by Jack Fiske
Bryant just shrugged and turned to Walker. “She was kicking and biting, so I slapped her a couple of times to calm her down.”
Susan continued to struggle in Quinn’s grasp.
“You’ll get the same if you don’t behave,” he said, tightening his grip on her arm and hair.
“O.k . . . o.k.” Susan relaxed and Quinn eased off the pressure on her arm, so that it didn’t feel as if it were about to break.
Walker turned to Quinn. “Put them in the cellar and get Bryant to stand guard. Then come and see me. We need to decide what to do.”
Turning on his heel, Walker tucked the shotgun under his arm and walked calmly back to the house. Quinn, Bryant and Clarke followed, holding Susan and Millie between them until they reached the annexe.
Once inside, the two were led into the sitting room from which they had so nearly escaped. Clarke picked up the curtain and curtain rail, which lay on the floor, pushed a chair out of the way and rolled back the square of threadbare carpet that covered the floor. Beneath it, a solid trapdoor was set into the floorboards, with a countersunk steel ring at one end. Clarke bent down, hooked a finger under the ring to lift it and Susan was satisfied to see a drop of bright red blood drip onto the boards beside his hand.
“Bugger it!” Clarke swore and pressed the handkerchief to his nose again with his left hand, whilst he raised the trapdoor with his right.
Quinn let go of Susan’s arm and put a hand between her shoulder blades. “Get down.”
A flight of wooden steps led down into the darkness and Susan went down carefully, until she stood on a rough concrete floor at the bottom. Millie followed her and Clarke let go of the trapdoor, letting it slam shut above them to leave them in total blackness. A moment later it was lifted again and Quinn’s head appeared in the opening.
“There’s a light switch to your left.”
Susan looked to where he had pointed and saw the switch. “Thanks,” she said and walked over to turn it on. The trapdoor closed with a bang once more and they heard the sound of a heavy piece of furniture being manhandled above, so that it stood directly over it. Millie had stopped crying, but was trembling violently. Susan put an arm round her and gave her a hug.
“Well, that didn’t turn out very well did it?” she said, matter of factly. “Are you hurt?”
“N.no, n.not really,” Millie stammered. “That man hit me, but I’m o.k.”
Susan sat down on the steps and turned Millie’s face to the light. The red mark across her cheek was fading and it didn’t look as if she was seriously hurt. The same was probably true for herself. She was sore where Clarke had kicked her and her lip was cut, but nothing that wouldn’t sort itself out in a matter of days.
Millie sat beside her and they surveyed their new surroundings. The cellar was small, about ten feet by fifteen, with an alcove at one end. It looked like it corresponded in size to the room above, with the alcove lying under the kitchen area. The walls, which would have been white at one time, were a dirty grey colour, with paint peeling off the woodwork and everything was covered with dust and cobwebs. There was nothing at all in the cellar apart from a large chest freezer that stood against one wall, a length of electric cable hanging over the top of it with no plug on the end.
Susan felt her emotions welling up inside her and she got up quickly, turning away from her daughter, so that she wouldn’t see. She went to look in the alcove to give her the moment or two that she needed to pull herself together and by the time she turned round, she had her feelings under control.
“Well Millie, there’s nothing down here, so I suppose ‘I spy’ is going to be out of the question. We’ll just have to make ourselves comfortable and wait to see what happens next.”
In the room above, Bryant had managed to get the curtain rail back onto its plastic clips above the window and he was sitting in one of the armchairs scowling. He’d been asleep when the alarm had gone off and he was still only half dressed. Clarke had disappeared to the main house and it felt as if he’d been left to look after the mess that he’d left behind.
Ten minutes later the outside door banged and Clarke came in with a bundle of clothes and a mug of tea.
“Brought your clothes over,” he said, dropping them onto the bed and taking the other seat. “I’ve to come and keep you company.”
“Where’s my tea then?” Bryant asked, still scowling.
“You can make your own can’t you. There’s stuff in the kitchen.” Clarke nodded towards the other room.
Bryant stood up and started to put the rest of his clothes on.
“How many sugars?” Bryant asked.
“What?”
“How many sugars do you take in your tea?”
“One, why?”
Bryant leant over and took hold of Clarke’s swollen nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Hand it over then Gary.”
“Piss off!” Clarke said, screwing up his face.
Bryant squeezed.
“Shit! . . . Shit! . . . . Here take it.” Clarke handed the mug over and Bryant let go.
Bryant took a drink and then continued to dress. “Least you can do, seen as you’ve got us all up in the middle of the night.”
Clarke glared at him, but knew that he was no match for Bryant, even without a smashed nose.
In the main house, Walker and Quinn were fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. The other two sat opposite – Ronnie Dunn, looking as usual as if he were dressed for the office and Spencer, looking decidedly the worse for wear.
“Wouldn’t have happened if I’d been over there,” Spencer muttered.
Quinn snorted. “Come off it, you’d have been asleep just the same as Clarke was.”
“Yeah? Well at least I wouldn’t have got my nose broken by some eight stone female and then started blabbing everyone’s names about.”
