That attitude, and his love of the country that surrounded him, were what had led him to run for office as Teachta Dála in his home county of Monaghan. County Monaghan was a five seat constituency in the north of the Irish Republic, near the border with the six counties of Ulster that were part of the United Kingdom. As a newly elected member of the Dáil Éireann, the Irish Parliament, the free time he was currently enjoying would soon be at an end. The economic bubble that had burst in 2008 and left Ireland's economy in shambles needed to be undone and as one of Ireland's most successful entrepreneurs and a longtime member of the country's center-right Fine Gael party, he'd agreed to take on the job.
The mechanical sound of the stately home's elevator rising to the roof drew his attention away from the telescope and he turned in his chair to face the old freight door as it was pulled open.
"Pardon the interruption, Governor," his assistant, Dean Lynch, said as he stepped off the car, "but I've just come across something in this morning's edition of the Independent that I think you need to see."
Fintan pushed himself away from the telescope and towards his assistant as the dark haired, muscular man held out a copy of Ireland's largest selling newspaper. Taking hold of it, he spread it open and looked at the page Lynch had marked.
Former bodyguard sought in bombing of American university; deaths of Israeli celebrity Kafni and undercover FBI agents.
He scanned the article quickly and looked over the accompanying picture, a photo of a face he hadn't seen in over a decade, but one that was still very familiar to him. "Take me to my office, now," he said.
"Aye, Governor."
Lynch stepped behind him and gripped the handles on the back of the wheelchair. While McGuire much preferred to move about on his own the process could be laborious at times, especially when navigating the upper floors of the eight thousand square foot house below him, and at the moment, he didn't have any time to spare.
Lynch pushed him into the freight elevator and pulled the door closed behind them. When the car had reached the second floor, he tugged it open again and pushed the chair down a narrow hallway past the grand central staircase to a large office on the northern side. "I'll take it from here," Fintan said, as he gripped the wheels of the chair and propelled himself into the room towards a long, oak desk.
The room's decor was elegantly rustic and the walls featured the mounted heads of a number of large animals in addition to several antique hunting rifles. The floors were deeply stained wooden parquet and large windows looked to the north at the Irish capital's skyline. Not caring much about hunting or wild game, Fintan had made the room into his personal library and office. Where there had once been large lounge chairs and probably an antique floor globe, there was now a row of bookshelves, wooden file cabinets and an aquarium that boasted a variety of exotic fish, mainly from the Indian and South Pacific Oceans.
He pulled himself up to the oak desk and gripped the mouse that sat alongside a computer terminal boasting several monitors. As the various screens came to life, he pulled a keyboard from underneath the desk and typed in a web address. Lynch stood beside the door as if he already knew what his boss would soon find and was anticipating the order that would surely come if his intuition was correct. Once the site of an international, subscription based mail server in Switzerland had loaded, Fintan punched in a username and password. The login information accepted, he clicked quickly to the inbox and opened the draft folder.
"No messages. Why are there no messages?" he said aloud, the question rhetorical.
Lynch stepped into the room. "If everything this article says is true, Governor, he's got to be on the run. Maybe he just hasn't been able to contact you yet."
Fintan knew that Lynch was right. Whatever had happened in Declan McIver's life to bring him under the media's microscope in such a way had to have happened very fast and unexpectedly. Of his fellow surviving members of the Black Shuck Unit, which Fintan's father had founded and operated until being murdered in 1993, Declan McIver was the most careful and capable of all and the man Fintan least expected to need his help. But it was obvious from the article that he now needed all the help he could get.
"We have to find him, Lynch. Before anyone else can. Have Cummings meet us in Waterford within the hour. We have a sudden need to visit the United States."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
10:26 a.m. Eastern Time – Monday
Intersection of Lee Jackson Hwy & Boonsboro Road
Lynchburg, Virginia
Declan pulled off of the Lee Jackson Highway and made a right onto Boonsboro Road. He'd decided that it would be safer to enter Lynchburg by coming over the Blue Ridge Mountains and across the James River instead of having to pass by the place where he'd been run off the road and nearly killed. He'd been listening to AM radio stations since he'd left the cabin looking for any word on what to expect when he arrived. The news anchor had just finished reading a statement from the university's chancellor, Jerry Fallwell Jr., in which he talked about the university's response to the attack, his narrow escape due to the health concerns of his mother and offered prayers and support for those effected, but Declan had yet to hear any indication that the police or FBI had roadblocks or checkpoints setup around the university.
He removed a navy blue baseball cap from the passenger seat and placed it on his head, pulling it down over his forehead to rest just above his eyebrows in an effort to disguise himself as much as possible. He was hoping that showing up at the university was the last thing anyone would expect him to do and that no one would be looking for him there for that reason, but he couldn't be too careful.
