“If that’s okay. Unless this is a bad time?”
“It’s always a good time for friends. What time does your flight get in? I’ll pick ya up.”
“It’s scheduled for 8:50 tomorrow morning, Ireland time. But you don’t have to pick me up. I’ll grab a cab. Besides, I’ll still have to clear customs and all. So…”
“A cab? They’re robbers. Charge ya fifty US for a six-mile journey. And customs won’t be a problem. You’re a policeman. ‘Sides my cousin is a top agent of sorts with the customs. He’s here with me now. I’ll make sure he’ll be givin’ ya a proper welcome. See ya tomorrow, Mick.”
“Thanks, Mike. One more thing before you hang up. I was supposed to call Superintendent O’Clooney tomorrow evening. But now that I’m coming over I’d rather meet him in person. It’s a little late to call him, so…”
“I’ll be calling him for ya at a more decent hour tomorrow, to let him know of your change in plans. Actually, he was in here earlier tonight for dinner. Sounds like you two coppers have a lot in common. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see ya, brudder.”
“I’ll be glad to see both of you guys. And thanks for sharing your home with me.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh! How’s that brudder of mine? Sean staying out of trouble?”
“Haven’t seen Sean for a few weeks. But when I did bump into him, he seemed in good spirits. And as far as I know he’s keeping his nose clean. Thank, God.”
“Well then, that’s all we can ask for, Mickey. So till tomorrow, my brudder.”
“Till tomorrow.”
Mickey hangs up and goes back to packing but then takes time to call Sly Cliver back and give him a quick interview for his report on the Drum case. At the conclusion he reminds Sly to leave copies of his interview in his box at Homicide.
“I’m gonna stop by Homicide on my way to the airport to sign it, Sly.”
“Okay, Boss. I’ll type it up now and put copies for you to sign in my box.”
“Thanks, Sly. I’ll probably get down there sometime after six.”
“I’ll be gone by then, Boss.”
“Okay, Sly. Thanks again.”
Mickey hangs up with Sly and thinks about returning Michelle Cunay’s call but decides to do it from the airport. He looks at his Glock 26 lying on the bed next to his cell phone and regrets not talking the commissioner into letting him bring it to Ireland. After all, he is on official business. And it wouldn’t be the first time Mickey was armed on an aircraft. Any number of times he and his homicide partner, Seamus McCarthy, carried their weapons onboard en route to picking up some murder suspect who absconded to another jurisdiction and got himself caught by another department. The only difference this time is he’s flying out of the country.
The heck with it. I’m legal. Besides, it’s always easier to apologize later than it is to justify up front. I’m already in night command. What’s the commissioner gonna do, transfer me twice? So…
Mickey’s last-minute decision will end up saving lives, including his own.
CHAPTER 14
“There is luck in sharing a thing.”
Irish Proverb
At 5:52 PM Mickey kisses his wife goodbye and loads up the company car. He takes the Roosevelt Boulevard to Harbison Avenue to Aramingo past Orthodox, then gets on I-95 south. First stop is room 104 in the Roundhouse, Homicide, to read and sign off on the phone interview he gave to Detective Cliver earlier on the Jerry Drum job, then back on south I-95 to Philly International. As he passes under the South Street Bridge, Mickey calls the operations room of the Airport Unit.
The captain of the unit has been the CO out there for over ten years. Mickey and he are both members of the same AOH in Northeast Philly. Captain Lance Dunn likes working later hours to avoid the I-95 rush-hour traffic from and to his Mayfair Cape Cod. So, he’s normally still in his office until at least eight o’clock.
“Airport Operations. Officer Cross, how may I assist you?”
“Hello Officer Cross. Captain Devlin. Is your captain in?”
“Yes, sir. Hold on. I’ll transfer you.”
Within a few seconds the Airport CO picks up.
“Captain Mickey Devlin. Long time no see. What can I do for you, friend?”
Mickey laughs. “Hi, Lance. I need a favor. Actually I need two favors.”
“Gonna have to charge for the second one, pal.”
