Undercover

by Gerard Brennan

  He felt a presence by his side.

  "What now, Cormac?"

  Mattie had slipped out of the Leon and followed him, quiet as a dormouse.

  "Fuck's sake, kid. You should have stayed in the car. Your da needs you."

  "He's got Donna. I should help you."

  "Just stay close to me, all right?"

  Cormac tested the van's door handle.

  "Are we going to nick it?"

  Cormac took more than a little satisfaction from bashing in the driver side window with the butt of his Glock. The shattered glass that fell onto the seat was easily removed. Cormac yanked the cover off and dumped it on the ground.

  "Can you hotwire this?" Mattie asked.

  "Nope. Not without a laptop. We're going to have to push it."

  "What's the point in that?"

  "No time, mate. Just put your back into it."

  Cormac reached into the cab and flicked a switch that set the orange hazard lights spinning in their little Perspex bubbles. He released the handbrake and shoved the van into the lanes of traffic behind it. Mattie helped, though most of his energy seemed to have been channelled into a giggling fit.

  "This is crazy," the kid said.

  Cormac peered along the side of the Ford Transit. Cars at the head of the two farthest lanes had stopped to let the van out. A man in a Honda Accord pretended he couldn't see the oncoming maintenance vehicle and continued on his merry way. He lost his rear fender.

  "We hit one!" Mattie's voice squeaked in euphoric enthusiasm.

  "It's not like he couldn't have seen it coming. Some people deserve a good prang."

  The van lost its momentum but managed to create an obstruction across an essential lane-and-a-half of the roundabout. He'd laid the seeds of chaos. Horns started to blare and drivers rolled down their windows to yell abuse at nobody in particular. Cormac and Mattie stood close to the van. They wouldn't be the first thing Frank saw when he eventually got close to the roundabout and from Cormac's vantage point he'd be able to get the drop on the ugly big bastard. He was back to playing the feline role in the cat and mouse game.

  Cormac was pretty satisfied with his ad hoc strategy. Then he heard the first of the police sirens. Their blue flashing lights were visible on the horizon. They were barely minutes away. He couldn't wait. Made a snap decision to break cover and go at Frank from the higher ground. He could only hope that he'd created enough distractions to give him a fighting chance in a head-to-head.

  But before he could tell Mattie to stay put, Big Frank's square head came into view. His movements were slow and less clumsy than usual but he walked with no regard for cover. Cormac already had a clear kill shot but he held back on it. The moron was no good to him dead. Big Frank edged closer and then Shane bumbled into the frame. From the cover of the highway maintenance van, Cormac traced their movements down the sight of his Glock, alternating his aim from one to the other. When they got to the opposite edge of the road the van blocked, their self-preservation sense should have been on full alert. But still they shambled about, determined to find their man.

  Cormac put a bullet in Shane's left shoulder. The hapless thug crumpled.

  Big Frank held his arms out just above waist height and moved away from his fallen partner as if he was treading thin ice. Cormac took aim, held his breath and fired. The bullet tore through Big Frank's calf muscle. He toppled like a felled tree.

  Cormac stepped out from behind the van. "Toss your gun, Toner."

  The automatic pistol skated along the road surface. Big Frank knew the score now.

  "You are a cop, then." Big Frank's voice was strained but not quite angry.

  Cormac didn't confirm. He motioned for Mattie to stay behind the van and crossed the three lanes. Then he stood over Frank; aimed his Glock at the big square.

  "I didn't believe it at first, but you must be," Frank said. "I'd be dead by now if you weren't."

  The sirens encroached. The uniforms would be on top of them in half a minute.

  "We've no time at all here, Toner. Can you walk?"

  "Hobble, maybe."

  "It'll have to do. Get up."

  "And if I don't?"

  "You can take your chances with the boys in green."

  Big Frank struggled to his feet. It was like watching a mountain form. He pointed at Shane. "Are we taking him with us?"

  "Will he talk?"

  "Course not."

  Shane had bled like a stuck pig and was close to passing out. But with the right attention he'd live. "Leave him, then. They'll take him to the hospital."

  "And where are you going to take me?"