Driving the blue Mercedes sedan south onto the Lynchburg Expressway, the campus of Liberty University came into view. Leaving the four lane interstate, he drove a short distance onto the commercial street known locally as "Hamburger Row" and crossed a set of railroad tracks onto the campus. This was the rear entrance to the university and was marked by far less traffic than the more widely used entrance east of the main campus. He passed by several faculty parking lots and finally found a visitor parking area along the sidewalk adjacent to Arthur DeMoss Hall, the university's most recognizable building. The Hall had two levels of concrete steps and eighteen stone columns supporting a towering Jeffersonian portico, which made the building look a lot like the Supreme Court in Washington D.C. In front was a statue of an eagle with its wings spread wide as it perched atop a marble column.
Declan reached over the front seat and grabbed a dark red backpack before stepping out of the car and locking it. Placing the bag on the ground at his feet, he pulled on a black Gore-Tex raincoat, zipping the collar up as far as it would go to further hide his facial features. With a cold wind blowing off the mountains and the ever present threat of seasonal rain from the heavy clouds above, the weather was providing the perfect environment for such a disguise. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked onto the sidewalk. Unlike most of the people he would be passing as he searched for the university's faculty offices the contents of his bag weren't textbooks and notepads, but instead a collection of first-aid and survival gear, including two to three days' worth of ration bars, butane lighters, duct tape and light sticks. In addition were some items he'd placed in the pre-made kit himself, including a lock picking kit, two pre-paid cell phones and a Glock .26 pistol with two extra magazines. He didn't plan on starting a firefight in the middle of campus and he didn't expect anyone else to, either, but if any more of the men trying to take him out showed, he was prepared.
Allowing the bag to slide off his shoulder and around to his chest as he walked, he unzipped it and reached inside to retrieve the campus map he'd purchased from a convenience store several miles outside of town.
He had come to visit Michael Coulson, wanting to ask the man several questions that would hopefully shed some light onto what exactly had happened at the Barton Center two nights prior. He didn't suspect Coulson or anyone else at the university of being involved, although he cou
ldn't rule out the possibility, but they certainly would know who the security company was and how to contact them. Returning the backpack to his shoulder, he spread open the glossy campus map and looked over it.
"Are you new here?" a female voice asked from behind him.
Declan turned to see a young woman with dark brown hair partially stuffed into a multi-colored stocking cap, her hands held close to her body inside the large pockets of a tan parka.
"Aye," he said, “just arrived today."
"You're kind of late," she responded with a quick smile. "Classes started two months ago."
"Okay," he said with a nervous laugh as he returned her smile. "You got me. I'm not a student, at least not yet. I'm here for a meeting with Dr. Michael Coulson. I'm hoping to start my master's degree here in the fall."
"I'm surprised Dr. Coulson is seeing anyone with everything that's happened over the last few days, but you'll find him in the Helms School of Government. I'm heading that way if you'd like a guide."
"Aye, that would be grand. I didn't call ahead to confirm the appointment, but I suppose I should have. I heard about what happened."
"It's been a rough couple of days for everyone around here," she said, as she started walking towards the front of DeMoss Hall. "Even with the shootings on the Virginia Tech campus a few years back you still don't think that it can happen to you, until it does. People here are in shock, classes have been canceled for the rest of the week. Grief counselors are all over the place for people who need to talk. I've just been trying to keep myself busy and not pay attention to the news and everything."
"Aye, I thought it looked a little desolate. Things like this used to happen all the time where I come from."
She looked over at him with a question on her face as they ascended the steps of DeMoss Hall and entered the relative shelter of the portico. "Ireland?" she said.
"Aye, Belfast area. It's not so bad anymore, but when I was a kid it was a violent place."
"I don't know much about it, I guess," she said with a shrug, as he held the front door of the building open for her. "I'm a math major."
"Oh," he said with a sarcastic laugh, “my favorite subject."
As they entered the building the girl removed her hand from the pocket of her coat and pulled off her stocking cap. Declan watched as her dark brown hair spilled down around her shoulders. He couldn't escape the thought that people just like her had been working in and around the Barton Center two nights ago. He'd noticed several of them as he and Constance had entered. How many of them had been killed or seriously injured? Did this girl know any of them? He grimaced as she led the way through the bottom floor of the building. Innocents like her were always the ones who got hurt and the people who planted the bombs or fired the guns dismissed their lives with petty political reasoning that, when you really stopped to think about it, held about as much water as a wet Kleenex. He felt anger rise from the pit of his stomach. He used to be one of those men. How many innocent girls and boys had been killed in IRA operations he'd played a part in? He'd realized early on in his days with the IRA that the type of attacks they were committing were doing little for their cause and only harming innocent neighbors. He'd tried to limit his involvement to attacks on the kind of men who had murdered his parents, but he was certain there had been unintended consequences, there always were.
"You okay?" the girl said, as he nearly ran into her. He hadn't noticed that she'd stopped walking and turned to face him.
"Aye, sorry, I was just thinking about the people in that building the other night."
Her brown eyes suddenly looked sad. "I didn't know anyone that was there, but some of my friends did. My roommate is over at the counseling center. Her ex-boyfriend was killed in the explosion. I thought I would just keep my mind off of it by studying. I'm heading to the learning center on the third floor, but I'll show you where Dr. Coulson's office is first."