“You take VISA?”
Both seasoned commanders have a good laugh.
“Anything, Mick. What’s up?”
“I’m en route to your location to catch a flight to Dublin, Ireland. Believe it or not, it’s on the PD’s dime.”
“Must be big for the commish to go for that one. Ya must have caught him at a good time.”
“Everybody keeps saying that. Anyway, I’m using my unmarked so I need a parking spot. Can you help me out?”
“No problem. Pull in the drive right in front of my Headquarters. That was easy. What’s number two on your wish list?”
“I’m carrying. Can you run interference at the gate for me?”
“Also not a problem. Give me your departure time and flight number.”
“Outstanding! I’m departing at 9:05 PM on flight number 722 from the overseas terminal, Gate A8.”
“Oh! A US Air flight.”
“Correct.”
“Sure. I can take care of that. But you know the pilot of the plane is the final authority when it comes to weapons onboard, right?”
“Yeah! I know. And the crew also has to be made aware of my status. I have a letter from the West Wing stating that I’m on official business.”
“Good. The pilot will want a copy of that before you board. But this kind of stuff happens all the time. What am I saying? While you were in Homicide, you probably did this thing a hundred times.”
“Not quite. But close.”
“When you get here, I can have one of my guys take you to the gate on one of our new fancy-smancy golf carts.”
“Sounds good. Got to pick up my ticket and boarding pass at US Air first. It was done electronically.”
“So you’ll take the scenic route. Good time had by all.”
“Can’t wait, Lance.”
“Be sure to stick your head in the door when you get here to say hey.”
“Will do. See ya in a little bit.”
At 6:59, Mickey pulls into the driveway of the PD’s Airport Unit. He takes a few minutes to say hello to his AOH buddy, then gives him his car keys, pager and cell phone to secure.
“I’ll pick them up when I pick up my car, all right?”
“No problem. I’ll put them in my bottom drawer. If I’m not here, the guys got my office key.”
“Great!”
Then it’s back outside to catch a ride with one of the airport cops.
“Climb in, Boss.”
Mickey throws his overnight bag in the back and climbs aboard one of the unit’s heavily decaled white-and-blue pride and joys.
“Hey, these babies are much nicer than the old carts you guys used to have.”
“Yes, sir. And a lot faster, too.”
“How many does the Unit have?”
“Seven. All paid for by the Airport. We’ve got two for each squad and a fancy one for the captain to ride around in and taxi big shots with.”
“It’s great to be King.”
“True! And our King is one of the best.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more.”
After picking up his ticket and boarding pass, he’s whisked off to the overseas terminal with just under two hours before his flight starts boarding. Mickey finds a payphone and leaves a voice message on Michelle Cunay’s work number.
“Michelle, it’s Mickey. Got your voice message. Your talk with Councilwoman Lazoryszak worked like a charm. Thanks! I’m at the airport. I’ve got a 9:05 flight to Dublin. Things are starting to jell. I’ll call ya.”
Mickey hangs up and immediately makes one more call to extension 1060 at the DA’s office
.
“District Attorney’s Office, ADA Gibson, how can I help you?”
“AE, it’s Mickey. Working late again, I see.”
“Oh my goodness, Captain Devlin. It’s great to hear your voice. And I’ve been working nights for the last week or so. Your old squad has been running on a cold case from 1974. So I’ve made myself available for them. Just in case.”
AE, Alice Elizabeth, Gibson is the ADA who now works with the PD’s Homicide Cold Case Unit. She originally started at the DA’s office in 1993, via a ground-breaking intern program for third-year law students on the dean’s list. The program was the brainchild of the then-newly-elected DA, Katherine McBride.
AE’s father was a patrolman with Mickey Devlin in Northwest Division. He was assassinated in broad daylight by members of a so-called revolutionary “Black Power” group. A short time later, it was Officer Devlin who caught up to the doers and incapacitated them, forever. Thankfully, thirty years later, most of these less-than-human assassins have mercifully died off. The few who managed to survive have been recreating themselves and trying to “fit in” to Main Street America. Now, they call themselves “Progressive Democrats.” Bottom line, they’re still the same old dirtballs they were in the 1960s, minus the long hair and tie-dyed shirts.