  "Out of here for a start." Cormac pointed towards the silver Leon. "You'll be riding in the boot. Might be a tight squeeze but I can't trust you to play nice with the other passengers."

  The cops were a stone's throw away but were impeded by the traffic chaos Cormac had created with the Highway Maintenance van and they would only meet more obstacles when they got to Broadway Roundabout. He'd get his ragtag crew to the hospital even if he had to ram his way through every car in the way.

  It was just a matter of time before all the shit caught up with Cormac, though. That was the way of it. And by then, how much more would he have to answer for?

  Chapter 14

  Pop stars are always going to come off better in the red tops and the glossy housewife magazines when things turn to shit. Get yourself a nice glamour model.

  Rory Cullen, CULLEN: The Autobiography

  How do you topple a mountain?

  "Don't you love your family, Frank?"

  Cormac studied Big Frank's craggy features. He just needed a small shift. Anything. But the square-headed goon had reverted to the old school interrogation technique. Pick a spot on the wall and say nothing.

  "Because you're losing a lot of blood, mate. It'd be a shame for you to bleed out so close to the Royal."

  Nothing but a fixed scowl.

  After leaving the chaos of Broadway Roundabout, Donna had volunteered to go on to the hospital with John Gallagher. She'd explained that it'd be easier to get John seen to quietly if Cormac, Mattie and Big Frank weren't with them. That suited Cormac. He wanted some time with Big Frank, and though Mattie probably shouldn't be a witness to what Cormac planned, he didn't want to argue against Donna's logic. He was lucky enough that she'd taken on responsibility for John.

  They'd found a prefab hut at a small building site on the perimeter of the hospital grounds. Cormac had used a length of sewer rod from the site to force open the rusted cage in front of the door. Two brisk kicks at the flimsy deadbolt and they were in. Cormac swept unwashed teacups and dog-eared copies of The Sun and The Daily Star off a canteen table and set up a makeshift interrogation room. Mattie kept watch through a dust-smeared window for unwanted attention and Cormac and Big Frank took their places at opposite sides of the table. Cormac's gun sat where the recording equipment should have been. Big Frank's wrists were crossed behind the back of his chair, trussed up with cable-ties. It was a human rights barrister's wet dream.

  In such an unofficial and illegal situation, Cormac couldn't help but think back to the RUC days. Too many lifers he'd encountered during his career in the PSNI harked back to their Special Branch heyday with a fond twinkle in their eyes. Usually after the fourth or fifth drink at the Christmas bash. Festive nostalgia.

  Whatever Frank could tell him, Cormac didn't have the time for sleep and food deprivation. And he certainly didn't have the psychotic inclinations for stress-positioning or the infamous waterboarding technique. With a damp cloth and a bucket of water he could effectively threaten to drown Big Frank in a tried and tested practice handed down from the British Army to the RUC in the late sixties. Big Frank was already cable-tied to his chair. If Mattie held the damp cloth over the captive brute's mouth and nose, Cormac could pour a steady stream of water over his face for a minute at a time. It'd soften the bastard up all right, but even thinking about it brought Cormac dangerously close to his sadistic pr
edecessors' murky level.

  Surely there's moral leeway when you know the fucker's bad to the bone.

  "Frank. Who told you where to find me?"

  Nothing.

  "If you tell me, I'll let you go and have that leg seen to. But if you don't cooperate, well, I might aim for the knee next. Maybe put a couple in your thigh after that. Then your hip. It'd only take a few well-placed shots to book you a spot on a wheelchair for the rest of your life. But who am I telling, eh, Frank? A man with your experience. I heard that you were a real punishment aficionado before they kicked you out of the Provos in '88. How many teenagers did you cripple for life with your bats, hammers and guns? Do you remember how they screamed? Called for their mummies? All those joyriders and drug dealers taught a lesson at your hands. Imagine the happiness in their hearts if they could see you trundle along the Falls Road on your own set of wheels."

  Cormac stood up and placed his palms on the tabletop. Leaned forward and tilted his head back so he could look down his nose at Big Frank. Allowed his right hand to inch ever-so-obviously towards the gun.

  "Come on, Frank. Save us both a bit of time. I just want to get this kid back to his mother. But I can't call in for help until I know who I can trust, or more importantly, who I can't."

