by Tony Kent
The exhilaration that came before deadly action made Joshua’s heart race. It always did. It was partly why he had done this job for so long. What had kept him going.
Joshua forced the thought from his mind and concentrated on what was to be done. This time he would not fail.
SEVENTY-TWO
The best suites in Belfast’s Fitzwilliam Hotel were the definition of opulence: luxury rooms equipped for every whim of the privileged residents. They were large enough to comfortably house a medium-sized family. The fact that so grand a space should be reserved for just one man – and a man travelling on the public purse – offended Dempsey’s sense of justice.
This had been his first thought as he manipulated the room’s entry system ninety minutes earlier. The second was that its size gave him many places to hide.
It was 5.30 a.m.
Dempsey remained motionless and silent as the imposing bulk of Callum McGregor entered the room. Hidden in the air vent that served the suite’s separate office space, he could only hear McGregor’s arrival. The director of the DDS had no reason to think that he was not alone.
With the suite’s main door closed behind him, McGregor walked directly to the bureau in its office. Just as Dempsey had assumed he would.
McGregor placed his leather briefcase on the L-shaped desk that sat in the far corner of the room. He entered a code into its combination lock, opened the case and reached inside.
Dempsey’s view was obscured by the case’s lid. But once McGregor had re-closed it he saw that a thin pile of papers had been removed and placed on the desk. On top of them was a Walther P99 handgun.
McGregor moved around the table and took his seat on the far side. He reached back across and picked up the weapon. It looked lost in his enormous right hand.
Dempsey studied McGregor’s face as the director reached back towards the briefcase. This time he delicately picked up an object inside it. A customised pistol silencer.
A knot grew in Dempsey’s gut as he watched his friend screw the silencer to the pistol’s barrel. His instincts – his deductions – had been right. McGregor had come to Belfast for one reason, and it was not to protect his agent.
The next few minutes would remain with Dempsey for ever.
His eyes remained fixed on a man he had trusted above anyone else. He watched as McGregor inspected the weapon before placing it in an open desk drawer. McGregor then turned back to the pile of papers and spread them across the desktop, creating the impression that he had been working: the perfect scene to lure him to his death. It was almost too much to take.
Only when McGregor rose to his feet, picked up the case and walked back into the suite’s living area did Dempsey’s mind begin to clear.
He silently removed the air vent’s grill, slid his body out of the cold metal canal and lowered himself into the empty office. Taking a seat in a leather armchair that was obscured from view by the open office door, he rested his fully loaded Glock 17 pistol on his right knee, gripping the gun’s handle.
Dempsey could feel the sweat on his palm. The result of nervous anticipation. Of spiking adrenaline. He fought to bring his breathing back to a regular level.
McGregor’s return to the office area was telegraphed by the sound of his heavy footsteps. He walked through the door without a glance to his right. He was halfway around the desk by the time he realised he was not alone.
Dempsey revealed himself with the sound of his pistol’s safety release.
McGregor span on his heel to face the source of the noise. It was with a visible mixture of shock and respect that he saw it came from Dempsey.
McGregor’s eyes glanced to the open drawer, now just feet away. The Walther P99 was almost in reach. Close enough that McGregor might have beaten many men to the shot.
But Joe Dempsey was not one of them.
‘You’re early, Joe. It’s only 5.30.’
‘Lucky I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t have seen where you hid your gun.’
Dempsey’s unblinking eyes flitted to the desk drawer for an instant. Long enough to tell McGregor that he knew the weapon’s location.
‘And now you’re going to tell me everything.’
Dempsey fought to keep his voice cold. Calm. It carried no hint of emotion. No suggestion that McGregor’s betrayal was ravaging him from within.
The killer – the side of himself that Dempsey despised – had taken over.
‘When did you find out?’ McGregor’s question was more curious than fearful.
‘That you’re the murdering piece of shit responsible for hundreds of innocent deaths? A couple of hours ago.’
