d be apprehended. EU authorities would return him to Northern Ireland for trial. He’d get what he deserved. Today our thoughts and prayers were with Riley, his wife and children and the grieving Taggart family.

  There was an extra PSNI car to escort the black limousines to St. Michael’s. Once again there would be a gathering of black umbrellas standing on the hillside. Catherine felt it would be unwise to take the baby out in the bad weather and I concurred. She would stay at home. PSNI would post a guard in the front, though with Charles gone and Montgomery in prison the level of danger was negligible.

  To see Riley’s young wife and children dressed in black and following the casket into the church was heart-wrenching. As I had at Fergus’s and Eamon’s funerals, I sat next to Janie. Life had certainly taken a shocking reversal for her. She was consoled by Annie, who sat on her other side. Conor took a seat in the first pew with his arm around Susan. She had lost her husband. He had lost his father and his brother. Once again, Uncle Robert stepped up to the pulpit and delivered a poignant eulogy. His arm was still bound tightly in a sling. The Taggarts were a battered clan, what was left of us.

  I had come to the realization that I was wrong about Conor. Irritable, irascible, and bad-tempered? Yes. But he was never the evil-hearted person I imagined. There was no question that he resented my duplicity when I was with the CIA, or that he had carried that grudge forward. In my mind, I believed he was hurt that his father had chosen me as the trustee and had said I was the only person he could trust. I was sorry the two of us got off on the wrong foot. I hoped we could be closer in the future.

  Deirdre had buried her lifelong partner, her brother-in-law and now a boy she had raised from infancy. In a day or two, when Robert returns to his condo and we leave for home, she will truly be alone. Catherine and I will offer to move her to Chicago, but she will most certainly decline. I hoped that Annie would look after her.

  As the service ended and we stepped outside into the rain, I noticed that one of the officers was trying to reach someone on his radio. He waved at me and beckoned me over to his car. He said he couldn’t reach his partner, the man assigned to guard Deirdre’s house. He wondered if Catherine had changed her mind and asked to be driven into town. I shrugged and took out my cell phone. Catherine didn’t answer. I dialed again. Voice mail. My nerves fired up. I had seen too much in Northern Ireland to believe in coincidences. “Take me home, please. Right now.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t leave my post.”

  “Call inspector McLaughlin. Tell him to get a car out to the house as fast as he can.” I ran to find Annie. She had driven Janie to the church earlier this morning. I found her walking down the hill, into the cemetery, and I grabbed her arm. “Annie, please drive me home. Something’s wrong.”

  She didn’t ask what was wrong, she didn’t ask why, she didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment. Our mutual vibes were still intact in that curious, metaphysical way. She immediately understood, turned and ran with me to her car.

  We drove out to the house at breakneck speed. The PSNI car was still parked at the end of the driveway. I exhaled a sigh of relief. We drove up to the house and my heart fell. The PSNI officer lay dead on the front porch in a pool of blood, shot several times. Old Wicklow lay beside him, also riddled with bullet holes. From inside the house, we heard the baby crying. I ran in shouting, “Catherine? Cat? Catherine, where are you? Please answer me, baby. Oh, please say something, honey.”

  Ben was standing up in his crib, grabbing the sides and screaming. I picked him up, hugged him and ran out into the living room. Catherine was nowhere to be found. Annie and I searched all over the house, including the basement. There were no signs of a struggle and thankfully no more bodies. Just then, two PSNI cruisers pulled up to the house, sirens blaring. Megan and Farrell had arrived.

  “He’s got Catherine,” I shouted with panic in my voice and in my heart. “I never should have brought her here to Antrim. I never should have left her home alone.”

  “No time for recriminations, Liam. We have to get her back. He’s taken her for a reason. He hasn’t left the country and he needs safe passage.”

  Annie reached for the baby. He was soaking wet. “Let me have Ben. I’ll take care of him,” she said gently.

  “I’m going to go after Lefferty,” I said. �
��I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

  McLaughlin put his hand on my shoulder. “Liam, he’s not at the plant and we don’t know where he is. We don’t know where he’s taken her.”

  “I have to find him. He’ll kill her.”

  He shook his head. “If he was going to kill her, she’d be lying here like my young officer. No, Catherine is his ticket out. We have to wait for his call.”

