Dead Men ss-5

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Robbie Carter was a killer,’ muttered Kinsella. ‘A goddamned killer.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ said Maplethorpe.

  ‘He was passing info to the UFF, info that got Republicans killed. Info that came from his MI5 handler.’

  ‘You’re telling us that Carter was working with MI5 and the UFF?’ said Button.

  ‘He was a conduit. If MI5 wanted to put someone in the firing line they gave the info to Carter and he fed it to his UFF contact. He might not have pulled the trigger himself but he was responsible for the murders of at least eight good Republicans.’

  ‘And that’s why you killed him?’ asked Button.

  ‘I didn’t kill him. No one ever said I put a bullet in Carter. I was there but I didn’t shoot him. I fired into the floor. It was Adrian Dunne who put the bullet in Carter’s head. And there was nothing I could do to stop him.’

  ‘And why the hell would you have wanted to stop him?’ asked Shepherd.

  Kinsella stared at him, sweat beading on his forehead. ‘Because I was an MI5 agent,’ he said.

  ‘Like fuck,’ said Maplethorpe.

  ‘I was a paid agent of MI5. Had been since 1992.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ said Maplethorpe.

  ‘Why would I lie about something like that?’

  ‘Because you know I’m going to put a bullet in your head, same as you did with Robbie.’

  ‘I didn’t shoot anyone,’ said Kinsella.

  ‘If Carter worked for MI5 and you worked for MI5,why didn’t you stop it?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Carter didn’t work for MI5. They used him. I was a paid agent.’

  ‘But you let the IRA team kill him,’ said Shepherd, his gun still aimed at Maplethorpe’s head.

  ‘There was nothing I could do. It was all kick, bollock, scramble,’ said Kinsella. ‘The guy running the operation was Gerry Lynn. The rest of us didn’t even know who the target was. It was only when we pulled up outside the house that I realised we were there for Carter.’

  ‘And you let them kill him?’ said Maplethorpe.

  ‘I was outgunned,’said Kinsella. ‘If I’d done anything they’d have killed me as well.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Maplethorpe, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  ‘Don’t do it, John,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you shoot him, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Easy to say, Jamie,’ said Maplethorpe, ‘but it’s not that easy to pull the trigger.’

  ‘Just put the gun down and we can talk this through.’

  ‘He’s a liar. He helped kill Robbie.’

  ‘I had no choice!’ shouted Kinsella. ‘I had no bloody choice.’

  ‘If you were working for MI5, why didn’t you say something when the Brits were trying to extradite you?’ asked Maplethorpe. ‘Why didn’t you come clean then?’

  ‘Because once a tout, always a tout, and you know what the IRA does to touts,’ said Kinsella. ‘Peace Process or not, they’d have killed me. Look what happened to Denis Donaldson, shot dead in two thousand and six. The IRA didn’t care about the Peace Process then, and they sure as hell wouldn’t care about it now if they found out I’d been working for MI5.’

  Shepherd knew of Donaldson, a dyed-in-the-wool Republican who had been an active IRA member right through the Troubles. After the ceasefire he became Sinn Fein’s office administrator in Stormont but he was blasted four times with a shotgun in his cottage in County Donegal after being exposed as a long-time informer and British agent. Shepherd knew that Kinsella was right. If it became known that he’d worked for MI5 he’d be a marked man.

  ‘You hear what he’s saying, John?’ said Button. ‘You can’t shoot an MI5 agent.’

  ‘He’s an IRA killer who didn’t serve a day for the death of Robbie Carter, and now he’s going to get what he deserves,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘Just because he says he worked for MI5 doesn’t make it so. He’d say anything to save his skin.’ Maplethorpe’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  ‘John, don’t!’ shouted Shepherd.

  ‘Wait!’ said Button. ‘Noel, if what you’re saying is true, who was your handler?’

  ‘Why does that matter?’ asked Kinsella.

  ‘If you really were working for MI5, you’d have had a handler,’ said Button.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Maplethorpe.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ said Button.

