A Real Job

by David Lowe

  As they made their way to the back of the offices, David took his cigarettes out of his pocket. Offering one to Steve, he said, ‘May as well have a ciggie while they do their bit.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was pay day or have you had a win on the horses? You’ve got your ciggies out for a change.’

  ‘Very funny, do you want one or not?’

  ‘Cheers,’ Steve said putting the cigarette to his mouth.

  David took out his lighter. Cupping his hand around it, he offered Steve a light and said, ‘I just hope Maguire doesn’t try to shoot his way out of this.’

  ‘Me too,’ Steve said.

  ‘None of this would have happened if the management followed our suggestion that you and I with an armed officer were the reception committee inside the solicitors waiting for him. We could have taken him out as soon as he entered.’

  ‘Why didn’t they go with that?’ Steve said exhaling spent smoke.

  ‘It was fucking Edge interfering again. George told me that at the senior officers’ meeting he convinced the CTU commander that it would take too many officers away from other duties. On top of that Edge said there was no solid intelligence to support it, only a hunch from junior officers, us two!’

  ‘The fucking tosser,’ Steve said stubbing out his cigarette. As the officer spoke they could hear the battering ram being used by the rapid entry team on the back door to the solicitors’ office, both looked up. From their location, they were unable to see what was happening.

  After three loud bangs, the door burst open followed by the team entering the rear of the offices. Within seconds of entering, gunshots came from inside the solicitors’ office. David and Steve looked at each other with concern as they heard officers inside the premises radioing through that Maguire was at the entrance to Harvey’s door and had fired a few rounds at the officers ascending the stairs. Following reports that the team returned fire, it suddenly fell silent on the radio.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Thomas and Harvey’s Solicitors’ Office, Eastgate Street Chester,

  12.35 hours, Tuesday, 9th July

  ‘DS Hurst, come in,’ the rapid entry team inspector called over the radio.

  ‘Go ahead sir.’

  ‘Target’s still alive, but he’s angled himself in a corner of the room. It’s too dangerous to make an approach without one of our team getting shot at. Are either you or DC Adams a trained negotiator?’

  ‘We both are,’ David replied.

  ‘I need you over here straight away,’ the inspector radioed back, ‘before you do, put on one of the spare vests from inside the carriers before you get here. The driver will get them for you. Once you’re ready, we can get you in. Meet me by the rear entrance and I’ll take you up the stairwell. You’ll have to do the negotiation at the top of the stairwell. Although he hasn’t got a clear shot of the top of the stairs, we can’t take any risks. Let’s see if you can talk him out.’

  ‘I’ve got that. I’ll take the lead in the negotiations, but I want Steve right behind me.’

  One of the carrier drivers issued the Branch officers with a protective vest, which they put on. David and Steve ran over to the rear door of the solicitors’ office where the inspector was waiting for them. ‘Before you go in, are you two armed?’ he asked the two officers.

  ‘Yes,’ David said.

  ‘They stay in your holsters. If it’s needed, we’ll do the shooting. I want to remind you of a couple of things before you go in. You do exactly whatever any member of my team tells you to. Your safety is our priority in there. If it looks like he’s not going to play ball, I’ll get you out straight away and you’ll leave him to us. While you’re negotiating, I’m going to look around to see if we can gain another entry into Harvey’s office. Also, I’m considering using stun grenades if your negotiations break down. That may be the only way we can get him out alive. Don’t worry. Using stun grenades and rushing him will be a last resort.’

  ‘I appreciate that sir,’ David said.

  The inspector called to one of the rapid entry team and instructed her to take David and Steve through the ground floor and up the stairs. As they neared the top of the staircase, the officer instructed them to go no further. Both officers crouched down as David looked over to John Harvey’s office. Just as the inspector told them, the door was ajar, but they could not see Maguire. Opening negotiations, David shouted out, ‘Jimmy Maguire, this is Detective Sergeant David Hurst from Special Branch. You’re surrounded by firearms officers. Make one move towards them and they’ll kill you, but I can offer you a way out of here alive. Are you willing to talk to me?’