“It’s good to hear your voice too, AE. Sounds like everything is everything.”
“Couldn’t be better. Where are you? Close enough to stop by?”
“Not this time. Actually, I’m at the airport waiting to board the 9:05 to Dublin, Ireland. I’m running on a hot job myself. I have reason to believe ‘The Greek’ may have set up house in Dublin. I convinced the PC to let me follow my intel and see what pops.”
“Must be pretty good intel for the commissioner to loosen the purse strings. He’s tight with a buck.”
“True story. But he’ll never be as bad as his tightwad Deputy. I think the PC actually enjoyed sending me off to Deputy Thomas. Old ‘pock face’ squirmed like a worm on a hot plate when he had to sign off for my advance allowance.”
“I would have paid to see that, Cap.”
“Anyway, I wanted to touch base with you guys before I fly out, in case I need a little direction. International legal direction. Not saying I am. But…”
“Sounds like Katherine McBride’s department.”
“She in?”
“Just missed her. She went to one of those dress-up dinner things at the Wanamaker Building. Kath is speaking on the success of her DIVA initiative.”
“The diva talking on the DIVA. Sorry I’ll miss it.”
“Me too. But I’m certain your ears will be itching. I think she mentions you and Seamus about a thousand times in her speech. She loves you guys. You know that, right?”
Through his signature laugh, Mickey responds, “What’s not to love? How is Seamus anyway? Called him at home the other day. Eileen said he was golfing with some of the guys from Homicide. Probably practicing for our next AOH outing. God knows he can use it.”
“Grandpop Seamus is fine. Taking a little more time off these days. Spending quality time with his grandkids.”
“How’s his health?”
“Still in remission. He’s a survivor.”
“God bless him. Ya know, we were supposed to go to Ireland after ‘the Bog’ trial. But then…”
“I know. I remember. That was a rough time around here. For everybody.”
“I know. Well look, AE. Great to talk to ya. Let Katherine know I called. Give her a heads-up on my Dublin trip. When I get settled in, I’ll give you guys a number I can be reached at.”
“Okay. I’ll let Katherine know. You be safe, Captain Devlin.”
“That’s still the plan, AE.”
Mickey hangs up first. AE holds on to the phone a little longer, then gently puts it back in the receiver. Thinking about Mickey, she raises her eyes and mouths, Saint Jude, it’s me again. Bring Mickey back to us safe and sound.
At around 7:40, Mickey sees the pilot, copilot and four crew members, three women and one man, for his flight start to arrive and board the plane. The taller of the two blue-uniformed pilots, the one with several silver years-of-service hash marks on his lower left sleeve, is stopped by the boarding attendants.
That’s got to be me they’re talking about. Guess it’s show time.
Mickey sees the female gate attendant take a small black microphone attached to a tangled cord from under her podium, click it on and hold it close to her mouth.
“Will passenger Mickey Devlin please come to the boarding station at Gate A8. Thank you.”
Mickey collects his small black leather carry-on bag and walks to the young lady at Gate A8.
“Hi! I’m Mickey Devlin.”
The attendant turns to the pilot, who’s still standing a few feet away. “Captain, this is Mister Devlin.”
The pilot extends his right hand to Mickey. “Mister Devlin, I’m Captain Fagan. Come walk with me into the catwalk, please.”
Mickey does as requested and readies his “On Official Business” letter from the commissioner.
“I got a call from my buddy Lance Dunn from the PPD. He tells me you’re on a mission to Ireland to bring back a desperado to the City of Brotherly Love. Is that about right, Mister Devlin?”
“About.”
In situations like these, Mickey always believes that the less said, the better.
“I see. Lance also tells me you’ve got something to show me.”
