“You’re almost sounding boring,” said Jennings.
“Maybe, but at this particular juncture in my life I’d rather be boring than dead. It’s surprising what the love of a good woman can do for you.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Jennings grunted.
“You will one day my friend. It’ll hit you like a thunderbolt and you’ll wonder what the hell you’ve been doing with your life. All this will seem irrelevant.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Meanwhile, I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to, like not dying or spending the rest of my life at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”
“Stop worrying so much,” said Grady. “This time tomorrow you’ll be safely out of the country. Probably on board some luxury yacht if this Cronin’s as well-connected as he makes out.”
“A luxury yacht? I doubt it. It’s probably some knackered old trawler with a one-legged, rum-swilling captain and a crew full of circus freaks and convicts. We’ll be put to work gutting fish and swabbing the decks.”
“Well, at least you’ll be free. Just remember though, ‘hello sailor’ doesn’t mean they’ve accepted you as a deck-hand.”
Chapter 87
Stratton clutched his abdomen and winced as another sharp spasm scythed through. The waves of pain, though still intermittent, were gradually growing in frequency. What had been one or two a day had become one every couple of hours. He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly expelling the pain with stale air. He straightened himself up and continued to keep watch out of the window.
“Are you okay?” asked Oggi, looking up from his newspaper.
“Yeah, I’m fine mate. Just a little twinge, that’s all.”
“You keep saying that. There seem to be an awful lot of little twinges.”
“Maybe,” said Stratton. “But that’s all they are. I’m fine now. I’ll do a little dance for you if you like. Anything to set your mind at rest.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” said Oggi. “Although it might be amusing. Any movement from Alonso and his sidekick yet?”
“Nothing at all. Apart from the occasional trip to the toilet or to get some food and coffee. They haven’t come near the hotel.”
“Yeah. Strange that,” said Oggi.
“It is a bit,” Stratton agreed. “But they’re probably just being careful. I guess they don’t want to play their hand too soon, or give us a chance of slipping away. They’ve obviously got no idea we’re watching them.”
“Are you sure it’s just the two of them?” said Oggi.
“I can’t be sure, but I haven’t seen anyone else…Wait a second…”
“What is it?”
“Alonso’s buddy is getting out of the car. He’s heading towards the hotel.”
Oggi sprang to his feet and joined Stratton at the window. “What shall we do?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Stratton. “The girl on reception this morning hasn’t seen either of us, he’s not going to get anything out of her. We’ve just got to sit tight and wait for Tags to collect us later tonight. He’ll deal with Alonso.”
Chapter 88
Stella laced up the shiny combat boots and took a few tentative steps. With Cronin watching her eagerly from his seat she felt like a child parading her new school shoes.
“Are they comfy?” he asked.
“No they’re bloody well not,” she said, stamping and squirming her feet. “They feel like bricks.”
“They’ll be fine once you’ve worn them in. Best boots in the world those.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You’ll be thankful for them when you’re treading the jungle trails, it’s no place for a light kitten heel.”
Stella gave him a sarcastic smile and sat down and removed the bricks. “What about some lunch?” she suggested. “I fancy some good old pub grub and a couple of drinks. I don’t know when I’ll be back here again.”
“Sounds good,” said Cronin.
They lunched down the road at the Woolly Mammoth, a traditional style free house owned by a retired policeman and his wife. Stella was good friends with the couple and ate there about once a fortnight. The food was cheap and plentiful and the beer was the best for miles, and had in fact won tremendous acclaim from CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale). After ordering two plates of sausage and mash with onion gravy they sat down next to the window and relaxed with a pint each.
“You’re just one of the boys really, aren’t you?” said Cronin.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she replied. “But today I just fancied something really English, if you know what I mean?”
“Of course. We all like our little tastes of home.”
“I suppose you don’t have anything homely over in the Vatican City,” she said.
“No, we don’t. But I’ve been travelling the world for so long now that I don’t really think about it. I’m not really sure where my home is anymore.”
“It’s where the heart is, isn’t it?”
“So they say.”
“So where’s yours then?” she asked. “Don’t you have somewhere or someone special.”
Cronin quaffed his beer thoughtfully. “I suppose Belfast is still special to me, but I haven’t been back in so long it’s becoming a faded memory. And as for someone special – I was married once, but it didn’t work out.”
“What happened?” asked Stella.
“Oh, you know, it was the age-old problem of separate lives. I was always away with my unit and she couldn’t handle the loneliness. She ended up running off with some insurance salesman. I can’t say I blame her, even when I was home I was pretty distant. The job makes you like that.”
“And there’s been no-one else?”
“Not since then, no.”
“What about when you were younger back in Belfast? Was there no childhood sweetheart?”
