The Wild Heart

by Menon, David

The centre was ringed with police. Mark had been standing in the crowds outside but there were more inside the centre, presumably they were the ones who were really ‘well in’ with the management. He didn’t like elitism. He didn’t like the idea of favoured sons and daughters but he knew they existed in every organisation and every sort of club.

  ‘ He’s going to get quite a welcome’ said Mark as he sat in Alice’s car.

  ‘ Probably better than he gets at home at the moment’ said Alice ‘ He’s been accused of taking bribes and there’s a political scandal brewing around it’.

  The Irish prime minister was making a visit to Irish communities in various British cities. Today it was the turn of Manchester and they knew that Derek Campbell was planning to use the visit to try and assassinate him. It was the central part of Angela Patterson and Peter Irvine’s plan to wreck the Good Friday agreement, smash through the consensus that had led to the devolved assembly at Stormont, and lure the IRA back into the armed struggle.

  ‘ How long will he be here?’ Mark asked, sitting in the passenger seat of Alice’s car. The inside of it was so plain, neat, and tidy. Didn’t she ever have a coffee that came in one of those plastic cups that she forgot to throw away? Obviously not judging by what he could, or couldn’t, see around him.

  ‘ About an hour. He’s going to have lunch here and then go down to Old Trafford for United’s opening season match against Sunderland. Apparently he’s a huge Man U fan’.

  ‘ You say Freddie Burnside has been found dead’ said Mark.

  ‘ Yes. Derek Campbell is on his own now’.

  ‘ Where did they find Freddie Burnside?’

  ‘ At a house in Oldham belonging to a Tyrone Bradley who’s been involved in it all right from the start although his idea of killing means getting rid of Asians, his own form of ethnic cleansing. When white men started killing each other in his own living room it made him wet his pants so he turned himself in to us’.

  ‘ Tyrone Bradley is a racist scumbag’ said Mark ‘ I hope they put him in a cell with the most nasty, most vicious Asian they can find and I hope he gets the fucking crap kicked out of him’.

  ‘ You don’t like him then’.

  ‘ I’ve no time for racists, Alice, especially ones who are involved in the torching of businesses where there might be children sleeping upstairs. They’re scum as far as I’m concerned’.

  ‘ So where do you draw your moral line?’

  ‘ What do you mean?’

  ‘ Well you’re living with somebody who’s killed, mostly on behalf of the state but initially as part of a terrorist gang. You excuse all of that because he’s your lover?’

  ‘ Excuse is the wrong word’ said Mark, feeling as if she was trying to trap him but certain of his determination to avoid it. ‘ I accept it as having been necessary’.

  ‘ Interesting. You took a lot on with Ian’.

  ‘ I’ve never been afraid of taking a risk’ said Mark ‘ I’ve never been the sort of person who needs to have every t crossed and every i dotted before I can make any kind of move. Flying by the seat of your pants is much more interesting’.

  ‘ But that takes a lot of confidence’.

  ‘ I suppose it does’.

  ‘ You’re not afraid of anything are you’.

  Mark shrugged his shoulders. ‘ Don’t suppose I am really, no’.

  ‘ The experience of losing your parents must’ve been what put the steel into your character’.

  ‘ You think I’ve got steel?’

  ‘ Well don’t you?’

  ‘ Are you trying to psycho analyse me?’

  ‘ No, just trying to understand you’.

  ‘ How did you get into all this?’

  ‘ I had a boyfriend who was in army intelligence. The more he talked about what he did the more it interested me’.

  ‘ Are you still with him?’

  Alice fixed him with those sharp eyes. ‘ You like to get personal, don’t you’.

  ‘ And you don’t?’

  ‘ Okay, point taken’.

  ‘ And you don’t have to answer’ said Mark. ‘ It’s your choice’.

  ‘ No, I’m not still with him. He married some twin set and pearls specimen called Lucinda or something stupid like that and they’ve got three kids and a detached in darkest Surrey now. He isn’t even in the army anymore. He left and started his own security firm. Doing rather well as far as I know’.

  ‘ And you still have feelings for him’.