Mickey is unsure initially just what the captain is asking to see, his weapon or the PC’s letter. Thinking there’s no way the captain wants a firearm on display anywhere near his aircraft. Mickey goes with his gut. “Yes, sir. I do.” He takes a copy of the commissioner’s letter out of his breast pocket, opens it and shows it to Captain Fagan.
“I’ll need a copy of this for my records, Mister Devlin.”
“That’s your copy, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll inform my crew of your special situation. And I’d like to offer you first-class seating.”
“That’s very kind of you, Captain. That’ll be a first for me.”
“You’re quite welcome. I was also told you’re a pilot in your own right.”
“Lance Dunn, again?”
“You guessed it.”
“I got my ticket punched in ‘85. Fixed-wing single engine only. It’s more of a hobby than anything else.”
“Hours?”
“In the left seat, I’ve logged a little over three thousand.”
“And total?”
“Twice that.”
“Not bad for a hobby.”
“I guess!”
“Well, enjoy the trip. And I hope everything works out to your liking in Ireland.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will.”
The captain instructs one of the attendants to go back to let the boarding crew know about the change in Mickey’s status.
Mickey walks back to the large waiting area to wait for boarding to begin. Now that he’s been bumped up to first class he’ll be boarding in front of the Zone 1 passengers.
Don’t get no better than this. I’m gonna owe Lance Dunn big time.
CHAPTER 15
“In time of need the friend is known.”
Irish Proverb
Wednesday, May 22, 1996
8:50 AM Ireland Time
Dublin, Ireland Airport
For much of the six-and-a-half-hour flight over the Atlantic, Mickey was able to sleep. He woke up only twice. Once to forgo dinner, even surprising himself on that one, and again to make a much-needed dash to the restroom. It felt especially good to catch forty winks after being awake well over twenty-four hours. And his roomy first-class seat was a real bonus. But being strapped in for most of the flight caused Mickey’s fifty-year-old major muscle groups to stiffen up, although he’d never openly admit it. His Glock 26 pressing against his right hip the entire time didn’t help the situation.
Just before the captain gave the customary “Thank yo
u for flying US Airways” speech and the “Weather in Dublin” announcement, Mickey was able to freshen up a little in one of the first-class lavatories. A facility that put to shame some of the hotel bathrooms Mickey experienced on similar PD missions.
Back in his seat just in time for final approach, Mickey catches a glimpse of the dark panorama of the Irish Sea and Dublin Bay transform into the rich green Ireland landscape, out the window one wide first-class seat away. He also catches short glimpses of the tall masts of sailboats leaving long white wakes behind them as they traverse the blue sea. This is Mickey’s third trip to Ireland. The first two on vacation with his wife, who he already feels bad about leaving behind. But considering things could get dicey, it’s for the best. Pat agrees. Yet no matter how many times Mickey goes back to Ireland he at some level always feels like he’s going back home. He remembers the stories his Da told him about his great grandfather Conor Devlin bringing his family to America on one of the “Coffin Ships” to escape the famine and English rule. And the horror stories about later family members trying to process through Ellis Island.
Once on the ground flight, 722 taxies at a snail’s pace into the ever-expanding Terminal 1. Dublin’s Airport is the busiest in Ireland. It’s estimated that close to twenty-million passengers a year pass through it. It’s located just over six miles north of the City of Dublin.
When the Boeing 767 finally comes to a complete stop, Mickey looks out his window again and notices an Airport customs vehicle with its blue dome lights twirling, parked on the tarmac just under the overhang of the terminal. Two men are standing in front of the black-and-white Mercedes. One is facing away from the plane. He has wavy red hair and is wearing a green jacket with white embroidered lettering across the back, O’Leary’s Pub. The other man is in uniform head to toe, complete with silver buttons and matching frontice piece on his dark-blue hat.
I can’t believe it. Michael O’Leary. He must know everybody in Dublin.
Mickey unsnaps his seat belt and gets his black leather overnight bag from the overhead compartment. Mickey overhears a coed wearing a Temple University ‘98 sweatshirt telling the woman behind her that she’s going to spend three months studying at Trinity College. With a smile, she lets him in the slow disembarking line.
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