The Dublin Hit

by J E Higgins

  Banker again shook his head. “No, I keep my operations compartmentalized. Aside from you, me and the contact on the ship, only one other person knows anything; an additional person I use as an insurance policy. They’re random people I hire for jobs from time to time. They know the details of the job and have instructions. If they don’t hear from me by a certain time, or if they get a call from me and don’t get the message and code, this person will start making phone calls and alerting everyone, from the cops to rival interests, who might be interested.” He looked at Sauwa with a cold stare of sincerity. “So, if you are looking at me as a liability to your own self-preservation and have considered killing me, I would caution you against it.”

  She said nothing as she continued making breakfast. She would have been lying if it hadn’t crossed her mind to do exactly that. The professional in her saw a gangster, a racketeer whom she barely knew and was being hunted by some very dangerous people. He owed her nothing and even his walking around brought the possibility of danger directly back to her. On one hand, her more human side appreciated not having to kill someone needlessly. Contrary to what this man and others thought, she was not some sociopathic killer who was entirely indifferent to it all. In any case, her practical side remembered he was the only person resembling an ally. Things could still go terribly wrong between now and 2200hrs, and Banker was still more valuable alive than dead.

  Banker continued, “I’ll meet you there, and see you off just to ensure all goes well.”

  Sauwa was again hesitant, “You have a lot of your own problems right now. The least of which is making your own arrangements to get out of the country. I’m a little concerned you might be taking on more than you can handle under the circumstances.”

  Banker shook his head slightly. “I’ve been in this business awhile. I knew a time like this would come, and I would have to beat a hasty retreat. In my line of work, a quick retreat has always been a consideration. I’ve had things in place for just this sort of moment. I’ll be gone soon after I’ve taken care of you. My chief concern is what you pointed out last night. Whoever you work for clearly has a lot of pull of their own. Having you in this country dangerously exposes them if you get caught. That would only earn me the wrath of another dangerous organization, and that I can’t afford.”

  Satisfied Banker was still with her as near as she could tell, she responded. “Then let’s plan our moves for tonight. We meet an hour ahead to finalize any last-minute issues. I want ample time to make changes in the event something unforeseen occurs.”

  “Only an hour is cutting it close, don’t you think?” Banker gave her a questioning look. “I mean, if something goes wrong, it’s a narrow margin to make any modifications.”

  Sauwa was now looking at him directly. “But, the alternative is to be lingering in a place that will be crawling with security, not to mention anyone else looking for us. Ideally, I wouldn’t want to show up until it’s time to board. An hour is a good medium between the two.”

  Banker sighed, “There’s a place called Pikeys. It’s outside the port area and is secluded. It’s a good place to meet and finalize arrangements.”

  “I’ve seen it. We’ll meet there. The next step is communication. Because of the threat of the IRA looming over our heads, and because we don’t know what the police know yet between the killing of the police detective and the more recent shootout at the warehouse, things are likely to change considerably between now and tonight when we meet. It will be unwise for you to go anywhere near your club or any other place you’re known to conduct business. It would be better for you to call me. Here is a number.” Sauwa walked over and handed him a piece of paper.

  “We’ll set a time when we walk out of here. From that point, you will call that number every three hours, so we can apprise each other of any developments that might complicate things for tonight.”

  “A little elaborate don’t you think?” Banker asked as he took the paper from her.

  “Not at all,” she replied. “We are operating with several unknown variables, and we need to remain as flexible as possible if we intend to survive.”

  “The IRA should be simple enough,” Banker said. “Word travels quickly when they’re after someone. It’s the cops that’ll be the problem. With a case this big, no one will be talking this early in the investigation. When it’s one of their own, all the interdepartmental rivalries that would normally work so well in our favor come to an end. Everybody in the Garda comes together to solve the case.”

  “We don’t even know if they’ve tied the cop and the warehouse incident together yet.” Sauwa suddenly realized, “We don’t even know if they know about you.”

  Banker shook his head. “It’s doubtful. I covered my tracks well. There’s nothing that connects me to the warehouse, and you’ve never set foot in my club. There is nothing that would put us together in a surveillance picture.”

  “The IRA was onto you in about a day,” Sauwa reminded. “If the Garda is stomping the grounds with their intelligence departments who know all the same avenues, they could be onto you as well.”

  “Shit,” Banker replied, despairingly. He hated admitting this novice oversight. He was a master of the criminal world in dealing with racketeers and other types of gangsters. His experience with the police tended to be more with vice cops and those investigating robberies than with high-level intelligence. It was terrible to admit that while he had provided services to paramilitaries both Republican and Loyalist, it had always been on a limited basis, providing safe houses for meetings or house operatives on the run, or helping fence the goods from heists the IRA or UVF committed in the name of the cause. He had never been directly involved in the military affairs of these groups before. Being embroiled in the world of high-level terrorism and intrigue placed him well outside his element.

