by J E Higgins
“My God!!” Nawati gasped. “You mean she is real!! She actually exists!”
“You better believe it bru,” Ravenhoof growled. “I’ve never seen the face, and I’ve only heard the name once. But she’s real all right. Real and dangerous. We’re playing with fire on this one.”
O’knomo was surprised to see the jowly policeman speak so vehemently as if he had a personal hatred of his own for the girl in the photograph.
Walderhyn gazed at the picture with a disapproving eye but said nothing.
Nawati had by now risen from his chair to obtain a closer look. “She is a monster. I have heard so many terrifying tails of her. She was a ghost. An apparition who killed so many and just disappeared.” He looked over at O’knomo in bewilderment. “She’s our objective?”
O’knomo looked his subordinate dead in the eye and answered only with a nod. Nawati acknowledged the truth of the situation and sat back down.
“Everything you need to know is in here.” O’knomo handed the file to Walderhyn first. After a quick review of the pages, Walderhyn handed it to Ravenhoof.
“Great Britain is going to make this investigation difficult,” said the old Afrikaner, handing the document to Nawati, who snatched it up immediately.
O’knomo agreed. “In time, we will have to establish relations with Scotland Yard. First, though, we need to begin our investigation with what we have so we approach our British colleagues with help to direct the search. The bigger question will be what to do if she’s not in Britain. She’s a fugitive not just from our government but the UK as well. I would assume she wouldn’t stay there. Which brings up the question of what to do if she’s fled the country already?”
At the conclusion of the meeting, Nawati returned the file to O’knomo.
As they were about to leave, O’knomo beckoned Ravenhoof and Walderhyn to stay a moment. “I wanted to speak to you both before we went any further. I know neither of you chose this assignment. I realize this probably isn’t what you feel the best doing. If I had to chase down one of my own, who had done things under the assumption it was for their cause, I too would have problems. If you aren’t comfortable with this, I’ll understand. I won’t force you or speak ill of you. But, before we go any further, I have to know your minds on this.”
Ravenhoof’s jaw quivered, while Walderhyn scratched at his lower lip, as if deep in thought. Both stood silent.
Walderhyn looked up over his wide glasses. “I have never condoned the barbarism of the CCB or any security service that participated in this sort of thing. I understand this was not a clean, honorable war. I certainly had no patience for the cloak and dagger, covert operations. While I can understand the necessity of such methods at times, these agencies took it too far and were completely out of control. I won’t judge this Sauwa Catcher for what she did. She was in the field, I wasn’t. But, I also agree the country needs to heal; that means bringing people like her to justice. So long as that is our goal, and it’s not about playing politics or simply getting even, then I’m willing to see this through.”
O’knomo faced Ravenhoof. The old cop cleared his throat. “I know what you may think of me. God knows neither the police nor this agency has the best history in their own right. I never went for this heavy-handed stuff. Real intelligence work doesn’t come from midnight killings or beatin’ a fella in the back room. I never condoned what either the police or the military did running these covert wars. Nor did I like what we were into when this place was the DONS. The reason I had my job after Barnard took control was that I never got my hands bloody with the rough stuff. Now, I ain’t about playing politics either, but the CCB was a nasty little business, and I agree with Walderhyn; it was out of control. So yah, if we’re doing this for the right reasons, then I’m in.”
Ravenhoof raised his finger warningly, and I repeat, “If, we’re doing this for the right reasons. As you said yourself, you boys have blood on your hands, too.”
“Hopefully, we will be,” O’knomo sighed as he turned to look, once again, at the picture of the infamous Angel of Death.
7
The trip across the border had been daunting. No maps existed that described the complexity of the intricate network that informally crossed the border. A compass and general use of the sun had been the only tools available for someone not personally familiar with the labyrinth of roadways. For, Sauwa, it didn’t help that her British accent made her stick out immediately ─ a problem heightened by the issue of being in an IRA stronghold. She stayed off the roads, keeping close to any bushes and other vegetation that might offer hasty concealment in the event she passed anyone.
Initially, she had wanted to move at night to give herself better protection. However, if she were stopped, a wandering tourist was easier to explain to an army patrol or a passing local in the daytime. Besides, she figured she was also less likely to come across the added problem of IRA gunmen, who would be more active at night. When she finally got to the other side of town, she managed to hitch a ride with a farmer on his way to the coastal city of Dundalk. After a hot meal and getting her bearings, she found a lively pub. Scoping the place out, she found a look-alike deep into her libations. When the young girl wobbled off to the bathroom, Sauwa snatched the girl’s wallet from her half-open bag. Within an hour, she was on a bus headed for Dublin.
Unlike the other hamlets she had seen in her travel across the country, Dublin was a modern, thriving metropolis. The city glistened with the massive amount of lights that lit the night causing a glowing aura. After passing over O’Connell Bridge, the bus rumbled along the streets of Dublin’s south side by an assortment of old buildings mixed with a variety of new modern structures denoting the greater affluence of the city’s wealthier section. Sauwa nestled in her seat; the last few days had been grueling as she worked to make her way to her destination.
