Captured

by Ann Jacobs

  * * * * *

  His sober words kept ringing in her mind. And she wasn't at all sure if Declan would be able to stop Cian and Sullivan if they decided they were going to harm the prince. And Laura knew she had to do something. Even at the expense of their future. Two more days had passed since the tape had been sent to London and there had been no word from Buckingham Palace. Declan was growing increasingly nervous, but it was Sullivan who really had her worried. He was like a time-bomb set to go off. More than once he'd suggested, "doing something to let the Brits know we're serious." His cruel expression sent a chill through Laura. She knew he'd enjoy torturing the boy. And if it came to execution, it was a foregone conclusion that he'd be the one to pull the trigger. But Laura was determined it wouldn't come to that.

  Since the prince's arrival, she'd been restricted from leaving the flat. Declan was the only one to make forays out for food and other necessities. The only telephone was in the sitting room and there was no way she could make a call without arousing suspicion. Quite obviously, the men didn't trust her, not even Declan.

  One afternoon while Harry was napping, Laura hastily wrote a note on the back of one of her manuscript pages. "Prince Harry is being held at Forty-Six Harcourt Street, Dublin. Please send help." She realized that by writing this note, she was essentially sending Declan back to prison. And the thought broke her heart. But in a strange kind of way, she'd be saving him from a fate much worse if his cohorts killed the prince. After writing the note, though, she had no idea how to get it out of the flat. With Declan's frequent comings and goings, throwing it out the window to the sidewalk below was not an option. There was nothing to do but tuck it away and wait for an opportunity to use it.

  It came sooner than she expected.

  On a Thursday morning while Declan was out on an errand, a knock came at the door. In the kitchenette, Laura looked up from where she was stirring porridge for Harry. In a rapid movement, Sullivan flung down the morning edition of The Irish Times and reached for his gun. The knock came again, this time followed by a voice.

  "Miss Laura? It's me, Frannie O'Neill from down the hall. Sorry to be bothering you, love, but I need my sleeping mat back."

  With a black scowl, Sullivan jerked the gun toward the door. "Get rid of her," he hissed.

  Heart pounding, Laura went to the door. What rotten luck that she'd been in the kitchen. The note was still hidden in a drawer in the bedroom. It might as well have been an ocean away. But then, just as she opened the door a crack, a lightning bolt struck. She summoned what she hoped was a natural smile at the bird-like middle-aged woman waiting in the hall.

  "Hi, Frannie," she said in a stage whisper. "Forgive me for not inviting you in. My cousin, Declan, is still sleeping."

  Frannie grinned, revealing tobacco-stained dentures. "A late night at the pub, is it?"

  "Something like that. That's why I can't return your mat just yet. But I promise I will just as soon as he gets up."

  "That'll be fine, love. Just so's I get it before tonight. Me son is coming in from Cork for the weekend. It's a bleeding shame, is it not, that my pension is so wee, I cannot afford a proper bed for me own son."

  Laura could feel Sullivan's hostile gaze boring into her back. "Yes, I know what you mean."

  "It's the politicians, you know. All of 'em, crooks, they are. Don't care a whit for the wee people…"

  "Frannie," Laura said gently. "I really can't talk now. I have porridge boiling on the stove. I'll bring the mat over to you later, okay?"

  "Lovely, just lovely. And perhaps you can stay for a wee cup of tea. You promised to tell me all about that book you're writing, did you not? We'll have a lovely chat, we will."

  Laura was finally able to close the door. Sullivan's dark eyes glittered at her. "If you think we're letting you out of this flat, you're bleedin' daft."

  Laura stared back at him steadily. "If I don't show up with her mat, she'll be back."

  "Declan can take it over to her when he gets back." Sullivan gave an obscene snicker. "After all, he's your cousin, isn't he, now?"

  Sullivan's lewd snicker followed Laura as she entered the bedroom with the porridge. Harry was still sleeping, his plump cheek cradled against his chubby hand. Laura placed the tray on the bedside table and moved to the drawer where she'd hidden the note inside her cosmetic bag. Unfolding it, she added a postscript.

  Frannie-please don't come to our door again. There are some very desperate men inside. Just call the Garda and tell them the situation.

