A Real Job (22 page)

‘As I’m sure you’re already doing, keep watching the front door.’

David kept his eye on the front of the house. The man in his twenties stood on the doorstep pushed the door so it opened fully. Once open, Stuart Stroud and Lisa Greening walked out of the house with their hands clasped behind their heads. David took his Glock out of its holster, taking the safety catch off he whispered to Louise, ‘Keep him talking, I’ll go down there on the right using the hedgerow as cover. If you can, try and follow me.’

Making a quick assessment of the scene, David guessed he had to cover at least six hundred yards. Looking again towards the farmhouse, he saw three armed men behind the two MI5 officers. He watched through his spyglass as they forced the officers to go down on their knees and two of the men stood, one behind each officer with a pistol pointed to the back of their heads. Sean McCrossan was the third armed man who was on the phone talking to Louise. Hurst’s blood pumped round his body even faster. He knew he had to stay calm, just like in 1996 when McCrossan had a pistol pointed at Steve Adams’ head. Once more David was in a similar situation to the first time he came into contact with the Irishman.

Covering the phone with her hand, Louise said, ‘Perhaps we can negotiate with them?’

‘I know McCrossan and the IRA too well. Your two other colleagues are already dead, and if we surrender to them, not only will Stuart and Lisa be killed, we will be as well. Buy me some time and keep McCrossan talking while I get down there, then follow me.’

Chapter
EighteEn
‘Yew Tree Farm’, near Inishkeen,
09.40 hours, Friday, 6
th
July
 

Having run just over six hundred yards to the side of the farmhouse and struggling to suppress his heavy breathing, David Hurst tentatively looked around the corner of the building. He was sure the four Real IRA operatives had not seen him approach. Standing in front of the farmhouse, McCrossan was looking towards the farm entrance, shouting, ‘Hurst, I know you’re there. Give yourself up and your friends will live.’ This confirmed David’s belief they had no idea he was so close. Not being able to get a good view of all four of the men surrounding the two MI5 officers, David was momentarily frustrated. He could only see McCrossan walking around, Stuart Stroud who was still on his knees with his head bowed with the gunman standing behind him, his pistol pointed to the back of Stuart’s neck. He knew from this angle he could only take out McCrossan. Somehow he had to move so he could take out the two gunman first who posed the biggest threat to the MI5 officers.

Glancing up to the clump of trees he used as cover, there was no sign of Louise. He looked back at McCrossan, who raised his phone to his mouth. David could just about hear him say to Louise, ‘Tell Hurst to walk slowly towards the house with his hands up and this’ll be all over. It’s only him I want.’

‘Don’t fall for it Louise, he’s lying’ he said to himself. Knowing he had no time to waste, he looked over to his left and saw a large dog kennel. Estimating it to be about ten yards away from where he was standing, he studied the kennel area. It looked like there were no dogs in it. With the commotion going on outside the farmhouse, if there were, he knew they would be barking. He could see it was large enough to provide him cover to make a better assessment on how to approach the four men. The only problem was getting to the kennel unseen. He knew the longer he stalled, the more likely it was one of the MI5 officers would be killed by the gunmen in order to draw him out.

At that moment, the man in his twenties walked away from David towards McCrossan. As they began to talk to each other, both had their backs to him. Knowing this was the moment to make his move, quickly and as quietly as he could, crouching down, he ran over to the rear of the dog kennel. Once behind the kennel he had a clear shot of McCrossan, the man in his twenties and the one standing behind Stuart Stroud. Deciding his first rounds should be at the gunman with his weapon pointed at the back of Stuart Stroud’s neck Hurst stood up and raised his Glock pistol. Aware of beads of sweat flowing down his forehead onto his eyebrows he was keeping his grip relaxed on the weapon while uncertainty briefly went through his mind. Having only an hour on the range with the Glock, he had never used it in anger. That moment quickly passed. Hurst focused on what he had to do.

Engrossed in what they were doing, the men didn’t notice him. Using this stroke of luck, Hurst fired at the gunman standing behind Stroud. Hitting him in the side of his chest, the gunman fell instantly, dropping his weapon. Causing confusion amongst the Real IRA, that confusion was exacerbated by the hens outside the front of the house clucking loudly as they frantically tried to fly away. Looking around in panic, McCrossan tried to see where the shots had come from.