  Megan came in from the yard. She held a plastic bag with several spent shell casings. “Five-five-six NATO,” she said. “They came from one of Lefferty’s AR-15s. I called for the homicide unit and the coroner.”

  McLaughlin exhaled slowly through pursed lips. “What a shame. Bobby was a good man. From the looks of his body and the holes in the front wall siding, he never had a chance. It must have been a surprise attack out of the woods. I’ll have to tell his father.”

  “I can’t just sit here,” I said.

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “What about Montgomery? I’ll bet he knows where Lefferty is. Give me a few minutes alone with him.”

  McLaughlin shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. I can bring him into the interrogation room and we can do it the right way, but this guy isn’t about to flip on his boss. You saw him at the plant. He was ready to take on a dozen armed policemen.”

  “What do we know about him?”

  “He’s the real deal. British Special Forces with three tours of combat in the Middle East. He received field decorations and was discharged in 2011 when British units left Iraq. He had his share of internal discipline problems but the file is silent as to why.”

  “So, he was Lefferty’s muscle?”

  “Undoubtedly. We’ll take a look in his apartment and I’m confident we’ll find the rifle that was used to shoot your uncle, along with other military hardware. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was also responsible for Eamon Taggart’s murder. Northern Ireland is immeasurably safer with Montgomery off the streets.”

  People started to file back to the house from the funeral. Deirdre, Robert and Janie returned. As each of them came in, Annie took them aside and quietly filled them in on the details. Other than an exchange of quick empathetic glances and terrified shock, they pretty much gathered in the kitchen and left me alone to confer with Megan and McLaughlin in the living room. Deirdre and Annie took to the task of caring for Ben.

  I was pacing. My nerves were getting the best of me. “Why hasn’t he called?”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll let you stew for a while and increase your desperation. He knows we’re all here waiting. Sooner or later, he’ll make the call. He needs to get off the island.”

  “Then why do we need to wait here? If Lefferty calls the house they can give him my cell number. I want to talk to Montgomery. We have nothing to lose. Humor me, I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

  * * *

  MONTGOMERY WAS BROUGHT INTO the interrogation room in handcuffs and leg irons and was quickly chained to the interrogation table. He had a smug smile on his face. “What’s the matter, boys? Something I can help you with?”

  “Where’s Lefferty?” I said.

  He feigned a pouty face and mimicked, “‘Where’s Lefferty? Where’s Lefferty?’ Like I’m going to tell you.”

  I was ready to explode. “He kidnapped my wife.”

  “You’re breaking my heart. Boo-hoo.”

  I lunged across the table, put my hands around his thick neck and squeezed as hard as I could. He squirmed from side to side until McLaughlin pulled me off.

  “Take these chains off me, garda,” Montgomery said, coughing. “Let’s see this punk come at me again. You’re a real brave honcho while I’m tied to a table.”

  “Give him his wish, Farrell,” I said. “Cut him loose.” Every muscle in my body was contracting and all my anger was on the surface. I met his stare. I wanted his blood.

  McLaughlin walked me back into my chair. “Liam, sit down.”

  I stared at Montgomery and spit out my words. “He’s nothing but a hired killer, an indiscriminate murderer who kills without conscience. He’s the lowest of the low.”

  Montgomery smiled. “Really? Am I that bad? Am I so different from when I was a hired killer for the British government? Was I acceptable then because I was killing Iraqis indiscriminately without conscience for her majesty the queen? Look around, pal, you’re in Northern Ireland. Indiscriminate murder is our national pastime.”

  McLaughlin interceded. “The game’s over, Montgomery, your boss doesn’t give a damn about you. Why protect him? Just tell us where he went.”

  “Why should I? What’s in it for me?”

  “Cooperation could go a long way. You weren’t the head of this operation, Lefferty was. He used you like he’d use a tool and then discarded you like he’d discard a tool. He took off and left you holding the bag. Northern Ireland appreciates remorseful felons who help us prosecute the real responsible parties.”

  “Northern Ireland don’t appreciate shit. I was a decorated war hero. What good did that do me after I was discharged? I couldn’t find a freakin’ job in this dogshit country until Charles took me on. He paid me well for services rendered. I’m not about to rat him out. And don’t give me the cooperation bullshit. I’m sure you’ve already got your minions snooping around in my apartment, grabbing my guns and hardware and collecting all your evidence. I’m never getting out of this can, and you and I both know it. So what can you offer? Are you going to set me free, Inspector? Ha!”

