In Deep Water

by Sam Blake

‘Sorry,’ his eyes back on the road, he hit the bend and accelerated up the hill past Cathy’s Mini. ‘Command and control just got a call from a call box in Northern Ireland. Caller said there’s a girl being held in an old cottage up in Hollywood. It’s not far from here – off the main road in the middle of farmland. He seemed very sure, said she had purple streaks in her hair. When our lad looked for a personal detail to verify it, the caller said she was wearing an amethyst bracelet. Then he gave coordinates and rang off. They’re texting them through.’

  ‘Christ, that’s her, and she wears that bracelet all the time. But who gives coordinates to a scene?’ Cathy’s tone was incredulous.

  ‘The British army.’

  He had a point. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘Let’s hope so, and that it’s not a hoax to throw us off Givens’s trail.’

  A second later the text arrived. ‘Put the coordinates into the GPS. I’ve a fair idea where it is. We found an arms dump up there years ago.’

  ‘IRA?’

  ‘Dissidents.’

  ‘McIntyre said he’d heard Givens was in the North – maybe his friends up there know this area?’

  ‘That would make sense. Irina said she thought they’d been taken somewhere near Belfast after the ferry . . .’ he pursed his lips. ‘Farrell needed help with a problem so he phoned a friend? It only takes two hours to get down here from Belfast.’

  ‘But McIntyre said Givens wouldn’t work with traffickers.’

  ‘In my experience these guys work for whoever is paying the most. Maybe he was in the North doing another job for someone Farrell knows and this came up as a handy nixer on the side, but he didn’t get the whole story.’ O’Rourke’s voice dripped with sarcasm. As he spoke the GPS pinged.

  ‘It’s found it. Says seven minutes.’

  ‘ERU should be there in forty, less with luck. Uniform from Tallaght will set up the road blocks.’ Cathy took a breath, her heart beating hard. The Emergency Response Unit were permanently on alert to scramble anywhere in the country in two hours. From their base in Harcourt Square in the city centre they’d have a clear run at this time of night.

  *

  If Cathy had thought the drive up to the mountains to identify the girl’s body was stressful, the drive to Hollywood was ten times worse. Granted it was faster, but it was pitch dark, and every minute they were on the road her stomach felt sicker, adrenaline coursing back through her system making her more alert than she was physically able for after everything that had happened tonight. It was 2 a.m.; she’d hardly slept last night and had woken up at six. She knew she needed to calm down and pace herself. Like when she was running after the blast, it was going to be a long night and she needed to keep everything on the level or her emotions would start seesawing and she’d be useless to everyone, most of all herself.

  She pulled out her phone, clicking through to Google, copying the coordinates off the screen on O’Rourke’s iPhone into Google Maps. She clicked through to Street View, zooming in on a single-storey whitewashed cottage that looked like it had last been inhabited in 1950. The Street View shots had been taken during the summer, the faded pale-blue front door peeling, windows dark with dirt. Set back in a garden overgrown with wild roses and brambles, a hand plough was leaning against the wall, rusted beyond use. Cathy rotated the image. Immediately opposite the cottage a corrugated steel hay barn, its red paint worn, looked like it had been built more recently. She played with the view, trying to see behind the cottage. No good. She zoomed out.

  ‘It’s literally in the middle of nowhere. Like the nearest house is miles.’

  ‘Perfect place to hold someone. Easy enough access from the city, but way off the beaten track.’

  He was right. It was a natural place for Givens to choose: its location gave him the tactical advantage.

  But who had called them? Did Givens have a team on this? Cathy guessed that’s what O’Rourke was preparing for.

  O’Rourke’s phone rang again, and he depressed the button on the steering wheel to patch it through to the speaker. The voice on the other end was clear, practised.

  ‘ERU are on the way, ETA thirty-four minutes. A full crisis team plus hostage negotiator and snipers. Surrounding roads will be closed in fifteen. Paramedics en route.’

  ‘Excellent, we’ll be there in five.’

