by Des Sheridan
‘Well now Shay? You haven’t been quite straight with us, have you?
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Shay steadily, ‘I gave you an excellent briefing and showed you the ground.’
He betrayed his nerves, however, by accidentally dropping his jacket which was slung over his shoulder and held only by his thumb. Instinctively he stepped back a few paces. Pascal, moving very slowly, smiled as he bent over to pick up the jacket which he then passed over to Erik.
‘Yes, but I paid you €8,000 and yet you omitted to mention the single most important piece of information. You know, I do business with a lot of people all of the time and I don’t like being lied to.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Shay riposted. ‘The treasure hadn’t....’
That was as far as he got before Erik’s punch landed in his stomach, cutting him short.
‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me clearly,’ Pascal responded, taking Shay’s chin in his hand and twisting it. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me, OK? I know exactly when the treasure was found and I know that you were there. Do you really think you are my only source of information?’
A second blow, more powerful than the first, impacted on Shay’s abdomen, doubling him up.
‘OK, OK,’ Shay spluttered. ‘I’m sorry, but get real. I assumed you would be back. We can still do business. For another €5000 I can...’ A third punch blasted into him, causing him to retch. It persuaded Shay to try a new tack.
‘OK, I’ll talk,’ and he did. He recounted the details of how the treasure was found and the items they brought out.
Pascal listened attentively but then, grabbing Shay by the throat, said.
‘Yes, but what else, I know there was something else, tell me.’
Erik twisted Shay’s arm further up behind his back and he squealed in pain.
‘I don’t know what you mean, are you fucking crazy?’
The bewilderment and fear in his eyes, told Pascal what he wanted to know.
‘OK my friend,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we can still do business. Find out what I want and I will pay you €10,000 more. But you must earn the money.’
Relief swept through Shay and his brain, moving into overdrive, desperately computing how he could talk himself out of the situation. He realised that they had deliberately not hit him in the face. They wanted to avoid leaving visible marks. As though reading his mind, Pascal said,
‘Now that you have learned your lesson, I want you to work for me, but never lie to me again, do you understand?’
Shay nodded his head vigorously. Ordering the other two men back to the car, Pascal pulled a pen knife from his pocket and opened it. It was an expensive piece, the handle covered in mother of pearl and the blade long, thin and very sharp looking. He flashed it close to Shay’s face.
‘A nice piece isn’t it? A gift from my mother, as it happens. Don’t worry, I am not going to hurt you. It is just a warning so you don’t get any ideas, Shay, and believe me I am quite happy to use it if necessary. It has served me well and slices through skin beautifully, you might even say lovingly,’ he said, flashing a grin. Shay felt a chill travel up his spine, accepting without hesitation that the man was talking from experience.
Then, lowering his voice Pascal explained what he wanted. Shay was to go back to the dig and find out more. In particular Pascal was after a metal object of triangular form, most likely about the size of a wheel, possibly with hinges of some sort attached. Shay’s heart sank. He knew he couldn’t go back in to Rosnaree, but he couldn’t tell this maniac that. So he agreed, promising that he would ring in twice a day, and Pascal accepted that. Shay knew then that they were going to let him go. Turning to leave, Pascal passed him back his jacket, patting him on the back.
‘Stick with me, Shay, and all will be well.’
With these his parting words, the green cat’s eyes stared fixedly for a moment into Shay’s. Then he turned and strolled off.
Left alone by the lock up, his stomach muscles aching and his armpits soaked with sweat, Shay bent over the car bonnet, catching his breath and trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t go back to Rosnaree. If he forced Tara into a corner, by re-entering her life, he knew she would denounce him. His reputation in the area would be destroyed. He would never regain face and his family would be shamed. In theory he had another option, he could stay and face Pascal down, but he knew that wouldn’t work. At the very least the thugs would cripple or maim him. It was too risky, Pascal would use that blade. That left only one feasible option - run. He would head for Dublin and go to ground for a few weeks, until all the fuss died down. As a sportsman, he had a network of contacts he knew he could count on. His spirits rose. The last week had been a nightmare. Now he could break free of Tara, Pascal and whole caboodle and hit the road.