Realising either Hurst or Louise had made it down to the farmhouse, as the gunmen were distracted, Stroud seized the moment. Seeing the gunman behind Lisa Greening turning and raising his pistol towards Hurst, in one move, picking up the weapon his captor dropped, Stroud aimed it at the gunman. Three rounds fatally pounded into the gunman’s chest. Watching in horror as another of his comrades fell, McCrossan raised his pistol at Stroud. Knowing Stroud was an easy shot for McCrossan, David aimed at his old adversary. The young member of the terrorist cell caught sight of Hurst, but through fear, no words of warning could come out of his mouth. David fired three rounds into McCrossan’s body. The man in his twenties looked around in panic, eyes bulging at the horror unfolding before his eyes. With hens scrabbling around the scene aimlessly, the sheep frightened by the gunfire in the field next to the farmhouse bleating while running away to the far end of the field, his three blood splattered comrades lying on the floor told him he had no choice but to surrender.

‘Don’t move,’ Hurst shouted to him. ‘It’s over. You’re under arrest.’ Keeping his Glock trained on the young man, Hurst slowly walked towards the man who was too frightened to move a muscle. ‘Slowly, raise your hands.’

Once more the young Irishman looked behind him. He could see the British security services had the upper hand. ‘OK, OK, don’t shoot. I give up. I’ll do what you say.’

Before David Hurst could give further instructions two shots rang out, one entering the back of the young man’s skull. Falling instantly to the ground, pieces of bone and brains flew off in all directions like a watermelon hitting the ground, some of which splattered on Hurst’s face and the front of his shirt. For a moment all was still. None of the officers moved. Disturbed by the gunshot, all that could be heard was the distinctive cawing of a number of crows flying away from the nearby trees. David looked up at the dead man to see Lisa Greening standing in front him holding the pistol the gunman had pointed at her just a few moments earlier.

Statuesque, with both her hands on the pistol she was unable to take her eyes off the man she had just killed, David stormed up to her. ‘You mad bitch,’ he shouted, ‘he’d surrendered. He wasn’t even fucking armed and he was only a kid!’

Unable to move, she stood there silently looking at the young man, prone on the ground with only half of his head attached to his neck. Like a miasma in the air, David could taste the young man’s blood. He was in no mood to talk. Stuart Stroud ran over to Greening. Putting his arm around her he took the pistol out of her hand. ‘Leave it,’ he shouted over to David, ‘leave her to me.’

‘She hasn’t just shot him’ he shouted at Stroud. ‘she’s fucking murdered him, the lad gave himself up.’

Raising the palm of his left hand reinforcing to David he should not approach Lisa, Stroud calmly said, ‘OK, so she’s cocked up and it’s down to me to sort it out. This is not the time or the place to have the inquest.’

Running down the driveway to the farm to join the officers from the cover she was using, Louise Dorman shouted, ‘David! Watch out!’

David instantly turned round to see McCrossan had managed to sit up and was slowly raising his right hand holding his pistol towards Hurst. David aimed his Glock at McCrossan who started smiling feebly at the Special Branch officer. Seeing how his chance to shoot Hurst in the back had gone, keeping hold of the pistol the Irishman lowered his hand slightly. A surreal silence that broke out as the two men glared at each other. No words were exchanged. Louise stopped running and like the other two MI5 officers, she stood perfectly still. The three knew just one move by one of them could force McCrossan to fire his weapon. Keeping his pistol trained on the Irishman, Hurst’s face was expressionless. His old enemy was laying there, blood slowly trickling from his chest wounds onto the ground. In the standoff David was willing McCrossan to make the first move so he could finish him off.

‘You can’t kill me. That’s twice you’ve tried,’ McCrossan said. With blood filling his lungs from his internal injuries, his voice was croaking as he spoke. McCrossan knew if he made just one slight move, his old enemy would open fire. ‘You can’t fucking do it. It’s not in your nature,’ he said taunting David.

Keeping his weapon pointed at McCrossan, David’s mind was in turmoil. Should he kill him? Should he arrest him? McCrossan was responsible for planting bombs on the British mainland killing innocent people including children. This was the man who made death threats to him. Threats made with hate. In trying to kill him only the week before McCrossan showed that hatred had not diminished over the years.