Cronin smiled. “I suppose there was. A girl called Jackie McGinty. She was the most beautiful girl you could possibly imagine. She had long flowing blonde hair and skin like a porcelain doll. Her eyes were wide and blue and could melt you with the briefest of stares, and when she laughed it was like a choir of angels. She was every schoolboy’s dream.”
“And you went out with her?”
“Of course not,” laughed Cronin. “I could only admire her from afar like every other spotty outcast. She was way out of my league at the time, but it didn’t matter, just to look at her brought a smile to my face, and a skip and a jump to my heart.”
The food arrived and they began to eat.
“What about you then Stella?” said Cronin. “Where’s your home?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, where’s your heart?”
Stella looked up from her food, for a moment unsure of the question. “You know where it is,” she said eventually.
“Do I?” said Cronin. “When I first met you it was with Stratton, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s with Stratton. It has been for over ten years. Even when we were apart it was always him. Or didn’t you notice how distraught I was at his death?”
“Of course I noticed. But how do you feel now he’s alive?”
“Happy, I guess. I haven’t really had a chance to think about it. Everything’s been such a shock that I don’t know what, or even how to feel. I’m still trying to assimilate it all.”
Cronin finished a mouthful of mash. “That’s fair enough,” he said. “It must be difficult. I can’t really imagine what you’re going through. It’s just that you seem to be torn.”
“Torn?” she said sharply. “What do you mean?”
“It’s only an observation,” apologized Cronin. “Forget I mentioned it.” He dabbed his fork above his plate. “This food is great isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is,” said Stella, giving a brief frown. She continued eating in silence.
Chapter 89
It was a busy afternoon in Trafalgar Square. The sudden change in the wea
ther had brought out a host of frustrated tourists, champing at the bit to get on an open-topped bus or have their portraits done. As the crowds meandered around the fountain, Digger looked on from the sidelines and watched in admiration as a crafty pickpocket plied his trade. The slight bump followed by the swift and casual dip was executed with nonchalant perfection. He didn’t entirely agree with the morality, but there was no denying the satisfaction of watching a master at work. Back in the day he had been a bit of a ‘dodger’ himself, so he knew exactly what to look for.
He checked his watch and started to get edgy. The girl had rung him at twelve and arranged to meet at one o’clock. It was now getting on for half past. He’d already spent the five hundred pounds she’d given him on gathering information. If she didn’t turn up then his landlord was likely to be paying him a none-too-friendly visit, resulting in a change of address to No.1 Cardboard Alley.
At quarter to two, just as he was about to give up on the whole thing, she finally arrived. She was wearing the same clothes as she had done on Saturday night. She made no apology or explanation for her tardiness.
“What have you got for me then?” she asked, getting straight to the point.
“First things first,” said Digger. “What have you got for me?”
Annie pulled an envelope out of her bag and handed it to him. “There’s fifteen hundred in there, as promised. Now give me the address.”
Digger opened the top of the envelope and, happy that the money inside was plentiful and real, handed her a slip of paper with Stone’s address. “He’s got a wife and a four-year-old daughter, both of whom he adores, but his job means he’s never home much.”
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No, that’s about it really. I didn’t have enough time to get any more. Happy?”
“Yes thanks,” she said. She pulled out another envelope and said, “Here’s another grand for the information about the wife and daughter.”
Digger pocketed the money and grinned. “Thanks very much,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure, as they say.”
“No problem,” said Annie. “Perhaps you can get yourself a haircut now.” With that she strode off and disappeared into the crowds.
Digger watched her go with some regret; she was the sort of girl he could get interested in.
Chapter 90
Alonso and Keane continued their watch. 11pm and there was no sign of movement in the hotel. After thirty-six hours with little sleep Keane was overtired and grumpy – he missed his girlfriend, he missed his television, and most of all he missed his bed. He didn’t share Alonso’s conviction that the stakeout was going to bear fruit, and the longer it went on the more convinced he became that it was all a waste of time.
“This is ridiculous,” he said looking at the clock. “How long are we going to wait? I told you earlier – the girl at reception hadn’t seen anyone of his description. And neither had any of the staff in the service station.”
“He is here,” said Alonso defiantly. “Someone must have seen him. We just need to question the correct shift.”
“Maybe,” said Keane. “But all I want at the moment is sleep.”
“Well, go ahead and sleep then,” said Alonso. “I will keep awake.”
Inside the hotel Stratton and Oggi peered out into the night waiting for a sign from Tags.
“It’s eleven now,” said Oggi. “He should be here soon.”
“Yeah,” said Stratton. “I hope so. I reckon Alonso’s going to make a move some time soon.”
Five minutes later a van pulled up at the far end of the car park, side-on to the hotel and facing the trees. The driver flashed the headlights three times and then killed them.
“There we go,” said Oggi. “Let’s get going.”
They picked up their rucksacks and vacated the room.
Alonso shook Keane’s arm. “They’re coming out!” he said earnestly.
Stratton and Oggi walked past the car casually, pretending not to notice they were being watched.
