Revenge (4 page)

He had still not spoken to her, and that frightened her more than anything else. She had threatened him, abused him, told him that her father would be searching for her, and he had not reacted in any way. He had shone the torch and shown her an old chamber pot where he expected her to do her business. She had railed at him, cursed him, but there had been no reaction.

She had woken up earlier because she could hear him moving around outside the door. She swallowed down the rising panic that was getting harder and harder to control. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, what he wanted from her. She could smell her own faeces, could feel the dirtiness of her body and clothes. She had waited for him to rape her, or assault her, but he had done nothing. He brought her some water at regular intervals, and he emptied the chamber pot at some point, and he had also left her a blanket. She could only assume he had kidnapped her, and he was waiting for her father to pay the money. He would pay it – her mother would make sure of that. But why was it taking so long?

She kept thinking of every serial-killer film she had ever watched, every book she had ever read about men who abducted young women, and tortured and raped them. Only in the books and the films, there was always a detective on their trail who you knew would eventually save the girl and kill the maniac; you knew that because the detective
always
solved his case no matter how obscure the clues. The maniac would also often be in direct contact with the police, would be taunting them and, as the reader or viewer, you would be cheering on the detective, knowing all along that he or she would eventually work it out. But that was not real life. She worried that he was going to come in at some point and really hurt her, and she was so terrified about that.

Her initial arrogance was gone; she was not only stone cold sober for the first time in years, she was also acutely aware that she wasn’t ready to die. She loved her son in her own way, and she wanted to see him again, see her mum, be hugged by her once more. She had to wonder if this was something to do with her dad – he had stepped on a lot of people’s toes. Surely she should have been out by now if it was about money? What if this man was holding her as a grudge against her father? Or what if he was a serial killer and her father’s name and reputation meant nothing to him?

She pushed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming; she still had enough strength left to make sure she didn’t show him her fear. She wouldn’t show him how scared she was until she absolutely had to. She would beg him on her knees if that was what he wanted, she would do whatever she needed to try and get herself out of this situation.

She pulled the blanket around her, and she forced herself to try and think rationally. But it was hard to concentrate – the darkness was so intimidating, so final. And the man who held her was still an enigma. Until he spoke to her or acknowledged her presence in some way, she knew she couldn’t even begin to understand exactly what she was dealing with. She felt the tears running down her face, and she didn’t even try to stop them.

‘Come on, Jake, eat your dinner up.’

Michael winked at his grandson, as always amazed at the love the child could engender in him. Considering the circumstances of his birth, Michael had always been in awe of the feelings he had for this child.

‘I’m eating my dinner, Granddad, so I can grow up big and strong like you.’

Michael sighed. He remembered when his Jessie had been like this little lad, innocent, trusting and eager for her parents’ company. All that had changed when she was thirteen. Overnight she had become a different person – difficult, awkward, full of hate. Everyone said it was teenage angst, that she would grow out of it. But she hadn’t, she had gradually got worse, and she had become out of control. Now she was missing, and he didn’t know what more he could do.

Book One

We will either find a way, or make one

Hannibal

Do not trust in extortion or take pride in stolen goods, though your riches increase, do not set store by them

Psalm 62:10

Chapter One

1979

Michael Flynn looked around the dingy offices with interest. This was where Patrick Costello, the legendary East-End Face, orchestrated the serious earns for the Costello family. Up to now, Michael had been working for one of Patrick’s collectors – a ponce named Jimmy Moore – but what he really wanted was to be in the thick of the Costello business. He knew he could learn a lot from Patrick Costello.

Patrick Costello was now nearly fifty, although he looked younger than his contemporaries. He had done a nine-year stretch in his twenties, and he had used his time inside wisely. He had been in for murder and, as a lifer, he had been afforded the opportunity to better himself, and he had taken advantage of everything that was open to him. He had taken up body-building, and he had also gained himself a degree in English Literature, understanding, for the first time in his life, the power that education could bring.

Since his early release, Patrick had a different approach to the Life. He had done his time, and he was not about to make that mistake again. Now he made sure that everything he was involved in could never be traced back to him. He paid his people to ensure that they would take the fall if everything was to go pear-shaped, and he paid well.

His brother Declan was just five years younger than Patrick, but he was like a big, overgrown schoolboy, all jokes and friendly camaraderie. He had a wide, open face that screamed honesty and shielded from most of the world the fact that he was capable of great violence. Coupled with the fact that he never forgot or forgave anything he might see as an insult, he was a very dangerous individual.

Declan was the one that most of the Costello workforce dealt with on a daily basis, and that was how both brothers liked it. Declan enjoyed issuing orders more than planning operations, and Patrick was more than happy for him to do that, while Declan, in turn, was happy to let his older brother make the big decisions and decide where and how they would invest their money.
He
couldn’t organise a Papal Mass in the Vatican on his own.

Patrick was the head of the family. He made sure that everything ran smoothly, orchestrating every move that the Costellos made. He had a few men on his own personal payroll too. They had started out in the family business but, seeing their capabilities, Patrick had offered them a new path. When they came into his
personal
employ, they then saw the side of the Costello family business that was as lucrative as it was dangerous. Patrick trained them up personally, and they answered to him and no one else. The main criteria for working alongside him was the ability to keep everything on the down-low and if the person
did
get a capture, for whatever reason, they were expected to take the consequences involved without question. They knew they would be well compensated for their trouble.

Now Michael Flynn was getting the chance of a face-to-face with Patrick Costello and he didn’t intend to waste it.

He could hear Patrick coming up the stairs, back to his office, and he waited patiently for him.

Patrick came through the doorway beaming. ‘Sorry about that, son, but you know the old adage – no rest for the wicked, eh?’