Dempsey’s voice was angry. Threatening. McGregor’s, though, remained gentle.
‘Can I ask how?’
‘Daniel Lawrence. You said you didn’t know who he was. But then I found out everyone from COBRA knew he was McGale’s lawyer.’
McGregor responded with a rueful sigh.
‘A goddamn slip of the tongue and we end up here. I knew I’d made a mistake. I was supposed to stick to the official story: Lawrence was appointed but never saw him. But I was so damn tired and you were moving so quickly. So. Here we are.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Callum. You’re a murdering bastard who’s killed his own people. One way or another, we were always ending up here.’
McGregor nodded his head slowly in response.
‘I didn’t want it to come to this, you know?’
‘I bet you didn’t.’
‘I mean it, Joe. Why do you think I sent you out on your own? Why do you think I took you off-book? I thought if you were alone I could guide you away from all this.’
‘Well, that didn’t work out so well, did it?’ Dempsey replied. ‘And now here we are.’
McGregor exhaled hard at the answer, and waited a few moments before speaking again.
‘So what now, Joe?’ he asked, sinking into the desk’s chair. The pistol drawer was out of easy reach. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘Now you tell me why. You tell me why you killed those people. Why you killed Sam.’
A hint of emotion had coloured Dempsey’s voice. His professional detachment was breaking.
‘I didn’t want anyone to die, Joe.’ McGregor’s tone was sincere. ‘I want you to know that. But I didn’t have a choice. Matthewson had to go. It was the only way to make this work. To make every sacrifice worthwhile. Sam got in the way of that, but that wasn’t supposed to happen. Matthewson and then McGale. They should have been the last.’
‘The last? Are you listening to yourself, Callum? You’re talking about mass murder! Why did anyone have to die?’
‘Because it wouldn’t have worked any other way. There had to be a cost. Without that there’d be no outcry, and that outcry was essential. I didn’t want anyone to die, Joe. I swear that’s the truth. But I had no choice. So those deaths were a sacrifice. Those people died for a cause.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? What cause?’
‘Overturning the government. Making them pay for betraying all of those who died in defence of their country. The cause of replacing William Davies with a leader who’ll stand up to terrorism instead of surrendering to it. That’s the cause, Joe. That’s our cause.’
‘You can’t be serious, Callum?’
Dempsey’s mood had swung from determination to confusion. Now it was moving to disbelief.
‘You’re telling me that you’ve involved yourself in terrorism to bring down the government? Are you mad?’
‘I’m as mad as hell!’ McGregor raised his voice to a roar. ‘I’m mad that I’ve spent twenty years sending soldiers and agents to their deaths, Joe. Great men and women. I’m mad that they’ve been paid back by betrayal. I’m mad that the people who took their lives in cold blood are walking the streets – sitting in Parliament, for Christ’s sake – while they’re rotting in the ground. Yes I’m mad, Joe, and you should be too. The only difference is that I’ve done something about it!’
Dempse
y was stunned. McGregor’s opinion of William Davies was not news. The director had long believed that Davies had surrendered to terrorism. But to go as far as McGregor had? To fake an entire terror campaign to bring down a government and restart a war? Dempsey could hardly conceive of it.
‘And it doesn’t matter who dies, I suppose?’ Dempsey demanded. ‘It doesn’t matter how many lives are ruined, so long as you get your way?’
‘Of course it matters.’ McGregor’s voice had lowered. His intensity had not. ‘I’ve told you, I didn’t want anyone to die. If I could have done this without shedding a drop of blood then I would have. But I couldn’t. People had to die to make this happen. I’ve had to live with that for two years. Don’t think that’s not a high price, Joe. Don’t think it hasn’t haunted me.’
Dempsey studied McGregor’s face. It told him the truth behind the words. McGregor had paid a price. The man at the desk was not the man that Dempsey knew. He was visibly older. Thinner. Infinitely more haggard. In the past few months McGregor had seemed to be carrying the weight of the world. Now Dempsey knew why.
