Martin showed his paperwork to a bored security guard and they were waved through to the apron. Cramer whistled when he saw the plane. It was a gleaming Lear jet, the stairway down and two uniformed pilots standing to attention at the bottom. ‘They’ve been briefed,’ said Allan before Cramer could speak. ‘And don’t worry – they’ve been checked out.’
‘They have been with Mr Vander Mayer for more than five years,’ said Su-ming.
The Mercedes came to a halt by the side of the jet. Cramer stayed in his seat until Martin climbed out and opened the door for him. Allan went up the stairs first, disappeared into the plane and after a few seconds reappeared and waved to Martin. Cramer went up, followed by Su-ming and with Martin bringing up the rear, carrying the pack of sandwiches and the Thermos flask. The pilots nodded a greeting to Cramer, but he could see that they were weighing him up, trying to work out what sort of man was taking the place of their boss.
Cramer ducked inside the fuselage and stared at the interior. It was more luxurious than any first-class cabin he’d ever been in. The windows were as large as those in a train, there were half a dozen seats each as big as an armchair, and at the rear was a matching leather sofa facing a walnut cabinet which held a large television and video recorder. Thick grey carpet covered the floor and Cramer’s shoes sank into it as he walked into the centre of the plane. ‘There is a bathroom and shower beyond the galley,’ said Su-ming. ‘The sofa converts into a double bed if needed.’
‘How the other half lives,’ said Martin.
‘Sure beats a Hercules,’ agreed Allan.
One of the pilots closed the hatch as the other disappeared into the cockpit. ‘At this point I’m supposed to give you a full briefing, but I reckon we’ve all been through this before so I’ll just tell you to keep your belts on during takeoff and landing and wish you a pleasant flight.’ He followed his colleague into the cockpit.
Cramer sat down in one of the huge leather chairs and buckled his seatbelt. Su-ming dropped into the seat next to him.
‘Hey, Su-ming, what time does the in-flight movie start?’ asked Martin.
‘No movies,’ said Su-ming, taking him seriously.
The two jet engines whined and then roared into life, and a minute or so later the plane began to roll across the tarmac. Cramer took several deep breaths. He could feel the adrenalin surging through his body, so much so that he felt almost lightheaded. It was all starting to come together.
‘Now what?’ asked Marie as Lynch watched the Lear jet power down the runway. The jet soared into the air, climbed steeply, and then banked to the right. Within seconds it had disappeared into the clouds.
‘Give me the pen, quick,’ said Lynch. He repeated the jet’s registration number to himself, then quickly scribbled it down on the corner of the map when Marie handed him the pen. ‘I can find out where they’re going,’ he explained.
‘The same guy who told you they were in Wales?’ Lynch nodded. ‘Then what?’
Lynch smiled at her eagerness. ‘That depends where he’s gone, love.’
‘I’d put my money on London,’ said Marie.
‘Yeah? Why?’
‘It’s a British-registered jet, and it was heading east. Could be Europe, though, I suppose.’
‘How do you know it’s British?’
‘The first letter of the registration was G, right? All British registered planes start with a G.’
‘How do you know that?’
She patted him on the thigh. ‘I went out with a pilot for a while,’ she said. ‘Let’s go use the phone. I want to call the office and say that I’ll be off for another couple of days.’
‘You’re staying, then?’ asked Lynch, tearing off the piece of map on which he’d written the number.
‘Oh yes, Dermott. I’m sticking to you like shit to a cow’s tail.’
‘Nice analogy,’ said Lynch. He put the car in gear and drove to the short-stay car park. After they’d parked, Lynch tucked his gun under the front seat.
They found a bank of call booths in the departures terminal. Lynch went through his pockets and pulled out a handful of change. He dialled McDonough’s work number. A woman answered and at first she was reluctant to get McDonough, but Lynch told her that his car had been involved in an accident. He pushed two pound coins into the slot as he waited. When McDonough came to the phone, he was clearly worried. ‘Who is this?’ he asked.
