Flights of Angels (Exit Unicorns Series) (108 page)

“We can’t use it, not if Boyd is in any of these films.” The man pursed his lips in distaste, as though he felt sullied by the evidence on his desk. David went cold at the words, a slow understanding dawning on him.

“Why not?” He swore he could feel it, the fragile house of cards falling in, silent but inflicting terrible damage on the way down.

“Because Boyd is our informant on the inside, David. We can’t afford to arrest him or make any of his,” he cleared his throat, “proclivities public.”

For a second David went entirely numb, the feeling that came just before all-out panic took hold. But within the numbness there was fury.

“Then what the fuck have I been doing all this time?”

The man sighed. “There’s no reason to use profanity, David. You aren’t naïve, you know the game we play over here and you know we often have to sacrifice a few pawns to get at the key players.”

“A few pawns? These are boys, George, boys who had already been thrown onto the refuse heap of this goddamn city, and then when they thought they’d found a safe place to lay their head and get some food and sleep, they were raped—over and over again by grown men. In some cases, George, they were killed, though that isn’t news to you. What the hell have you had me out there for, if not for this?”

“What do you think, David?”

David had never liked this man, but he had never outright hated him until now.

“Are you saying this was only a distraction so that you could get your ties as tight as possible with Loyalists and then just throw me to the wolves? Was I that big of an embarrassment to you, George?”

“I don’t think I need to answer that question, do you? You were kept in the game because we have a larger asset here to whom you were connected. But as he is no longer quite so valuable to us, we no longer have need of your services.”

David swallowed, but his mouth was so dry that it was painful and futile. He knew exactly whom George was referring to and knew with a sickening certainty why they felt he was no longer of value to them. But he could not address that here and now, for there were other matters he wanted cleared up before he left.

“Does Boyd know who I am?” he asked.

“No, he doesn’t, but I suspect he will soon.” The threat was implicit. It didn’t need to be put any more directly.

“You’re helping them, aren’t you? It’s exactly as the Republicans suspect, you’re actively helping the kill squads go in and out of the Catholic neighborhoods. Those girls who were shot, by the milk van—was that a mistake, George, or do you allow them to kill indiscriminately? Is it a case of any Taig will do?”

“That,” George steepled his hands under his chin, his brown eyes flat, “was an unfortunate mistake. The players have been reprimanded for it.”

“Reprimanded!” David laughed, a bitter sound like unripe lemons.

“You’re not on the board anymore, David. It’s time for you to go home.”

David opened his mouth to protest, but was halted by the next words George spoke.

“David, I know what happened in that field in South Armagh. I haven’t told anyone… yet. Don’t make it necessary for me to do so now.”

“You’re bluffing, George. That field was a complete and utter clusterfuck. I don’t even know who killed whom out there that day.”

George gave him a long, level look and David saw that he did know somehow what David had done and would have no compunction about sicking the Loyalist dogs on him if he didn’t do as he was told.

“I also know about the man in the farmhouse. Perhaps that’s an argument you will find more persuasive.”

David was not fool enough to think it wasn’t a valid threat. So much could be hidden in this country. The army and the Loyalists, the IRA and all its splinter groups could play their deadly games and the blood of them could often be swept to the side, every death seen as just more collateral damage in an unending war. Death was old and well fed here in this province and a man only needed to happen along at the wrong time or be associated with the wrong person in order to step straight into its jaws.

“As I said before, go home.”

He wanted to shout at the man that he was home, that he had built the only life that mattered to him here in this rage-torn city. He wanted to say so many things about the horror of what had unfolded over these last several months, about the futility and blind ignorance of it all, but he knew it was of no use whatsoever. He had to leave before he hit the man, or shot him. Both options were highly tempting.

He left the building, his blood still high with fury and walked half blind to his surroundings. He walked for a long time, out beyond the limits of the city into the dark roads that cut through fields and led toward the coast.