  Cathy rested her elbow on the door and ran her fingers through her hair. Her head was starting to pound. What would they find? Had Givens gone back there? Or had he run and left an accomplice holding Sarah Jane? How many people were involved in this? He’d protected her so far, would he put her in danger now? The questions danced in her head.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘I’ll be better when we get there.’

  O’Rourke hit his indicator, glancing in his mirror as he swung right off the main road and down a narrow lane, his high beams bouncing off steep banks on either side of the road. Outside the reach of the headlights it was pitch dark, darker than Cathy could imagine. She felt like they were going through a tunnel. Suddenly, approaching a bend, he slowed. To her left Cathy saw a break in the steep-sided bank and a tubular steel farm gate, pinned open. O’Rourke pulled through the gate, his lights momentarily lighting a track that stretched across a lumpy field. He swung in hard to his left, tucking the car into the hedge.

  ‘Come on, I’ve gear in the boot.’

  Popping the boot release, he was out of the car, slipping off his overcoat and balling it up before Cathy had moved. She didn’t hang about, though. As she got out of the car she immediately felt the drop in temperature. They were up the hills, higher than the reservoir, and O’Rourke had had the car’s heating up at full blast, knowing she was always cold. She shivered as she moved beside him, glad of her Nikes on the uneven grass. He passed her a navy Garda jacket and baseball cap.

  ‘I’ve your body protector in here somewhere.’ He turned to grin at her, ‘Better late than never.’ He rooted in the boot, shifting white forensic suits and his own body armour out of the way, ‘Here, get this on.’

  As she pulled on the heavy navy jacket and Kevlar vest, he grabbed a pair of boots, dropping them on the grass and slipping off his shoes. ‘Let’s just hope this evening isn’t the ruin of a very good pair of Armani trousers.’

  She grinned, adjusting the clip on the back of the baseball cap to make sure it was a snug fit. He shouldered off his suit jacket and pulled off his tie, tossing them into the boot before putting on his own bomber jacket, GARDA emblazoned in yellow across the back.

  ‘Let me have a look at your phone. We need to get a feel for the layout of the place. I doubt anything’s changed since I was last here, though.’

  Cathy pulled out her phone, finding the Google Street View image. It was amazing Google had made it up here and found the place, but Cathy had once seen a Street View shot of the desert, the shadow of the camel that was being used to take it dominating the picture. Anything was possible if you had a big enough budget.

  O’Rourke leaned to look at it, the weight of his chest pressing into her shoulder, his aftershave masking the night scents of the field. But she didn’t have time to think about that now. She turned the image so he could see the approach to the building. It was as if the cottage had been frozen in time. Before he could comment, O’Rourke’s phone vibrated. Moving away from her slightly, he picked up the call.

  Cathy scanned the field while he was listening to the caller. It looked like grazing land for sheep or cattle, and fell away gently down the hillside. Bisecting it, running from the gate they’d entered by to another in the opposite corner, she could just see a track, illuminated here by the BMW’s rear lights, the grass newly flattened by the wheels of a heavy vehicle. Givens’s Range Rover?

  O’Rourke clicked the phone off, ‘Tallaght have done a recon – there’s signs of recent habitation and a light on in the cottage. Apparently it’s not been occupied since the late seventies – farmer hardly ever gets up here, keeps his herd lower down.’

  As
he spoke, they heard the distant sound of a vehicle on the road. The hairs stood up on the back of Cathy’s neck as O’Rourke threw a meaningful glance at her and pushed the boot silently closed. He indicated she should get back in the car. This should be the ERU team, but there had been enough surprises tonight already.

  O’Rourke switched off the lights and swivelled around in the driver’s seat, waiting. Then, fighting a smile, he glanced at her, ‘You know, if this turns out to be Givens we’re going to have to pretend we’re up here having a shag.’

  She glared at him, praying he couldn’t see her face glow bright red in the darkness, Christ, he picked his moments.

  ‘I don’t think that would do your back a whole lot of good.’

  Before O’Rourke could respond, a pair of headlights swung into the gate. Still smiling, he raised his eyebrows. ‘Looks like you’re off the hook.’