‘Easy, Luke,’ said Lynch. ‘It’s me. Dermott.’
McDonough’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘What the fuck are you doing calling me here?’ he said.
‘I need a favour,’ said Lynch.
‘You said it was a one-off,’ said McDonough.
‘It was,’ said Lynch. ‘And I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t important. Jets file flight plans, right?’
‘Look, maybe I’m not making myself clear. You said …’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Lynch hissed. ‘I need one favour, that’s all. Now get a pen and write this down.’
McDonough went quiet and Lynch could practically hear the man thinking. McDonough knew who Lynch was, and what he was capable of. ‘Okay,’ McDonough said eventually. ‘Okay, but just this once.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lynch. ‘I appreciate it, I really do.’ There was no point in rubbing the man’s nose in it. Lynch read out the number from the torn map corner.
‘It’s a jet, you say?’
‘Yeah. Some sort of executive jet. I need to know who it belongs to as well. Can you do that?’
McDonough went silent for a few seconds. ‘Yeah. I can do that.’ His voice was cold and flat, almost robotic.
‘Luke, I’m sorry I snapped at you,’ said Lynch as kindly as possible. Lynch needed the air traffic controller to do what he wanted, and if that meant smoothing his feathers then Lynch was prepared to do it. If he’d been in the same room as McDonough and he’d had a gun in his hand, then his approach might well have been different. ‘Do this for me and I won’t ask anything else of you, I promise. I swear on my mother’s life.’ Lynch’s mother had died of a massive stroke five years earlier and was buried next to his father in a cemetery outside Castlewellan, but he felt no shame at invoking her name.
‘I’ll do it,’ said McDonough, less bitterly this time.
‘How long do you think it’ll take?’
‘A couple of telephone calls,’ said McDonough. ‘Give me your number and I’ll call you back.’
‘I’ll call you,’ said Lynch. ‘Half an hour, okay’
‘Okay.’ The line went dead and Lynch replaced the receiver. Marie was still talking on her phone. She waved animatedly at Lynch and he went to stand behind her.
Marie replaced the receiver. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ she said.
‘What’s curiouser and curiouser?’
‘I rang the estate agents, the one whose name was on the school sign. Told them that my boss was interested in the property. The girl there said it had been bought by a Bristol company who are planning to turn it into a conference centre. They’re taking over in two months.’
‘So who’s in now?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me. I even played the overworked secretary, told her my boss was giving me a hard time, but she still said she couldn’t say. Said it was confidential. To be honest, I don’t think she knows.’
‘There’s something strange going on, that’s for sure.’
‘What about your guy?’
‘Half an hour. I’ll get back to him.’
They went to the cafeteria. Lynch ordered two coffees and they chose a quiet table. ‘What are you going to do, Dermott?’ asked Marie as she stirred her coffee.
‘In what way?’
‘The police are after you, the organisation seems to want you dead, you’ve no visible means of support.’
‘Sure, but it’s not all going my way.’ He grinned but could see that she was serious. ‘What do you want me to say, Marie?’
‘I was just wondering what your plan is?’
Lynch put his head in his hands and watched her with amused eyes. ‘I’m in deep shit, I know I’m in deep shit, but dwelling on it isn’t going to make it go away. I could run, but the world’s smaller than it used to be. There aren’t many places I could do a Lord Lucan, and, as you say, I’m not exactly flush with funds. So in terms of planning ahead, I’m not. In the words of Doris Day, que sera, sera. If you’re asking me what my short-term aim is, it’s to see Cramer dead and buried, and maybe dance on his grave.’
Marie nodded sympathetically. ‘You’re sure?’
‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged and put her spoon down on her saucer. ‘Getting Cramer isn’t going to be easy. I just want to be sure that you’re going to go through with it.’
Lynch exhaled slowly as he stared at Marie. There was an enthusiasm about her that was almost child-like. It reminded him of Davie Quinn. Poor, dead, Davie Quinn. ‘You’ve never been engaged have you?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘You’ve never met anyone you felt you wanted to marry? Someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?’