‘You can’t do it Hurst. You’re too fucking soft. You know I’ve got rights,’ McCrossan said. Trying to laugh, he began to cough as he struggled to breath.

The imagery of the carnage of the Provisional IRA’s bombing in Corporation Street, Manchester came to the forefront of David’s mind. ‘Can’t I?’ Hurst said, his mind urging McCrossan to make a move to justify killing him.

‘No. You’re a fucking coward.’ Knowing he was dying his hatred for David Hurst was keeping him alive.

‘And you’re nothing more than a murdering bastard,’ Hurst shouted back at him in anger.

Hurst’s comment drew another feeble smile on McCrossan’s face. Knowing his two uncles had been mistakenly killed by British Special Services in their ‘shoot to kill’ policy, memories of the British Army storming into his family and friends’ houses during the Troubles for no other reason other than to intimidate the nationalist community in the Province, and how members of his family who had no dealings with PIRA had been interred for no other reason that they were Catholics came to his mind. McCrossan knew who the murdering cowards were. To him they were the British. Raising his right hand, he struggled to lift his pistol towards Hurst.

It dawned on David that McCrossan was dying in front of his eyes. Sensing that he may not even have the strength to pull the trigger, he kicked the pistol out of McCrossan’s hands. ‘I’m not wasting any more rounds on you. You’re nothing more than a fucking murderer. It’s years in purgatory for you, then hell. Fuck you.’ David picked up McCrossan’s pistol. He looked once more at McCrossan. Slowly he turned his back on him and began walking towards Stuart Stroud.

As David walked away, the energy life-force keeping McCrossan alive dissipated. Giving out a loud gurgling sound as his lungs had filled with blood, the Irishman breathed his last, his head slumping to the side. ‘Is he dead?’ Stuart asked.

‘Yes, but at least I didn’t murder him like that stupid bitch did to that poor sod over there,’ he said pointing to the young man she killed.

‘Louise, look after Lisa. Take her back to the car,’ Stuart said, ‘I need a few moments alone with David.’

Louise took hold of Lisa Greening who was still in a state of shock. As the officers walked off up the driveway towards their cars, Stuart said, ‘Not quite what we planned.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ David said standing over McCrossan’s body.

‘Thanks for what you did. If you hadn’t, me and Lisa would be dead,’ Stuart said looking at the four dead Irishmen.

‘What happened?’

‘When Lisa and I got to the barn at the back of the farmhouse, we found them dead, shot in the back of the head. As we checked to see if they were still alive, as if from nowhere McCrossan came out with those two,’ Stuart said pointing to the two other gunmen. ‘The young lad searched us and took our weapons and phones. I’m convinced we were set-up, McCrossan said as much. They knew we were coming and McCrossan was pissed off because he was expecting to find you, not us. There’s no doubting he was after you.’

‘Whoever it is in the police that’s been tipping him off must be close to this investigation. That’s twice now I’ve been in that situation with McCrossan where he knew I was there. It always bugged me when I shot him in ninety-six how they knew me and my mate Steve were on our own watching them.’

‘That’s the job where you got a bravery award isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Steve Adams was hiding in the garden of a house they were using and he said they never searched for him, they went to the exact spot where he was hiding. So it’s like today. How did he know I was here? This insider’s told him we were here.’

‘We can sort out the whys and wherefores later, first we’ve got to clear up this mess. We have to get rid of the bodies and any evidence that looks like there’s been a shooting. I’m just praying no-one was nearby who may have seen or heard what happened and called the Gardai.’

‘So what happens now? Clear up the site and these four disappear, ending up on the Gardai’s or PSNI’s missing persons list?’ David asked walking over to the bodies to pick up the weapons laying on the floor.

‘I know you thought this is what we planned to do all along, but trust me, it’s not what we intended. We wanted to follow them and get as much intelligence as we could. We’ve a problem. There are spent rounds from your Glock traceable to you.’

‘I take it this never happened then and I’m to keep my mouth shut?’

‘I’m afraid so. Obviously you’ll have to talk to Jenny Richmond about it, but no-one, including the Branch is to know, and that includes Debbie Heron, unless Jenny authorises it.’

‘I can keep my mouth shut when it’s in the interests of national security even though Lisa was out of order killing the young lad. That was murder.’