  44

  Sitting in the darkened car, Cathy was almost blinded by the lights of three unmarked and blacked-out Land Rover Discoverys that swung through the gate into the field beside them. O’Rourke glanced at her as he pushed his door open. This was it.

  The passenger in the lead vehicle climbed out to meet O’Rourke. He was little more than a shadow in the dark in his black uniform and helmet, night-vision goggles already in place. Anonymity was key with the Emergency Response Unit. The most highly trained tactical response unit in An Garda Síochána, specialising in counterterrorism, crisis negotiation and hostage rescue, members were protected in court, giving evidence on camera. But it didn’t matter to Cathy right now who they were, they knew their stuff and they were damn good. And they were going to help find Sarah Jane.

  O’Rourke’s conversation with him was brief. Then he turned to Cathy and gestured that she should join them. She slipped out of the car.

  The ERU Inspector grinned at her as she came around the bonnet of O’Rourke’s BMW. At least she thought he did; under his matte-black helmet and goggles he wore a balaclava. It was hard to tell what his face was doing.

  ‘So this is Cat Connolly, the kick-boxer?’ Cathy raised an eyebrow in surprise as he put out his hand to shake hers, his grasp firm. ‘Have you worked with us before?’ She could hardly hear him, his voice was so low. She shook her head.

  ‘How about we get you into the loop so you can see exactly how we operate? We need more women like you.’

  Surprised, Cathy nodded. She’d thought she’d be wallpaper in this operation, that the last thing they’d want was to be falling over her. These guys were as highly trained as they came.

  The inspector continued, ‘I heard you’d been over to the Met, you’ve done their anti-terrorism course?’

  ‘It was a while ago now, it was only an introduction,’

  He shrugged, ‘It’s all good, it all adds up. You never know what will come in useful out on the job. But I don’t need to tell you that.’

  Despite the sick, nervous feeling in her stomach, or perhaps because of it, Cathy felt a surge of excitement. She’d often seen reports of this elite unit in action, and wondered if they had any female members; whenever she’d asked, the general feeling had been that the two-week commando-style induction that had ninety-five per cent of applicants in a heap on the floor before it was finished reduced the appeal somewhat. It wasn’t all rushing about dressed in black with sub-machine guns.

  The inspector leaned into the vehicle he’d climbed out of, speaking to someone inside, ‘Can we have eyes and ears here?’

  He turned back to Cathy and O’Rourke, his voice little more than a whisper, ‘We’re going to set up an ops base in the barn opposite the cottage. The guys will surround the building, see how the land lies.’

  O’Rourke looked at Cathy, ‘You ready?’

  Cathy nodded. Her exhaustion had slipped away as she’d sat in the car, the few moments of quiet enough for her to re-centre herself and focus. Now she felt an overpowering need to get moving. Well, most of her did. This was the best lead they’d had, but despite her excitement, she was still nervous about the timing. Cathy knew Givens was an experienced player, he didn’t make mistakes. They were clearly meant to get this information now. But it felt like he was playing a game with them, keeping them busy so he could slip out of the country more easily.

  There wasn’t time to wonder. The driver’s and rear doors of the first Land Rover opened and three more officers dressed from head to toe in black spilled out, one of them carrying a large black holdall. As the doors in the other vehicles opened, the guy with the bag pulled out earpieces and radios and proceeded to wire Cathy and O’Rourke up. The earpiece felt just like the ear phones she used when she was running. Night-vision goggles, though, took a few more minutes to get used to. She knew they were in a field, but everything looked green. It took her a moment to realise that despite the unusual shading, she could see quite clearly.

  She pulled her baseball hat back on. The ERU’s tech was certainly impressive.

  The ERU inspector gestured for her to join them as eight heavily armed officers gathered around for their briefing. He brought them up to speed quickly, efficiently and quietly. They looked like storm troopers, radios strapped to their shoulders, balaclavas, helmets and night-vision goggles in place, GARDA emblazoned on their breast pockets in gold, POLICE written across their backs. No chance of any confusion there.

  Then they were on the move. Single file, not speaking, scanning the surrounding countryside as they headed for the cover of the hedge.

