BlindFire (32 page)

  The Prime minister barely had time to thank her before she was gone, leaving the two men behind in an eerie silence. "She's a very strong woman isn't she?"

  The leader of the Conservative party nodded somberly and then looked across at a photograph sat on the left of his desk. "She reminds me of Margaret sometimes, you know."

  "She has to go.....”

  "Don't be stupid
man." Spat the PM. “If I know her… And believe me I do, then she’s probably got this room bugged.”

  "Because of her you could die today."

  "Then so be it. I'd rather die a minister of peace than live as a coward, the butt of every Labor joke......." He cried angrily. "Could you leave me now, the condemn
ed
man would like some sleep."

***

Chapter 12

  Ever since the death of Claudia
life had been one long tunnel. A tunnel so dark and sometimes so very lonely that he had questioned the value of his own life. Waking earlier than normal today he had watched the sun rise over
London
and listened to the lively chirpings and chatterings of the birds outside his window. He thought about Sahra, he could see her in his mind, tied up in some rat infested dump screaming for help. His minds voice tried to calm the child, tried to tell her everything would be alright.

  Suddenly Beth stirred beside him, drawing herself closer to his warmth. The
smell of her perfume dragged Danny
back to reality. "You awake?" He asked.

  "Yeah." She said and brushed her hand over his bare chest then kissed his shoulder. Suddenly she was straddling him, her hands stroking a straight line from his firm stomach to her damp lacy panties. She shivered with the need and burned with a passion to make love there and then.

  Danny
gently held her shoulders and shook his head. "No Beth, not now.”

  "It's Sahra isn't it? You’re thinking......."

  "I'm thinking maybe she's dead, but I'm hoping maybe, just maybe I could get her home today." He could see the frustration in Beths eyes and couldn't deal with it right now, so he pushed her aside and went to the bathroom.

  "I'm sorry
; I don't know what I was thinking.... I'm worried too, we all are." She heard the shower being turned on as hot steam began to drift in to the bedroom.

  "I'm sorry too." Danny cried
. "This shower was built for two you know......"

***

   The Colonel had stayed awake in the
Queens
centre all night just in case Jack showed up. He was tired and needed sleep but only had time for a wash and shave before the TV crews started showing up demanding entry. Soon the corridors were full to capacity of news readers looking for a good backdrop and technicians taping cables and wires everywhere.

  Gunter was already at work too, mingling with the crowd trying to read the faces looking for the ones that shouldn't be there. He was wired for sound and continually spoke back to the Colonel who sat in the control room.

  "Nothing yet John. I’m moving to sector two now...."

  The Colonel immediately switched to the camera monitoring sector two. "He's got to be here somewhere, be careful."

  Faces, faces everywhere and each one had to be seen and discounted. Gunter slowly but purposely edged forward allowing himself only seconds to scan each group of journalists.

  "Colonel Rothschild?"

  He looked up to see a Policeman framing the doorway. "Can I help you?"

  "My name is Chief Inspector Ramsey." He told the Colonel. "I've come to take over."

  "You're bloody late; you should have been here an hour ago." Barked the SAS Officer as he grabbed his jacket and sprung to his feet. Briskly pushing his way past the Policeman he added angrily. "Don't you realise I've also got teams on the ground to supervise?"

***

  An acute grimace disturbed the natural ugliness of his face, contorted and gasping for breath he struggled maniacally to fasten the top button of his shirt. In the end, annoyed, he gave up and just slid his tie up as far as it would go. The jacket was also too tight but it would just have to do, now for those final touches. First he clipped the press pass to his top left pocket and then hung a large Nikon camera around his neck.

 
“…
And now
for that
bastard murdering Prime minister
.” Jack said. “S
afe from the real world in Downing street and surrounded by body
guards, safe until now that is.”
Jack stared proudl
y at the Warrior in the mirror
. "I'll show you all." He whispered as the slightest of smiles spread menacingly across his face. "That I can kill you anytime I like." He felt like laughing now, but that would come much later when the job was done.

   A freezing darkness surrounded her; she shivered and whimpered uncontrollably even though she was covered with a blanket. Jack had forced Sahra in to the back of the van and tied her up sometime in the early morning, before the sun had risen. Laying there on the painfully cold metal floor all she could do was listen. First the birds had started singing in the trees close by and then a dog somewhere in the distance was barking excitedly. Boredom forced her thoughts to drift, her mind cleared and she relaxed. She thought about her father and wondered if he was still alive, if he was, then just maybe he was laying somewhere warm listening to the birds and thinking about his daughter. Distant footsteps grew louder and soon they were right beside the van, she knew who it was as soon as she felt the vehicle sag on the driver’s side when Jack got in. Then the engine burst in to life and they were on there way again.

***

  Throngs of enthusiastic supporters surged forward pushing over metal barriers as the premiers motorcade crawled forward in to a mass of live export protesters. Camera-man ignored cries from police officers and ran alongside trying to take that one front page picture which they hoped; they could sell all over the world. The police, unfortunately, had other ideas and charged in mob handed. Not only dispelling the protesters but clobbering a few expensive cameras in the process.

