The Dublin Hit

by J E Higgins

  She turned back to the two other men lying in the hall. In the clear light, their eyes were hollow and staring into the darkness. One, a pool of blood and brain matter encircling his head like an aura; the other, a defined hole in the chest cavity shielding the heart. Both were dead.

  From her place in the doorway, Sauwa now turned slightly to angle herself and sight in on the other man. He turned just in time to see a young girl, looking like a ghostly figure staring back at him from behind a gun. He attempted to speak. Before he could get any words out, she fired a shot that landed directly through his left eye and exploded out the back of his head spraying the floor behind him.

  As if on robotic programming, she darted down the hall past the three bodies. She could hear the sounds of glass bottles and cans as the other two men stumbled in the darkness. At the end of the hall, she dashed through the doorway. The main room of the warehouse was pitch black, except for the faint light coming in through the windows. She could hear the sounds of the terrified men tripping and uttering a litany of curse words as they tried to navigate the darkness.

  With her night vision destroyed, Sauwa made her way to the power box. Cracking it open, she flipped a switch and instantly the warehouse lit up. The two men were standing feebly in the middle of a large room blinded and debilitated. She didn’t wait for them to get their bearings before she sighted in and took her first two shots. They tore through the torso of the first man, who dropped to the ground and began crying out. Confused and still partially blinded, the other man turned to try and see what was happening. He looked back just in time to see the flash from a corner and the horrifying sound of a gun being fired before he felt a powerful force explode through his stomach with another following right through his throat.

  With both men on the ground bleeding out, Sauwa maneuvered her way to them. Moving within a few feet she raised her weapon. The first man attempted to make a plea for mercy before a bullet punched through the soft skin of his chin. The other man was gasping and choking but said nothing as the final bullet exploded through his head.

  Satisfied both were dead, Sauwa turned and ran back to her room. Looking down the hall, she could see the bodies of the first two men lying motionless. She moved carefully, watching for any signs one of them might still be alive. The blood splatters were uninterrupted from where the corpses lay. They hadn’t moved since they fell. Sliding around the door frame into her room, weapon held at the ready, she came in to see the third gunman lying on his side exactly as he had died.

  The immense thundering sound of .45 caliber gunfire echoing loudly in the concrete corridors would have been heard by anyone within the immediate vicinity. She was aware of the night watchmen who hung about in some of the other nearby warehouses. It was easy to surmise that they had heard the entire gunfight and had already reported it to the police. The clock had started ticking when she fired the first shot.

  Satisfied her assailants were no longer a threat, Sauwa felt her energy drain. She had been on an emotional adrenaline high during the entire fight and now her body was crashing as it receded. Still able to function, though now operating with the faculties of someone slightly intoxicated, she threw on her shoes and reached for her bag. Thankfully, she had been prepared for a quick escape since she had assassinated Donovan.

  Changing out of her flannel pants, she quickly threw on a pair of jeans and her flannel coat. Within a minute she was dressed and packed. Her last act was to hurdle the Browning far out into the sea. She had taken the precaution of loading her magazines with rubber gloves to limit any fingerprints. Police may find them throughout the room but not necessarily on the bullet casings.

  Flinging her bergen over her shoulder, she raced out the room for the last time. Retrieving her motorcycle from under a canvas cover in the far corner of the main room, Sauwa wheeled it out the entry door. Leaping onto it, she revved the engine until it roared to life before riding into the darkness.

  17

  Detective Sergeant Ryan Youngest pressed his fist to his lips as he absorbed the information from the two intelligence officers. The story he was hearing was crazy ─ almost absurd. It sounded like a weird plot from a cheap spy novel. At some level, he felt foolish even entertaining the idea. However, the South African, Coors Ravenhoof, continued to explain about Sauwa Catcher; this professional killer who was previously in the employ of his government. The MI-5 operative, Jeffery Talamadge, discussed her extensive history carrying out acts of assassinations and terror throughout the United Kingdom.

  “If Donovan was forwarding information to the IRA about Loyalist groups and their operations in the Republic, it would make perfect sense to have him killed,” Youngest finally spoke up. “You’re right. The blowback on all of this, especially during the peace talks, would be serious. If they had hired an outsider they could trust to carry it out that would be a logical deduction. This Catcher woman, from what you’re telling me, seems like the ideal candidate.”

  “Quite,” Talamadge quipped, “and she’s likely being protected by them. Now, your people probably have a good pulse on the UVF and its activities around here. We should start shaking the trees to see what falls out.”

  “Not so fast,” Youngest interjected as he turned to Ravenhoof. “You mentioned your analyst people concluded that the UVF would want to keep their distance and work through intermediaries.”

  Ravenhoof nodded.

  “That makes sense,” Youngest continued. “Why use a freelancer, if you’re supporting her with your organization’s own organic resources. It would make no sense to go shaking down the local boys. If this affair was made somewhere between England and Northern Ireland, chances are they wouldn’t have involved anyone around here.”