After a few transfers and a little confusion, she eventually came within a few blocks of Cope Street, and the neon lights of the Rory Club, her destination. She didn’t like the idea of reaching out to a career facilitator on the black market. Not because she had such lofty standards; she worried who might be watching. People who dealt in the importation of illicit material did not go unnoticed by the local authorities, especially if their clients included one of the most violent and notorious terror organizations on the island.
Before making any contact, Sauwa scouted the area. Expensively dressed rich kids cruised the streets enjoying their parent’s money while they still could. But, because it was a weekday, the travel lanes were not packed. She didn’t really blend with the crowd, so she pulled out her map and played the part of a backpacker finding her way through an alien city.
Heading down the street, she pretended to glance at the map a couple of times and casually looked about getting her bearings. A man too old for the crowd caught the corner of her eye. He was mingling, but his clothes were subpar. He leaned against the wall of a small eatery, trying to look like he was just hanging out, but his focus was on the Rory Club across the street. A small plastic earpiece protruded from his ear connecting to a clear plastic cord that slid down the side of his neck into the collar of his shirt.
Further down the street, another man sat in the front seat of an expensive looking car. Like the man against the wall, his age and manner of dress didn’t match the general scene. He had a similar cord leading from his ear down under his grey T-shirt. Neither man paid her the slightest attention as they continued monitoring the Rory club. Police, definitely. She walked until she was sure there weren’t any others about to see her. The vehicles she had just passed were not a high-end detail. More likely, they were detectives from the vice unit or narcotics trolling in a known area of criminal business.
As she anticipated, the police knew of her contact ─ this Banker guy ─ but the surveillance was minimal. The Garda didn’t seem to be fully aware of her contact’s entire business dealings. Sauwa kept going, searching for a place to eat, then for a semi-secluded phone to make
her call. She wasn’t about to station herself anywhere she didn’t have a significant advantage.
She grabbed dinner at a deli. There was a phone near Merrion Square Park. The park was a short distance from the club, among a group of four of Dublin’s five parks. At the late hour, the surrounding streets were marginally busy, most of the crowd enjoying a little time in the fresh air before retiring for the night or heading to a restaurant to catch a late dinner.
Sauwa scoped out the phone booth outside the front entrance. The location was relatively open, gave her a good visual of anyone coming and provided a multitude of escape points she could use in case of trouble. Opening her notebook, she dialed the phone number.
After two rings, a heavily accented voice of a woman answered. “Hello, what can I do for ya?”
“What place am I calling, if I may ask?” Sauwa replied softly.
“You’re callin’ the Rory Club here,” the woman replied sounding exasperated.
“I’m looking for Banker,” Sauwa continued.
“Banker?” the woman sounded confused.
“Yes.”
“No one by that name works here.”
“Strange,” Sauwa continued. “This was the number I was given by a guy who said we should hook up if I came to town. My name’s Bridget, but he might know me through my nickname, Swan. We have mutual friends. I’m guessing Banker is a nickname, too.”
The woman paused for a moment, loud music was playing in the background. “Well, miss, I’ll ask some of the boys workin’ and let them know a Swan somebody is callin’.”
“Thank you. Can I leave a number?” Sauwa chose her words deliberately. It seemed obvious the woman had no idea what was actually being said.
The woman agreed, and Sauwa read off the phone number of the pay phone. The conversation ended, leaving Sauwa concerned the woman might forget altogether. In either case, Sauwa slipped away from the phone to take up a seat on the park bench just inside the gate. The shadows kept her concealed from anyone looking from across the street or from the higher floors of the aligning houses.
It was nearly forty minutes later when the pay phone rang. Sauwa walked over and lifted the receiver. “Yes.”
“Who am I speaking to?” It was the voice of a man, polished and articulate, unlike the woman earlier.
“Swan, or Bridget, whichever one you prefer,” Sauwa replied quietly but with a stern seriousness. “Who is this?”
“I was told you would know me as Banker,” the man replied with an equally stern voice. “I understand you were visiting Dublin and some friends thought we should meet and have a few drinks.”
“I think that would be delightful,” Sauwa replied. “Though, I’m not one for clubs. Is there somewhere quiet where we could get together?”
“Of course,” Banker replied, now more cordially. “I know a small place. Pints is the name.” The man gave the directions and the meeting was set for the next hour.
It took time for her to find a taxi. Luckily, the drive was short. As it turned out, Pints was only a few blocks from the Rory Club. Unlike the flamboyant party district that thrived on attention, Pints was in a conservative and quieter location, the street and businesses occupied by older, more professional types of patrons. She would certainly blend in much easier here than at the Rory.