  ‘Are you the Hurst that arrested me in Derry and killed young Quinney all those years ago?’ Maguire shouted back, looking around the room for options open to him to escape without having to go near the office door.

  ‘I’m glad you remember me because you know I won’t bullshit you. My interest is in getting you out of here alive. You’ll have to take my word on that.’

  ‘If I’m to trust you, tell me what you did to Sean McCrossan in Ireland last week?’ Maguire shouted back remembering McCullagh told him Hurst had gone over on a mission to trace McCrossan and they had not heard from him since.

  David thought for a moment. His first reaction was not to reveal what happened. Jenny Richmond instructed him he wasn’t even to tell his own colleagues. Knowing by gaining Maguire’s trust was the only way he would get him out alive, the dilemma going through David’s mind was whether or not Maguire knew. He had no idea if McCullagh had found out and told him. He knew he could not lie. Taking the gamble, David shouted back, ‘I traced him to a farm in the republic just across the border from Armagh. I was going to bring him in, but he was armed. I had no choice. I had to kill him.’

  ‘How do I know you’re not going to kill me,’ Maguire said crawling over to a window, out of sight of the doorway, to assess if other officers were waiting outside to block him leaving the front of the building.

  ‘Jimmy, I only shoot those that want to shoot me.’

  Managing to sit up and look through the bottom of the window into Eastgate Street below. Maguire laughed and said, ‘Trust me Hurst, I’d love to fucking kill you.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, but I want you to come out of this building alive.’

  ‘And rot in some prison because your fucking British justice system hates Irishmen like me.’

  ‘But it’ll be in a top security prison in a cell with all the modern conveniences with you being a hero back home. If you don’t do as I say, you’ll be dead and all you’ll get is an IRA funeral. After a while people will stop tending your grave and you’ll become a forgotten man. In a category A prison you’ll be alive. There’s likely to be campaigns for your release. You’ll not only be a hero you’ll be alive and still talked about. Not just among your own, but also on the national and international media. Alive, you’ll be an inspiration to the younger ones at home to take up the cause. Think about it.’ As David spoke, the officers surrounding him looked in surprise at what the DS was saying to Maguire. The last thing they wanted to hear was sympathy for this Real IRA terrorist that killed their own and innocent civilians.

  ‘That’s the Irish in you coming out Hurst,’ Maguire said after seeing Eastgate Street had been blocked off and the immediate area around the solicitors’ office had been cleared. Seeing armed officers armed with automatic rifles standing across the road by the Grosvenor Hotel, Maguire knew the chances of him getting out were limited. Watching the crowds outside the office being shepherded away from the area, he knew Hurst was right. He was cornered. There was no way out alive unless he surrendered to the DS. ‘You’ve more blarney in you than a full blooded Irishman.’

  Ignoring Maguire’s taunts, David said, ‘Another way of looking at it is if we kill you, we’ll save the British state a lot of money. There’ll be no need for
a trial. If you walk out with me, you’ll end up costing the British state millions. They’ll have to look after you. Plead not guilty and you’ll incur an expensive trial wasting the British taxpayers’ money. You know as well as I do your trial will be high profile. It’ll attract experienced and expensive defence barristers. Just their fees alone will end up costing the state a fortune. Lying back on your Category A cell bunk, you can smile knowing you cost the British Government millions.’

  ‘You’re a fucking bull-shitter Hurst. I take it asking for a pizza’s out of the question while I think about it?’

  David gave a wry smile. ‘Jimmy we’re well used to this game. You know we’ve got all of the aces. The only choice you’ve got is whether you come out in a body bag or in handcuffs with me.’

  ‘What’s stopping you putting me in a van, driving me to some remote spot in the countryside and killing me?’

  ‘Those days are over Jimmy. All this is being recorded. I’d never get away with it.’

  ‘But you’d like to kill me wouldn’t you?’

