The Storm Protocol (31 page)

‘Okay
, I'm back at my desk now, sir, and the doors are closed; sorry for keeping you.’

‘So no chance of
anyone overhearing?’ asked the director.

Ray placed a finger to his lips
, and then brought it across his neck with a slashing motion. Dodds understood exactly what he meant.

‘No chance at all, sir,’ said Ray.

‘What do you know about Storm?’ asked the director.

Ray instantly liked him. He didn’t beat around the bush. Not a man to mince his words.

‘We are not sure that we know anything,’ answered Ray. ‘Most of what we have heard is rumour and conjecture. But from what we've been able to ascertain, Storm is a drug of some kind.’

‘You have
a quality for understatement, Agent Fox,’ said the director. ‘What I’m about to tell you is on a strictly need to know basis, do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes sir,’ said Ray.

‘About two months ago, a folder went missing from a secure government facility. There are only four of these folders in existence. They should have been kept under constant lock and key, within a secure restricted area, but in this particular case, all the procedures were not followed.’

‘And this has something to do with Storm?’ asked Ray.

‘That folder
is
Storm,’ said the director. ‘History, background, protocol, chemical compounds, manufacturing process, clinical trials, testing results, everything.’

‘So
, if someone were to get their hands on that folder?’ ventured Ray.

‘They would be potentially an extremely ri
ch man or woman,’ finished the director. ‘Make no mistake; this has the potential to be bigger than heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, all of those. If you went out of your way to design the perfect drug, you couldn't come up with a better one.’

‘So
, where is this folder now?’ asked Ray. ‘Do we know?’

‘All the intelligence we have points to the document being in the possession of the Mancini brothers.’

Ray and Dodds looked at each other.

‘So Dale was right,’ said Ray, almost to himself.

‘If you're referring to Agent Foster,’ said the Director, ‘then yes he was. But if you can contact him, you need to get a message to him. He is in quite a bit of danger.’

‘How so?’ asked Ray
, with the beginnings of concern.

‘I mentioned the existence of four folders,’ sa
id the director. ‘I have one of them and certain key individuals within the Storm Project group have the other three. One of those individuals has become a ghost and their folder, and thus Storm itself, has vanished with them.’

‘Rebelled you mea
n?’ asked Ray. ‘Gone rogue?’

‘Actually yes, rogue would be a much b
etter way to put it,’ said the director. ‘I'm not at liberty to discuss who the individual is. To be honest, that information is way above your pay grade. Suffice to say, they are eminently aware of the value of what they have. I believe they are selling the drug to the highest bidder. Why they engineered two folders to be removed; one in such a clumsy and haphazard way, I don't yet know or understand? Maybe they did it, so they could compare the two and make sure there were no anomalies from folder to folder; we do that sometimes to protect ourselves.’

He laughed briefly and sourly.

‘Unfortunately, that is not the case here. Each folder contains an identical and full disclosure.’

‘So
, where does the danger come from?’ asked Ray.

‘Given the vast sums of money potentially involved, I have to believe they are prepared to kill anyone with any knowledge of this project; certainly anyone isolated and vulnerable.’

‘Does that include me, sir?’ asked Ray.

‘No, they would have no knowledge of you.’

‘So, how did you find out about Agent Foster?’ asked Ray, reading the scribbled question that Dodds had thrust across the desk. ‘And more to the point, how did the rogue agent find out about him?’

‘We pulled the last few
records accessed by our rogue agent from the CIA database,’ said the director. ‘The second to last record he accessed was that of one
Agent Dale Foster
.’

‘What was the last one?’ asked Ray curiously.

‘A man called
Thomas Eugene O'Neill
.’

Ray and Dodds looked at each other as they realised the call had been terminated.

‘What do you make of that?’ asked Dodds.

‘I don’t like it,’ said Ray. ‘I can’t tell you why, but I have a feeling we are being played. We need to proceed with the utmost caution.’

19
th
May 2011 – Nine days after the Storm.

War makes fright, fright makes alliances, alliances make war. – Anon.

Our journey together, especially after the destruction of the house, had been a little surreal. The other two hadn’t spoken at all. I had just mumbled half remembered directions. All of us were lost in our individual musings.

More by accident than design, my aimless recollections brought us back to Roussel’s hotel. It transpired by complete coincidence
, that both he and Foster were staying in the same place.

We agreed to meet in
Foster’s room; he handed me one of his pass keys, and we entered via the back door at five minute intervals, so we didn't arouse any suspicions.

I was last in
and headed straight for Dale’s room, glad that the number was printed on the card; I had forgotten to ask him where it was. When the lock opened with a green light and a click, the other two were together inside. Roussel had gathered all his things and had already cleared out his room.

There were three beds, so we collectively decided to get a little bit o
f sleep. I set my alarm for seven am. For my line of work, I had perfected the art of the deep catnap and it appeared my new colleagues had too. When the bell jangled on my iPhone, and brought us all back to the living, both of them appeared as refreshed and wide awake as I felt.