  ‘She’s your boss?’ Maplethorpe asked Shepherd. ‘Or does she work for you?’

  ‘Like the lady said, it doesn’t matter who we are,’ said Shepherd. ‘What matters is what happens over the next few seconds. Lower your weapon, John.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Maplethorpe. He took half a step closer to Kinsella. Kinsella flinched and put his hands in front of his face.

  ‘Ellis!’ shouted Kinsella. ‘My handler was Patsy Ellis!’

  Button’s eyes widened. ‘Do you know Ellis?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Yes, I know her,’ said Button. She looked at Maplethorpe. ‘John, listen to me. Patsy Ellis works at the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre and used to head up MI5’s Belfast office.’

  ‘Makes no difference,’ said Maplethorpe, through gritted teeth.

  ‘It makes a world of difference,’ said Button. ‘Ellis wouldn’t be handling small-fry. If she was his handler, he was an important intelligence source.’

  ‘He’s a murderer,’ said Maplethorpe, ‘and now he’s going to get what he deserves.’

  ‘Tell me one thing before you pull that trigger and this all turns to shit,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why would you throw everything away for this scumbag? You killed McFee, Dunne, McEvoy and Lynn, right?’

  ‘Bloody right,’ said Maplethorpe.

  ‘And you did a good job. Got clean away. No forensics, no witnesses.’

  Maplethorpe grinned. ‘I knew what I was doing.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Shepherd. ‘So why this? Why in front of witnesses? Why throw it all away? You want to spend the rest of your life behind bars, is that it? Do penance for what you’ve done?’

  ‘He doesn’t care any more,’ said Button. ‘He wanted all five dead, and Kinsella’s the fifth. Once Kinsella dies, it’s over. He doesn’t care what happens to him.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It does when you know he’s dying,’ said Button.

  ‘How did you-’ Maplethorpe stopped mid-sentence. He glared at her. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘He’s got a brain tumour,’ said Button. ‘Inoperable. He’s getting headaches now, and blurred vision, but in a few months he’ll be having more serious symptoms. Fits. Hallucinations. Memory loss. How long did the doctors give you, John?’

  ‘Long enough to put my affairs in order,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘Long enough to do what I have to do.’

  ‘He’s taking early retirement on medical grounds,’ said Button. ‘But the doctors have told him there’s nothing they can do and that at best he’s got six months.’

  ‘Do you understand now, Jamie?’ said Maplethorpe. ‘Do you understand I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose?’

  ‘I will shoot you, John.’

  ‘You keep saying that, Jamie. But here’s two things to think about. One, are you capable of pulling that trigger?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shepherd, emphatically.

  ‘And, two, will you be able to shoot me before I pull mine?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Because that will make you a murderer, and that’s something you’ll have to live with for a lot longer than six months. Killing changes you, Jamie. It changes you for the worse. I’ve no regrets about what I’ve done, but I’m able to do it because I know I don’t have much time left. If you kill me, you’ll spend the rest of your life knowing you killed a man who was doing the right thing. They killed Robbie Carter, they took away a good husband and a loving father. They killed my friend. So killing them is the least I can do.’

&n
bsp; ‘Don’t do it, John,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘He will,’ said Button. ‘He will shoot you.’

  Maplethorpe’s finger tightened on the trigger. He smiled at Kinsella. ‘See you in hell, you murdering-’

  The bang was deafening in the confines of the hotel room. The side of Maplethorpe’s head exploded and a red spray splattered across the wall. The acrid cordite made Shepherd’s eyes water and he blinked hard, took aim again and put a second shot in Maplethorpe’s chest. Maplethorpe slumped to the floor.

  Kinsella backed away from the body, his mouth hanging open.

  Maplethorpe stared at Shepherd with unseeing eyes. The gun fell from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor.

  ‘You stupid bastard!’ Kinsella shouted at Shepherd.

  Shepherd turned to Kinsella as if noticing him for the first time. His gun was pointing at the Irishman and his finger was still on the trigger.