  In her toiletry bag, she found her fingernail file. Kneeling in front of the sleeping mat, she searched for the tiny rip in the nylon she'd noticed earlier. With the file, she made it big enough to slip the note inside, leaving a tiny edge of it visible. If Declan or Sullivan found it first, she was done for. Still, she had to take the chance. Besides, once the mat was folded up, the rip would be on the inside. With any luck, neither man would think of unfolding it.

  By the time Declan returned to the flat, the mat was folded up and ready to go.

  Chapter Six

  The rest of the day and into the night, Laura's nerves screamed with tension. Every moment, she expected to see the quiet street outside explode into action-flashing lights, bullhorns, professional snipers on the opposite roof. But nothing happened.

  Declan, too, seemed more on edge than usual. He paced the flat, a preoccupied scowl on his handsome face. Liam Clancy had been sent out earlier to pick up a pizza, but still hadn't returned. Laura knew Declan and Sullivan suspected him of stopping off in the pub for a pint or two, and were not at all happy about it. Just before ten o'clock, there was a knock at the door. Laura's heart skipped a beat. Declan strode to the door and opened it, expecting Liam with the pizza. But it was Cian who stepped inside, his angular face more morose than usual. He stared from Declan to Sullivan. "It's a no-go. The Brits refuse to deal."

  "Jaysus Christ!" Sullivan exploded, the veins bulging in his scrawny neck. "The bloody English still think we're bluffing! Cian, we have to do something to make them realize who they're dealing with."

  An icy dread came over Laura as she watched Cian stare pensively into space. He shrugged, glancing at Declan. "Sully is right. We have to send them a clear message that we're serious."

  Declan's face was impassive. "It turns my stomach, Slughan. A child is a child. Even if he is Brit royalty."

  Laura almost wilted in relief. Declan wasn't going to let them get at the child.

  But Cian didn't look convinced. He turned to her. "What's the lad doing?"

  "He's sleeping. But you're not going to touch him." She turned to Declan, her eyes frantic. "Declan, you're not going to let them hurt that boy."

  "Shut the woman up, Declan," Sullivan snarled. "If you don't, I will."

  "You shut up!" Declan hurled back. "Leave her to me, Sullivan. She's nothing to do with you."

  "She's everything to do with me if she gets in the way of our plans!"

  Cian's cold brown eyes skewered Laura, then moved to Declan. "Sully is right, Fagan. We can't let this American woman interfere."

  "She won't." Declan turned back to Laura. "You have to trust me on this, love. Remember what I said the other day." His eyes were gentle as he spoke, but then he glanced at Cian, and they hardened. "I don't want to have to resort to violence, but we have to find a way to let them know we're serious."

  Sullivan had been pacing nervously in front of the window, a cigarette clenched between his cruel lips. At Declan's words, his face lit up. "Sure, now you're talking sense, man." He gave a short snicker. "I'll be happy to offer my services. What shall it be? An ear, a finger? How about a radical circumcision?"

  Laura felt the blood drain from her face. And suddenly, she was blinded by rage. "You bastard!" she hissed. "You're not going to touch that boy! You'll have to kill me first!"

  Sullivan grinned. "Indeed, that would be a pleasure." His eyes glittered with blood lust.

  Suddenly the window behind Sullivan blew inward, spraying glas
s in all directions as machine gun fire shattered the quiet outside. Splotches of red blossomed on Sullivan's shirtfront. The smile of malevolence on his face froze and became his death mask as he slumped to the floor.

  At the sound of the automatic fire, Declan's instinct took over. He dived toward Laura, forcing her down onto the floor. A few feet away, Cian also flattened himself onto the carpet. He drew a gun from a shoulder harness and crawled toward the bedroom.

  "Fuck," Declan muttered, as Cian disappeared into the bedroom. "Stay down!" he ordered Laura, and drawing his own gun, he crawled after Slughan.

  Still in shock at the sight of Sullivan's bullet-riddled body, Laura huddled on the floor, praying her life wouldn't end here by a British bullet. It was quiet outside now, almost as if the moment before had been a ghastly hallucination. Reaction set in and Laura began to tremble. Her heart hammered like a piston engine gone amok. Was this it? Was her life going to end in this shabby Dublin flat because she'd become obsessed with the romantic illusion of a rebel, a freedom-fighter who'd turned out to be nothing more than a thug?