  Sauwa emerged from the kitchen holding two plates filled with poached eggs, toast and bacon. It wasn’t the healthiest meal but, given the circumstances and the day they still had ahead of them, it would suffice. The two ate their meal as they finalized the remainder of their plans. With her bergen all packed, Sauwa prepared to leave. The metal object she had used the night before was carefully tucked into the loops of her pack’s shoulder straps. It was hidden nicely between her back and the bergen with only the small handle slightly protruding at the small of her back for easy access.

  “Isn’t it a bit risky walking around with that?” Banker asked as he pointed at the object.

  Sauwa was a bit preoccupied adjusting her bergen as she responded. “It’s a necessary risk given what I’m up against. While a gun or knife would be an instant flag to any policeman, a cop would presume a hunk of metal like this would be just something I found rummaging through the trash and decided to bring home. I’m more likely to be relieved of it with a stern warning.”

  21

  Nash Emery made no attempt to hide his fueling anger over the whole matter. The idea of working with Dublin made his stomach churn. He was an operative, a man who fought the British and the Loyalists head-on in combat in both the streets of Ballymurphy in Belfast and in the wild countryside of County Armagh. To him, the IRA of the Republic was little more than a crime syndicate, masking its business behind the thin veneer of still fighting for the cause.

  While he had heard all the excuses from his superiors trying to rationalize their actions as generating needed funds for the cause, he saw gangsters who spent more time engaging in violence over criminal behavior and punishing people who ran afoul of them on the streets. In his eyes, they were racketeers, pure and simple. “They’d piss their nappies, if they ever saw a real fight,” Emery would often quip.

  His cab pulled up to the curb just beside the wharf. Exiting, Emery paid the fare and casually walked down the street. He had deliberately chosen the location for its strategic advantage. The wharf was quiet this time of day with only a few old pensioners and some young couples wandering about enjoying the sea air. This made it hard for a surveillan
ce team to go undetected, especially since so little time would have been given to prepare.

  Emery had phoned Seamus Nally’s pub only a half hour before. It had been his experience that short time frames to establish meetings guaranteed that any watching security agencies would have little advanced warning. As a result, they often wound up arranging an amateur setup that was easy to spot.

  It also helped that if the meeting party had any dubious intentions, as was common in his world, an ambush would be impossible to arrange in such a short time or be adequately concealed in such an open area. Emery was quite an experienced hand at such arrangements. He had no illusions about how the world he existed in worked. Even when dealing with allies and comrades, betrayal was common ─ awareness and some preparation was always needed.

  The wharf had the benefit of being lined with an assortment of small shops with large windows. While it allowed someone inside to have a wide view outward, it also made it easy for them to be seen from the outside. Emery casually walked the line of shops, carefully looking for any sign of trouble.

  He saw that with the exception of some ferry boats heading out toward England and Wales, the waters were virtually empty of any other sea craft. This was also a good sign that there were no surveillance teams operating and waiting to catch sight of the meeting. His disdain for the IRA in the south also extended to his belief that in addition to being corrupt, they were also amateurish in the way they conducted their affairs. The idea that the police would have knowledge of this meeting due to the local IRA’s poor security was a strong consideration. If he had spotted anything that remotely looked like the police were expecting this meeting, he was ready to walk away immediately. If it did happen, it would ensure Seamus Nally met with a bullet in his head.

  It wasn’t long before he saw an older man with a crop of salt and pepper hair. He had a thickly lined face under a neatly groomed beard. His long brown coat and floppy plaid hat played well to the image of an elderly gentleman enjoying the sea air.

  Seamus Nally strolled up to the pier railing and looked out at the waters of the Irish Sea. Seamus was a good thirty meters from Emery and gave not the faintest hint of knowing or even being interested in him. He had seen from the younger man what he needed, the green army field jacket and a copy of the sports section of yesterday’s paper, folded to a Canadian hockey article that was facing outward.

  The two enjoyed the view for another ten minutes before Nally started to walk away. Emery waited as he turned casually and leaned against the railing while looking out at the people on the wharf. This continued for another three minutes as he watched everyone who was walking in that direction carefully for earpieces with wires running down the side of their necks, speaking into their hands or to themselves, or just working to keep close to the old man to see if there was anyone tailing him. When the minutes had elapsed, he started walking in Nally’s direction.

  Nally was about fifty meters ahead, keeping a slow, leisurely pace with no more than a handful of people between him and Emery. Emery was now convinced his contact was not being followed. At a nearby turn, he pulled into a side alley and pretended to discard his newspaper. All this Nally caught while he turned slightly to look at a storefront. To anyone walking by, it was two separate actions. In reality, it was one, well-coordinated.

  After every alleyway and road turn, the one being followed would stop momentarily at the first logical storefront they came to. He would use the moment to discretely look back and see what his pursuer was doing. If the pursuer, once eye contact was made, stopped and turned directly around, it was a sign of a surveillance detail having been spotted. If so, the meeting was canceled and new arrangements would have to be made for another time. If, after eye contact had been made, the pursuer turned into an alley and then turned around, it meant that he was confident there was no surveillance detail in pursuit.