Ringing one of his brothers on his mobile, he asked him to pack some clothes in a couple of sports bags. They met up an hour later and Shay, taking the N4 south, turned his back on Sligo. On a whim, on the Rathrippon Roundabout, he changed his mind and, choosing instead the N17, headed for Westport. He would book himself a room in a boutique hotel there. At this time of year he would get a good rate and tonight. He could pick up a girl. A proper shag would do him a power of good. He might as well have a couple of nights’ fun before going into hiding. Putting on a Shania Twain CD, Shay turned the volume up loud and put his foot on the accelerator, banging time to the music on the dashboard with his right hand.
As he drove the sun was setting low in the sky over the west, its rays piercing beautifully through gaps in a vast pile of cumulus clouds. Shay, not one normally given to Romantic insights, nonetheless took it as a positive omen.
Chapter 64
Sligo, Ireland, 23 September 2014, 20:14
Emerging from the tomb Robert found that night had fallen. The wind had strengthened too, blowing in cold from the north-west, the stiffening breeze catching them by surprise in their light-weight clothes. Occasional spits of rain struck their faces.
‘Let’s get back to the house fast, I think it is going to storm,’ Andrew called out, pulling his jacket tight about him. He and Brian set off at a brisk pace. Sean and Siobhan followed, managing the metal object, wrapped up now in bubble wrap, between them, and Tara, Robert and Malachy brought up the rear, trailing along more slowly and lost in thought. Malachy carried the letter, wrapped once again in its protective cloths, in a small specimen carry-bag tucked under one arm.
The darkness, as always in the countryside, was pitch-black and Robert wondered where the all the sight-seers and demonstrators had disappeared to. Safe in their tents or Bed & Breakfasts, he imagined. Out there in the dark the Gardaí and Mac’s team were a reassuring presence, silently keeping the perimeter safe, but he caught no sign of them. The wind was gathering force and a flash of lightening suddenly illuminated the night sky. Ahead, a short distance off the track, Robert thought he discerned two dark shapes, perhaps two men, emerging from the bushes about twenty yards distant. One man was a good head above the other and Robert, catching fleeting sight of fair strands, was reminded of the tall man at the conference. He briefly glimpsed the second man, caught for a second in what was probably Andrew’s torchlight. The face was unfamiliar but memorable, hard and tight. A veteran of two wars, Robert recognised instinctively that, whoever these people were, their intent was not friendly. They had the set look of men with a firm objective, and a readiness to achieve it through force, that any soldier would recognise.
At that moment the wind quickened further and rain started to fall, great dollops of it, splattering against their faces. Glancing again, Robert found that the men had been swallowed up in the darkness. Had he imagined them? A loud, swishing sound filled his ears as the gale swept the first leaves of autumn off the ground and raised them up in a maelstrom about them. The gathering wind was now so brisk that it sucked their breath away. Robert’s soldier’s instinct kicked in.
‘Quick!’ he shouted ‘in here!’
He pulled Tara r
oughly off the track, though a gap in the old dry stone wall where the moss-covered stones had tumbled down. Turning swiftly, he noticed Malachy was standing stock-still, just visible in the gloom, seemingly oblivious to the threat. Before Robert could say anything, the Deacon suddenly sprang to life and joined them. Sean, reacting fast, pulled Siobhan through the gap, following Robert’s example. They were fortunate, finding shelter where a large oak nestled beside the wall, and huddled together for protection. The tempest lashed about them on all sides, although in their den they were spared the worst of it. Stealing a glance, Robert saw the leaves swirling at terrific speed about the tree in an upwards arcing motion. He could swear that a faint, pale blue, light was illuminating the scene. The noise, screaming about the tree, was now deafening so he ducked down again, clapping his hands over his ears.