  Alice looked affronted. ‘ No I don’t’

  ‘ Yes you do. I can tell by the way you’re talking and most certainly by the way you’re reacting. It’s funny how very macho men like him end up with very plain wives. I wonder why that is’.

  ‘ Search me’ said Alice. ‘ You’re very perceptive, Mark. And you keep a cool head’.

  ‘ Where is this leading exactly?’

  ‘ I think you should come and work for me’.

  ‘ Me? Work for you? You must be mad’.

  ‘ I’ve spoken to my bosses about you … ‘

  ‘ … you’ve done what?’

  ‘ The way you stood up to me in the flat and your willingness to get your hands dirty makes you a natural. You can blend into local communities and gather the information we need to protect people’.

  Mark leaned his head back and smiled. ‘ Are you on a bonus or something for identifying new recruits?’

  Alice laughed. ‘ No. This is the civil service don’t forget’.

  ‘ But Alice, I’m not cut out for all that stuff that you do’.

  ‘ Well I think you are. And I think there’s a part of you that agrees with me and that’s why you’re saying all the things to try and convince yourself out of it. You hate it at the bank. It doesn’t come anywhere near to stimulating you. You need to be out there doing things that challenge you and make you feel like you’re doing something worthwhile’.

  Mark did hate it at the bank but to join the security services? He really didn’t know about that and besides, he didn’t think that Ian would go for him joining up given that he was so desperate to get out of the service himself. He did need a drastic change of direction in life though. There’s got to be something else out there.

  ‘ Sometimes I don’t think that people deserve protecting’ said Mark ‘ Some of the folks I work with are so selfish, all take and no give, so narrow-minded. I don’t feel inclined to protect them at all’.

  ‘ That’s the trouble’ said Alice ‘ We can’t pick and choose. In my line of work we look after the whole of society, warts and all’.

  ‘ Except for the likes of Conor Naughton’.

  ‘ Well we’ve got other ways of dealing with him’ said Alice ‘ His former republican comrades think that he was got at by someone working for Angela Patterson and Peter Irvine. It’s called managing the news. We’ve become very good at it’.

  Mark didn’t have a chance to respond before their attention was taken by the approaching motorcade. There were two police officers riding side by side on motorbikes in front of a police van with police marksmen who had every direction covered. The Jaguar carrying the VIP was behind them and behind that were two more officers on motorbikes.

  ‘ Where’s Ian?’ said Mark.

  ‘ I can’t tell you that’ said Alice.

  Mark had seen the Irish prime minister on television many times giving press conferences. He was now a figure in the near distance, someone who got out of the car looking like he was used to cameras and attention with the way he ignored it all and made straight for the waiting group of Mancunians who were still Irish in their hearts.

  He flashed a truly Celtic smile and then the shot rang out.

  Peter Irvine gazed out of the window as the Airbus 320 began its descent into Belfast City Airport. He’d deliberately stayed behind in London so that no-one could accuse him of having directed operations from his Belfast power base. The truth was that he didn’t have to be in Belfast to be able to make things happen.
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br />   He stepped off the plane and down the covered jetty taking him into the terminal. He only made a fuss of the air crew if he needed to swing public opinion about some particular issue and this wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise he took the approach of assuming that they would think he had such serious things on his mind that prevented him from saying ‘thank you’ when the flight attendant gave him a cup of coffee.

  When he got to baggage reclaim he had to speak to the usual number of wellwishers who wanted to let him know that he was ‘doing a grand job’ and that ‘republicans were cleaning up and should be stopped’.

  Peter picked his suitcase off the carousel and placed it onto a trolley. He followed the exit signs into the terminal arrivals hall and was immediately aware of all the sets of eyes that were upon him. He just wasn’t aware of the pair of eyes that were going to lead to his violent death.

  His driver Cecil was waiting and took control of the trolley as they walked through the terminal and out into the car park. Waiting in the car for him was Angela Patterson.

  ‘ Is the job done?’ asked Peter.

  ‘ It should be by now’ Angela replied. ‘ That’s if our friend hasn’t fucked things up again’.

  ‘ What are we going to do about him?’