He stopped finally when he reached the water, the sound of gulls like a threnody in his own blood. Strangely, beyond the rage there was a sort of relief, a giddy feeling that he was no longer bound in any way. He had been cut loose. They didn’t care whether he lived or died, whether they left him bloodied and circled by wolves, and so he did not have to exercise caution anymore. He no longer needed to pretend. He could do what needed to be done and damn the consequences, for he no longer owed his allegiance to any man. If this was all a game, then he was going to finish it.

Chapter Eighty
Check and Mate

The last time Robert had felt this nervous
was when he had kissed Caitlin Meldrum behind her grandfather’s sheep shed. His solid and practical Scots nature, however, assured that he did not show it externally. When you played a long game, you waited for this moment, you envisioned it from the first move and kept it in your sights because it was the only way to keep yourself in play.

Across from him, seated at the table like a prince come to demand obeisance from his subjects, was Julian. The resemblance still startled him, though he had only met James Kirkpatrick the one time. He was not a man forgotten once met, and Robert still felt a second’s pause each time Julian entered a room. He wished he liked the boy more, for the sake of the father. But he did not. Part of it stemmed from Julian’s suing for the right to take over the companies. It was a move that was, at best, indiscreet, though one look at his face told everyone in the room just whom he was. At worst it was robbery, committed while the owner was away. No, he did not like the boy.

Robert noticed that Pamela was careful not to look at Julian too often. There was a weakness there, an understandable one, for that resemblance he had noted. He even possessed the magnetism, though it wasn’t of the brilliant golden sort that his father had but an element far colder and darker. Still, Robert was honest enough to admit, it was mesmerizing. He felt a shiver of worry, for the boy did have a compelling case. Blood could take precedence where nothing else would.

He shifted in his seat and turned his attention to the woman he had worked beside for two years now. Still caught in the bloom of new motherhood, she looked to him like nothing so much as a windblown rose, all pale pinks and whites, with the softest hint of green around her edges. She had chosen her clothing carefully, he was certain, for she had left no detail unstudied this day. The dress was of the palest pink, like rose quartz shaded with cobweb silk. Her hair was up and she wore a string of grey-pink pearls at her neck, with discreet pearl studs in her ears. She was most deliberately feminine, choosing to play to her own native strength rather than attempting to join the men by imitating their own qualities.

Gathered along the length of the table sat the board members, those who owned what stock was public in the various entities of Jamie’s empire, and the head supervisors from each of the concerns here in Ulster. Robert tried to read their faces and saw a variety of things there, leaves in the book of worry: stoicism, avariciousness, jealousy, curiosity and fear. He had no way of knowing how they would vote and knew they could count on the loyalty of only a few. Pamela would have to convince the rest.

She stood to speak, using no papers nor charts to prove her points. She went over the position of the companies—why Jamie had chosen to leave them to her, their history of friendship, his trust in her judgement, her knowledge of what he wanted, how he chose to pursue certain avenues, and her admittance that while she was not His Lordship’s equal in these areas, he had chosen her, he had placed his trust in her. She knew that the claims of blood were ones that must be given careful consideration and their due weight, only perhaps now, when His Lordship was away, was not the best time.

Robert took a mental reading of the room’s temperature and felt certain Pamela’s calm delineation of the details was swaying the board to their side. Through the entire recitation, she did not look at Julian once. It worried him a little, that, for the boy could not be unaware of it and it gave him power he did not deserve.

But Robert had no compunction about watching him and saw how he sat back in his chair, biding his time, like a cat that had already drunk the cream and couldn’t wait for it to be found out.

Everyone stirred slightly, all eyes trained on the boy’s face, as Pamela calmly admitted his paternity. Robert could see that everyone the length of the boardroom—excepting the woman who sat at the foot—was disconcerted by his looks.

She sat down when she was done, and opened the floor for questions. Julian forestalled them by rising from his seat, every move sleek with unstudied grace. Some day he would be a formidable foe, but not, Robert thought, just yet.

“I’d like to thank Mrs. Riordan for her comprehensive outline of the current position of the companies and also for her stewardship of the aforesaid during the very long absence of Lord Kirkpatrick. I have no doubt that his faith and trust in her was very well founded.”

He had a great deal of sophistication for one so young. He could sway the board. For what she had in store, Pamela was going to need their good faith. Julian could take that away.