"Oh, you don't have to go out of your way like that for me. If you'll just point me in the right direction I'll wander around until I find it."
"Nope, can't do that," she said as her smile returned. "I'm duty-bound to see you there. It's the Liberty way."
"Well, I appreciate it," he said, as they continued walking and neared a set of doors leading out of DeMoss Hall. They exited the building into a rectangular courtyard filled with evergreen shrubbery and descended a flight of concrete steps.
"I think I took my hat off a little too soon," the girl said as a gust of wind blew her hair over the top of her head and she hurriedly placed the stocking cap back on. They walked past several rows of hedges towards a one story concrete block building with a sign identifying it as the food court annex and turned left before they reached it. At the end of a long row of shrubs next to the building they turned left again and the girl pulled open a door leading into a long hallway.
"Well, this is it," she said. "This is Dr. Coulson's office." She motioned towards a closed door on the right side of the hallway just past the entrance. The shingle on the door read; Michael Coulson, Ph.D.
"Aye, that's grand. Thank you," Declan said, looking at the door.
"It doesn't look like anyone's here, so I hope you didn't come all the way from Ireland just for this."
"Oh no, I'll be in town for a while," he said, with a smile.
"Well, my name is Brooke," she said, as she removed a hand from her coat pocket and held it out.
"Paul," Declan lied, as he took her hand and shook it politely.
"Well, maybe I'll see you around then, Paul," she said with a smile.
He smiled back at the expectant look in her eyes. He couldn't be sure, but he was getting the impression that she wouldn't mind seeing him again. He continued smiling knowing that he was likely old enough to be her father. "Aye, I'll be around."
"Okay," she said nodding slightly as she turned to the exit. Declan slid his backpack off his shoulders and allowed it to fall to his feet. As soon as Brooke had exited the building and was out of sight, he turned and looked down the hallway. All of the twenty or so doors in the hall were closed and he couldn't hear any noises indicating that there were people present. He tried the door to Coulson's office: locked. Taking a last look through the glass door leading into the courtyard, he bent down and opened the backpack.
The fact that Coulson wasn't in his office wasn't going to deter him from trying to find the information he wanted. Maybe there was something inside, some paperwork, perhaps, that could tell him what he wanted to know. In many ways that would be ideal. If he could find what he needed without having to speak directly with anyone, then maybe nobody would ever know he'd been there. He looked up and down the hall again, this time with his eyes on the ceiling, looking for any sign of security cameras. Seeing none, he removed a fist-sized leather case and opened it, revealing a set of metal lock picks and a black pick gun. He withdrew the pick gun and closed the kit, setting it on the ground beside him as he leaned in towards the door and inserted the end of the pick gun into the keyhole. Pulling the trigger on the gun, he counted in his head until he heard an audible click. Removing the gun quickly, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open before the tumbler returned to its locked position.
Declan picked up the lock kit and his bag and retreated inside the dark office, searching for a light switch as he closed the door. Finding the switch on the wall, he turned on the light and looked around. The office was windowless and it was obvious from the number of opened boxes sitting on the floor and in the chairs that Coulson had been preparing to move to his new home on the third floor of the C.H. Barton Center. In the right hand corner of the square room was a corner desk with a computer and printer on it. On the monitor, several images of the campus flashed around the screen and Declan realized that Coulson probably hadn't been gone very long. Most screensavers were only set to a maximum of thirty minutes before the computer would enter power save mode and turn itself off.
Before touching anything, he reached into a side pocket of his backpack an
d pulled out a pair of black leather police gloves. Setting the backpack on the floor, he pulled on the gloves and opened a box sitting on a red upholstered chair near the door. Inside he found several plaques with various academic awards listed, and quickly closed it and moved on. In another box was a stack of binders containing test materials for the many courses that were taught in the university's government programs, and again he closed the box and moved on. Taking a seat in the leather office chair behind the desk, he swiveled back and forth, opening drawers. Inside, everything was neat and labeled, but he found nothing that told him what he wanted to know. He bumped the mouse and the computer screen came to life, revealing a desktop background picture of Michael Coulson, his wife, and what were apparently the couple's children, sitting atop a high rock overlooking a valley. He recognized the location as being the top of McAfee's Knob in Roanoke, a popular local hike that connected in several locations with the Appalachian Trail. He and Constance had hiked it many times and had similar photos at home.
The sound of someone opening the entrance door to the hallway caught his attention and he quickly stood from the seat and hit the power button on the monitor, making the screen dark. He moved over to the door and listened as someone entered, whistling. The person stopped just outside the office and Declan turned the lock to the open position and removed the gloves. Stuffing the gloves in his coat pocket, he picked up one of the boxes and moved it to the floor so he could take a seat. He watched the door intensely as the sound of a key being inserted into the hole came from outside. The sound stopped and the person trying to enter turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Black Ops Bundle: Volume One Page 18