how do you think the Unionists will react? Ian Paisley and his lot are already screaming blue bloody murder over the idea of the UK government talking to Irish Republicans; this would send the country spiralling towards civil war. At the very least, the pressure on my government to pull out of the talks would be simply too great for them to ignore. And the calls to withdraw from the talks would not just come from the Unionists in Ulster; politicians from all parts of the UK who had been prepared to give the peace process the benefit of the doubt would be lining up to demand an end to the talks. If that happens it could be several generations before enough trust is established to start the talks up again. So forgive me if I don’t believe you. If you have been told that this is okay then you have been lied to. You have been played. And from what I can remember, that isn’t exactly hard to do.” Overcome by rage, Barry rushed forward to pistol whip Jack. The attack was well anticipated by Jack. Jack got in a short, hard, gutpunch which served to completely take the power out of Barry’s attack. As Barry tried to go in for another attempt Jack caught him with an upper cut to the chin. The blow was substantial enough to send Barry spinning backwards. He almost lost his balance, but he never lost control over the weapon. Had it been anyone else, the attack by Jack would have stunned his captor for long enough for Jack to finish what he started. Barry Fegan was no ordinary captor. He had been
through enough of those kinds of situations to realise that if he didn’t take control again quickly then he would be a dead man.
Jack rushed towards Barry just as he swung the gun around. The muzzle was almost lined up with Jack’s legs. It was another one of those split second decisions; the kind that he had faced all too many times during the course of his life as a spy—duck for cover, or go for glory? He had no choice. Fegan may have only been there to scare him, but he couldn’t take that chance. With all the strength that his pain ravaged body could muster, Jack swung out his left leg, catching Fegan’s weapon with his foot as he did so. The gun left Fegan’s hand without discharging. Fegan didn’t waste time thinking out his next move as he scrambled across the floor of the room in the direction of the gun. Jack moved as quickly as he could in the other direction.
Jack grabbed the pistol he had originally selected from the weapons locker. It was already primed to fire—a precaution that he had
taken when he first moved into the house. He spun around with the weapon drawn, ready to end the fight once and for all. He was not quick enough. From where he lay on the floor, Fegan was holding his gun steadily in both hands, and pointing it at Jack.
“It would seem like we have ourselves a good old fashioned stand-off, Jack,” Fegan said, through a forced smile.
“So it would appear,” Jack replied, as he toyed with the idea of squeezing the trigger of the pistol and taking his chances.
“What do you suggest we do about it?” Fegan asked.
“Hmm. I plan on waiting until the police arrive and then they can take you away for the murders of three people. Not to mention this little exercise right here. How does that sound to you?”
Fegan smiled widely.
“As if you would let the police go through this house and find your weapons store over there. I can’t imagine that even South African officials would be corrupt enough to be bribed into providing you with permits for all those guns. No Jack, I think that we are both going to lower our weapons and then go our separate ways. How does that sound to you? After all, like you said, what happened here tonight would be enough to derail the entire peace process back home if it ever got out. How would your masters back in London feel about you allowing that to happen? Think Jack.”
Jack knew that what Barry Fegan was saying was true. As much as it went against the rage he felt towards him at that moment, he knew that the only possible route left open to him was to help Fegan get away. The greater good would have to come first. It was just one more bitter compromise that
peace. However, that did not
Barry.
had to be swallowed in the name of mean that he had to make it easy on
“Come on Barry, you know better than anyone how this game is played? My government has invested so much money in this country that no one here is going to do anything that will upset that relationship. By the time any of this reaches the news there will be no mention of you or me. So why don’t you put the gun down and we can figure out a way to get you back home without either of us being arrested. How does that sound?”
“Nice try Jack. We both go our separate ways now, or we both
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stand here and face the music together. The early release of prisoners has been hardwired into the agreement currently on the table. There is no such clause covering British spies. So why don’t you put your gun away?”
