Undercover

by Gerard Brennan

  "Are you stupid?" Canavan shook his big head in exasperation. "I recommended you to O'Neill. This is the first place he'll check when he comes looking for you."

  "He's not going to start a war with you."

  "Don't be so fucking sure. The man's a headcase."

  "The clock's ticking. What's the best way to do this?"

  "Well, not by driving a big fucking ambulance up to my door, that's for sure." Canavan rubbed at his chin; jiggled his jowls. "We'll go get them in my jeep and park up in the alley out back. There's no real lighting there so we'll get them into the house without drawing too much attention."

  "That's the spirit, big man." Cormac tucked the Glock away. "C'mon."

  ###

  The Lady Gaga ringtone shrieked for attention. Lydia wanted to throw her phone out the car window. Private number. It couldn't be good news.

  "Answer the damn thing," McGoldrick said.

  She thumbed the green button, held the mobile to her ear and closed her eyes.

  "Hello?"

  "I don't know how you did it, but you shouldn't have."

  The Belfast twang of the man she'd first encountered on the doorstep of a hired cottage on the outskirts of Belfast. His voice seemed thicker, maybe with emotion. She knew the voice, though his ski mask was the only visual memory she had of him. But maybe she'd learned one more thing about him.

  "Ambrose O'Neill?"

  A pause. "You've just murdered your family, bitch."

  The line went dead.

  Lydia felt cold. She'd murdered her family. No. That wasn't real. It was the bluster of a scared bully. The silence in the car oppressed. It was as if Rory and McGoldrick had stopped breathing lest they upset her. She looked out her window at Stephen Black who seemed to be finished with his phone call but was taking a private moment on the bench.

  Quiet time's up. She opened her door and sprang out of the car.

  Stephen Black turned at the sound of her heels on the paving slabs. He gave her a half-smile.

  "Just waiting on a call," he said when she was in reasonable earshot.

  "Give me the other phone."

  He tilted his head slightly then plucked the dead man's mobile from its resting place on his thin thigh. Lydia snatched it out of his hand. He had the good sense not to complain about her manners. She scrolled through the menu options to find a list of recent calls. Selected the second number on the list. It was picked up on the second ring.

  "Who's this?"

  The same Belfast twang. Ambrose O'Neill. A name to pin on her horror. "Lydia Gallagher."

  "Don't waste your breath begging. My people will track your husband and kid down again within the hour. And when I get back to Belfast I'll take my time killing them."

  A raging burst of dizziness mushroomed in Lydia's head. Track them down again?

  "You don't have my family..."

  "Like I said, Lydia Gallagher, it won't take long to get them back. Belfast's a small city and we know all the hiding places."

  Lydia was reeling in her mind but her deal-making instinct to remain cool kicked in. Keep him talking until you figure this out. She went Belfast. "Me and my people will track you down first, dickhead."

  "I underestimated you once, love. I won't make the same mistake twice."

  He hung up on her again. She almost smiled.

  Stephen Black watched her, his expression catlike in bemusement. "A new development?"

  "They don't have my family."

  "Did they escape or were they rescued?"

  "I'm not sure. If the police had them, they'd have been in touch, surely."

  "One would imagine."

  She clicked her fingers. "They must have escaped on their own." Pride blossomed in her chest. How did you manage that, John?

  "I should phone my husband." Lydia reached into her handbag for her phone then paused. "No. Wait. They might be hiding somewhere. What if his ringtone gives them away?"

  "Good thinking," Stephen Black said. "I'm sure they'll contact you when they can."

  She giggled then stopped herself. "Oh, God. It's not over yet, though. Those bastards are looking for them. What'll I do now?"

  "Go back to Belfast. Find them first."

  She was overwhelmed by obstacles. "By the time I get to the airport and book a plane... and which one should I go to? Would a ferry be faster? No, of course not. A plane... from Heathrow, maybe."

  "Need I remind you that there's a ridiculously wealthy man sat in the passenger seat of my car?"

  Lydia sprinted back to the Vauxhall Vectra. She yanked open the driver's door.