  Now it was Nally’s turn to reciprocate the courtesy. Though it had been some years since he had lived in the world of intrigue, he still remembered his operational craft. It was while going through these procedures he understood just how far he had gotten from everything. None of his men, even Cork Regan, would have considered taking such precautions. He waited at the storefront looking out the corner of his eye as Emery began walking. After about three minutes, Nally began casually walking back the way he came. This time he was the one keeping watch for anyone possibly surveilling them. Like Emery, he watched for all the signs and saw none. When they found themselves back at the wharf, Emery turned to look out at the water. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Nally walked over and slipped onto a bench along the railing several meters away. It was his sign that all was clear.

  Emery still gave one last look around to see if anyone was showing any signs of curiosity. Though the measures taken would have thwarted any amateur team with little preparation time, a more professional operator ─ like the British 14 Intelligence Company ─ would have understood the exercise being conducted between the two men and reacted differently to keep from being detected. Confident that they were alone, Emery started over to where the older man was sitting. Slipping next to him, Emery sat down tentatively on the bench.

  “It's good weather we’re having today,” Nally began, his eyes focused toward the sea.

  “Stop wasting my time. I didn’t come all the way here on such short notice to engage in bullshit, idle conversation.” Emery commanded. “Now follow me.” Emery rose from the bench and straightened his coat.

  Nally was beside himself. He was not used to men speaking to him in such fashion. However, the man standing seemed unconcerned with being insubordinate. Under the circumstances, pulling rank seemed the worst possible thing for him to do. He rose to his feet and followed as Emery started walking. “It’s good to see you,” the older man began. “I understand you’ve been briefed on the situation.”

  Emery shrugged. “I’ve been told some. What I’ve heard, I don’t like.”

  Nally continued. “We’ve had a serious attack against the movement.”

  “A guy was feeding you information on the Loyalists here in Ireland,” Emery cut in. “I know he was a great help in weeding those bastards out.” Emery had been on a few of the operations that had been launched based on Donovan’s intelligence. He was well acquainted with what devastation the detective’s death had been to their operation. He was even more irritated that the boys in Dublin had done such a shitty job protecting such an asset. They were supposed to have a good ear to the ground when it came to the underworld. And yet, they couldn’t catch a word about a low life with a grudge or about a professional hit team or assassin operating in their city. He imagined they were so careless because it didn’t coincide with their criminal enterprise.

  “It’s become more serious.” Nally was sounding slightly nervous. It was clearly obvious to Emery that the old man was way over his head. “We lost five more comrades. This team seems very good. That’s why you’re here. Six good men have been lost to the cause, and we need to strike back.”

  “One good man has died for the cause,” Emery replied, incredulously. “I’m here after the person or team that killed Marston Donovan. As for your band of street enforcers, they died as they lived, men of the streets. As far as I’m concerned, that’s not my problem.”

  Nally became agitated at Emery’s cavalier remarks. “You’re awfully callous about this. Men died for the cause.”

  The two men proceeded down the walkway they had previously been on. Nally couldn’t help but notice the lack of windows along the building sides. It was probably the reason this route was chosen. It was another reminder that he was dealing with a world he had not seen for many years.

  “No!” Emery was now looking straight at the older man with a glare that could have burned through rock. “They were racketeers; their service to the cause amounted to shakedowns, collections and punishing anyone who ran afoul of your business ventures. I was training true soldiers to go north and fight for the cause ─ to go acr
oss the border and engage in real combat with real enemies ─ an actual war.”

  “I was getting ready to go north myself to continue the fight when I was suddenly pulled out to come here. So, understand me well. I didn’t come to Dublin to avenge a bunch of lowlife gangsters masquerading as soldiers. Nor do I care in the slightest about protecting your credibility. I came because whatever is happening, it looks like a whole new front in the conflict is about to break out. My guess is the UVF is looking to rekindle the old campaign of waging war down here. As I see it, I’m here to fight that.”

  Nally shied away. He wasn’t sure how to answer any of these comments. He knew he was in a bad light with the brigade command in Belfast and would be pressing his luck dearly to try and argue back. All he could do was hold his tongue and meet the man’s needs as best he could.

  The look in the older man’s eye told Emery everything he needed. “I need to get a picture of who I’m dealing with. You have good contacts on the Garda.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Nally nodded anyway

  “Are they good enough that you can arrange for me to visit the scene of the shootout?” Emery pressed. “I need to know who I’m up against.”

  “I can find someone to sneak you in,” Nally responded feebly.

  “I need to see it today; in the next few hours.” Emery was stern in his demand.

  “You will get it,” Nally replied. “It will take a few phone calls, but I should have an answer for you in the next couple of hours.”

  At Emery’s direction, the two men changed course as they started down the docks toward the marina. It was a strange detour the older man thought. But it seemed like another intended component of Emery’s plan. The old boards of the wharf creaked in an eerie sort of way as the men continued walking. Soon they were alone on the pier lined with old weathered fishing boats.

  Emery moved on to his next demand. “I also need you to start pushing your sources and connections on the street. Someone is working with this team. You gave me a name ─ Rudy Sheehan. You thought this person may be the assassin’s benefactor? Find him. I want to know where he is within the next few hours. I want to deal with him immediately.”