“Actually it wasn’t him that was blabbing everyone else’s names,” Quinn said, glaring at Walker.
Walker glared back at him. “You mind what you’re saying Liam. I’m in charge around here and you’d do well not to forget it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. We’ll need to get rid of both of them.”
“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, looking worried.
“Don’t be stupid,” Quinn snarled angrily. “You know bloody well what he means. They’ve both seen enough to point the law directly to us and that means we can’t let them go.”
Spencer looked at Dunn for some sort of reaction, but Dunn just turned away, a blank expression on his face.
ELEVEN
It was ten-thirty on Monday night. Jim stood by the French windows in Stephen and Marion’s living room, his mobile phone pressed against one ear. It was good to hear Archie’s voice. He suddenly realised how much he needed a second opinion. So much had happened since they’d spoken earlier that he didn’t know where to begin.
“I presume you’re free to speak?” Archie asked from the other end.
Jim was about to reply automatically that he was, when the meaning of the words sank in. That was his own phrase – used to check if the phone lines were being monitored when he called Archie at the office. The truth was that by now there could well be someone listening in to them.
“Actually Archie, if it’s o.k. with you, can I phone you back in ten minutes?”
“No problem,” Archie agreed. “It’ll give me time to get myself a cup of something and get my quiche out of the oven. I’ll speak to you shortly.”
Jim thumbed the disconnect button and put the phone away. If he was running an operation like this they would be monitoring phone calls, so it was only sensible to assume that there was someone, somewhere, plugged into a headset, listening to every word that they said. There was a public phone box a mile down the road. He’d play it safe and phone Archie from there. It would take two minutes in the car. He hurried upstairs to tell Stephen what he was doing, collected Wolf for company and picked up his car keys.
It was a clear night and the moon was full. Th
ere were hardly any cars on the road and the streets were well lit and deserted. If he was under surveillance, there certainly wasn’t any sign of it.
The old red telephone box stood on a corner outside the local post office and when Jim got there it was empty. He drew up alongside and left Wolf in the car, from where he watched curiously through the side window, hopeful that they might end up somewhere interesting.
Archie answered after a couple of rings.
“Hi Archie, it’s me. Sorry about that, I’m probably being over cautious, but I thought it would be sensible to take precautions. What about the line at your end?”
“Pretty sure it’s clear,” Archie replied. “Are you on a payphone?”
“Yes,” Jim confirmed. “The trouble with a mobile is that you never know who might be picking up the signal and to be honest, my in-law’s phone ought to have a tap on it by now, or someone isn’t doing their job properly.”
“I agree,” Archie said. “Better safe than sorry. Anyway, tell me what’s been happening and then I’ll let you know what I’ve found out at my end.”
Jim paused for a moment to get things straight in his own mind and then started at the beginning, going over the day’s events in order from the time they’d last spoken. There was a lot to relate: how he had broken into O’Hara’s hotel room and found the pictures: the kidnappers’ phone call to Stephen and Marion: the fact that they wanted the box of electronics that the company was working on: the arrival by courier of the revolver and the tracking devices from Archie himself.
“By the way,” Jim said, interrupting himself, “I need to know how I get the information from the GPS units once I’ve switched them on.”
“No problem,” Archie replied. “It’s very straightforward. You can get it over a normal internet connection if you have the right serial numbers and a couple of passwords. If you’ve got a pen and a piece of paper I’ll give you the details.”
“That’s good,” Jim said. “I was worried that we’d have to rely on you for the information and I didn’t want to drag you any further into this.”
“Too late.” Archie laughed. “You won’t believe this, but we’ve got a team working on your case already and since this afternoon yours truly has been on it.”
“You can’t be,” Jim said in disbelief.
“You’d better believe it. In fact what’s more, it’s so high priority that Clive Armstrong has taken charge of the operation himself.”
Jim let the thought sink in.
“Anyway,” Archie continued, “I can explain all that when you’ve finished. What happened after the package arrived?”
Jim continued with his summary: how he had waited at the hotel for O’Hara and confronted him when he went to his room and how he, in turn, had been ambushed by O’Hara’s partner, Charlie Trent. Going over the events reminded him of the lump on his head and he gingerly felt to see if the swelling was going down. It was, but he still winced as his fingers touched the tender area above his left ear.
“So then what?” Archie prompted, as Jim paused in his explanation.
“Sorry,” Jim replied. “I was just seeing if the lump on my head was any smaller.”
He carried on from where he’d left off: going over O’Hara’s explanation of things, his introduction to Trent, who claimed to be working for MI5 and how Stephen had arranged for a copy to be made of the K2 processor unit.
When he stopped, Jim could hear Archie whistle quietly to himself.
“God Jim, I thought a lot had happened to me today. You’re certainly a lot further on with this than you were this morning.”
“So what are your thoughts?” Jim asked.
He could hear Archie tapping the phone thoughtfully before he replied.