  Big Frank's gaze never faltered from the damp-stained wall.

  Cormac thought about bartering for the info. He could have offered Big Frank an opportunity to disappear if he agreed to play ball. Told him he could go and take his family on the run, with a guarantee that he wouldn't be pursued. But Cormac didn't want to throw that down too soon. Big Frank might perceive it as a position of weakness on Cormac's part.

  "Shoot him, Cormac."

  Mattie's voice was low, not much more than a whisper, but it cut through the hanging silence like a chainsaw. The kid wanted nothing but pain for this man who had kidnapped and humiliated him. And Cormac couldn't blame him. But he had to play this clever. Shooting Big Frank while he was armed was one thing, and totally justified in Cormac's mind, but to start pumping lead into him to extract information... It was another line in the sand. Cormac already had blood on his hands. Fat Paddy and aul' Paul, both dead. Sporty Shane injured. And he'd answer for each one of them at some point, with a hand on his heart that none of the three incidents could have been avoided. But there was no way to justify emptying a clip into a man tied to a chair; neither to his seniors nor himself. There'd always be payback in those small hours when the sins of his past visited his half-sleep dreams.

  "Go on, Cormac. Shoot him."

  Cormac reached for the gun. Hefted its serious weight. Big Frank broke off from his staring match with the wall to glance at the Glock. Mattie's heartfelt urgings for blood had brought with them a new atmosphere in the prefab hut. Cormac drew out the theatre of the moment. Snapped back the slide to chamber a round.

  Then Mattie kicked off.

  The kid darted from his post at the window and scooped one of the dirty mugs from the floor with his good hand. Before Cormac could react, Mattie smashed the mug into Big Frank's cheekbone. The mug shattered and rained bloody fragments onto the floor. Big Frank growled and bucked in his seat. Mattie dropped the mug handle and curled his fist. He walloped Big Frank's forehead with a hammer-blow. Cormac put his gun back on the table and went to Mattie. He wrapped his arms around the kid's waist before he could swing another punch. Hauled him backwards. Mattie's feet kicked out with the indignant strength of a beaten mule. He connected with Big Frank's chest and toppled him over. Cormac was driven backwards by the recoil force. He dropped Mattie in his struggle to maintain balance. The kid darted back towards his target.

  "Mattie, stop!"

  Mattie leapt into the air and landed both Converse-clad feet on the side of Big Frank's head. A sharp crack echoed. Mattie fell backwards. Cormac held his breath. The kid had broken the fucker's neck. Jesus Christ.

  Then Big Frank groaned and rolled onto his back. It wasn't his neck that had snapped. The wooden chair he'd been tied to had given way in the ruckus.

  Mattie pushed himself up off his backside and onto his feet. He was about to go for another double stomp. Cormac grabbed the kid again. He bucked like a live wire as Cormac hauled him backwards.

  "Fuck's sake, Mattie. You're going to kill him."

  "You think I don't want to?"

  "Not if you want to find out where your mother is. Think straight, kid."

  Mattie's taut frame softened a little. Cormac loosened his grip and lowered the bloodthirsty thirteen-year-old to his feet. Stood on full alert for a few seconds in case the kid attempted a second volley. Big Frank coughed and moaned.

  "You all right, Frank?" Cormac asked.

  He snuffled and spat. "Fuck yourself."

  At least he was talking. Maybe Mattie had done some good. Cormac retrieved his gun from the table and edged towards the beaten lump. He was conscious that Big Frank had a greater range of movement now that the chair he'd been tied to was in bits. Knowing the bastard's form, an attack wasn't just likely, it was imminent.

  "Sorry about that, Frank. Teenagers today, eh? They're bloody ruthless."

  "I'll kill you both."

  Big Frank spat again and from his new vantage point, Cormac could see that there was a lot of blood in his gob. Wee Mattie had done some job on him.

  "Look, mate. I'm sure you're in a lot of discomfort now, so I understand you getting a bit cranky. I think you could cut the kid a bit of slack, though. You did take him hostage, like. And his da took a bullet over the whole mess."

  Big Frank choked up a guttural sound that might have been a chuckle. "Game wee fucker, isn't he? Punch like that, you can tell he's half Irish."