Outside the house the initial shock caused by the bomb and gunfire was being replaced by curiosity as people began to leave their houses as the emergency services arrived.
Jack lowered his weapon slightly as he considered the options. His perfect aim was not his greatest weapon in that situation; his ability to talk to people and get them to see his point of view was all he could use to achieve a positive outcome. Jack moved towards Barry. Barry responded by following him with his gun.
“After we get through this,” Jack explained, “I never want to see you again. If I do, I will kill you on sight. Understood?”
“Understood,” Barry replied.
Both men cautiously lowered their weapons. Jack walked across the room to the door. He purposefully ignored Barry. Had Barry wanted he could have raised his weapon and ended Jack, but if Jack didn’t place his life in Barry’s hands, if only for that moment, then he could never build enough trust to eventually overpower him.
“Where the hell are you going?” Barry asked.
Jack stopped and he looked down at Barry.
“It has been one hell of a long day, mate. I need a coffee, or something a little stronger. You can sit there and play with your weapon, or you can join me down in the kitchen. Either way, I will have that coffee.”
Jack really wanted a whiskey over ice, but the last thing he needed was Barry Fegan on the drink with a gun in his hand and a grudge on his mind. If Jack stuck to coffee then Barry would probably stick
to coffee as well. His suspicious nature would not allow him to go for anything other than whatever Jack was having. Yet another unavoidable gamble on a day in which he hadalready taken too many gambles. When Jack arrived in the kitchen he quickly set about loading the coffee machine as if everything was perfectly normal. Barry had yet to make an appearance. He was clearly trying to make sense of Jack’s actions, and until he walked into that kitchen, Jack still wasn’t sure
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what form Fegan’s response would take. Jack nervously watched the open entrance to the kitchen as he set about making the coffee. There was no sound of footsteps from the upper level, or on the stairs. Jack went to the fridge to get a carton of milk. In classic horror movie style, when he closed the fridge door, Barry was standing on the other side of it with his gun pointing at Jack’s head.
“Milk? Sugar?” Jack asked. Jack waited for Barry to process the question, and also for him to make a much more important decision with regard to squeezing the trigger. Barry lowered the gun.
“Milk and two sugars,” Barry said. Barry moved across the kitchen and he took a seat at the kitchen table. Jack sat down across from Barry once he had finished preparing their drinks. He set a mug in front of Barry. There was genuine hatred in Barry’s eyes as he watched Jack’s every move. Barry raised the mug to his lips and he took another sip. Jack did the same. Jack sniffed his coffee and contorted his face.
“Is this milk off?” Jack asked. Barry shook his head. Jack’s question was quite deliberate. He knew that the more ordinary he could make the situation, and the conversations they had, the more relaxed Barry would become.
“Jack, please don’t do that,” Barry said. “I know all of your tricks. After twenty yea
rs, I know them a hell of a lot better than most of your own spies. Some of that information I picked up from assholes like you; but I got most of the information by feeding one of your predecessors feet first into an industrial meat grinder.”
Jack sipped hard on his coffee.
“Maybe it isn’t the milk that’s a bit sour,” Jack said.
There were a few moments of silence. Those were the most crucial
moments of them all, in Jack’s opinion, as they both decided on just how sincere the other was with regard to getting out of the situation they were currently facing. Neither of them said another word until they had almost finished their drinks. Jack broke the deadlock by restarting the conversation.
“I take it that you had some help here tonight? You were already in my house when I arrived home, so someone at the security firm helped you with that. The gunman on the other side of the gates; that couldn’t have been you either. As for the bomb; well a timer or a mercury tilt switch are unlikely given the precise time and place that it detonated.”
“Does it matter?” Fegan snapped back.
“I suppose not,” Jack conceded. “But you know how it is? Professional curiosity and all that? But like you say; it doesn’t really matter. We are where we are and we have to make the best of this bad situation. I should probably look out through thefront door. It will look suspicious if this is the only house in the entire neighbourhood where no one is showing an interest in what is happening outside.”