Michael grinned in response.

Patrick stood by his desk for a few moments looking at Michael intently.

Michael held the man’s gaze easily, but it unnerved him nonetheless. Patrick Costello looked more dangerous than ever in his own domain. Michael could see that Patrick’s reputation as a man who was not to be crossed was more than warranted. Michael had never in all his life felt so vulnerable or so nervous. But he kept his emotions in check.

Patrick smiled suddenly. ‘Don’t be nervous of me, Michael. I have been hearing good things about you, son, and I want you to come and work for me – personally.’

Michael was so amazed at what Patrick Costello had said he couldn’t even answer him.

Patrick smiled at Michael. He could see not just the amazement but also the sheer
want
in the boy’s eyes. He had chosen well. Michael Flynn was much younger than any of the other men he had taken on, but the lad had already established himself as a good earner. Even more importantly, he already had a reputation as a young man who never discussed anything with anyone.

Patrick had been impressed by Michael’s dealings with Jimmy Moore.
He
was a useless cunt, who was hated by everyone he came into contact with – even his relatives. He bullied everyone around him, thinking he could get away with it because his uncle, Terry Gold, was a well-known Face. Yet Michael Flynn – who Patrick Costello knew was more than capable of taking care of himself, especially when it came to a runt like Jimmy Moore – had been sensible enough to keep his cool, do his job. He’d also kept his mouth shut about Jimmy Moore’s skimming – something Patrick intended to have a word with Declan about putting a stop to quick-sharp – until he knew exactly what the score was. That was the type of person that Patrick Costello liked to have on his side. This lad would happily work for him and, if push came to the proverbial shove, he would do his time inside with the minimum of fuss.

‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Costello . . .’

‘Before you answer me, Michael, you need to understand something. My half of the business is very clandestine. I make sure that the serious earns are not only fucking lucrative, but also so secret that no more than two or three people have any real knowledge of the actual scam they are involved in at any given time.’

He was watching Michael intently, so Michael nodded slightly as if in total agreement. He was being sounded out – how he reacted now would be the making or the breaking of him, and would either guarantee him a place with Patrick, or see him back with Jimmy once more.

Patrick sighed, as if he was debating within himself whether Michael was worthy of his attention. ‘I believe that fewer people in the know ensures the absolute integrity that serious earns demand, and I only deal with serious earns. I
know
– within hours – if anyone on my personal payroll has spoken out of turn or been foolish enough to let their mouths run away with them. I’m explaining this so you know where I am coming from, and so you know exactly what is expected of you.’

Michael still didn’t say a word. If truth be told, he didn’t know what to say. Instead he waited patiently for Patrick to continue.

‘Declan is a fucking star. He fronts the family businesses, as you well know. But what I say now is for your ears only.’

Michael nodded firmly this time; he was giving this man his word.

‘Declan, God love him, couldn’t work out how to find his own cock with a detailed map and a police sniffer dog. So I have a couple of men who do the actual money side of it all and Declan does what he’s good at – making sure that everything runs smoothly. Now, I am telling you all this because I trust you. I run the family and Declan takes his lead from me. I work on the more dangerous enterprises, behind the scenes, so to speak.’

Michael watched Patrick warily as he walked to the large old-fashioned filing cabinet by the back wall. Opening up the top drawer, he took out a bottle of Johnnie Walker whisky. He came back to the desk and, settling himself into his large leather chair, he poured out two generous measures of the whisky into two chipped tea cups, before passing one to Michael. Then, taking a deep drink, he carried on talking as if there had been no interruption at all. ‘I like you, Michael. I can see a great future for you. You’re very young but, in your case, I see that as a good thing. I want to take you under my wing, and teach you the business that eventually you will be responsible for. I will guarantee you a fucking serious wedge, but that wedge is because if it should all fall out of bed, for whatever reason,
you
will be the one looking at a big lump. Do you understand that, Michael? If it all goes pear-shaped then you will be expected to take the fall. That is why you get the big bucks, son.’

Michael sipped at his whisky before answering. The chemical burn as it crept slowly through his body was almost welcome. He was finally understanding exactly what was being asked of him. Patrick was not even attempting to sugar-coat it. He was being brutally honest, and that meant a lot to Michael. He spoke, and sealed his fate.

‘I understand what you’re saying and, if you still want me, I’m in.’

Patrick grinned; it was what he had expected. He had chosen well as usual. If the boy had backed out, he would not have held it against him, but the people he recruited had to know the score from the off. He liked to be clear
exactly
what they were getting into, and
exactly
what he expected from them. Once they came onboard, he owned them.

‘You’re a good lad, Michael. I don’t normally bring in youngsters like you, but I need someone who can understand this new world that’s emerging. I hear great things about you, and I know personally that you can keep your trap shut. If you listen to me and use your loaf, the chance of getting any kind of capture is very remote. But the chance
is
there, as it is with any criminal enterprise. You need to understand that.’

Michael shrugged. ‘I know the score. I appreciate that you have been so honest with me, but I knew from an early age that getting my collar felt was an occupational hazard. It goes with the territory. I am not a fool, Patrick. I know the downside to this business and, if for whatever reason I
do
get banged up, I know I will get my head round it, and do my time. As you know yourself, that’s all you can do.’

If Patrick Costello had liked Michael before, now he found that he had a sneaking admiration for him as well. He had it all, this youngster – good looks and a seriously sensible attitude. Now he needed to make sure that Michael was tied to him for ever. He had to make him a party to something that would not only guarantee the boy’s allegiance, but would also bind them together, give them a bond of sorts.

‘Well then, Michael Flynn. Welcome aboard.’