  ‘ That’s what we need to talk about’.

  Peter looked at his watch. It was just after one o’clock. With any luck he’d soon be hitting the airwaves to claim that the slaying of the Irish prime minister in Manchester meant that the Good Friday agreement was over and done with and the superiority of the Unionist people must be asserted. He’d find a way to link the two things. He always did although this time he’d rehearsed what he was going to say time and again. He was ready for them.

  Peter was so used to the protection provided by the secret services that he didn’t notice them anymore. He took it for granted that they were there and if he couldn’t see them then he saw it as an indication that they were doing their job well. He wouldn’t know if they weren’t there for any reason.

  Just like he didn’t notice that the man who smiled absently at him and Angela through the window had a bag in his hand which he placed next to the car.

  ‘ In the name of the Irish republican army … ah well, you know the rest’.

  The man then walked briskly away and felt the blast behind him.

  Ian managed to fire a warning shot before Derek Campbell had been able to use his gun to create the biggest diplomatic crisis between Britain and Ireland for decades. The full weight of the diplomatic protection squad had now swept the Irish prime minister inside the community centre where they could keep him safe.

  Derek Campbell swung round and fired his gun at Ian who wasn’t quick enough and the bullet hit him in the shoulder. He cried out and fell back with the sudden onslaught of pain. He hit the wall of a row of garages that lined the street behind the centre and slumped down to the ground. The garages belonged to the three-storey block of sixties-built flats behind them. The sun shone down from an open blue sky. No sign of any clouds anywhere. No sign of any other intelligence operatives coming to his aid. He was on his own and he was in agony.

  He was almost convulsing with shock. The pain was shooting down the right hand side of his body making him shake with increasing violence. He placed his hand over the wound to try and stop the blood from pouring out but it wasn’t much use. His strength was quickly going from him and he was mightily pissed off with himself for being so stupid. He should’ve got out the way.

  ‘ Well, well, well Judas’ said Derek, pointing his gun at Ian. ‘We meet again after all this time. Did you like the little game we played with your mate Graham? He went up a treat don’t you think’.

  Ian tried to sit himself up but the pain was excruciating and he gasped. ‘ You’re finished now, Campbell. It’s all over. Why don’t you wake up to yourself?’

  ‘ There’s hope for me yet, Judas’ said Derek, looking down at his injured former comrade who was clearly struggling. ‘ But not for you. You’re the one who’s finished from where I’m standing’.

  ‘ You can’t even carry out Irvine’s orders’ said Ian, working hard with every breath. ‘ He won’t be happy with you after today’.

  ‘ I can handle Irvine’ said Derek.

  ‘ All you’ve had since you came out of prison is murder’.

  ‘ You’re a fine one to talk, Judas’.

  ‘ I kill to take evil men off the streets, Campbell. You kill for no other reason than the power it gives you’.

  ‘ And there’s a difference, Judas?’

  ‘ Oh don’t try philosophical, Campbell’ said Ian. He flinched and held his breath with the pain. It was ripping through him like fire.. ‘ It really doesn’t suit you’.

  ‘ You’ve not got much breath left, Judas. Don’t waste it on insulting me. It’s been a long time and I’m sure we’ve got other things to talk about’.

  ‘ Freddie Burnside?’

  Ian noticed a flicker of emotion on Campbell’s face that dented the swaggered self assurance he’d shown up until that point.

  ‘ Oh yes’ Ian sneered. ‘ That one must have hurt … ‘

  ‘ … shut it, Judas!’

  ‘ To think that he was by your side all that time and then let you down for five grand’ said Ian who’d been told all about Freddie by Alice as part of her briefing.

  Campbell knelt down and struck Ian across the face with his gun.

  ‘ You filthy rotten bastard!’ Derek bellowed. ‘ Well let me tell you this, Judas, I’m going to enjoy killing you but the kill I’m going to enjoy the most is that of your bitch daughter’.

  Ian gasped to control the effects of the pain. For a second he thought he was going to pass out but he managed to bring himself back. ‘ What the hell are you talking about?’