The choices McGregor had made had taken a heavy toll.
‘I know they’ll haunt you.’ Dempsey’s voice had lowered. ‘But that doesn’t make it right. You’ve killed a lot of people. Including Sam. What you’ve done is terrorism, Callum. Whatever your reasons. You know I can’t let you walk away from that.’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less. I know I’m not leaving here alive.’
The answer shocked Dempsey.
‘I’m not going to kill you, Callum,’ he said, confused. ‘I’m going to arrest you. You’re going to answer for what you’ve done.’
‘I can’t let you do that, Joe.’
There was finality in McGregor’s voice. It set Dempsey on edge.
‘I’ve given too much to this to see it end here. I’ve done too much. So I’m not going without a fight, and there’s only one way you win that. I’m ready to die for my cause. I hope you’re ready to kill for yours.’
Both men glanced at the drawer to McGregor’s right.
‘You’ll never get to it in time.’ Dempsey’s grip tightened on his own gun.
‘I know that,’ Callum replied.
Their eyes locked. Neither moved. McGregor had no doubt how the confrontation would end. But he was in no hurry to die.
‘I’m glad I’ve had the chance to explain this, Joe,’ he said, his eyes never leaving the pistol drawer. ‘Why I did these things, I mean. I don’t want you to remember me as a monster. If that’s possible.’
He was already speaking of himself in the past tense. If Dempsey had doubted the director’s willingness to die, those doubts were now gone. But he had one last question to ask.
‘What about Haversume?’ Dempsey asked. ‘How long has he been involved?’
McGregor’s eyes left the drawer and focused on Dempsey. His certainty seemed to falter.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. Was he in this before you? Or did you start it together?’
McGregor opened his mouth to respond. And then he closed it. For once, words seemed to have failed him.
‘Answer my question, Callum.’ Dempsey adjusted his grip. ‘I know Haversume’s behind this. I know he’s Stanton. I just want to know if you cooked it up together or if that bastard somehow talked you into it.’
McGregor could only manage one word.
‘How?’
‘How? Because he couldn’t help boasting about how well connected he is, Callum. That he was your friend and so he already knew everything I’d told him. The arrogant bastard couldn’t stand for me to think that I knew something he didn’t, and so he admitted that you’d been passing him information from the investigation.’
McGregor said nothing. Dempsey continued. ‘It didn’t ring any alarm bells then. It was a little off that you’d do it, sure, but it was you. I trusted you, so I guessed that you had your reasons. But when I found out you’d lied about Lawrence? When I knew you were involved? Then it all made sense. Why would you risk being discovered by passing information to someone who wasn’t in it with you? More to the point, who was gaining the most out of what happened to Matthewson?
‘And then there’s what you told me just now. That the whole plan was to replace William Davies with a prime minister with strength. We both know who that is, Callum. So if I hadn’t been convinced already, that would have done the job.’
McGregor moved uncomfortably in his chair. It was a few seconds before he spoke, but when he did there was admiration in his voice.
‘Tony was in this first,’ he said. ‘Before me. Before anyone. The idea was his and the money was his. But the vision was ours. We both wanted this, Joe. We both wanted Davies gone and Britain’s place in the world regained. The only way to do it was to undermine the government. To replace Davies with Tony. Only then would we have the power to do the rest.’
‘You’re describing a coup, Callum. Don’t you realise that?’
‘I’m describing the efforts of two patriots!’ McGregor’s words were no longer calm. Passion was creeping in. ‘You believe the same as we do, Joe. You believe that Davies betrayed us all. The only difference is we did something about it while you all sat and whimpered!’
‘What you did was treason and murder!’ Dempsey met McGregor’s passion with his own. ‘You killed the people you swore to protect, and you did it because you’re a bloody fool. Haversume doesn’t believe what you believe. The man’s a politician. An opportunist. He’s using this whole thing to grab power, because he couldn’t get it any other way. Haversume has used you, Callum. He’s used what made you a good man and manipulated it for his own gain.’