  “Someone has to be helping her,” Ravenhoof stated. “Who would they reach out to as an intermediary for this?”

  “Do they work with any other radical groups?” Talamadge leaned back in his chair as he tapped his thumbs.

  Youngest rubbed his hand on the lower part of his face. “No, they don’t have those kinds of connections to anyone here that I know of. But, that’s a question for the intelligence boys, not me. Let me reach out to them and see who they would recommend.”

  “Would it necessarily be a radical group though?” Ravenhoof chimed in. “I mean, we’re looking for someone who would have the network and resources to hide a highly sought after killer effectively, aid them in this type of assassination and, ultimately, arrange an exit out of the country.” The South African looked about the room as the two other men were staring back at him with a look expecting further elaboration. “I mean if it were me, I would reach out to some criminal type. Someone the UVF does heavy business with and who could be trusted to support such a plan.”

  “That’s certainly a good point,” Youngest replied. “I know a few types who could pull off such a job.”

  At that moment, Officer Hilter Dagden entered the room. “Sorry to bother you, but I thought you might want to know. You asked me to keep an eye out for any violent homicides that took place in the last several hours and appear to be gangland related. Well, I just received word about a gun battle at a warehouse down at the dockyards. Five dead so far, all gunned down.”

  Youngest looked back at the two intelligence officers. “In the absence of any other immediate leads, we should possibly check this out.”

  Dagden stepped out of the room as the three other men moved to get up.

  “Given my suspicions about Detective Donovan’s involvement with the IRA and your assumptions about a freelance killer, I presumed that whoever it is, the IRA would be looking for them too,” Youngest explained as he reached for his coat.

  The sight at the warehouse was the result of what could only have been one hellacious gun battle. Detective Sergeant Youngest and the two intelligence men looked about in amazement at the carnage sprawled about in thick pools of drying blood. As seasoned policemen, neither Ravenhoof nor Youngest was the slightest bit fazed at the grisly sight. They studie
d the scene with detective-like instincts. For Ravenhoof, it had been years since he had actually investigated a crime. He felt a tad bit of excitement getting back to his roots. Talamadge, by contrast, was a counter-intelligence officer who had little exposure to actual death and carnage. He tried hard not to disgrace himself as he held back the urge to vomit.

  At the scene, the trio found a stout little man with a glowing, bald head directing the investigation. As if a general commanding an army, the stout man waved his arms about constantly demanding answers from a multitude of people working different aspects of the case. When Youngest approached, the bald man was incredulous with the initial assumption he was being usurped by another detective.

  A few quiet words of diplomacy quickly calmed him. The thought that his investigation was connected to something of significant importance, such as the Donovan murder, excited the bald detective. Youngest introduced both Talamadge and Ravenhoof as foreign police officers from their respective countries. They were investigating crimes that might be related. All of which made the bald man even more interested.

  “Detective Glenahaughan,” Youngest began, “what do you have so far?”

  Looking at the two foreign detectives waiting for answers, Glenahaughan beamed with a certain amount of pride. “For starters, we have five bodies, two in the main area here and three more in the back hallway. It looks like a deal or hit gone shitty. From the looks of things, the gunfight started in the back with the first three getting ambushed and continued out here with these two.” Glenahaughan waved at the two corpses sprawled out. “They tried to escape and got caught by whoever they were running from. They took bullets from someone firing from a distance, with what looks to be a .45 caliber model. We found .45 casings all over the place.”

  Ravenhoof and Youngest looked closer at the bodies. Their trained eye quickly picked up the wounds that were clearly inflicted by bullets fired at a distance that landed in the torso. Then the headshots that finished them both off could only have been fired from a few feet away.

  “Your killer or killers were pros alright,” Ravenhoof said, as he looked back at Glenahaughan.

  “Can we see the other bodies?” Youngest asked.

  Glenahaughan eagerly ushered the three toward the back. As they walked, Youngest took note of the distance between the shooter and the bodies. Coming to the entry of the back area, he saw the flags marking the spent casings. He turned to look back, noticing that the initial shots were taken from a considerable distance, well over thirty meters. Realizing it was done under what was obviously combat circumstances and limited time, the shooter was incredibly skilled. He also caught sight of various cans and bottles lying arbitrarily on the floor. At first glance, it looked like debris left by lazy workers. However, he soon noticed that the arbitrary debris was not so arbitrary. He began to see an informal pattern to the way they were laid out ─ close together but with a few feet between them.

  “We found the lighting in the back hallway had been disabled,” Glenahaughan said as he led the men through the door into the back hall. “The only light that worked was coming from this room here.” He pointed down a hall illuminated by a collection of standup lights. They had been brought in to compensate and lined the pathway displaying two more bodies sprawled out in front of the room.

  “You think the gunfight originated in here?” Youngest asked as he looked at the grisly scene and then further down at more flags noting the location of more shell casings.