  ‘Why did you wait so long?’ Kinsella hissed. ‘He could have killed me.’

  ‘Maybe I should have let him,’ said Shepherd, quietly. ‘He was worth ten of you.’

  Kinsella sneered at Shepherd. ‘I don’t give a toss what you think.’ He went to the door.

  ‘If I were you, I’d go back to the States,’ said Shepherd.

  Kinsella paused. ‘I’m going to Ireland,’ he said. ‘That’s where my future lies.’

  Shepherd shook his head slowly. ‘Not any more it doesn’t,’ he said. ‘You’re an MI5 informer and pretty soon the whole world will know it. The IRA might have decommissioned its weapon stocks but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a hell of a lot of psychopaths out there who’ll be gunning for you as soon as the news gets out.’ He smiled cruelly. ‘And, trust me, the news will get out.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Kinsella.

  ‘I can do what the hell I want,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now sod off or I’ll shoot you myself.’ He raised the gun and aimed it at Kinsella’s face.

  Kinsella’s hand shook as he pulled open the door and hurried out of the room.

  Shepherd ejected the magazine from the Glock, cleared the chamber, and handed the weapon to Button. ‘I wasn’t really going to shoot him,’ he said.

  ‘I wouldn’t have cared overmuch if you had, frankly,’ she said.

  ‘What now?’ said Shepherd, glancing at Maplethorpe’s body. ‘Do we call the police?’

  ‘I’ll handle it. No one’ll want to have to explain a renegade RUC officer.’

  ‘MI5?’

  ‘I’ll call Kinsella’s handler. She can get her people to clean up her mess.’

  ‘Who’s going to tell Elaine Carter?’

  ‘It’ll be taken care of, but not by you. You’re off the case as of now.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ll make sure this is squared away, then I’m going to see Patsy Ellis. She’s got some explaining to do.’

  Shepherd took a final look round his hotel room. The only things left there belonged to Elaine. Her clothes, her toiletries, her magazines. When he walked out, it would look as though he had never been there. He wouldn’t be going back to the house in Belfast. Jenny Lock, the dresser, was on her way with a removal crew, and Amar Singh would already be in the house, removing his surveillance equipment. All that was left of Jamie Pierce was the Audi and he’d be returning that to the SOCA pool by the end of the week.

  He walked out of the room with his holdall and took the lift to the ground floor. As he walked across the lobby he saw her coming through the revolving door and moved behind a pillar. She was talking animatedly into her mobile phone as she headed for the lifts. Shepherd watched her go. There was so much he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her that he’d killed Maplethorpe because she deserved to hear it from him. He wanted to tell her he had feelings for her, that he was close to falling in love with her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry he’d lied to her but that he was only doing his job.

  He watched her take away the phone from her ear and press the button to call the lift. She dialled another number and Shepherd’s mobile rang. He took the call.

  ‘Jamie, where are you?’ It was her.

  ‘Still at the exhibition,’ he said. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I bumped into someone I knew in the ladies’. She’s CEO of a company in Londonderry and wanted me to put together a pensions proposal for her. We ended up in a wine bar round the corner.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call?’

  ‘I did. I went through to your voicemail. Didn’t you get my message?’

  Shepherd closed his eyes. She had rung when he was in Kinsella’s hotel. He hadn’t taken the call and he hadn’t checked his voicemail.

  ‘Jamie, I’m sorry I didn’t call you right away but we were straight down to business. Are you okay?’

  Shepherd was far from okay. He wanted to tell her John Maplethorpe had killed the men who had taken her husband from her, but he was fairly sure she already knew that. When he had opened the trunk in her attic, her husband’s watch had been ticking. Someone must have been handling it, and that someone must have been Elaine. The ammunition had been in the trunk, and rounds had been missing from the box. Shepherd had no way of knowing whether she had kept the gun in the trunk, but he was reasonably sure that she had given the rounds to Maplethorpe. It wasn’t something he could prove, even if he wanted to. Maplethorpe had killed the men and now he was dead. Case closed.

  ‘Jamie? Are you there?’

