by Tony Kent
Grant doubted his pleas would have any effect, but when they were followed by silence he began to hope that he had underestimated his powers of persuasion. That hope was extinguished the instant it began, by a crushing blow to the temple that sent his chair backwards and slammed his head into the concrete floor.
Blood flowed freely from a cut to the back of Grant’s skull. He was dazed. Confused. The same hands that had struck the blow set Grant upright once again, lifting the chair with him.
Once back in place the interrogation continued.
‘I’m warning you, Benjamin.’ That voice again. ‘Every time you lie you’ll get that. Each time worse than the last. So there’s two ways this ends, son. You tell me the truth and you walk out on your own legs. A bit battered, but you’re walking. Keep this shit up, though, and I’ll break your legs and throw you off the docks. Your choice.’
Grant hesitated. His head was fuzzy, which made it hard to make a rational decision in an irrational situation. These people knew he had been involved. There was no doubt about that. They also knew he had been working for someone. They just did not know who that someone was.
Denials would get him nowhere. Grant could see that. He also did not doubt that the threats made were serious. But none of this made his choice any easier.
‘Alright. Alright.’
The feeling of blood trickling down the back of Grant’s neck distracted him.
‘What do you want from me?’
‘Just what I said. I want to know who paid you to screw about with McGale. To get him out of the restaurant on the night his family died. And to convince him that Neil Matthewson was behind the True IRA.’
Grant was silent. How do they know so much? He knew now that he was in the most dangerous position of his life. If he did not answer then he might die. But if he did answer then he would die.
‘You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.’ Grant was too desperate to be anything now but honest. ‘If I tell you what I know, I’m dead. I know these people. I know they’ll kill me. I don’t know you. I don’t know you’re not bluffing.’
Michael and Liam exchanged looks. No words. With just a subtle nod, indicating that they had reached agreement.
Liam stepped forward and took hold of Grant’s hood. He pulled it from Grant’s head, exposing the room and its occupants to his eyes.
Grant looked from figure to figure. At first he could make out only indistinct forms as his eyes focused after the darkness. Gradually his pupils contracted. His surroundings became clear. A large and dirty garage.
More important were the figures around him. As Grant’s gaze moved from face to face there was one set of features he immediately recognised.
The sight made Grant’s eyes fill with tears. Any hope he had that the speaker had made empty threats was now gone.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’
‘Not quite.’ Liam’s voice was pitiless. ‘But now you know who you’re dealing with. You know I’ll kill you as sure as whoever you’re working for will. Only difference, son, is that I’m the one who has you tied up. I can kill you where you sit. So now. Tell me the truth and you can go, and if you’re lucky you can disappear before anyone else gets to you.’
Grant had lost. There could be no bluffing. There could be no lying. He had grown up on streets where Liam Casey was king. A king who struck fear into braver men than Grant.
‘I was told to get Professor McGale out of the restaurant that night.’ Grant spoke slowly. ‘I was told what time and what to say. But I didn’t know what was going to happen. I swear I didn’t!’
‘I couldn’t give a shit what you knew. I want to know who paid you.’
Grant looked at the floor. Did not respond right away as he weighed up his choices. Which killer he wanted gunning for his life. But right now only one of them had him tied to a chair.
‘It was Robert Mullen.’
The hush that followed the name spoke volumes. Every man but Michael shifted their bodyweight awkwardly. An identical silent reaction that said more than words.
‘Robert Mullen? You’re sure?’
Liam’s tone betrayed a hope that Grant would answer ‘no’.
‘I’m sure. I dealt with the man himself. Mullen told me where to go, what to say. The exact time, down to the minute that I was to say it.’
Michael stepped close to his brother, out of Grant’s earshot. He spoke quietly.
‘Who the hell’s Robert Mullen?’
‘Later.’ Liam turned back to Grant. ‘Mullen had you convince McGale there was a conspiracy behind the attacks, did he?’