The storm was short-lived, lasting for about five minutes before abating as rapidly as it had been conjured up. As they stood up uncertainly, shaking their clothes free of leaves, Tara asked, in a shaky voice, ‘What in God’s name was that?’
‘That was an iomghaoth, a dust devil or whirlwind,’ said Malachy. ‘A small version of what the yanks would call a twister. They are quite common around here in the summer, although I didn’t realise they could happen at night.’
He made it sound almost prosaic, thought Robert, wondering at the man’s detachment.
Rejoining the path, they resumed their journey. The wind had died down now and though gaps in the cloud stars could be seen. The night seemed at peace with itself once again. Robert said nothing to the others about the men he had seen. There was no sign of them now but, for the rest of the way back, he kept a watchful eye out.
Chapter 65
Sligo, Ireland, 24 September 2012
The first thing that surfaced in Shay’s consciousness was the smell, the sweet sort that you might encounter in a pharmaceutical factory. A sickly carbolic undertone accompanied it and instinctively he jerked his nose upwards, seeking to avoid the stench. Blinking in confusion, he opened his eyes and lurched forward instinctively as he realised he didn’t know where he was, apart from being in darkness.
Shock jolted through him when he found that he could hardly move. Thrashing about, he caught on that his hands were tightly bound behind his back. He could scrabble about with his legs but that was all. Somehow he managed to manoeuvre himself so that he was sitting on his knees and, staring into the dark, he used his ears to explore his new environment. He heard a slumping sound, like a foot sliding on wet gravel. He wasn’t alone.
A flash of light pierced the darkness as someone struck a match.
‘So, Shay, more lies. What am I to make of you I wonder?’
Shay recognised the velvety voice and shuddered. He couldn’t see the cat’s eyes watching him, but he knew they were there. The sweet rich aroma of a cheroot assailed his nostrils. Still gathering his wits, he said nothing. He was trying frantically to figure out how they had cottoned on to him. They couldn’t have followed him all the way; he would have noticed them. Last thing he recalled was filling the up the car at a petrol station near Castlebar. Then someone grabbed him and put something over his nose and mouth.
Looking around, his eyes adjusting to the dark, he began to discriminate between shades of grey and black. He seemed to be in a cellar. The air was damp and he could hear water trickling, the sound amplified within the confined space. At that moment a torch flicked on, casting light upon their location, and throwing the walls into relief. They were curved, uneven, running with damp and covered in wet dark green moss. Shay realised that he was in a cave.
After a brief silence, arms grabbed Shay’s legs, pulling them apart. The voice came closer.
‘Well, Shay, lost for words are we? Let’s see if this helps.’
When the boot hit Shay’s genitals, excruciating pain ricocheted through him, and he screamed at the top of his voice.
‘Now let’s get this straight, I told you three times not to lie to me, you shit!’ Pascal’s face was close to Shay’s and he yanked him by the chin.
‘So let’s start again. Why didn’t you go back to Rosnaree? Why did you head for Westport? Why was that? You know, I am sure you know more than you are letting on.’
Shay responded, shouting into the dark, ‘How did you find me? Who are you people?’
‘Simple,’ chuckled Pascal. ‘We put a location bug into your phone in Sligo while we having our last chat. Don’t you recall being so helpful with your jacket? You don’t think I rely on trusting the likes of you, do you?’
A heavy sense of helplessness descended on Shay like a cloak of impending doom. But he still had fight in him.
‘I swear to you I know nothing about a metal object. There were lots of metal objects, spears and shields, that sort of thing but I saw nothing like you described. Why would I lie to you?’
‘But the point is you have lied to me, repeatedly,’ Pascal spat back. ‘Don’t take me for a fool!’
The blow this time smashed hard into his face, and he felt his cheek bone cave in under the force. Looking up he saw Theo, glowering over him, his balled fist sporting a knuckle duster, his eyes hard and his mouth set. In that second Shay knew they were out to hurt him badly. Blood trickled over his lip, and he tasted it, just before Theo landed a second punch. After the third blow, which Shay was sure had cracked his nose, he broke his silence.