  From outside, a voice speaking through a bullhorn broke the stillness. "This is Colonel Basel M. Bradbury of Her Majesty's Special Air Service. We've got your lad, Clancy, out here. We know you're in there, Cian Slughan. Release the prince and give yourself up. Otherwise, you'll end up like your mate there."

  From the sitting room, Laura heard Cian's shouted response. "You've just issued the prince's death sentence, Bradbury. You and your murderous lot!"

  Laura felt as if an icy hand had clenched upon her heart. Oh, God, he wouldn't…Declan wouldn't let him. What was he doing in there, anyway? Her heart began to hammer. What if Declan didn't stop Slughan from killing the boy? Oh, God. Maybe it was up to her. Her eyes fastened upon Sullivan's lifeless body, his automatic still encased in the holster strapped onto his shoulder.

  The British voice from outside shouted again. "Don't do anything daft, Slughan. If it ends now, you'll go to Portlaoise and spend the next twenty years of your life there. If you kill the lad, you'll be extradited to Northern Ireland. And I guarantee you, the H-Blocks won't be anything like prison here in the South."

  What was Declan doing? Why was he being so quiet?

  Laura crawled to Sullivan's body. With trembling fingers, she loosened the gun from the holster. It was heavier than she'd expected. She had no idea if she would be able to fire it. And even if she were familiar with guns, would she be able to use it on Declan if she had to stop him from hurting the boy? A man she'd made love with, one who, God help her, she still couldn't make herself hate.

  She only knew she had to stop them from hurting Harry.

  There had been no response from Cian after the colonel's latest command. Laura crawled toward the bedroom, the gun in her right hand. Although the room was dark, the light from the street lamp cast its soft glow on Harry's pale terrified face. At first, she couldn't see Declan or Cian, then her eyes adjusted. Cian was kneeling at the side of the bed, his gun trained on the boy's temple. Even from a few feet away, she could see his hands shaking. The prince's eyes were wild with fear as they stared at the man holding the gun.

  Declan was standing a few feet away from them, his own gun drawn. "Don't do it, Cian," he spoke in a near-whisper. "What possible good could it do to kill him? You saw what they did to Sullivan. If you kill Harry, we're as good as dead, too."

  Cian turned his head slowly to stare at Declan. "If I'm going to prison, I'm going to make sure this little bugger never sees another sunrise." His finger tightened on the trigger, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut, cringing.

  "No, Cian!" Laura screamed, aiming Sullivan's gun at him with shaking hands. "I'll kill you, I swear I will."

  He turned to her, stunned. His eyes narrowed on her gun. Her hands shook as she tried to hold the weapon level.

  "Christ, Laura…" Declan breathed, his voice brittle with tension. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Laura glanced at him, and her stomach dipped at his bloodless face. "I'm not going to let him hurt Harry," she said tightly.

  Her moment of inattention was all Cian needed. Like a snake striking out, he lunged at her and struck the gun from her hands. It went skittering over the wooden floor. Cian grinned and backhanded her. She sprawled to the floor, hot fire lancing her cheek.

  "You bitch. I've been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you," Cian snarled, his mad eyes blazing down at her. "Now, you're going to watch while this brat gets his brains splattered all over the wall."

  "Drop your weapon, Slughan, or you're going to be the one with your brains splattered," Declan's voice was deadly cold.

  Her cheek still stinging from Cian's vicious slap, Laura stared up at Declan. His face looked like carved stone as he stared at Cian, his gun drawn and pointed at the IRA man's head. Cian stared back, shaking his head like a stunned boxer recovering from a blow.

  "What is this, Fagan?" he finally growled. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm turning your sorry ass over to the SAS. They've wanted to get you for years. Today's the day." He chambered a round, and gave him a grim smile. "Drop the gun, Slughan."

  Cian looked as if he was still trying to reconcile himself with Declan's new role. His dark eyes were puzzled, amazed. "Dec! What the fuck is going on here? You're working for the Brits?"

  Declan took a step closer, his gun steady. "The SAS. I was recruited several years ago."