  "Your helicopter," she said to McGoldrick. "How fast can it get me to Belfast?"

  Chapter 20

  I should probably play for the Northern Ireland international team. It'd be a gesture, you know? Like religion doesn't matter any more. This is a squad Catholics and Protestants can support side by side. The problem is, I like winning.

  Rory Cullen, CULLEN: The Autobiography

  They laid John Gallagher on Canavan's bed. Donna busied herself with the IV she'd taken from the hospital. Then she examined his wound. John was barely conscious but seemed almost comfortable. Donna checked the time and opened up the brown leather case she'd filled with supplies. She selected a tub of pills and set one on John's tongue, raised a glass of water to his lips. Cormac, Mattie and Canavan stood at the bedroom door, spectators to a live hospital drama.

  Since they'd gotten to Canavan's place Cormac had begun to feel edgy. He didn't want to stand still for too long but all of the moving about wasn't good for John. He didn't need Donna to tell him that, though no doubt she'd remind him of it soon enough. But they couldn't stop at Canavan's forever either. Even if O'Neill was busy across the water, as Cormac's handler had claimed, there had to be men scouring Belfast for them. Cormac had raised too much hell to slip through the cracks. And then there was Canavan's ever-diminishing patience.

  "He's bleeding on my sheets."

  "Ask him to stop," Cormac said.

  Donna threw a withering glance their way.

  Mattie tugged on Cormac's sleeve. "I think we should call my mum now."

  Cormac nodded. "Lend us your phone?"

  Canavan huffed air but lumbered off to fetch his handset.

  "You know your ma's number, kid?"

  Mattie's eyes widened. He shook his head.

  John mumbled something. Cormac moved closer to the bed, asked him to repeat himself.

  "There's a business card in my wallet." John croaked the words. "Back pocket."

  Cormac looked to Donna for permission.

  She nodded slowly. "Just be gentle with him."

  Cormac slid his hand underneath John without jolting him and drew out the wallet. He flipped it open and went through the cards. John didn't clean his wallet out very often and it took half a minute to find the faded business card.

  "Pass me a phone, please."

  He said it to nobody in particular but Donna was the first one to hand him a mobile. Cormac tapped in the number and handed it to Mattie.

  "Don't spend too long chatting, mate. I need to get stuff sorted out with her."

  Mattie held the phone to his ear and paced the patch of carpet at the foot of the bed. One of the floorboards creaked with metronomic regularity.

  "Mum?"

  Mattie squished up one side of his face and held the handset a few inches from his head. Cormac could hear the excited shriek of Lydia Gallagher's voice. It tapered off after a few seconds and Mattie got his chance to speak.

  "We're in a safe place now but dad's pretty hurt... Yeah, I'm fine." He looked at his taped-up fingers and shrugged, decided not to worry his mother with the horror tale. "We'll see you soon. There's a policeman here who wants to talk to you, sort out how we're going to get home. Chat later, yeah?"

  Cormac took the phone from the kid. His mother was still gabbling and Cormac had to interrupt her.

  "Missus Gallagher, my name is Detective Cormac Kelly. It's good to get in touch
with you at last."

  She sniffed back a sob. "Whatever you've done to save my family, thank you."

  "We need to figure out how to get you guys back together now. Are you still in London?"

  "Yes, I'm about to fly back to Belfast, though. I can be there in a few hours."

  "I think we'd be better off getting your family back to England." He didn't want to go into his concerns about PSNI involvement in the kidnapping unless she needed further convincing. "I'm happy to accompany them, though it'll probably take more than a few hours to figure out the safest route."

  "I might be able to help you with that."

  ###

  Lydia scanned the night sky for McGoldrick's helicopter. It'd taken them a few hours to organise the pick-up and a dropdown point. The old Scot had decided that they'd be best avoiding the heliports in London to bypass air traffic control and awkward questions from security. Time bandits. He'd directed them to the London Golf Club, just south of the city in Kent, where he was a long-term member with benefits. Lydia, McGoldrick, Stephen Black and Rory stood a few paces away from the helipad, silent in the eerie calm of the otherwise deserted course.