‘Yes.’ Grant had crossed the line, offering everything he knew. ‘After the bombing I realised what I was involved in. I panicked. I told Mullen I was going to hand myself in. He told me what would happen to my family if I did. And what would happen to them if I didn’t do more. He wanted me to use my relationship with Professor McGale to pass on information. Little by little. To get him thinking that the terrorist attacks weren’t normal. That they were a cover for something bigger.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ Liam seemed to struggle with what he was being told. ‘Mullen did all this? Robert Mullen?’
‘Yes, Mullen. He wanted me to convince the professor that the terrorist groups – both sides – were being funded by the same person. Someone with an ulterior motive. It wasn’t hard. Mullen would tell me when an attack was coming. He’d give me details on the targets and anything else I needed to know. I’d pass it on to Professor McGale after the fact, telling him that I got it from a source. After a few months I had him convinced I was right. That the whole thing was a massive conspiracy. So that in the end he wanted to meet my source.’
‘Which was Mullen’s plan all along.’ Michael’s mind now raced ahead. ‘Mullen must be the “RM” in McGale’s diary.’
‘When I took him to meet Mullen, I saw Mullen playing a role. He wasn’t himself. Not even close. He came across as a conflicted patriot, dedicated to a cause but unhappy with how it was being pursued. Bloody convincing, too. I almost forgot what a vicious psycho he is during those meetings. Almost.’
‘And the meetings? What happened?’
‘They would just sit and discuss things, and from the first meeting onwards they were in regular contact. Mullen was careful. He took his time to convince the professor. To indoctrinate him. Basically, he played him until the professor was truly convinced of what Mullen was selling him.’
‘And what was he selling him, exactly?’ Michael knew the answers to most of his questions but some blanks remained. ‘That Neil Matthewson was involved in terrorism? Why?’
‘Oh, it was much more than that. Mullen wasn’t just saying that Matthewson was involved in terrorism. No. He made Professor McGale think that Matthewson was behind it. That he was the cause of all of it. He convinced him that Matthewson was bankrolling both sides. Over time Mullen persuaded the professor that the new terrorism had nothing whatsoever to do with politics or with patriotism. That it was all just driven by one man – by Matthewson – and that it could be stopped by the death of that same man. Mullen wanted the professor to think that killing Matthewson was the only way to stop the attackers. And, once the professor was convinced, Mullen showed him how to do it.’
A silence fell when Grant finished speaking. Each man there tried to process what they had just heard. Many questions arose. Some demanded answers more than others.
‘Why the hell did Mullen want Matthewson dead?’ Liam beat Michael to the punch.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Grant. ‘I don’t know the point behind any of it. Mullen just told me it was political. That they were doing something that would go down in history.’
‘But why McGale?’ Michael asked. ‘The time and the trouble you went to with the man. To fake a terrorist attack that kills his family and then manipulate him while he’s grieving. To turn a good man into a killer? Why didn’t Mullen just have someone else kill Matthewson? A professional?’
‘B
ecause it wouldn’t have had the same effect, would it? If Mullen was going for a big political impact, what better way than to use a well-respected academic whose career to that point had always been so anti-terror? So anti-violence? A man whose life’s work was peaceful negotiation? If a man like that resorts to violence, what hope is there for anyone else? McGale was chosen because of the message he offered. He was chosen because of who he was.’
‘That choice cost McGale and his family their lives,’ Liam’s voice bristled with anger. ‘Did you ever think of that before you turned Judas on a man who trusted you?’
‘I told you, Mr Casey. I had no idea there was going to be a bomb. I had no idea the professor was going to be manipulated into what happened in London. I was just doing as I was told. I had no idea of the consequences.’
‘And why did Mullen choose you?’ Michael’s voice carried the same distaste as Liam’s. ‘Were you just the cheapest?’
‘I didn’t receive a penny.’
