Dublin Odyssey

by Michael P. Cooney

  Mickey unravels the rest of the rope from around his wrist and unties his ankles. He leaps to his feet and the first thing he does is feel for his Glock. He can’t believe it’s still on his hip. How’d he ever miss this? He keeps making rookie mistakes. He looks out the window for any signs of his old nemesis. Can’t see squat. A full moon would be nice about now.

  He sees the rope and the ladder lying on the ground. Oh well. He shimmies out the window and hangs his six-foot frame from the sill a few seconds, calls on Saint Jude for a little assistance, then lets go.

  He holds his breath and drops to the granite stepping stone directly under the window and falls backward onto the dirt clearing with a thud. His landing wasn’t pretty but nothing feels broken. In fact, his landing this time was exactly how he landed ninety percent of the time after parachuting from a C-130—feet, ass, and head. If the jump master saw that, he’d whack me with an Article 15.

  He shakes off the effects of the fall, feels for his weapon again, and cautiously starts back down the footpath. In the distance he can hear Odysseus trying and retrying to start the little four-stroke outboard on the water taxi and smiles. Dummy! OD has no idea that Mickey had taken the only spark plug with him after he secured the craft. Just in case. Something else Odysseus would have known if he had followed proper PD procedure and searched Mickey when he had a chance. But like so many big PD bosses, he got lax and sloppy. This time it will cost Odysseus, big time.

  When Mickey gets to the bottom of the path, he can see Odysseus sitting in the stern of the taxi. He looks defeated sitting there griping that long black case of potential mass destruction. A look Mickey is not used to seeing on the face of the infamous “Greek.” Odysseus looks up and sees Mickey standing at the water’s edge, pointing a Glock in his direction.

  “You son of a bitch. You screwed with the outboard, didn’t you?”

  Mickey holds up a single spark plug.

  “Guess I’m not as dumb as you thought.”

  “I may have thought a lot of things about you over the years, Mick. But dumb wasn’t one of them. So where do we go from here? It’s obvious there are no guys on white horses gonna show up. You’re out here solo, right? I still like my odds.”

  Mickey tilts his Glock sideways, so OD can see it better and says, “I like my odds a little better, my man. Mine and Mister Glock here.”

  Odysseus starts to say something, but it’s drowned out by the thunderous ground-shaking noise of a Boeing 747 on final approach to Dublin Airport. The low-flying aircraft’s tail section is lit up so Mickey can read the 28000 in bold black print. He points his Glock toward the sky and smiles.

  “That would be Air Force One, OD. So much for your historic mission.”

  Odysseus looks toward the sky.

  “Now get your Greek arse out of the boat. Get on your knees and don’t say a word. Do as I say and maybe I’ll let you live.” Mickey pats his prisoner down and is stunned he’s not armed. Mick brought the handcuffs of Officer Fitzsimons, the youngest officer assassinated by Odysseus in 1991. He used them to secure his prisoner.

  Mickey has Odysseus walk to the bow of the taxi. He pushes the small craft into deeper water. He reseats the spark plug with the wrench hanging from a block of wood beside him, while holding his Glock on OD the whole time. After two strong pulls of the cord, the outboard hums to life.

  Mickey steers the taxi toward the Howth marina. Just as he sees the outline of the marina, the water taxi is engulfed in bright lights from several different directions, followed by an ear-shattering blast from a foghorn. Both men try to shade their eyes and squint into the bright floodlights.

  Odysseus yells, “All right, we see ya. Cut the fucking lights.”

  Next, Mickey hears a familiar voice coming through a bullhorn.

  “Thought you might need saving again, partner.”

  Mickey recognizes Kevin’s husky voice. He looks up, still shading his eyes with a big smile on his still-obviously bruised and swollen face. He holds up his left thumb.

  “I owe ya, partner.”

  “Follow us into port. We’ll sort things out there.”

  Once docked in the Howth marina and based on a copy of a body warrant faxed by Katherine McBride, Philly’s DA, to Kevin’s office, Mickey delivers “The Greek” and his long black case to the local Garda for safekeeping overnight.