Marie shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Sometimes you meet someone and you just know they’re right for you. Twin souls. It’s as if your whole life had been leading up to the point where you meet that person. It was like that when I met Maggie.’
‘Love at first sight,’ said Marie.
‘I know, it’s a cliché. But when she walked into my life it was like everything clicked into place. Like we belonged together. She was twenty-two when we met, she’d just left Queen’s with a degree in electrical engineering and she was going to change the world. She had hair that gleamed like copper and eyes like a cat, green like emeralds.’ He stopped when he realised that Marie was grinning at him. ‘I know, I know, I’m talking in clichés.’
‘No, Dermott, you’re talking like a man in love.’
‘Aye, I was that. Head over heels. Nothing I’ve felt since has ever compared with how I felt then. Like I could live forever. Like I wanted to live forever.’ He picked up his coffee and sniffed it, holding the cup in both hands. ‘You know what was crazy? I knew she sympathised with the IRA, but she never told me she was a volunteer. She was in an active service unit and she didn’t say a word. Mind you, she was Scottish, so I guess it didn’t occur to me that she’d have been recruited.’
‘Did you tell her that you were part of it?’ Lynch shook his head and sipped his coffee. ‘So why are you surprised that she could keep a secret? Didn’t you tell me that only one member of each cell knows anyone else in another cell?’
‘Aye, of course. But she was so close to me, so close you wouldn’t believe.’
‘She was being professional.’
‘I know.’ He put down his cup. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ Marie shook her head. ‘I think she was recruited before she went to university,’ Lynch continued. ‘It might even have been the organisation that suggested she study what she did.’
‘Electrical engineering?’
‘Yeah. She got a first. She was sharp, all right. Sharp as a knife. You couldn’t pull the wool over Maggie’s eyes, she’d let you get away with nothing.’
‘Why electrical engineering?’
Lynch looked at her levelly. ‘She was a bomb-maker. She made bombs.’ Marie stiffened and Lynch gave her time to digest what he’d told her. ‘We were at war,’ he said eventually.
‘You don’t have to explain anything,’ said Marie.
‘I know, it’s just that …’
‘It’s just that you thought I might get nervous, that I might chicken out. No chance, Dermott. If the IRA hadn’t done what it did, the British would never have talked to Sinn Fein in the first place. So you don’t have to explain anything, okay?’
Lynch nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We got engaged the year after she graduated. She was working for a company outside Belfast, making video recorders. I was on the dole but by then I was already a volunteer. I never told her, but I think she guessed. I had to go away at weekends for training, and she never asked where I went.’
‘It seems a strange relationship. Both of you keeping secrets from each other.’
Lynch sighed. ‘It had to be done. I couldn’t say anything to her, it would have been against standing orders. Her controller was a member of the Army Council, even the rest of the council didn’t know what she was doing. She was sent to London, told me she was going to see her folks in Glasgow. I was sent south for advanced weapons training, I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if it was planned. The next thing I knew was all the bombs going off in London. Real spectaculars. Huge bombs.’
‘I remember,’ said Marie quietly.
‘The SAS discovered that the active service unit was based in a flat in Wapping. They stormed it, all the volunteers were killed. Maggie was shot in the back, Marie. She was shot in the back while she was lying on the floor. That came out at the inquest. Cramer gave evidence, hidden behind a screen. Soldier B, they called him, but it was Cramer. He said that Maggie was reaching for a gun.’ Lynch sneered. ‘Heckler & Kochs they had, and she was lying face down. Why the fuck would she be reaching for a gun? They executed her, Marie. Cramer shot her in the back because they didn’t want a trial. They killed them all. That’s what the SAS are. Government assassins.’ Lynch’s hands had clenched into fists and he banged them on the table. Marie reached across and held his hands. ‘She was pregnant, Marie. She was two months pregnant. That’s what they found when they cut her open. Maybe she didn’t even know. Cramer killed her, and he killed my baby. So you don’t have to ask me if I’m going to go through with it. I swore on Maggie’s grave that I’d revenge her. Her and our baby. Oh yes, Marie love, if it’s the death of me, I’ll kill Cramer.’ Lynch suddenly realised that he was glaring at her, so intense were his feelings. He forced himself to relax.