  Staying close in, ducking down to avoid being silhouetted against the landscape if the moon did decide to appear, Cathy slipped into line right behind the ERU inspector, his weapon invisible against his black uniform.

  At the opposite end of the field the track turned through a wide set of double gates, one hanging open, and crossed the corner of another field before disappearing through more gates into a rough concrete yard. Tucked into the apex of the hedges surrounding the fields, a hay barn rose on the left, a patchwork of corrugated steel sheets closing its sides to the elements.

  Opposite it, separated from the yard by a low drystone wall, was the single-storey cottage.

  They passed through the gates silently. Reaching the second set, O’Rourke indicated Cathy should follow him as the rest of the team melted into the darkness. The narrow path between the hedge and the near side of the barn was out of sight from the cottage. The grass was longer here, brambles catching at her ankles. Ahead of Cathy and O’Rourke, the ERU inspector and two of his team – the man with the bag and another one – walked in single file, disappearing around the far corner of the barn. As Cathy reached the corner an old tractor loomed out of the darkness where it had been abandoned, the grass around it knee high. The night was unbelievably dense and silent this far up in the hills, heavy clouds obscuring the moon. Somewhere, a long way away, she thought she could hear the sound of water. The smell of cats was strong. She adjusted her goggles, trying to make them more comfortable.

  A bat swooped above her, the sudden movement making her start.

  At the end of the barn, the ERU inspector indicated a gap in the corrugated steel wall, a makeshift doorway. They hardly needed to use it as the whole wall on the long side was open to the elements, allowing the wind to keep the hay dry when it had been in use. Inside their footsteps were quiet, soft soles on concrete.

  Cathy looked around. The barn obviously hadn’t been used in a while, and seemed to have become a dumping ground for old machinery. Around the edges of the structure was what looked like ancient farm equipment, bits of a plough, a battered car, a feed bin.

  The four men moved into the corner nearest the cottage, a gap in the steel sheeting giving them a narrow but clear view. Bobbing down, the man with the bag unzipped the holdall and proceeded to pull out a laptop and several devices that Cathy couldn’t identify. He laid everything out on the ground, silently powering the laptop up and inserting several USB sticks. Within minutes he’d created a command centre.

  The ERU inspector bent for
ward, listening to his earpiece.

  And suddenly, through her own earpiece, Cathy could hear the team reporting in, taking up their positions to surround the house, calling in as they found cover. She put her hand on her earpiece too, straining to hear their low voices. The ERU was a one-hundred-strong elite tactical team trained in the use of a huge range of weapons from the SIG P226 she carried to Heckler & Koch assault rifles and sub-machine guns. They trained with the FBI in Quantico, and were part of the ATLAS group, a team drawn from thirty-two European nations on alert and provisioned to attend incidents in any part of Europe.

  The inspector gestured for her and O’Rourke to come in close; he mimed shooting a gun and pointed at her. She nodded, understanding: she needed to check her weapon. It held nine 19-millimetre rounds. She’d knocked the unused round out of the chamber when the troops had arrived earlier. Thank goodness she hadn’t fired on Givens or she would have had to turn her gun in as evidence. It felt familiar in her hand, the weight exactly right, the curve of the stock comfortable. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. Tactical assault to rescue hostages carried the highest casualty rate, and was only used when all reasonable attempts to resolve the crisis by negotiation had failed. She slipped it back into her holster.

  They’d try talking their way in first.

  45

  Ten minutes in her normal life felt like a blur. Ten minutes when you’re huddled in a freezing barn waiting to see if your best friend is still alive and uninjured takes for ever. Cathy could understand that it was essential that the team were briefed, that the inspector fully understood the layout of the area, that they established a command and control centre . . . She could hear them working fast, preparing their equipment, assessing the options open to them, but bloody hell.

  Cathy’s heart was beating hard, echoing so loud inside her head she was sure the rest of the team could hear it. She stuck her hands in the pockets of the blue bomber jacket, trying to focus, to blank out everything going on around her. Beside her, O’Rourke and the negotiator had their heads together, but their voices were so low she couldn’t catch anything except Sarah Jane’s name.