  Is this progress?

  "Come on, Frank. Tell us who gave me up. It's gone beyond a choice now. You're in bad shape."

  Big Frank closed his eyes and nodded. Cormac allowed his shoulders to sag. The finish line was in sight. Get rid of Big Frank, contact the mother, hole up somewhere and sleep.

  Big Frank's body jerked like a sidewinder snake. Cormac skipped backwards a second too late. Big Frank rolled into his shins and rocked his balance. He felt the pull of gravity but rather than resist, he tried to use it to his advantage. Cormac bent one leg and dropped his knee into Big Frank's ribcage. The pressure of the blow pounded through flesh and muscle. A whistling whine blasted through clenched teeth. Ribs cracked. Cormac tucked his head in, led with his uninjured shoulder blade and tumbled off the big lump. He rocked forward onto one knee and twisted to point his gun at Big Frank.

  It had been a last ditch effort. As much about satisfying pride than entertaining any sort of hope of escape. Wincing shallow breaths, Big Frank was spent.

  "You're a stupid bastard, Frank."

  "Nearly got you, Kelly."

  In your fucking dreams, mate. "Aye. Close one. Can we get on with this now?"

  "What's in it for me?"

  "For a start, I'll not give the kid five minutes alone with you. God knows what I'd come back to."

  Mattie folded his arms and looked away from Cormac's conspiratorial wink.

  "Give me something real, Kelly. This fuck up of a job has cost me any chance of earning in the future. And I'll probably end up dead. I need to look after my own."

  "All I can offer you is a head start. Cooperate now and I'll not put forward any information about where I last saw you or what shape you're in. You'll have time to get patched up under a false name and go to wherever your family is."

  "You'll not put forward information to who? Your colleagues at the station?"

  Cormac tucked his gun into the shoulder holster. "Ambrose O'Neill. No doubt I'll see him before you do. And that's who you'll need protection from the most."

  Big Frank used a section of the broken chair to help himself stand. He wobbled on his feet like a mutant toddler. "Fuck it, then. I'm tired. Let's get this over with."

  ###

  Lydia had a glass of water in one hand, a packet of aspirin in the other and a tonne of gui
lt tied to her heart. She took the stairs one by one, edging slowly to Rory's bedroom like a child dragging their feet on the way to the principal's office. It'd been fifteen minutes since she tased him and although his sporadic jolts and jerks seemed to have subsided, he still hadn't said a word to her. She hoped the water and painkillers would make a decent icebreaker, though she'd little idea if they'd make him feel any better. What did you give a man you'd just electrocuted? It was hardly a Hallmark moment.

  She stepped into the room and Rory was on his feet. He sneered at her. Lydia held out her offerings. His hand whipped out and lashed the water out of her hand. It tumbled in the air and sprayed its contents like sparks from a Catherine wheel. The empty glass landed on the carpet with a thud. It lay on its side and the remaining contents sloshed out.

  "Jesus, Rory."

  She bent to retrieve the glass.

  "Leave it."

  Rory was puffed up, his stance riddled with trademark aggression that he usually reserved for the pitch. Lydia was acutely aware of his speed and strength. And killer instinct? He'd been blooded at Chelsea FC for Christ's sake. In a heartbeat he could go through her like a diamond-tipped drill bit.

  "You knew they were coming."

  "Rory, I—"

  "That's the only reason you decided to go to the shop, right? To let them in. You were making a fucking mug out of me."

  "You've no idea what's happening here, Rory."

  "Why don't you explain it to me, then? Explain why my agent, a woman who makes a tidy sum from protecting my interests, knew that my house was about to be robbed. And while you're at it, explain why she thought it would be better to get me out of the way rather than warn me or call the cops."

  "I can't."

  "You fucking can and you fucking will, do you hear me?"

  Lydia flinched as the tail end of Rory's sentence jumped to an ear-splitting volume. He moved towards her and she backed out of the room. Her stomach cramped and she bent slightly at the waist. She raised her hands to protect her head from a possible assault. A tear rolled off the end of her nose.

  "Please, Rory..."

  "This another act, Lydia? I'd no idea you'd such a talent for it. You must have missed your calling."