Barry thought about what Jack said for a few moments.
“OK then, but just a quick look mind. And I will be watching you every step of the way,” Fegan said, as if he were still in control of the situation.
Jack got up from the table and he walked through the house to the front door. He could have got into another battle of wits with Barry over how neither of them was actually in charge, but he decided that it would do no harm for Barry to believe he was in control of the situation—less chance of any accidents that way. Barry went with him, keeping a short distance between the two of them. Jack cautiously opened the front door and he peered out, to give the impression that he was any normal person from the neighbourhood who was completely shocked and confused by what was going on.
Armed police were rushing up and down the road outside. It was clear that they had no idea what was happening, much less how to respond to it. South Africa was still a very violent country and murder was a daily occurrence, but when a cop was killed, even one so corrupt, the police, the press and the politicians always sat up and took notice. It was the first time since Jack moved into the complex that he had laid eyes on some of his neighbours—or at least the unfortunate member of staff that they sent out to investigate as they stayed safely behind closed doors, or in their panic rooms.
A policeman came running across to Jack.
“Go back inside, sir,” said the officer, as he gestured with his hands. “It is not safe out here. There may be a gunman still in the area. Someone will be with you later to take a statement.”
The young officer was clearly rattled and when he had finished speaking Jack almost asked him if he wanted Jack to call the grown-up police. Getting on the wrong side of the law would only have attracted too much attention.
“OK,” Jack said.
Jack began to slowly edge back into the house. It did resemble a war zone, even if it was a well-maintained war zone, with nice cars and perfectly manicured lawns. Jack gathered as much information as he could as he backed into the house. There was still some smoke coming from the other side of the wall. The Land Rover fire had clearly been dealt with. As there were a number of police cars in the complex it was reasonable to assume that the security gate at the front was now open; though as that was now the centre of a double murder, Jack ruled it out as an escape route for Barry.
“What’s it like out there?” Barry asked, when Jack came back into the house, closing the door behind him.
“It isn’t looking good,”Jack conceded. “Thereare cops everywhere.”
They moved back through the house to the kitchen where they sat down at the table.
“Come on Jack, don’t hold out on me now,” Barry said. “There is no way in hell that you have been living in this place and don’t have several escape routes mapped out for situations such as this?”
“There is another entrance at the back. Though now the emergency services have dealt with casualties at the front gate I would imagine that they will enter and leave by the back. They’ll want to preserve as much forensic evidence as they possibly can. Some of them are probably already using that gate.”
“So what are we going to? Just wait it out and hope that the police don’t come knocking on your door?”
Jack sighed.
“Barry old mate, the police are not who I am worried about. That cop you killed; he was no ordinary cop. He was one of Robert Theiler’s men. When Theiler’s crew turn up to investigate what has gone on here, then this will be the first place that they look. They know that the cop drove me back here.”
“What the hell did Theiler want with you?” Barry asked.
“He thinks that I had something to do with the bombing at my office block earlier today. I assume that was you handiwork?”
“Not this time. Though if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was sitting across the street and almost got hit by debris, then I would admire whoever did it. It was a ballsy attack. Just the kind of thing that went on back home, in the good old days.”
Jack sighed and shook his head.
“Come on Jack, even you have to admit that the games we played back home were much more interesting. At least you knew what was what, and who was who; present company excluded. Here, in this country, everyone is out to kill everyone else and half the time you don’t know who you should be hiding from or who you should be trying to kill.”
“Hmmm. You and I clearly have very
constitutes a game. What went on back
different ideas about what home was cruel, pointless, barbaric; on both sides. I will not be one bit sad to see the end of it.”
Barry grinned widely.
“Do you really believe this is an end to the Troubles in Ireland? This is just the end of one phase of the armed conflict. We know that we can never beat the Brits in a head-on fight, but we can take them bit by bit. After we have squeezed every possible concession out of them this time around, another armed group will step in and take over where the IRA left off. Then one day, decades down the road, they will squeeze the next set of concessions out of your government. It is a process that began almost one hundred years ago, and it will continue until we have got our country back.”