  Sir Leon Freshman, the Defense Secretary, hid his face from the blinding flashes if only to annoy the more adventurous camera-man. Turning to the Premier he smiled and tapped his watch. "It would be much quicker if we were allowed to drive over the bastards."

  "Yes, quite.... I trust everything is set at the other end?"

  "The place is swarming with MI5 and SAS.
Unless this idiot is on a suicide
mission he won’t show his face."

  The PM touched Sir Leons hand firmly and smiled. "Just remember if this all goes to ratshit.... You're the Prime minister."

  Sir
Leon
just laughed. "Don't worry Sir, everything's fine." The in
-
car telephone rang cutting off the reassuring words he was about to say. "Leon Freshman." He growled as soon as he snatched up the receiver. There was a long silence and then. "I see.... Thanks, I'll tell him myself.... And my sincere condolences to the family." He slowly replaced the handset and turned to his Boss. "Michael's been found stabbed to death in his car."

  Physically there was no sign of concern as the Conservative Premier lit a cigar. "Who did it?"

  "McKay’s prints were found on the car. Therefore we can only assume the IRA has cancelled its cease-fire."

  He exhaled filling the car with thick cigar smoke. "Not necessarily, our old friend Michael was a traitor.
MI6 have been using him to feed false information to the Irish for years.
"

  "Michael Redpath?"

  He nodded. "A traitor to his queen and country. Fortunately for us he wasn't very good at spying and was spotted almost immediately by MI5. Unwittingly he fed the
provos
with crap information for over twenty years and was ultimately instrumental in bringing this peace proces
s about.... Isn't life strange..? And on the flip side we’re going to need something to keep the Army occupied when this
Afghanistan
debacle is over.”

  "What do you want to do about the press?"

  "If we discredit him, we discredit the whole party. He must look like an hero murdered by a crazed psycho, a fanatical Terrorist."

  "Mckay is a crazed fanatical Terrorist!"

  "Then for once, we tell the truth."

  As the first car rounded the sweeping bend which led in to the
Queens
forecourt another wave of reporters and news crews surged forward with alarming determination. In seconds the car was surrounded, the Police reacted in strength forcing a corridor through to the swamped premier’s car.

  "Get ready Sir!" Shouted Sir
Leon
. "As soon as we get the all clear we go. Remember to keep moving no matter what happens.

  The doors suddenly opened and he found himself alone in a crowd of angry, questioning faces. Being shoved one way and then another. "Keep moving, keep calm." He repeated to himself behind those large rimmed spectacles and forced the smile he was famous for.  They were mostly Reporters out to get a story. But to the countries first minister they could have been a lynch mob; their faces became a blur as he waited for that fatal gunshot to ring out. Anyone of them could be holding a gun and anyone of them could be the killer waiting for just the right moment.

  "Who killed Michael Redpath?" He heard someone scream and then a small Dictaphone was thrust in to his face.

  The fixed smile faltered for just a second as his eyes searched for the protective arms of the law and in particular a Policeman. Forcing himself to walk forward, to push and to shove was all he could do. Without warning the baying masses lunged sideways under the weight of several police in riot gear, they fought their way through and surrounded the Prime minister. Now caught up in their momentum he moved speedily to the doors and as he slammed them shut behind him so the noise died.

  "The Wolfs were hungry today." Sir
Leon
l
aughed.

  "Where the bloody hell were you?" Screamed the Prime minister to Chief Inspector Ramsey of Special Branch. "We very nearly had a major disaster on our hands out there."

  "My men reacted efficiently to a bad situation." He replied sternly. "And I never gave any signal for you to leave that car."

  "We'll dis
cuss this later. Has that psychopath
been caught yet?"

  The Chief shook his head nervously. "No I'm afraid we haven't
got him yet
."

  "Then get me out of this hallway, I need somewhere to go over my speech."

***

 
All those old sensations were returning now. They heightened awareness and honed his reactions. An insane desire for the voice of the Irish to be heard drove him on.

  He had been there lurking in the crowd when his target had arrived. Jack had seen the scared eyes of a man who invited death so passionately. A man who would soon pay for his war crimes against the Irish people.

   Nine o’clock on the dot, the double doors swung open and everyone made their way to the great hall. The Technicians and sound crews were already there waiting. CNN and ITN rushed excitedly to the front for the best coverage of the opening speech.

  Jack held back, playing on his limp and let everyone push past. The first thing which struck him as being odd was the large number of armed Police.  And they were alert, unnaturally alert; it was almost as if they were expecting something.

  The veteran Irish killer backed off uneasily and leaned himself against the back wall. Something was very wrong, he could feel it. The last time he had felt like this was during that disastrous
Gibraltar
operation. That time he was lucky and survived by the skin of his teeth, or rather the SAS hadn't noticed him skipping back in to
Spain
.

  Gradually the chit chat died down as guest speakers started arriving and taking their seats behind the lectern. By the time Sir Leon Freshman began his introduction of the opening speaker there was absolute silence.