Grant’s words were tinged with fear. The atmosphere in the lock-up was turning against him. The words now came out fast as he tried to explain himself.
‘I had to do it the first time. At that point I owed Mullen. He’d helped me out and I owed him, and he said that this was how I could pay him back. And it didn’t seem so bad, just a message to get him out of the restaurant. I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. And then after that I had no choice. Mullen said he’d kill my family if I didn’t help, if I went to the police or tried to warn the professor. I didn’t have a choice.’
Liam nodded his head. Grant’s reaction was convincing.
The anger in Liam’s voice was subsiding when he spoke again.
‘Enough, Benjamin. I believe you. Which means you get to live. We’re going to take you home. When we do, you need to pack your things and leave. Straight away. Leave Belfast. Leave everyone behind and just go. Do not speak to Mullen. Don’t tell him that you’ve met me. Don’t tell him a word. You got that?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Tears streamed down Grant’s face. His answers had kept him alive. ‘Thank you, Liam. Thank you.’
Paddy O’Neil reached behind the chair and removed Grant’s handcuffs. Next he unbound the rope that tied Grant to the chair.
He helped Grant to his feet and apologised about the cut to the back of his head, assuring him it was ‘just a scratch’. The other three men were already walking towards the door.
They came to a halt when Michael stopped and turned back to face Grant. Something had just occurred to him. Something important.
‘You said all you had to do was pass McGale details about the terrorist attacks. That Mullen would give you them before and you’d pass them to McGale afterwards.’
‘Yeah. That’s what happened.’
‘But I don’t understand. How could Mullen know about the attacks beforehand? How could he know details of what a terrorist was going to do before they did it?’
‘I’m sorry, I thought I’d made that part clear.’
Grant seemed so keen to ensure his own safety that he would now answer any question. He continued.
‘Not everything Mullen had me tell the professor was a lie. The terrorist attacks weren’t real. They aren’t real. There is another agenda behind them. But it’s Robert Mullen’s agenda. Mullen knew about the attacks beforehand because he planned them. He was the terror.’
SIXTY-ONE
O’Neil’s black Land Rover screeched to a halt outside Grant’s home.
The rear passenger-side door opened before the vehicle had come to a complete stop and Grant practically threw himself from the car. The act of a man who wanted to be away from Liam Casey – and out of Belfast – as soon as possible.
‘Remember what I said.’ Liam spoke through the open window of the front passenger seat. ‘Not a word. Now get yourself somewhere safe because he’ll be looking for you.’
The final words carried no threat, but they were still an obvious command. The implications for disobedience were unthinkable. Not that someone like Grant would risk testing them.
‘Are you going to tell me who the hell Robert Mullen is?’
Michael spoke over the sound of the V8 engine, which roared as O’Neil took off and navigated the streets of Belfast at breakneck speed. With only the four men now present, Liam was free to speak.
‘A whole lot of trouble, Mikey, that’s what he is.’
The answer carried more than a note of concern, something Michael had rarely heard in his brother’s voice.
‘He’s a villain from North Belfast. Serious player. Robbery, extortion, protection, drugs. The man runs psychopaths and lunatics. No moral compass. No limits. Mullen was mid-size forever. Just a bloody nuisance. Then, a few years back, he took off in a big way.’
‘How big?’
‘As big as us, but a lot more unpredictable. People are scared of him, and with good reason. If Mullen’s involved in this we’re up against a whole world of trouble.’
Michael sat back into his seat as he took in the fresh information. Was this the man behind Matthewson’s assassination? The man who had the influence to arrange McGale’s death in custody? Who had accessed Daniel’s phone records quickly enough to lead to Michael himself? Was this the man who had doggedly sought Michael’s death from London to Belfast?
If it was, then they had taken a huge step forward by putting a name to the mind that was running things from afar. But Liam’s description of Mullen and his first reaction to Grant’s use of the name? They both gave Michael doubts.
‘What do you think, Liam?’