  ‘The thought’s crossed my mind. So what’s it going to be? Are you leaving in a body bag or in handcuffs with me?’ David said.

  ‘Give me a minute to think about it,’ Maguire shouted back. The whole office complex went eerily silent as Maguire mulled over what David said. In the silence time dragged. Sensing the tension increasing among the firearms officers, David raised his index finger to his mouth to emphasise they were to remain silent. Breaking the silence, Maguire shouted out, ‘Are you still there Hurst?’

  ‘I’m still here Jimmy.’

  ‘I was told you’re half Irish as your Ma’s Irish and that you’re a good Catholic boy. Is that right?’

  ‘That’s right Jimmy.’

  ‘How the fuck did you end up being a traitor joining the security forces and fighting for the British?’

  ‘It didn’t start that way Jimmy. I joined the police to be a dog handler, but then one thing led to another and I ended up in the Branch.’

  ‘Yeah, like shooting my old mates that were fighting for the cause. The Brits have turned you Hurst. Seeing how you’re half Irish and a Catholic, that tells me deep down there must be half a decent man inside you. I’ll come out, but I only want you to interview me, no MI5 bastards. No torture. No tricks. No games. Is that fucking understood? I warn you now, one fucking wrong move and you’re a dead man.’

  There was a tangible sense of relief among the firearms officers the Irishman was surrendering as David said, ‘I understand Jimmy. Now take your instructions from the firearms officers. They’ll ask you to stay where you are. Then they’ll search you and I’ll be waiting for you at the back door. I’ll take you to the police station, not them.’

  ‘I’ll do as they say, but remember Hurst, you break your promise and you’re a dead man.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Custody Office, Deva Road

  Police Station, Chester,

  13.25 hours, Tuesday, 9th July

  Accompanied by Steve Adams, David Hurst escorted the handcuffed Maguire into the custody office at Deva Road Police station. George Byrne was already waiting for them at the custody suite. David related the circumstances of the arrest of four counts of murder, attempted murder and acts of terrorism to the custody officer, who accepted the arrest and authorised Maguire’s detention.

  ‘Come on you two,’ George said, ‘let’s go into this side room while they book Maguire in.’ After entering the side room, George shut the door behind them and said, ‘You did well bringing him in. The firearms inspector loved the way you cut through the bullshit giving him one of two options of either leaving in a body bag or in handcuffs.’

  ‘I thought I’d give him the only two realistic options open to him,’ David said sitting down by a small table.

  Steve started to laugh, and said, ‘I was also impressed with Maguire who recognised you could bullshit for Britain. What was all that crap about inspiring younger ones back in Ireland to follow his example and that stuff about him coming out alive and having a trial costing the British state millions of pounds?’

  ‘It worked didn’t it?’ David said.

  ‘It certainly did,’ George said placing his hand on David’s shoulder reinforcing his approval of his DS. ‘The superintendent here at Deva Road is authorising a delay to Maguire’s legal advice on the grounds it’s necessary to prevent physical injury to others. When I told him Prince William was amongst those who could be injured, he had no hesitation in agreeing to the authorisation. I’ve asked that once he’s been booked in, Maguire be taken straight to an interview room as I need you two to get into him straight away on the whereabouts of Mahoney. I know it’s unlikely he’ll talk, but we’ve got give it a try.’

  ‘I don’t know. He might talk,’ said Steve, ‘being half Irish, Maguire’s bosom buddies with David.’

  ‘Don’t knock it Steve, it could be just the in we need,’ David said.

  ‘Anything else of note happen on while we were dealing with Maguire?’ David asked George.

  ‘No, only my father-in-law’s been harassing me the past couple of hours.’

  ‘Is Alan here?’ David asked.

  ‘Yes, he arrived in Chester around ten this morning. I got one of the Branch officers to meet him and the MI5 officers protecting him. He’s asking after you and wants you to be his personal protection. I told him you were engaged on an enquiry.’

  ‘If we finish with Maguire this afternoon, I’ll look after Alan this evening if you think it’ll keep him from pestering you all the time,’ David suggested to his DI.