  CHAPTER 40

  “If the day is long, night comes at last.”

  Irish Proverb

  Kevin arranged transportation for Mickey back to his suite on Saint Stephen’s Green. Mickey took a rain check on a nightcap at Michael O’Leary’s Pub to celebrate “The Greek’s” apprehension, but promised to call Kevin the next day for a get-together and proper good-bye.

  He got back to his suite a little after one o’clock the next morning. One of the first things he did was leave a voice message for Eric McFadden, one of New York’s finest and the Howth Yacht Club security chief, thanking him for his help and ensuring him he’d be reimbursed for the shattered cell phone and the local Garda will return his binoculars.

  Next, he called Katty Koch, his travel agent, to book two seats back to Philly as soon as possible. The first direct flight wasn’t until 5:50 PM. That should get him in around seven Saturday night with the five-hour time difference. He has Katty book two adjoining seats in the last row of the plane for him and his “guest,” Michael Odysseus. Both tickets on the police department’s dime. Then he called his wife to finally fill her in on “the whole story.”

  He thought about making a couple more calls but the thought quickly lost out to a well-deserved hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

  The last thing he remembered was the distant sounds of the street cleaners a block away on Grafton Street through his open bedroom window. That was at one forty-five. Six hours later, he was awakened by the bright sunlight coming through the narrow separation of the blue curtains. He peeks at the alarm on the nightstand through one half-open eye. Seven forty-five…Man! I feel hung over. I gotta stop the late-night cruises. They’ll kill ya.

  Mickey starts to pack up his things. He looks at the bomb-shredded suit and thinks what could have been. Saint Jude was workin’ overtime on that day. By eight o’clock, Mickey’s close to a hundred percent. He calls Kevin to check on his prisoner and to set up a belated celebration lunch at O’Leary’s.

  “Your prisoner is in good hands. Lunch sounds terrific, Mick. Is twelve hundred hours good for you?”

  “Perfect. Gives me time to pack and clean up a couple of loose ends. See ya at noon.”

  While Mickey finishes packing, he thinks about who he’ll call next. The PC is out of town for the Memorial Day weekend. Katherine is probably down at the Jersey shore. Don’t want to bother her. Who’s left? AE!

  Mickey calls ADA, Alice Elizabeth Gibson, on her cell phone to give the DA’s office a heads-up on when he’ll be landing at Philly International. AE is relieved to hear from Mickey and arranges to have DA detectives and a PPD commander with a “paddy wagon” meet him when he lands. She and Mickey also agree to no press release until after Odysseus is locked down at PPD Headquarters, with one exception of course—Michelle Cunay from Philly’s largest daily newspaper.

  Michelle, like AE, is also from a cop family and has been Mickey’s go-to person for the last ten years. Mickey promised her an exclusive, and she’s going to get it. He calls her cell phone. She, too, is delighted to hear from her close friend and mentor.

  Around nine thirty, Mickey takes a last stroll around Saint Stephen’s Green, snapping a few pictures for posterity. Next, he stops by Bewley’s Café on Grafton Street for one last cup of their famous Irish tea. Bewley’s has become Mickey’s favorite spot to relax, people watch, and mull over his ever-vacillating theories. He’s become a “regular.” The morning waitress recognizes him and she points to the vacant table in the window. The table that’ll give Mickey an unobstructed view of the tearoom. Another one of those universal cop things. Gun hand concealed.

 
; “I’ve been saving it for ya, Mickey.”

  Mickey knows it’s not true but appreciates the gesture. It’s another one of those Irish things, making everyone feel at home and important. It’s why Mickey and his wife love coming to Ireland. And why when Mickey finally leaves this earth he wants his ashes sprinkled in the Irish Sea.

  After finishing his second cup of tea, he waves good-bye to the waitress and walks to the end of Grafton. For the last time he passes Trinity College and on to the Temple Bar and the Liffey River area to meet Kevin and Michael O’Leary for lunch at noon.