  “Yes, I do,” replied Glenahaughan as he pointed out what Youngest and the others had already noticed. “From the looks of the bodies and where the shots initially struck along the side, I’d say these boys got taken by surprise. From the look of it all, it was someone hiding in the dark down that way. The shooter got these two and this one.” At the base of the room, Glenahaughan waved the men to look inside, where they found an additional corpse.” Ravenhoof and Youngest took turns peering inside to limit their foot traffic across the crime scene. Talamadge, becoming ever more nauseous at the sight before him, opted to remain in the hall looking the other way.

  Youngest studied the body further. Though it was lying on its side and the back of the head had been destroyed, he couldn’t quite understand why he felt he should know the dead man. Then, it hit him. He turned to Glenahaughan. “My God, is that Cork Regan?”

  Glenahaughan nodded. “Oh yes, it is to be sure. We were just as surprised when we made a positive identification on him.”

  The action of Youngest caught Ravenhoof and Talamadge by surprise. “What is it?” Talamadge asked. “Who is this Cork Regan fellow?”

  “He’s the top enforcer for the IRA here in Dublin,” answered Glenahaughan. “In fact, all these boys are known IRA heavies. They call Regan out when they want to send a message and lay down the law with the Dublin criminal world.” Glenahaughan was trying to hold back his glee as he saw the growing interest of the three policemen before him. The thought that he was investigating something much more than the originally suspected gangland shootout filled him with excitement. “Whoever they were after has angered some seriously powerful people,” he couldn’t help adding.

  “That’s true,” Youngest concurred. “Regan’s well known in Dublin streets as the last man you want coming after you.”

  “Did any of them get a shot off?” Ravenhoof suddenly interjected, as he looked around and noticed there were no nearby bullet casings next to them, and none of the dead men had drawn their guns.

  “Not that we can tell,” Glanahaughan replied. “That’s what makes this so concerning. This mystery shooter, or shooters, took out the city’s most dangerous enforcer and four of his guys without them getting off a shot. I mean disposed of all five men like they were nothing.”

  Ravenhoof and Talamadge were looking at each other with concurring glances. This was sounding more and more like the work of their assassin. Youngest walked into the room followed by Ravenhoof and, eventually, by Talamadge, who had to work up the courage to navigate past two bullet-riddled corpses.

  Inside, they saw the basic accommodations of what was obviously a person’s living quarters. Someone had been living here secretly. Walking about slowly, the detectives realized that the room had been well cleaned. It looked strangely devoid of any personal items. Something highly unusual for a person leaving in a rush, after being in a deadly gunfight. Even at a quick glance, it was obvious that the person who had once lived here had been meticulous about keeping the place free of anything that might provide any information about him that someone might be able to use for tracking.

  Normally, in a situation like this, police could find boxes from restaurants they frequented or receipts from places they had shopped at recently or just hung out. There was none of that. Looking out at the open window, it became apparent to all, that their mysterious squatter had been quite careful in ensuring the sea devoured any information.

  “Did your men find anything so far that could allude to the identity of our killer?” Youngest turned to face Glanahaughan.

  “A killer?” Glenahaughan looked back in surprise. “You think one person did all this by themselves?”

  Youngest rubbed his jaw for a moment. “It looks like our victims were ambushed by a single person who heard them coming from outside. The shooter moved into a planned position and waited until they could be seen in the light before opening fire. This whole hallway was set up to be a kill zone.”

  “Are you sure?” Glenahaughan responded with utter shock.

  Youngest continued. “You said the lighting in this hallway had been deliberately deactivated. The only light came from this room and the shooter knew exactly where to position himself to attain maximum concealment while retaining a visual of the area. The light from this room would have covered the hallway. The shooter didn’t fire until the victims were visible by the light after they kicked in the door. With the light destroying their night vision, they had no means to even see who was shooting at them or where the shots were coming from.
They were caught in an ambush.”

  “That seems a little elaborate,” Glenahaughan replied.

  “He’s right,” Ravenhoof interjected. “Looking at where the shots were fired from, the shooter took a clever position far down the hall and stayed close to the wall. At that distance, it would have made it difficult to get a clean return shot without it bouncing off the wall first. These boys looked to have foolishly stood in the middle of the hallway making them easy targets.”

  “Let’s not forget the makeshift alarm system we all seem to have initially missed,” Youngest said, as he pointed his thumb behind him. “In the main room, if you look closely at that debris outside, it looks random; however, they are sprawled out in such a way as to cover almost the entire floor. Furthermore, they are arranged in close proximity to ensure that someone walking around in the dark would eventually trip or kick something. In this concrete structure, the sound would have echoed and alerted anyone back here, giving him ample time to prepare. Detective Glenahaughan, am I correct in assuming the switches up front entering the main room from outside were also disabled?”

  “Why yes,” Glenahaughan replied with a bewildered look on his face. “We had to make our way to the back of the room to get to a switch that would work.” Glenahaughan’s eyes lit up at the sudden revelation of what his colleague had just assumed. “In fact, now that I think about it, one of my men almost injured himself on a board of nails that was positioned at one of the side doors. The board was hidden under a dark burlap cover and was set right up against the door.”