“I find it hard to believe that the government would let the IRA start up again. Their weapons will have to be handed in. And for any new group to re-arm to the same level as the IRA; well it just wouldn’t happen. Not with today’s security. Nice dream though. I hope it helps you sleep at night.”
The sound of breaking glass at the front of the house abruptly ended the conversation. Theiler’s men had arrived.
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7
The Enemy of My Enemy...
The biggest problem with hired goons was just how unprofessional and unreliable they could be. Loyalty that was bought was no loyalty at all—a man would lay down his life for a cause that he truly believed in; he would lay down his life for his family; he might even lay down his life for his country, if the circumstances were right—but no man would willingly lay down his life in exchange for money. The kind of man who said he would lay down his life in exchange for money was nothing but a dirty rotten liar. Jack was often left feeling perplexed by just how much effort some criminal kingpins invested in protecting their homes; or armour plating their cars, yet at the same time they surround themselves with guns for hire who are so incompetent that they often turned out to be every bit as dangerous to their employer as any would-be assassin. Many of them looked the part; heavy set men with angry expressions, but when i
t came to combat tactics, unless it was up close and personal, then they were worse than useless. A potbelly hanging over a groaning waistline did not for a lean, mean, fighting machine, make.
As the shattered glass landed on the floor of Jack’s home, two thoughts occurred to him; they are here; and they have no idea what kind of fight they are walking into. The goons were more accustomed to dealing with local criminals who were even less organised than
themselves, and not a highly trained British agent and a seasoned Irish terrorist. If they had been professionals then the attack would have come from the front of the house and the back of the house at the same time, and it would have been coordinated to the very last detail—they would have known how Jack and Barry were going to react before they had the chance. The two teams would cover one another as they assaulted the building and they would have moved swiftly to ensure Jack and Barry did not have time to fire so much as a lucky shot. The men who Jack encountered back at the old fertiliser plant did not look as if they could move with the speed needed to overpower Jack and Barry.
Jack and Barry waited. Nothing happened. It was clear that the attackers were waiting for Jack and Barry to make the next move. No doubt they were trying to employ the fox-hole technique, Jack thought, even if they had no idea that what they were doing had a tactical name. It was simple and effective, in the right hands—enter the building from one side and have an armed team waiting at the other side, ready to take them out when they left the house. Like flushing a fox out of its den. The only problem with this plan was that Jack and Barry were not idiots—they had been there and done that and they were not going to be taken that easily.
Jack and Barry readied their guns, and with merely reciprocal nods of their heads, they understood one another clearly, and what their next move was to be. They covered one another as they moved through the house—one running a few yards before stopping to provide cover for the other, until they had made it all the way through to the room upstairs at the back of the house, where the weapons were located. Jack knew that of all the weapons that he had at his disposal, Barry was the most deadly energy would end up being that frightened him more than the men assaulting his home. A fire fight would provide Barry the cover that he needed to put a bullet in Jack’s head—Jack dying in the cross-fire could not be used to bring the peace process in Northern Ireland to an end. With this thought calling to him from the part of his brain that was responsible for self preservation, Jack once again ignored reason as he acted in an illogical way in an effort to build trust with Barry. It was out of the box thinkof them all—though where that deadly discharged he could not be sure of, and ing; but that was what Jack was good at, and that is why he had stayed alive for so long. Jack stood guard by the door to the room while Barry searched through the weapons’ locker. In terms of sheer firepower, Barry was now very much in charge of their fleeting relationship. The next few minutes would disclose what he would do with that power. Jack swallowed hard as he tried to ignore Barry—if Jack trusted Barry without reservation then it would only be gentlemanly for Barry to return the favour. Barry was old school, and that was just the kind of fuzzy honour that appealed to Barry.
Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) Page 9