  “No. You’re going to go to prison for the rest of your miserable life. But there’s prison and then there’s prison, if you know what I mean. Work with us and it will benefit you in the long run. Lefferty’s kidnapped an innocent woman. He took her as a hostage so he could get away and leave you here. That’s how much he cares about you. Just tell us where he is. He never needs to know it came from you.”

  Montgomery shrugged his massive shoulders. “Well, even if I wanted to, the truth is I don’t know. Charles doesn’t exactly share his itineraries with me. How am I supposed to know where he went? Somalia, Bosnia, Chechnya? Probably anyplace he ships his guns. Why don’t you check with his social secretary?”

  “He must have had a plan in the event his operation went south. Why don’t you help us out and we’ll help you out?”

  “Operation? I call it a business. Supply and demand. There’s a market with a strong demand out there, a demand that no one can supply legally, and we serve that market. And they pay very well. Our clients in Somalia and Syria will buy everything that we can ship and pay top prices. Charles’s family’s been running this business for forty years. The street demand in Belfast has dried up, so Charles markets to areas of the greatest demand. To me, that’s a good businessman. That’s not an operation. I’ve been in operations. This is business and we’re good at it. I’m done talking to you assholes.”

  McLaughlin turned to me. “He doesn’t have the answer.”

  I nodded and we left.

  * * *

  DEIRDRE WAS TENDING TO the baby when we returned. Our house was becoming a PSNI communications center. There were open lines to headquarters in Belfast and to districts all over the six counties. Janie and Annie had set out some tea and pitchers of water. Conor had arrived and pulled me aside. “Just tell me what I can do and I will do it, Liam. Wherever you want me to go, whatever you want me to do.”

  “I wish I knew what to do, Conor. I wish I had a clue. But I thank you for your offer.”

  The phone hadn’t rung since we left and it was almost three o’clock. I became less and less convinced that Lefferty needed Catherine to make his escape. It was more probable that Lefferty was exacting further revenge on the Taggarts. Each hour that passed made it more likely that I’d lost my wife.

  The PSNI set up equipment to track the location of a call, whether it came in to the house phone or my cell phone. Given enough time, they could pinpoint his exact location unless he had some sophisticated scrambling device, which
McLaughlin felt was not available to Lefferty on the run.

  The house phone rang at three forty-five. I quickly picked up the phone.

  “Liam, so nice to speak to you. There’s someone here who misses you.”

  “If you hurt her, I will hunt you down no matter where you go and I will kill you.”

  “My, my, such bold words from a man with so little bargaining power. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s not the way to begin a negotiation? Here’s how it works: you have what I want and I have what you want. In such situations, between men of reason, a bargain may be struck.”

  “What do you want, Lefferty?”

  “Actually, I prefer Dalton. I’ve been Charles Dalton for such a long time that I’ve really become quite fond of the chap. So let’s stick with Dalton. Or Charles. By the way, how is my little girlfriend? Is she there with you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, I surely don’t want Janie anymore. I’m tired of her petulance.”

  “Come on, Dalton, let’s get on with it.”

  “We will, we will. We’re just beginning. I’ll call you back in a bit. Toodle-oo.”

  We looked at Megan, who shook her head. “He wasn’t on long enough.”

  Janie and Annie came into the room. “I think I know where he is,” Janie said. “I think he’s at Dunluce Castle. It’s near his country club and we used to go there late at night. We’d sneak into the towers and … well, we’d sneak into the towers. He said it made him feel like the Earl of Antrim.”

  Fifteen minutes passed and the phone rang again.

  “Dalton,” I said. “I just want my wife safely returned. What do you want?”

  “Oh, let’s not be so formal. Charles, just Charles. I want my freedom and I want my property. I also want each and every Taggart dead and underground, but I guess I fell short in that regard.”

  “What property?”

  “Why, my inventory, of course. I bought and paid for all those rifles. They belong to me.”

  I looked at McLaughlin. He shook his head.

  “Out of the question and you know it,” I said. “Let Catherine go. She’s done nothing to you. Let me take her place. Use me as a hostage instead. I’m just as valuable to the PSNI as Catherine.”