‘You’re wrong.’
McGregor’s voice was hushed.
‘Tony believes what I believe. What we believe. When he takes power you’ll see. He’ll crush those bastards instead of surrendering. Instead of betraying the memory of the dead.’
McGregor believed every word. Dempsey could see that. It was tragic, but worse was that he believed Haversume shared his cause.
‘I’ve heard Haversume’s speeches, Callum. He says whatever the press wants to hear. Sound bites and bullshit. The man doesn’t mean a word of it. And he’ll never take power because I’m going to stop him. I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.’
‘I can’t just let you do that, Joe.’ McGregor’s eyes moved to the pistol in Dempsey’s hand as he spoke. ‘I at least have to try.’
Dempsey saw the movement in McGregor’s eyes. He knew what it meant.
‘Callum, please. You won’t make it.’
‘Then I’ll go out like a man.’ McGregor’s tone was clear. He would go down fighting, however hopeless that fight might be. ‘But I want you to know that if it had to be anyone, Joe, I’m glad it’s you.’
McGregor lunged for the open drawer as soon as the final word left his lips. In response Dempsey did what Dempsey did best. Three shots, clustered in the centre of McGregor’s massive chest, before he had moved even twelve inches.
McGregor’s lifeless body slumped against the now bloodstained wall.
Dempsey stood for what seemed like an eternity, staring at McGregor’s motionless bulk. Only the need to breathe – something he now realised he had forgotten to do – brought him back to the moment. With a deep inhalation he moved closer, to look into McGregor’s open but empty eyes.
Reaching out, he gently ran his fingers down the length of his friend’s face and closed his eyelids for the last time.
SEVENTY-THREE
‘Do you think Mullen will tell us anything more?’ O’Neil spoke as he took the right-hand turn that would lead to the forecourt.
‘If he knows anything more then he’ll tell us,’ Liam replied. ‘He’s given us enough to set Stanton after him already. No point holding out now and getting killed by us. Mullen’s crazy but he’s not stupid. At the very least he can tell us how to work his recorder, I still can’t work out how to turn it
on.’
‘I’m surprised he folded so quickly,’ said Michael. ‘From what you said about him. I thought he’d have held out.’
‘Like I said, Mullen isn’t stupid. He still thinks we might kill him, but he knows cooperating is the only chance we won’t.’
‘Is he right?’
Michael was genuinely uncertain. After so long apart he no longer knew the limits of his brother’s ruthlessness.
‘Is he going to die?’
‘Depends how much of a threat he still is when this is over. When Stanton’s gone. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if he did have to go, but you only kill when you have to, Mikey.’
‘Ah, a lesson every big brother should teach.’
The sarcasm in Michael’s voice risked re-igniting the animosity between them. It almost did, until they turned onto the illuminated forecourt.
‘What the fuck?’
The small inner door they had exited hours earlier was no longer on its hinges.
Michael was the first to move. His shock was overshadowed by fear for Sarah. He was out of the car and through the doorway in seconds. Liam and O’Neil were close behind.
All were met by the sight of a massacre.
Robert Mullen, still bound and slumped in his chair. Two bullet wounds decorated his unmoving chest.
There were three more bodies. The number included Jack Thornton.
Each body carried a fatal bullet-wound to either the head or the chest. And only Thornton had drawn his weapon before dying. It was a worrying fact. If only one man had reacted before death then the assault must have been incredibly fast.
Whoever had killed these three men with such efficiency was good. And Mullen’s body made it clear that it wasn’t a counter-attack by his organisation. That left only one option. Stanton. The man so intent on killing Michael and Sarah. Clearly he had decided Mullen had outlived his usefulness and brought in other assets.
‘Sarah?’ Michael had finally found his voice. He shouted Sarah’s name so loudly that it stopped Liam and O’Neil in their tracks. They tore the place apart until it was certain that there was no sign of Sarah. Dead or alive.