  Laura's mouth dropped open. The SAS! The Special Air Services-an elite group of guerrilla-trained soldiers specializing in anti-terrorist activities. Declan was a member of the SAS? But he'd been so fervent about his Republican politics. His passion for a united Ireland. Had that all been a front?

  "I can tell you the exact day, Slughan," Declan said in a conversational tone. "The day I lost my faith in the IRA. It's imprinted in my mind. Remember that operation in Derry back in '88? You remember. You were in charge of it. The bomb that blew up a department store, and killed a half dozen people. All civilians. One of them was my wife. She worked there. And you knew she'd be there that day, but you didn't bother to tell me. You didn't let me get her out. I was a hard man, then. As bad as you. I looked at civilian deaths as collateral damage. Sad, but necessary. But that day when my wife died, I found myself in the position of many others who'd been there. A victim of the IRA. It took that to make me realize that I couldn't do it anymore. But that wasn't enough.

  I had to find a way to pay my penance for all the years I was as bloodthirsty as you." He gave a shrug. "So, I volunteered my services to the SAS. First, though, I had to serve a prison term to pay for my crimes. The escape was planned." He gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, they let me escape, but they wanted it to look real, so they gave me a wee souvenir to take with me." He nudged his chin toward his healed wound. "All I had to do to walk away a free man was to bring you to justice. It was supposed to happen next week when you travel to Galway to pick up that shipment of arms from America. I don't know why they're out there now. That wasn't part of the plan, but it's over, anyway. They've got enough on you to put you away for the rest of your miserable life."

  As Declan spoke, Cian's face reddened with fury. "You fucking son-of-a-bitch."

  "Leave my mum out of this. Now, drop your fucking weapon!"

  Hesitation flickered in Cian's eyes. Declan took a step closer. "Do it, Cian. I swear, I'd dearly love to put a bullet between your eyes. For Fiona."

  Cian slowly lowered his weapon to the floor.

  "Now, kick it over to me."

  Cian did so, his expression sullen. Feeling the tension ebb in the room, Prince Harry, who'd been frozen with fear, started to sob. Laura reacted instinctively, scrambling off the floor and heading for the bed to comfort him.

  "Ouch!"

  Cian had grabbed her by the hair, slamming her body up against his. She struggled wildly until she felt the cold steel at her throat. She heard Cian laugh. "Looks like the tables are turned now, huh, Declan? I've got your woman. And I'll sli
t her throat so fast, you'll be covered in her spraying blood."

  Laura's heart pounded. She could smell Cian's rancid breath. He'd had something with onions recently. She could also smell the acrid sourness of her own fear. Eyes wide, she stared at Declan a few feet away. His expression was stony, but his eyes revealed his turmoil. He was afraid for her. Cian moved the knife closer to her throat, and her pulse jumped as its edge nicked her skin. She felt nothing at first, just a warm wetness trailing down her neck. Then finally, the burn of pain. Oh, God. He was going to kill her.

  She could feel the evil smile in his voice. "See that, Dec? You thought she was a blue-blooded American, didn't you? A fancy-pancy author from New York City. But she bleeds red just like we do. Now…drop your weapon, Dec, and let's talk about how you're gonna get me out of here."

  Laura stared at Declan, wondering if his face was the last thing she'd ever see. He stood stiffly, the gun still aimed at Cian in a standoff. A strange calm had come over her. Is this what happens when you're about to die? Do you just accept it? Memories of the last few months swept over her. Of her in Declan's arms, discovering love for the first time. She didn't regret it. Not a moment of it.

  "I love you, Declan," she said.

  Cian snickered. "Aw, ain't that sweet? She loves ya, Dec. Now, drop your fuckin' weapon."

  Laura saw the frost creep into Declan's eyes. And the muscle flexing in his jaw. "Let her go, Cian. And then we'll discuss getting you out of here."

  Cian gave a bitter laugh. "What do you take me for? A bloody fool? Drop your weapon, and I'll let the girl go."

  Declan shrugged. "Have it your way." He lowered his gun.

  Cian eased the pressure on the knife just a bit. It was enough. Declan's weapon rose, and a sharp crack split the air. Laura felt hot liquid splatter across her face, as Cian's grip on her loosened. She screamed and lurched away from him, tripping on her feet and falling to the floor. The smell of cordite hung in the air.