Roussel went down first to pay his bill. I went down next
, as I had no account to settle, and the two of us waited outside in comparative silence for Foster to join us.

‘What now?’ asked
Roussel.

His breath was condensing
, as his words broke the peace and stillness of the dawn.

‘I have just the thing,’ I said.

An hour later, I pushed the plate away from me. The all-day breakfast rarely defeated me, but this time it had.

‘I told you that you’d both feel better after that,’ I said.

They both sat back and smiled; neither of them had been defeated the way I had, and their plates were almost forensically clean.

‘So
, what now?’ asked Roussel, echoing his earlier comment.

We sipped at our coffees
, as we studied each other.

‘First things first,’ I said, ‘and I’m going to get this out of the way up front, because you guys are tiptoeing around it.’

They looked at me; Foster even blinked, but they allowed me to continue.

‘I’m not on the s
ame side of the law as you guys, and I’ve killed a lot of people.’

I paused
to let that statement sink in.

‘All of them were scumbags and all of them deserved it, but then, I’m trying to justify my behaviour, especially to myself, so I would say that
, wouldn't I?’

I turned to Roussel directly.

‘The point is,’ I said, ‘not only am I the number one suspect in a double murder,
your
double murder, but I freely confess to carrying both of them out, which puts you in a bit of a quandary.’

‘You think?’ he said with a smile.

‘So, here’s the decision, as I see it, for you guys.’

I stated this flatly and with no emotion.

‘I have no idea why Scott Mitchell, a.k.a Alan Murphy, was searching for me. I have no idea how he succeeded in tracking me down. I have
absolutely
no idea what his motivation was. All I can assume, from what I’ve managed to find out about him, is that he was up to no good.’

I curled a finger to illustrate another point.

‘The second guy who was after me; I know exactly what he was and I know exactly who sent him, and I make no apologies for that one. It was pure self defence.’

I curled another finger.

‘And gentlemen, I don’t think I need to remind you of the attack on all of us in my mother’s house. Somebody is definitely going to pay for that.’

I curled my hand into a fist.

‘So, in summary, I
am
going to find out who tried to kill me, I
am
going to find out who trashed my mother’s house, and I
am
going to find out why this guy Scott Mitchell was sent to find me. Those are certainties. You can work with me or you can work against me, it’s up to you. Either way, it’s now personal for me. But if you do choose to work with me, I have considerable advantages that you guys don’t have. I can work outside the law, which you guys can’t. I have access to information and resources that you guys don't. And possibly the strangest statement of all; I'm an honourable man and you can trust me.’

Roussel made to speak
, but Foster got there first, holding his hand up in a pausing motion.

‘I don't know about Charles,’ he said,
looking at me, ‘but I’ll give you my take on this.’

He sat back and smiled.

‘I can't believe I'm saying this,’ he continued, ‘but I am actually relieved that I was shot at yesterday. I've been chasing shadows for the last week, but shadows don't fire live rounds. It was nice to get some cold hard evidence that I’m headed in the right direction. I’ve been going on hunches and intuition for too long and like you....’

He pointed a finger in my direction.

‘....I’m operating in an unofficial capacity. So, it depends what Charles says, but I think we should pool our resources. There’s a lot of mutual benefit, and besides....’

He said this with a smile.

‘....I think we make a good team and yes, I do believe you're an honest man.’

We collectively let that statement ring in the air for a few minutes.

‘My turn?’ asked Roussel, a faint smile creasing his face. ‘Well, unlike you two, I am very definitely operating within the law. I have an official liaison with the police here in Cork, requested through official channels. Any deviation from those procedures could look bad, not only for me and my career, but also for my department and ultimately my whole Parish.’

He took another sip of coffee.

‘Having said all that, somebody is jerking our collective chain. I don't like it and my Captain doesn't like it, so I'm prepared to work with you guys.’

Here he pointed his finger at both of us.

‘This is based on the proviso that we have no secrets, and also on the proviso that we stay within the law as much as we possibly can.’

He fired
the last statement directly at me.

‘Works for me,’ said Foster.

‘Me too,’ I echoed.

I lifted my m
ug.

‘Slainte;
to us!’

The pottery chinked
, as they silently pledged their allegiance to our unholy trinity. Roussel extracted his notebook and pen, causing Foster to laugh.

‘You are such a policeman, do you know that?’ he said, still laughing.

Roussel shrugged off the throwaway remark, as he tore a page out of the notebook and put it in the centre of the table.

‘If the cap fits,’ he said. ‘Anyway
, as I see it, we have two focus areas. We have
Cork
and we have
Storm
.’

He wrote Cork in large capital letters.

‘So, for Cork,’ he began, ‘we have you.’

He poi
nted at me with an easy smile.

‘We have Scott Mitchell, drug pusher with purpose unknown
, but a native of Cork; too much in common to be a coincidence. Anything I've missed?’