  Both Michael and Kevin are in rare form. Mickey is just glad to shut the door on a terrible state of affairs that caused the death of several Philly cops and changed the PPD forever. Although Mickey was happy that Odysseus will finally be behind bars, he couldn’t help thinking about the assassinated cops and their families, and if he could have done anything different in 1991 to prevent their deaths and the sorrow felt by their loved ones. It’s just one of those haunting feelings cops keep with them till the end.

  Michael O’Leary went all out for his friends, soup to nuts. By far the best meal Mickey has had in days. After a lengthy lunch the three men say their good-byes. Mickey thanks Michael for opening up O’Leary’s Irish Pub and his home to him.

  “Anytime, Mickey. And tell that brother of mine to call me once in a while.”

  “You got my word.”

  He thanks Kevin for his friendship, professional courtesy, and saving his Irish arse on more than one occasion.

  “That’s what partners do, right?”

  “Right. And you’ve been one heck of a good partner too, Kevin. I owe ya.”

  “I’d say the debt has already been paid, Mick.”

  After a series of never-ending handshakes and hugs Mickey leaves with Kevin who takes him back to get his bag at Michael’s fourth-floor suite, then takes him to the airport. En route Kevin tells Mickey his boss was going to meet them on the tarmac.

  “Wonder what that’s about. I know I promised you the three of us would get together but…

  “Ya got me, Mickey. But he didn’t sound pissed off.”

  Mickey laughs. “That’s a good sign.”

  “I guess.”

  They arrive the customary two hours early. Kevin already arranged to have the Dublin Garda Station pick up Odysseus from Howth, keep him overnight in Dublin, and transport him to the airport in time for his flight back to the United States.

  Thanks to Kevin this time, Mickey again gets the royal treatment at customs. Thirty minutes prior to normal boarding of US Air Flight 723, Kevin and Mickey are escorted by six uniform airport Garda officers to the tarmac near the tail of the plane. A few minutes later two black Cadillac SUVs approach them from an underground parking lot about one hundred meters away.

  Four very large heavily armed men in suits and dark glasses quickly exit the lead vehicle. The driver waves the second SUV in to a position that will shield it from the terminal’s second floor passenger observation windows. Two additional suits exit the front of that vehicle and immediately position themselves to open the rear passenger doors. First to get out on the driver’s side is Chief Superintendent John J. O’Neill, Kevin’s boss.

  Mickey and Kevin watch the chief walk around the rear of the SUV to the passenger side and wait for a suit to open that door. Stepping out on the tarmac is a six foot, white-haired man in a blue button-down dress shirt, brown-leather zippered waist-length jacket, tan pleated paints and tan loafers. Then they hear the chief address the last remaining passenger.

  “This way, Mister President.”

  With a big smile on his Irish looking face, the commander-in-chief and leader of the free world follows Chief O’Neill to a surprised Mickey Devlin and Kevin O’Clooney. The chief does the introductions.

  “Mister President. This is your countryman, Captain Mickey Devlin.”

  Still smiling the president extends his right hand first to Mickey. “Mickey, how ya doing?”

  “Great sir. I’m doing great. Thank you.”

  The chief moves to his right. “And this is my guy, Superintendent Kevin O’Clooney.”

  “Kevin. How you feeling? I heard you took one hell of a blast.”

  “I’m doing fine, Mister President.”

  “Glad to hear it, Kevin

  “I’d be in a lot worse shape if it weren’t for Mickey here. He saved me an early trip to my maker.”

  “Is that right? From all I’ve been hearing about Mickey, I’m sorry he never accepted my government’s offers to join the team years ago.”

  Mickey is stunned that the president knew he turned down an offer from the CIA after he mustered out of the Army in 1968 and another offer from the Secret Service after his involvement with several high-profile investigations.

  “Our loss I’m sure, but if you ever change your mind…

  Mickey laughs, “Thank you, sir, but I’m a Philly guy.”

  “Anyway I just wanted to stop by and personally thank you men for all you did for me, my family, and our country. Without your heroics, America would be in the midst of a historic disaster.” Then with a chuckle the president said, “And the country would be swearing in the fifth in line to replace me as president. That would have been interesting.”

  Mickey laughs. “Very interesting, sir.”