  The helipad, basically a raised patch of land on the edge of the course, looked smaller than Lydia would have imagined. Marked out in white paint, the H in the centre of the circle looked like it would serve as parking bays for a pair of Land Rovers. The surrounding circle seemed too small for safety. She shuddered at the thought of a rotor-blade severing stray limbs.

  "Shouldn't we ask somebody to turn on the lights?" Lydia asked.

  "We'll wait until the helicopter's in view," McGoldrick said.

  "What, you're worried about the electricity bill?"

  "No, hen. It's just the way they do it here."

  McGoldrick seemed distant; his voice didn't reach its usual booming level and he hadn't made eye contact with Lydia since they'd got to the golf club. It made her uncomfortable. They were at the end of this nightmare, at last, but now that they were standing still, she couldn't quiet the nagging voice at the back of her mind.

  Can you really trust McGoldrick?

  She had to trust him, though. Without McGoldrick, his money and his contacts, she would probably still be online booking flights for John and Mattie. Who knows what could have gone wrong in that time?

  Lydia tried to ignore her doubts. Her boys were on their way home. As soon as she saw them – hugged them, kissed them – she would call the police and report the kidnapping. Between her story and Detective Kelly's they'd be able to arrest O'Neill and his men. And all would be right with the world again.

  "Maybe I should call Detective Kelly?" Lydia directed the question at McGoldrick.

  "No point. The pilot will have asked him to turn off his phone. Relax. They'll be here soon."

  She tried to. It wasn't easy. Stephen Black looked as distracted as McGoldrick and Rory was obviously feeling very sorry for himself. His head hung low and his hands were behind his back, still bound by the plastic ties Stephen Black had trussed him up with. Lydia actually felt for the spoilt prick.

  "Could somebody cut Rory loose? I doubt he's going to attack me now."

  Stephen Black raised an eyebrow and McGoldrick shrugged.

  Rory looked up, his eyes wide. "Yeah, guys. Come on. I'm busting for a slash here."

  "I don't want you going into the club," McGoldrick said. "You'll draw too much attention."

  "Fuck's sake, aul' fella. Nobody's going to notice me."

  "You're not going in there."

  "I'll piss by those trees, then." Rory pointed to a cluster of oaks in the rough. "Come on."

  McGoldrick turned to Stephen Black:

  "Will you take him?"

  "I most certainly will not. Need I remind you that I'm not a wet nurse?"

  "And your job isn't exactly unionised. You do what I tell you."

  "No, I agree to certain tasks and you pay—"

  "Shut up. Shut up now." The words were out before Lydia had even formed them in her mind. She felt like an overwhelmed mother at the supermarket. Embraced it. "I've had enough. Just cut the ties and let the man go into the trees. What's he going to do? Climb one and start flinging shit? He knows you're armed and that he's safer with you. Stop treating us like morons."

  McGoldrick and Stephen Black looked at each other for a couple of seconds. The ex-spook was the first to smile.

  "You make a fair and wonderfully animated point, my dear. I'll get to it directly."

  Stephen Black reached into the sleeve of his awful tracksuit top and pulled out a knife. The blade was short, serrated and more chilling than a shark tooth. He slipped his index finger into a steel ring and spun the mini dagger like a gunslinger playing with his revolver.

  "Picked up this lovely souvenir in the Philippines. A cheeky little chap tried to take my finger off with it."

  "Come on, man. My back teeth are floating now."

  Rory turned and started walking backwards. Stephen Black met him halfway and the knife cut through the plastic ties like they were spider webs. Rory gave his wrists a quick rub then jogged towards the rough.

  "You're welcome," Stephen Black called after the football star. He slipped the knife back up his sleeve.

  Rory turned once to give the ex-spook a quick wave of his middle finger then vanished behind a thick tree trunk.

  "He's got quite an amusing attitude that one," Stephen Black said to Lydia. "I'm sure he's an absolute joy to work with."

  "I've met worse."

  "And he brings in a pretty penny, I suppose."

  "He's doing okay."