Foster shook his head and so did I.

‘So, then we have Storm,’ said Roussel, and wrote Storm in capital letters, as he had done previously.

‘We have all the circumstantial evidence I was getting,’ said Foster, pointing to the word Storm.

He then pointed at me.

‘And then the
re’s the evidence I was given, linking you to the Mancini’s, and linking the Mancini’s back to Storm.’

‘It’s a tenuous link,’ I said, ‘but I was told that Scott Mitchell was a drug dealer.’

‘True,’ said Roussel, ‘but only very small time by all accounts; nothing on this scale.’

‘So
, we’ve concrete links to Storm and concrete links to Cork,’ said Roussel. ‘What about your two stooges from Rudino’s; didn’t they link Storm with Cork?’

‘But I want concrete,’ replied
Foster. ‘That’s what we’re missing. All we currently have is a tenuous link from a couple of restaurant kitchen porters.’

‘There is one thing we’ve missed,’ I said suddenly.

The others looked at me expectantly.

‘Our friend from the CIA; where does he fit in and how does he fit in?’

‘The guy who you killed,’ responded Roussel excitedly, snapping his fingers. ‘The second guy; the one sent with a specific purpose. It was bothering my captain and me why his information was classified. If it's as simple as you say; that he was sent purely by the Mancini's to kill you, then it makes no sense. But if he was there with a higher purpose than just to kill you? Maybe the classification was justified.’

‘Still circumstantial,’ I said. ‘But, yes I agree with you certainly, it warrants looking into.’

‘I think it's more than that,’ said Roussel doggedly. ‘Why would information on hit-men, specifically related to the Mancini's, be regarded as classified? It’s almost like someone is trying to protect them; shielding them maybe?’

‘To what purpose?’ asked
Foster.

‘I don’t know,’ said Roussel. ‘But everybody knows what the Mancini’s are into. Why bother to hide it, especially from other law enforcement agencies.’

I shrugged.

‘Okay, you win,’ I said. ‘I agree
; we should certainly look into it.’

‘So
, what do we do now?’ Foster asked. ‘What is our next step?’

‘Two things,’ I replied
. ‘We need a place to stay and we need transport.’

‘I still have my rental,’ stated Foster.

‘Do you?’ I asked interestedly. ‘I’ll still need to add myself as a named driver, so I’ll look after that and the accommodation. I have the means, the ability and the local knowledge. I don’t think it’s safe for either of you guys to go back to the Hotel. We can’t assume that it was me they were after at my Mother’s house.’

‘I think we can,’ said Roussel abruptly. ‘They were shouting your name.’

‘They could have followed one of you,’ I said.

‘Shit,’ said Roussel, suddenly looking at his watch. ‘What time is it?’

I glanced at my watch.

‘Eight o’clock, why?’
I asked.

‘I’m meeting my liaison at the hotel at nine thirty,’ he replied.

‘Ok, here’s what we’ll do,’ I said. ‘We’ll head back over to the hotel. You can wait there for your colleague. Foster will come with me and we’ll sort out the car and a place to stay. Give us a shout when you're finished, and I’ll come back and pick you up.’

‘I would if I knew your number,’ said Roussel.

I scribbled a number on Roussel’s piece of paper.

‘Don’t forget, it’s a US based number same as yours,’ I said with a wink.

#

Roussel sat on the railings outside the hotel. Precariously balanced, he used his legs to keep from falling. When he was a kid, he used to try and stay perched
on the veranda balustrade for hours. And then he realised; all his thoughts were doggedly guiding him back to the plantation.

He heard the beep of a
car horn and looked up. James screeched to a halt in front of him.

‘Man, you are never going to believe what happened last night,’ said James.

‘Try me,’ said Roussel, manfully trying to stifle the smile. He wondered what would happen if he said it straight out.

‘Well James, let me guess, there was a fire fight last night in Grattan Hill. Eight people were killed and the roof of the house was blown off with a grenade.’

He looked back at James. What he had mistaken for brevity was in fact a restrained and worried concentration.

‘Sorry, not trying to be flippant, what did happen last night?’

‘It’s funny,’ said James almost to himself, as they headed off at high speed. ‘We had a meeting about this only a couple of days ago.’

Roussel nodded to show he was listening and let him keep talking.

‘My boss reckoned it was only a matter of time.’

James looked at Roussel.

‘There’s a turf war going on, you see. Two rival gangs, isn't there always, vying for control. Now don't get me wrong, there has been trouble in the past. The odd shooting here, a beating there, a stabbing here, but this is serious escalation.’

They pulled up outside number thirty, or at least as close as they could get with the police cordon. They both got out and stood back. Roussel had been present at the aftermath of a couple of gas explosions back home
, when he was still in uniform: the effect wasn’t dissimilar. He felt the tingle of shock run through his body, as he realised how lucky they had been. There wasn't much of the house left.