  By laughing Mickey acknowledges he knows exactly who the president is speaking about. The fifth in line to succeed him is the secretary of the treasury. A man who “forgot” to pay his federal income taxes three years in a row. But coincidently, found a way to “catch up” without penalty, just before being appointed. A problem that was left out of his “vetting process,” and came as a surprise to the president, at least that’s his story.

  “I see Mickey gets it. Again, my thanks to you both. Another reason I wanted to come out here today was to look your prison in the eye.”

  With that Chief O’Neill signals for the waiting Garda truck to move to his location. The vehicle moves up and stops short of the extended rear steps of the aircraft. Two officers exit and open the back doors. Two additional officers with an arm lock on a shackled man get out and walk the prisoner toward the group. Stopping a short distance away.

  The president walks over to the man, looks directly in his eyes and says. “So this is the ‘Greek.’ I hear you wanted to make history. Thanks to your old classmate, that didn’t happen. And, I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of prison, this time. You can take that to the bank.”

  Odysseus gives him a sinister smile and says nothing.

  The president walks back to Mickey and says, “He’s all yours, Mick.”

  With that the president and his security detail climb into their vehicles and disappear back into the underground parking garage.

  After watching the SUVs pull away, the chief turns to Mickey and Kevin and tells them that’s the closest they’re gonna get to any official recognition for their heroics. He explains the US Government has decided to keep the near assassination of the president, the first lady and the president’s closest advisors “blacked out” for obvious reasons.

  As far as Mickey and Kevin are concerned that’s fine with them. Neither man is much for pomp and ceremony.

  The pilot approaches Mickey and discusses his “special status.” Mick gives him a copy of the PC’s letter. Then he turns to Kevin shakes his hand and gives him a half hug. “Looking forward to when you visit me in Philly, partner.”

  “Me too, Mick.”

  Using the rarely used rear steps directly into the back of the plane allows Mickey and Odysseus immediate access to their seats in the last row, with Odysseus in the window seat and Mickey right next to his prisoner. The aisle seat was not sold.

  On time, US Air flight 723 taxied to its assigned runway and took off on its nonstop flight to Philadelphia International Airport. During the entire flight Odysseus never uttered a word, which, according to what Kevin had told Mickey, mirrored his posture ever since the Garda took him into custody
in Howth.

  “He said nothing. He didn’t eat or drink anything. And he asked for nothing or no one.”

  That was fine with Mickey. For him, the time for talking was over. The time for payback had begun. Although Mickey would be interested in how Odysseus planned to get off “Ireland’s Eye.” No other watercraft was ever found. Knowing “The Greek” the way he does, Mickey believes he planned to follow in the footsteps of Frank Morris who supposedly escaped from Alcatraz in 1962 by swimming to the mainland. Odysseus always had a flair for the dramatic.

  The flight landed on time and without incident. Mickey was given the same courtesy of exiting the plane through the back stairs, where he was met by DA detectives, Inspector Tony Heath from Southwest Division and a wagon crew from the 12th District. But no horde of media bombarding him with questions.

  Without fanfare the escaped murderer, Michael Odysseus is loaded into the back of 1202 wagon and taken to the “Roundhouse” for processing. Inspector Heath offers Mickey a ride home, and he’s about to accept when he notices two shadowy figures waving at him from the second floor of a glass-enclosed stairway.

  “Looks like I got a ride, thanks.”

  Mickey asks the inspector to have the unmarked car and equipment he left at the Airport Unit dropped off at his house.

  “No problem, Mick. I’ll take care of it. And welcome home brother.”

  Mick grabs his leather overnight bag and walks to the stairwell where he’s greeted by his wife, Pat, and the editor-in-chief, Michelle Cunay.

  “Thought you might need a hug and a ride, Mick. So I picked up Pat, and here we are.”

  Mickey smiles and hugs his wife.

  “You’re right on both accounts, Shelle. You two have no idea how good it feels to be back on home turf.”

  “I’ll bet! I can’t believe it. You finally got that bastard, Mick. I knew you would. My SUV is right out front. The airport guys gave me preferred parking. I mentioned your name.”