  There were so many things Shepherd wanted to say to her, but he knew that nothing he said would make any difference. He was working under cover and he wasn’t Jamie Pierce, the man she liked and trusted. He was Dan Shepherd, a SOCA undercover agent and a professional liar. Almost everything she thought she knew about him was untrue and for that reason, and that reason alone, he could never talk to her again.

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Look, I’m just going to the room to freshen up. I’ll be over at the centre in about half an hour. We’ll have coffee.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m going into the lift now. I’ll phone you later.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Jamie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I love you.’

  Shepherd watched her get into the lift. He waited until the doors closed before he walked out of the hotel. As he went to his car he checked his voicemail. There was a message from Elaine, telling him what wine bar she was in and asking him to join her. He switched off his phone, took out the Sim card and broke it in half.

  Charlie Button was sitting at a table with a bottle of red wine in front of her when Patsy Ellis walked in. She raised her glass as Ellis sat down. ‘Red?’ said Ellis. ‘I thought you liked Chardonnay.’

  ‘You like Chardonnay,’ said Button. ‘I’ve always preferred claret.’ She picked up the bottle, filled the glass in front of Ellis, then topped up her own. She put down the bottle. It was almost empty.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ellis.

  Button lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  ‘I thought you’d quit,’ said Ellis.

  Button blew a tight plume of smoke at the ceiling. ‘So did I,’ she said. She waved at a waitress and mimed for her to bring over a second bottle. ‘Why did you lie to me, Patsy?’

  Ellis sipped her wine and put the glass on the table, her fingers lightly touching the stem. ‘I didn’t lie,’ she said frostily.

  ‘You should have told me that Noel Kinsella was an MI5 agent.’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t lie.’

  ‘You must have known what I was doing in Belfast.’

  Ellis shrugged. ‘You’re with a different agency now,’ she said. ‘You’re not family.’

  ‘I’m not used to having guns pointed at me, Patsy, and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.’

  ‘If I’d known what was going to happen, obviously I’d have stepped in,’ said Ellis.

  ‘Y
ou had an IRA killer on the payroll,’ said Button.

  ‘Kinsella was a valuable source of intelligence,’ said Ellis. ‘You take your intel where you can, you know that – and that the people you get information from aren’t usually the sort you’d invite around for tea and crumpets.’

  ‘And Carter? What was he?’

  Ellis sighed. ‘Carter was a grey area. Nothing to do with me, I swear.’

  ‘Black ops?’

  Ellis smiled without warmth. ‘We don’t have a black-ops department, darling, as you also know. We leave that sort of thing to our American cousins.’

  ‘But he fed information to the Loyalists, didn’t he? Information that resulted in the murder of Republicans?’

  ‘That wasn’t official policy.’

  ‘You’re playing with words, Patsy.’ Button drained her glass. ‘Where is that damn waitress?’

  ‘There was never a policy of murdering Republicans, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘The guys on Gibraltar in 1988 might argue with that,’ said Button. ‘If they weren’t dead, of course.’

  ‘That was an SAS operation, and you know it,’ said Ellis. ‘The Gibraltar team were planning to detonate a car bomb.’

  ‘The SAS acted on MI5 intel on Gibraltar,’ said Button, ‘and the UFF were using MI5 intel in Belfast to kill IRA Volunteers. Robbie Carter was the conduit for that information.’

  The waitress returned with a bottle. She smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, madam, you can’t smoke here.’

  Button stabbed out her cigarette as the waitress showed her the label on the bottle. Then the two women sat in silence until the waitress had pulled the cork, set the bottle on the table and gone away. ‘Charlie, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill, you really are,’ said Ellis.

  ‘Well, having a gun pointed at you can distort your perception, I suppose.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me,’ said Ellis.

  Button refilled her glass. ‘The IRA hit team went after Robbie Carter because he was feeding information to a UFF hit team. Information supplied by MI5. So, whichever way you look at it, MI5 was involved in Carter’s death. Maybe not responsible, but certainly involved.’