“Listen Jim. I’m in a bit of a tricky situation with all of this. Like I said, Armstrong has put me on the case and he’s made it pretty clear that officially I’m not even supposed to be speaking to you. Having said that, he also said to me off the record, that he assumed I would and I’m sure that’s why he wanted me on the team in the first place. Anyway, what it comes down to is that if things go pear-shaped for MI5 on this one, Armstrong’s job is on the line and so is mine.”
Jim frowned to himself. “You know me Archie. I wouldn’t do anything to screw things up for you, but if it comes to the crunch, you know I’ve got no option but to think of Susan and Millie.”
Archie sighed. “I know that. Don’t get me wrong, I want to help as much as I can. Just bear in mind that you need to take care with any information that I give you.”
Jim crossed his fingers as he said that he would. It was a bloody silly habit, particularly as he wasn’t that superstitious. He just hoped to God that he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he had to compromise Archie for the sake of his wife and daughter.
“Well here goes then,” Archie said. “The first thing that’s wrong with O’Hara’s version is that he doesn’t work for the Irish Intelligence Service and never has done. What I said this morning is absolutely true. He’s part of the IRA and as far as I can tell, it’s likely he had a hand in at least one or two bombings back in the 1980s.”
Jim swore softly. “So what about Trent? Is he really MI5 or not?”
“Strangely enough he is,” Archie confirmed. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it seems we’re actually working with the IRA on this one and it’s all had official approval.”
“You’re not kidding it’s hard to believe,” Jim said, as he watched a car drive past. He had too many bad memories of the IRA from his past. The fact that MI5 were sanctioning joint operations with them wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.
“Well you can take it from me that we are,” Archie continued. “This is the first one. Authority for it had to come right down the line from ministerial level. The whole thing is classified and if the details leak, then the press are going to have a field day. Armstrong thinks that if it went public, a number of ministers jobs would be at risk and it could even affect the cabinet.”
“It wouldn’t do the situation in Northern Ireland much good either,” Jim commented. “Particularly with the current relationship between Sinn Fein and the Ulster Unionists.”
“No, exactly,” Archie agreed. “Anyway, that’s only part of the story. The other thing that’s wrong with O’Hara’s version of events is that there’s no Dublin businessman. The man that Walker and Quinn blackmailed when they managed to get hold of the detector unit is based in Northern Ireland, not Southern Ireland and as well as his business interests, he’s a major player in devolved government.”
“Who?” Jim asked.
“No offence Jim, but I’m going to keep that information to myself. I don’t think it will put you at any disadvantage if you don’t know and at least I can truthfully say that I only passed on details that were relevant.”
“Fair enough,” Jim replied calmly. “I’d do the same in your position. I don’t want you to go out on a limb if you can help it Archie. You know I appreciate you giving me what you can.”
Archie sounded relieved that Jim wasn’t going to press him.
“Is there anything else that you can tell me?” Jim asked.
“Just one thing,” Archie said. “We’ve got a man in hospital with a gunshot wound. One of our field guys shot him earlier this evening, because he had a rifle pointed at him and was about to pull the trigger.”
Archie paused for a moment while he swallowed a piece of quiche and then described the events at the motorway service station as he’d heard them from the field agents.
“So you don’t know who he really is?” Jim said.
“Not yet. He’s still unconscious. He had nothing on him apart from a rifle and the clothes he stood up in.”
“So why do you think he’s IRA? Why not one of Walker’s men, or part of the Arab outfit come to that?”
“Doesn’t fit,” Archie replied, chewing another piece of quiche. “In theory, he could have been one of Walker’s, put there to cover the meet
and make sure there was no funny business, but I don’t think so. Walker had his minders with him and they all left in one car. Anyway, we think this was only a meeting and not an exchange. There were no signs of anyone on the other side, apart from Musa.”
“You can’t rule it out though,” Jim said.
“True,” Archie agreed. “Or that he might be part of some other group entirely, but it looks to me as if he was out to put someone away.”
“Walker and Quinn?”
“That’s what I think,” Archie agreed.
“Is this Irish political figure a member of Sinn Fein by any chance?” Jim asked.
“Could be,” Archie said non-committally.
Jim swore under his breath as the penny dropped. “So Walker and Quinn have dug up some dirt on a high ranking Sinn Fein politician and using that, they’ve managed to get the K2 detector unit. Now Sinn Fein have got the IRA helping MI5 to try and recover it, but at the same time, they need to make sure that they silence Walker and Quinn before whatever they’ve got on Sinn Fein goes public.”
“Maybe,” Archie agreed. “And if that’s the case, they’re not going to worry too much if you or your family get in the way. In fact, it would probably be a nice little bonus for them if they could settle an old score with you at the same time.”
Jim let the implications sink in. It certainly wasn’t the best turn of events.
At the other end of the phone, he could hear Archie being interrupted by Harriet coming in and asking who he was speaking to.
“Listen Jim. That’s Harriet back. I’ve given you all that I can just now. Why don’t you phone me tomorrow and we’ll keep each other posted on what’s happening.”
“Good idea. Say hi to Harriet for me and I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
He was about to put the phone down, but Archie shouted from the other end.
“Jim! Jim! Hang on a minute. I need to give you the codes so that you can access the information from the GPS units. Have you got something to write on?”