Asking the driver to drop her off several doors up, she exited the vehicle and started down the sidewalk toward the bar. She didn’t want to enter this unknown establishment blind, but cab drivers, particularly long-serving veterans of the job, tended to have keen eyes for those acting suspiciously or out of context to their usual fares. They either remembered dangerous details for the police later, or they were inclined to bring such suspicions to any policeman passing by. A young girl asking to be brought to a small bar only to walk in an opposite direction from the location would certainly spark such instincts. Sauwa couldn’t afford to be remembered by anyone, so she stopped and pretended to be caught up reading the headlines from a newsstand as the cabby drove off. When he was gone, she crossed the street scanning everyone she passed with the appearance of indifference
She had twenty minutes until her meeting with Banker. If he had any intention of double-crossing her, he would have had people set up early, but there were scarce places for such people to position themselves without being noticed. If they were there, they would be across the street. They would try to look like folks having a conversation, situated in a café or restaurant that offered a view.
Pints was a higher end establishment with a large front window. The only café within sight had closed for the evening, leaving no other possible staging point. Pints had clearly been chosen to offer both the perception of an innocent get together and to ensure any surveillance would be easily detected.
Twenty minutes had passed, and a man with black hair and a medium build approached. Sauwa, by now, had taken up a spot under an overhead street lamp, a newspaper in hand, up the street from the pub.
The black-haired fellow stopped just short of the pub’s entrance and glanced inside through the large window. He was casually dressed in an open flannel shirt over a grey V-neck T-shirt. He studied the interior of the establishment for several minutes before determining that who he was looking for was not there. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he looked about the street studying everyone in the near vicinity.
His eyes stopped when he caught sight of a young lady reading a newspaper. Sauwa assumed this was her contact. Rolling up the paper, she snatched up her bergen and joined the man in front of the bar.
“Swan, I assume?” he opened, slightly hesitant.
“Banker,” she replied.
Both exchanged cold looks of suspicion as he caught the door and beckoned her inside.
The pub was quiet with a long bar and a large outer room full of polished mahogany tables and matching wood chairs. Aside from the half dozen patrons sporadically distributed throughout the establishment, the pub was empty. Acting as a couple out on a date, Banker led Swan to an isolated table. It was near the window so they could see outside, but against the corner to hinder the view of anyone looking in.
They took their seats and were immediately approached by a happy, heavy-set waitress. Banker took the liberty of ordering two glasses of Guinness for them. The waitress dutifully jotted down the order and retreated. Now alone, the two could speak.
“So, you’re Swan from London,” Banker opened the discussion. His voice was thick with irritation.
Sauwa shrugged, “At least for now. I understand you’re here to assist with resources for my job?”
He made a snarky gesture. “That’s what they told me. You’re my responsibility while you’re here enjoying our fair town.”
“You don’t seem very happy about this.”
Banker leaned down and shot her a serious look. “My work isn’t the most honest. I survive in this world by knowing when to be scared. And, everything about you and your business frightens me.”
“My business?” Sauwa asked, innocently.
“I don’t even know what it is,” the man maintained his cold glare. “That’s what scares me. This firm you work for has serious clout. Enough that it’s got some bloody, powerful and dangerous people jumping about. They tell me nothing other than I’m to help you with whatever you need, ask no questions, and make sure you’re paid when the job is done. Then I’m to arrange your immediate exit from our fair country to somewhere outside the UK and Ireland. This is the kinda’ stuff I don’t like. This has dangerous written all over it.”
Sauwa shrugged. “Well, on that we can agree. Neither one of us wishes for this. Neither of us has really any say in it. The powers that be need this done, and it has fallen on us to complete it.”
“Do I want to know what it is?”
Sauwa said nothing. She slowly shook her head and gazed at him.
Banker leaned back in his chair, as he rubbed his face. “Well, let’s have our drink, and then I’ll take you to your lodgings.”
Banker studied the pale, dark-haired girl before him. In her field coat and cap, she looked more like a London Bohemian than an employee of a major criminal firm. But, the smartest criminals tended not to look or act the part.
“So,” Sauwa gave a quick glance about the pub to ensure no one was within hearing distance. “You’ve been in business a long time. Those who put me in touch with you spoke highly of your abilities.”
Banker took a sip of his beer and wiped the drops from his lips. “Like I’ve said, I survive in this game. I do so by being choosy about those I work with. And, those I work with play it straight.”
“Good rules to live by,” the young lady leaned back in her chair.
Banker noticed she wasn’t touching her drink. “Not thirsty?”
“Not thirsty,” she replied, as she looked around the room again.
“I didn’t bring anyone if that’s what you’re concerned about?” Banker leaned forward, exasperated.
“Maybe not intentionally,” she leaned in, too. “But I caught sight of police types keeping a watch on your establishment. I’m more concerned about the likes of them following you to see what you’re up to.”
Banker ran his fingers across his face. “You’ve been by the club?”
“Walked past it. Like you, I like to know who it is I’m working with, especially when I’m putting my safety in their hands.”
Banker raised an eyebrow. “As in any clubbing world, narcotics tend to circulate. Finer clubs like the Rory attract patrons with both money and an appetite for the high-end stuff. So drug dealers frequent our establishment. They don’t work for us. But they do attract the occasional narcotics cops to keep watch on us. That’s all they are.”