Marie looked at him earnestly. ‘I’ll help,’ she said softly. ‘I want him dead as much as you do.’
They sat in silence for a while. Lynch looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to call him again,’ he said. ‘You wait here.’
Lynch went back to the line of telephones and dialled McDonough’s number. The air traffic controller answered himself this time. ‘It’s a privately-owned jet, not a charter firm. The owner is registered as Vander Mayer. Andrew Vander Mayer. Do you want the address?’
‘Definitely.’ Lynch copied it down. It was an office in Kensington. McDonough even had the postcode and a telephone number. ‘Where was the plane going?’ Lynch asked.
‘They filed for Heathrow. They should be landing just about now.’
‘What then? Are they going on somewhere else?’
‘They haven’t filed another flight plan, if that’s what you mean. Look, I’ve got work to do, okay?’
‘Thanks, Luke.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ McDonough cut the connection. Lynch stared at the name and address he’d written down. Andrew Vander Mayer. Who the hell was Andrew Vander Mayer? And why was the Sass-man flying around in his corporate jet?
Lynch turned around to find Marie standing behind him. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not worried that I’d do a runner, were you?’
Marie held up the keys to the Golf and jangled them. ‘Not really,’ she said. She tossed the keys to him. ‘So, what did he say?’
Lynch gave her the name and address. ‘Unusual name,’ she said. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Back to London.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous? Bearing in mind what’s back there.’
Lynch weighed the keys in the palm of his hand. ‘We could leave the Golf here and rent another car. So long as we keep away from your house, we should be okay.’
‘But they’ll be looking for you, right?’
‘Let’s check the papers and find out.’ They went over to the newsagent’s in the departures terminal and bought The Times, the Daily Telegraph and the Independent, and most of the tabloids. Only the broadsheets carried the story of Foley’s
body being discovered in the boot of the Sierra, and none had connected it with the deaths of the IRA men in Maida Vale. Lynch frowned as he read the story in the Telegraph. The police were sure to have dusted the car for prints, and unless the technicians had been totally incompetent, they wouldn’t have had too much trouble getting a match.
‘No mention of you,’ said Marie.
‘Aye, but it could be a trap. It could be they want me to think it’s safe.’ He made a clicking sound with his tongue, then quickly came to a decision. ‘What the hell, I’m no worse off in London. And the longer we leave it, the more likely it is that Cramer’ll disappear again. Come on, let’s go.’
‘Why don’t we fly back?’
‘Because Special Branch cover all the airports as a matter of course. You don’t always see them, but they’re there, checking all arrivals. Besides, we’d never be able to get the gun through the metal detectors. No, we’re better off driving.’
‘Do you want me to do it in my name?’ she asked.
‘No, love. I’ve got a licence in another name, and a credit card.’ Lynch thought it better not to mention that the licence and credit card had belonged to Sean O’Ryan, one of the men he’d killed in Maida Vale.
The Lear jet touched down gently, its tyres kissing the tarmac so softly that Cramer couldn’t even discern the point at which they made contact with the ground. ‘Smooth,’ said Allan appreciatively. ‘These guys know what they’re doing.’ He unclipped his seatbelt as the jet taxied to its parking space, guided by a man in blue overalls. A large Mercedes pulled up in the distance. It appeared to be a twin of the one they’d left behind in Swansea. The man in overalls guided the Lear to a halt fifty yards from the Mercedes.
‘Okay?’ Allan asked Cramer.
‘Sure,’ said Cramer.
‘From this point on, you don’t relax, you don’t let your guard down for one second, you don’t trust anyone.’ He loomed over Cramer and put his hands on Cramer’s shoulders, staring straight into his eyes like a hypnotist attempting to induce a trance. ‘You can do it, Mike. You can take anything that this guy throws at you. You’re better than he is. Okay?’
The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 31