“Right then,” said Alonso. “Let’s get out after them.” He attempted to open the car door, but it was jammed. He tried again, ramming his shoulder hard against it. “It’s stuck!” he shouted.
“Mine too!” exclaimed Keane. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Alonso looked back through the rear window and saw Stratton and Oggi jogging across to the edge of the car park. He hit the steering wheel hard. Then, gathering his composure, he started up and engaged the engine. He’d only gone a yard when he heard a number of loud pops. His heart sank as he realized that his tyres were history.
“I don’t believe it,” said Keane in exasperation. “I don’t bloody believe it. All that waiting, and now they’re just going to get away!”
Alonso removed his hands from the steering wheel and gave a resigned sigh. But he wasn’t beaten yet.
“Nice one Tags,” said Stratton as they got in the van. “I don’t think they’re going to be following anybody now.”
“No,” said Tags. “Not with four burst tyres they’re not. And their doors are wedged nice and tight as well.” He revved the engine. “Right then, let’s get out of here.”
The van turned quickly and sped off towards the motorway.
“Well, that’s it then,” said Keane despondently. “They’ve gone.”
“It is not over yet,” said Alonso.
“What do you mean it’s not over yet? There’s no way we can catch up with them now!”
From nowhere a man’s face appeared at the driver’s side window. Alonso whirred it down and said, “Please tell me you got the registration of that van.”
“Better than that,” said the man. “We’ve got a tracker in the wheel-arch.”
Chapter 91
Minatory clouds cloaked the night sky in an impenetrable blackness. Nothing stirred in the trees that lined the narrow, muddy track. At the side, on a grass verge, a Range Rover was parked up with its sidelights providing perfunctory illumination. Inside the vehicle Grady and Jennings were passing the time by arguing the relative merits of American football against rugby.
“All I’m saying is that rugby players don’t wear all that poncey protection,” said Jennings. “American football is just a pouf’s version of rugby. You’ve taken a great game and sanitized it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about Jennings. Your rugby boys wouldn’t last five minutes in a football game, they’d be crushed like the insignificant ants they are. Have you seen the size of the guys that play? They’re athletes man, real athletes.” He looked at his watch. “Where the hell is everybody? Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“Well, the SatNav says we are, and I can smell the sea, so we must be. We’ll just have to be patient. Cronin told us to hang back, so that’s what we’ll do. He’ll be here soon I’m sure.”
Grady gave his watch another glance and grunted.
A few minutes later a set of headlights appeared behind them. A Jeep slowed and pulled up at their side. The passenger window came down and Stella’s silhouetted face popped out. “Sorry,” she said. “We’re a bit late. Any sign of Stratton and Oggi?”
“Not yet,” said Grady. “We were beginning to think we were in the wrong place.”
Cronin pulled up in front of the Range Rover and killed the engine. He and Stella got out and joined Grady and Jennings.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re lost,” said Grady. “It’s not the easiest place in the world to find.”
“That’s the idea,” said Cronin.
“Are you sure your friends aren’t going to leave without us?” said Jennings. “I mean, time is getting on a bit.”
“Don’t worry,” said Cronin. “They’ll wait.”
It wasn’t long before the van finally turned up. Cronin and Stella returned to the Jeep and Stratton and Oggi got in the back of the Range Rover. Grady turned round to say hello and was immediately confronted by a large black whiskered face. Titan growled.
“I think you remember Titan, don’t you Grady?” Stratton laughed.
“Yeah, we have been acquainted,” said Grady composing himself. “Just remember, I’m on your side now.”
Calming himself from the shock of being but two feet from a live panther, Jennings craned his neck round and his eyes met Stratton’s in the dimness of the inside light. They exchanged a brief glance and nodded to each other.
“Jennings.”
“Stratton.”
Tags turned the van round and left.
Cronin led them slowly along the track, which sloped steadily downwards. The torrential rain of the previous weeks had turned it into something resembling a swamp, but both vehicles coped admirably and they made solid progress. After a while the track widened and eventually opened out onto a sandy inlet. Jennings could just make out the white of the surf foaming in the headlights.
Cronin stopped and flashed a predetermined message in Morse code with his headlights. Out in the sea a light reciprocated.
“They’ll be sending a landing craft out for you,” Cronin said to Stella. “It should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
Stella was a mixture of apprehension and nervous excitement. “I’m going to step out and have a cigarette,” she said.
“I’ll join you,” said Cronin. “I need to talk to Stratton anyway.”
Apart from a light westerly breeze the weather was holding up well. They all gathered round next to the Range Rover with their lean baggage in one small pile.
Jennings gave Titan a curious look. “So, Stratton, is this some sort of pet?”
“I wouldn’t call him a pet – he does his own thing. He’s more of a companion. He’s been living on the moor for years. I thought it was about time he got back to his roots.”
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