‘I can’t go back to Rosnaree, I can’t go back.’
‘Why? Why not? You are their friend, you lying bastard. It makes no sense. You know something!’ Pascal screamed at him.
‘Get his trousers off now!’ he bellowed. Erik and Theo fell upon Shay who, using all his strength, wriggled and kicked for his life, landing his boots on them, hurting them but not hurting them enough, not enough to disable them. He couldn’t win and eventually they overpowered him.
‘Hold him down.’ Pascal grabbed hold of Shay’s shorts and squeezed his testicles hard. Agonising pain shot through Shay and it didn’t stop.
‘Please, stop! Please! I can’t go back because I tried to have her the other night, I tried to fucking rape her but she got away, the fucking bitch.’ Shay was half shouting, half crying. His words stopped Pascal in his tracks and he let go of his grip.
‘Turn the light on his face.’ For the second time Pascal got hold of Shay’s chin and stared at him.
‘So that’s it,’ he said slowly. ‘I just couldn’t figure it out. You had to be in on the game somehow. But no, I can see it now. I believe you are finally telling me the truth.’
Then Pascal started chortling, pure menace distilled into a laugh and apprehension swept over Shay. At that moment he knew he would never walk away from this situation. Fear racked him, but also something else too, a wave of sadness and regret. He shouldn’t die like this. He was young with his life ahead of him. However foolish he was sometimes, he didn’t deserve this. He had a mental image of people – his father, brothers, and friends paying tribute to his dead self. He couldn’t help it, at the thought he began to sob.
‘That’s right, have a good cry! You failed to rape her, you pathetic fuck. You don’t get a lot right, do you?’ Pascal voice was sneering and cold. ‘Well, you are no use to me now, are you? You can’t go back to Rosnaree, can you? You stupid prick. We might as well give you a taste of your own medicine. Turn him over boys and use that stick.’
There was a pause and Shay wondered why Pascal’s two helpers didn’t obey at once. Any second he expected one of them to crack his head open. He couldn’t see them stare at Pascal in disbelief and confusion until their boss bellowed,
‘Well? Get on with it! Rip him with it!’
With that Shay felt them fall upon his upturned torso like dogs, gashing him with the stick to their master’s command. Pascal soon joined in himself and began to squeal and grunt like an animal. Shay writhed to the core of his being as the others did the same, building up a horrific bestial chorus. He knew then that the black pit was beckoning, with unimaginable pain cl
eaving into his guts. Then, when he couldn’t foresee any release, the pain suddenly subsided. Something shuffled close in the dark, a hot breath rippled over his wet skin and a strange foul stench filled his nose. A warm tongue touched his face. Slowly, deliberately, the tongue moved over his cheek, licking the perspiration. A mad voice whispered in his ear.
‘You know, Shay, we are going to get to know each other so well, so intimately. You are going to suffer and die slowly, because I love inflicting excruciating pain. Hurting, you see, is my way of loving, of being close. And I have a surprise in store. I hear you are something of a hero around here, so I want you to have a proper Irish hero’s death and to know such agony as you never thought existed. And I will be your constant attendant all the way on your once-in-a-lifetime journey to the Gates of Hell!’
That was when Shay started to pray. It was the only option he had left.
V1: The Caves of Kesh
Chapter 66
Sligo, Ireland, 24 September 2014
The parchment lay on the large blotter mat on the desk in Brian’s study. Assembled around, Tara watched as Malachy donned white cotton gloves and commenced the task of opening the message, holding it with forceps and breaking the seal gently with a scalpel. The others seemed to accept that, as an archivist of the Early Christian period, he was the most experienced person on the team in document handling. She saw at once that he was an expert from the way he prized the folded pages open within a minute or so. Picking it up gently, he said,
‘Here’s a surprise, it’s in English. Well, seventeenth century English to be precise and it seems to be in verse.’
‘Go on then, man,’ said Andrew, managing to sound both nervous and impatient at the same time. ‘We are all agog’.