  George thought for a moment and then said, ‘After you interview Maguire, I wanted you and Steve to go out and help with the search for Mahoney.’

  ‘Let David look after your father-in-law. One less out there looking for Mahoney isn’t going to make much difference if it means you get a quiet life George,’ Steve said, ‘I can work with one of Ray’s team or one of the Cheshire teams.’

  * * *

  Having no idea what had happened to his compatriot, Mahoney was still hiding in the cramped, concealed compartment of the disused canal boat. Looking at his watch, he saw it was a quarter to two in the afternoon. Opening his holdall, he took out the agency catering uniform McCullagh provided him with a few days earlier. Once again, he checked the ID card and pass for the reception at the Grosvenor were safely in the uniform jacket. Having managed to dye his hair blonde while staying at the safe-house in Winsford the previous Friday, McCullagh arranged for his photograph to be taken for the false ID card. Finally, out of the holdall he took the spectacles fitted with clear glass lenses supplied by McCullagh. No matter how much his appearance had changed, having his photograph emblazoned in the newspaper and the television over the last couple of days, albeit an old picture, he dreaded someone seeing through the disguise and recognising him. Once he was ready, he checked his bag once more to make sure all the equipment he needed was present.

  Mahoney looked through one of the still intact, dirty windows on the boat to see if there was anyone walking along the towpath. There was no one nearby. Pulling the door to the barge open, he made one last cursory check. As it was clear, he stepped onto the towpath. Walking as calmly as he could, his legs feeling stiff having been cooped up in the boat for so long, he made his way along the towpath to the steps of the bridge across a road leading into Chester city centre, which he walked along out of the city centre to where the catering company was located.

  Surprised to see so many people flocking into the city, he realised they were getting in early to claim the best spot to get a glimpse of Prince William when he arrived at the hotel. Suppressing a smile, he thought how the waiting crowd would add to the body count of his handiwork. Knowing a firework display was planned for later that evening, he thought how there really would be unexpected fireworks igniting later. Still self-c
onscious about his change of appearance, he could not help but feel these people were looking at him. Seeing a black hackney cab with its yellow ‘for hire’ sign displayed, he hailed the cab to stop. Pulling up abruptly, a couple of feet away from him, Mahoney got into it. He gave the driver his destination in a Liverpool accent he developed from members of his English family living in the city. As he visited the city on many occasions to see his uncle and four cousins, having made fun by mimicking the way they speak, it was a convincing accent. ‘Henderson’s Caterers in Delabole Street by the industrial estate please.’

  To get into role and practice, he was fortunate to have a talkative taxi driver. ‘Have you got to work today while Prince William visits the city?’ the taxi driver asked.

  ‘Well someone has to.’

  ‘You’re not local. From that accent of yours, I see you’re a Scouser.’

  ‘I live in Kirkdale. I normally work at the Liverpool branch, but along with some of my other workmates, I’ve come up to help out with the catering for the reception tonight.’

  ‘The one at the Grosvenor?”

  ‘That’s the one. I got the train up.’

  ‘Did you get a bit lost? Delabole Street’s only a few hundred yards from the station,’ the taxi driver asked, puzzled why his passenger had wandered so far into the city from the station.

  ‘No, I got in early, so I thought I’d get a coffee and read the paper. You know, have an hour to myself before I get run off my feet,’ Mahoney replied, thinking quickly.

  ‘As I suppose you’ll be busy tonight, I don’t blame you having a bit of time to yourself. Are you one of the chefs?’

  ‘No, I’m a driver for the company. I transport the food and that. A lot of the food’s prepared off site and then we deliver it to the kitchens and the cooks finish it off. That posh lot think it’s all cooked in the premises from scratch, but it’s not.’

  ‘I know there’s going to be a couple of hundred attending that function tonight. I can see why the hotel’s gone for outside catering help. Here we are. That’s four pound forty please,’ the taxi driver said pulling up outside the caterers.