Michael leaned forward. Closer to his brother.
‘Do you think this Mullen guy could be behind this?’
‘Not for a second.’ Liam answered without the slightest hesitation. ‘He’s not sophisticated enough. They’re a crude lot. No finesse. From what you’ve said there’s serious brainpower behind this whole thing. Mullen’s not got that in him.’
‘But you don’t think Grant was lying?’
‘I don’t, no. I think everything he told us was true, at least as far as he knows it. Mullen’s in this up to his ears. But there’s no way he’s running the thing. The man’s a hired thug. Doing as he’s told. Someone else is pulling the strings.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ O’Neil spoke from the driver’s seat. ‘Mullen’s built up a serious little outfit very quickly. He can’t be that useless.’
‘I didn’t say he was useless. But maybe that’s the point. He pretty much came out of nowhere and suddenly he’s almost running Belfast? In a matter of years? All coinciding with the rise of the True IRA, a group no one seems to know about, not even the old-school Provos. It all smacks of a set-up.’
‘I don’t follow.’ Michael rarely felt so off the pace. ‘Why do you think the two are connected?’
‘Because it fits. Think about what they told McGale. That someone was funding both sides. The True IRA and the UVA. You heard Grant. Not everything they told McGale was a lie. What if that part was true? What if someone was funding both sides? What if that’s where Mullen suddenly came from? A lunatic who got lucky because he was willing to kill a lot of people for money and make it look like he did it for a cause? It makes sense, doesn’t it? How Mullen could afford to expand into the big time? Mullen was being funded from outside. Plus it explains him getting involved in terrorism in the first place.’
‘What do you mean? Why does he need an excuse? No one else ever did.’
‘This guy would. I’ve known the man for years, Mikey. Mullen hasn’t a religious or a political bone in his body. Money is what drives him. Not a united Ireland or any other principle. Mullen’s involved in this for his pocket.’
O’Neil took the left-hand corner that led to the rear car park of the 32 Counties Bar. He brought the Land Rover to a halt before anyone spoke again. Michael was considering what Liam had said. It made sense.
The silence remained until O’Neil had removed the key from the
ignition, turning on the interior lights.
‘So what do we do about this?’ asked Jack Thornton. ‘If we go after Mullen it’s a war. You know that, Liam.’
‘We might not have a choice.’
Michael heard the resignation in his brother’s voice and in that moment he realised how far his brother would still go to protect him.
The realisation made Michael’s fraternal instincts fire.
‘You don’t have to do that, Liam,’ Michael said. ‘I came to you for a little help but this is much more than that now. I don’t want you starting a war over me. That’s not why I’m here.’
‘But if Mullen is behind this whole thing? If he is and I don’t stop him?’ Liam met his brother’s protestations head-on. ‘What happens to you, Mikey? Do you think he’ll just leave you and Sarah alone?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Then what choice do I have? You can’t deal with Mullen alone. Which gives me a choice, doesn’t it? I can walk away and leave you to run from him for as long as you can, until you end up dead. Or I can risk a war. Which one do you think I’m going to be able to live with, Mikey? Which one?’
Michael opened his mouth to respond but this time his mastery of words failed him. He wanted to tell Liam that he could handle himself. That he didn’t need his brother’s help. Both would have been a lie.
Michael did need Liam’s help. And, like it or not, he was going to get it.
SIXTY-TWO
Joshua’s eyes narrowed as he watched Benjamin Grant leap from the Land Rover. Sitting in an inconspicuous rented Fiat Brava, he could see everything without being noticed. It was a perfect car for the job and had kept him close to the action for the past few hours.
The early part of the evening had been spent in the darkest corners of Belfast, visiting the many locations associated with Liam Casey. The 32 Counties Bar had been discounted as a realistic possibility. It was an obvious front for Liam’s illegal activities and so he would not risk bringing trouble to his one clean door.
Joshua had instead concentrated on the list’s murkier addresses.