“I only recently found out that Lord Kirkpatrick is my father. It has been a time of great emotion, made only more so by the knowledge that just as I found my real father, I also lost him. I think, as much as we would all like to believe that he is still alive and will someday come home—and believe me, no one wishes that more than I do—still, we need to face reality because a company does not operate on emotion, it operates on bottom lines and the ability of the person in charge to inspire confidence. And while I am impressed by Mrs. Riordan’s abilities and how well she has done, I think none of us can deny that things have been rather unstable since the reins were put into her hands. This is through no fault of her own, but she has a life that is very full beyond what the company requires of her. Two young children, a husband and a household to run, not to mention her work for the police department.”

Two arrows, well placed, the implications clear. They were trusting a mere housewife with the control of an empire. A housewife who did occasional work for the police, who were, for many of these people, the enemy. Pamela’s pale cheeks flushed slightly and Robert said a silent prayer that she would keep her cool.

“While I realize that I am an unknown quantity for all of you here,” he inclined his head graciously, “still this company and all it encompasses has always been controlled by a Kirkpatrick. This has always been a family run business, with family values at its core. I will endeavor to do my best by Lord Kirkpatrick, to keep the borders of his kingdom well guarded and if, God forbid, he should not come home, to strive always to honor his memory.” Robert had to admire the gall of the boy, he had named Jamie king, and by inference, himself as prince.

The boy went on to outline his understanding of the Kirkpatrick holdings and Robert had to admit, that his grasp was impressive. He also painted in broad strokes his plans for the company to expand, to rebuild the distillery, to keep the Kirkpatrick roots as its brand. He had already begun, he explained, the process to change his name. Pamela looked slightly queasy at that particular pronouncement.

She waited until Julian sat down and then smiled at him with the distinct air of a patient elder. Her voice, when she spoke, was gentle. It was hard to remember that she was only a few years older than the boy.

“Julian, your father didn’t even know of your existence. We have no way of knowing what his wishes would be in this regard, if he did know of you. While I understand your desire to be part of the company, I would recommend some patience until we hear from Jamie.”

“But, Mrs. Riordan, you don’t understand. I don’t need to exercise patience. I own twenty percent of the companies, making me the largest single shareholder outside of my father.” Julian said. He brought it out like a hidden weapon, a dagger that had been coddled close to his chest, jeweled and lethally sharp. The impulses of youth, Robert thought, and felt a small twinge of sympathy for him. It was, however, quickly quelled.

Pamela did not respond at once. Her eyes steeled at the boy’s words and she looked at him directly. And then, with a shaft of iron in her own voice, she brought the axe down swift and clean.

“What you own are shells,” she said quietly. “Dummy companies with very convincing façades, while the real assets were moved elsewhere. It took a great deal of careful maneuvering on our part, but we managed it. However, we took the time and care to document every bit of what you bought, and how you went about it, not to mention who funded you.”

The green eyes were no longer soft. They were an emerald fire clashing with Julian’s iced sapphire.

“Please relay this to your puppet master. Did he really think I would stand back and allow him, of all people, to take Jamie’s companies? It was His Lordship who taught me how to play, after all. Your mentor thought it was a game. I knew it was war.” Her tone was pleasant but there was no doubt of the strength behind it. Not for the first time, Robert understood just why Lord Kirkpatrick had trusted this woman with all his worldly goods, as well as, perhaps, a great deal more.

Julian’s face was pale with unpleasant surprise. He looked frostbitten, truth be told. He, through the auspices of the Reverend, had overplayed his hand, not truly understanding of what his opposition was made. And Pamela had played her own game to that one fatal flaw in the judgement of both the boy and the man. Even playing blind a good deal of the time, she had never forgotten where the chink in the opposition’s armor lay. Of course, Robert thought happily, it helped when you had the Black Pope on your side, a network of gypsies and friends in various governments and on the boards of large American corporations who were willing to help you play an extended bout of hide-and-seek. That and some more shadowy figures who had owed Pamela favors, for what services he did not care to be overly informed. A wise man did not need to know every detail.