  "Well, when you've paid off your husband's debts, I think I'd quite like to work with you."

  Lydia looked him up and down. He'd managed to scare, insult and impress her all at once.

  "You don't know anything about my family, whatever your ‘research' tells you. And I highly doubt that I'd need your skill-set at any point in my future."

  "Don't be too hasty, Mrs Gallagher. It would have been very useful to have me on your payroll before your family got kidnapped."

  "Oh, fuck off."

  McGoldrick snorted. His toothy grin hid behind his tight lips when Lydia wheeled on him.

  "And you can fuck off as well. Did you tell this prick about John's gambling?"

  "Don't get uppity with me, hen. I'm helping you out here. You know I'm not the gossiping type."

  "I don't really know what you are, Mr McGoldrick. And the longer I stand here the dumber I feel. We're acting like the law doesn't apply to us. We should have phoned the cops hours ago."

  "You want your family dead, do you? Whether or not you think the law applies is irrelevant. I'm getting things done. Things ordinary people can't do. So how about you show some fucking gratitude you stupid wee lassie?"

  "Steady on, old bean." Stephen Black stepped in front of the red-faced Scot. "You'll do yourself an injury. Think of your blood pressure."

  Stephen Black's head jerked backwards and McGoldrick's fist moved through the space it had occupied.

  "If you ever try to hit me again, Mr McGoldrick, I will kill you. Fair warning. I'll take your money but I won't take your shit."

  McGoldrick unclenched his fists and lowered his arms to his sides. He looked old and confused, like he'd been told off by a nursing home employee. Lydia wondered how many more years the guy would live, collecting money all the way. He'd afford the best care for himself in his final years, no doubt, but in the end he would die too. And it looked as if the thought was working its way through the old bastard. He forced a cough and his Adam's apple bobbed. Lydia could almost see the pride go down his throat.

  "What's going on, lads?"

  Rory was back. He looked worried.

  "Oh, just a little bit of admin," Stephen Black said. "Everything has returned to the status quo."

  "That's good, Stevie. Because you might want to do a wee bit of security work down by those trees I just watered. Pretty sure I saw somebody lurking about."

  "Ach
, it was probably just a fox, lad," McGoldrick said.

  "Aye? And do foxes smoke around these parts? Because I could smell cigarettes down there too."

  "Kids, then. Sneaking off for a wee smoke's not a crime yet."

  "Maybe you should check it out," Lydia said. "We could have been followed."

  Stephen Black looked at McGoldrick and rubbed his jaw. "We weren't followed. Did you arrange for anybody to meet us here?"

  "Apart from my helicopter pilot? Who else would need to know?"

  "Indeed." He drew his silenced gun from the inside of his nylon jacket. "I think I'd be better served right here, Mrs Gallagher. Wouldn't want to perforate a fox unnecessarily. And we have the higher ground, after all."

  Lydia nodded at his gun which he held pointed to the ground. "So you think somebody's out there?"

  "Just playing it safe, my dear. Try not to fret."

  "I can hear something," Rory said. He pointed to the sky. "Is that a star or a helicopter?"

  ###

  In a private helicopter over the Irish Sea, Cormac did the unthinkable. He slept. Donna and Mattie were sat opposite him in a pair of seats facing the cockpit, and John was to his right. A slim gap between the two rear-facing seats provided access to the cockpit. The rhythmic chooka-chooka-chooka beat of rotor blades and the constant drone of the engine soothed Cormac. The bird's eye view of nothingness and hours of constant activity teamed up to sap him of all energy.

  There was nothing constructive to be done in the helicopter cabin. Nothing to react to. Donna's attention was on John. The injured man sat bolt upright in his seat, barely conscious and in obvious pain. Cormac didn't want to distract Donna from her watch of the patient. She seemed to be keeping him alive with an intense stare. And Mattie was busy burning every detail of the experience into his memory. The kid's head moved constantly; his eyes flitting from the seats, to the windows, to the back of the pilot's head and every point in between. He looked a few years younger, obviously confident that with Cormac and Donna looking out for him and his father, nothing could go wrong.