  Campbell laughed. ‘ Oh you mean they haven’t told you yet? Well let me be the one to give you the good news. Angela’s daughter Natalie is yours, Judas’.

  ‘ Angela Kerr?’

  ‘ Angela Patterson as she now is’ said Campbell ‘ She was pregnant by you when you staged your little disappearing act and it was Natalie who murdered my Shaun’. Campbell stood up and prepared his gun. He aimed it at Ian’s face. ‘ My life fell apart the day you betrayed me. I trusted you. I don’t care if they catch me. There’s nothing left for me now. My son is dead, my wife may as well be. I wasn’t around for either of them and whose fault is that, Judas? I’ll take great pleasure in spending the rest of my days with the look of your dead face etched on my mind. This is for what you did to me twenty years ago and for what your bastard kid did to my son’.

  ‘ Put your gun down now’.

  Mark’s hand was steady as he pointed Ian’s gun at Campbell. He’d picked it up that morning after Ian had been issued with a different one by MI5.

  ‘ Mark, for God’s sake, get yourself away from here!’ pleaded Ian with as much strength as he could find. This couldn’t be happening. It was all wrong. Mark shouldn’t be here. ‘ Run! Please, Mark! Run!’

  ‘ You shouldn’t be round here, sonny’ said Derek. He kept his gun aimed at Ian but looked at Mark. ‘ This is big boys’ games so run along now’.

  Ian was desperate for Mark to take himself out of there. He had his whole life ahead of him and as he tried to open his mouth he could feel himself slipping in and out. It couldn’t end like this but what could he do? He barely had enough strength left to speak.

  ‘ We’ve never met, Mr. Campbell but I’ve heard a lot about you and from what I can see now your reputation as a mindless thug is quite accurate’.

  Mark didn’t care about the consequences of what he was doing. Ian wasn’t going to die and Campbell wasn’t going to kill him. He’d prepared the gun just how Ian had showed him and it was ready.

  ‘ How fucking sweet is this, Judas?’ Campbell sneered ‘ Your bum boy coming to your rescue. Well say goodbye to your wee friend, Judas before he watches you die in front of him’.

  ‘ I won’t ask you aga
in’ said Mark. The world had stood still. He wasn’t aware of anything other than the three of them and the inevitability that at least one of them wouldn’t be coming out of it alive.

  ‘ And what are you going to do about it if I don’t?’ Derek sneered. ‘ You’re not going to kill me in cold blood. Not some snivelling little fag like you’.

  The first shot Mark fired went straight into the middle of Campbell’s chest. Campbell felt the strength being sucked out of his body and the blood seep into and out of his mouth. His eyes widened at who had shot him and why. Then he stumbled and his gun slipped out of his hand. The second shot finished him off. His body was thrown back and down onto the ground. His chest was a deep red mass of shattered bone and torn flesh. He was gone, no longer of this earth or this world but left to the mercy of the hereafter.

  Mark felt no regret. He turned to Ian and called for an ambulance on his mobile.

  ‘ Yeah … we’re at the back of the Irish community centre … ‘ he looked round for the street name ‘ … Broughton Street. There’s a row of garages. Hurry, it’s a gunshot wound to the shoulder. The casualty is 38 years old and fit but I don’t think he can last too long. He’s losing a lot of blood’.

  Mark threw his gun down and rushed over to Ian who by now was in desperate pain. Mark took his jacket off and rolled it up. He placed it over Ian’s wound and applied some pressure but the blood was seeping through the fabric. Where was that fucking ambulance? He needed it here now!

  ‘ Oh Mark, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry’.

  Mark put his arm round Ian and held him as tight as he could. All he could think of was getting him to hospital. It was all that mattered.

  ‘ What the hell are you sorry for, big man?’

  ‘ For all this … all this … filth. You just … ‘

  ‘ … he was going to kill you, Ian, and I couldn’t let that happen. Now the ambulance is on its way and you’ve got to keep talking to me’.

  ‘ Mark … ‘

  Mark could see Ian’s eyes begin to close. He hadn’t panicked at all when he was threatening Campbell with the gun and had no remorse about what he’d done. But watching the life slipping out of Ian was terrifying him.