Undercover (19 page)

"How indeed. That's where things get rather interesting. Brendan Rooney may not have risen rapidly through the hierarchy of the London criminal fraternity, but he's connected to a man of great influence among that unsavoury lot. His cousin, Martin Rooney, is quite the shady entrepreneur by all accounts. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, money laundering. His portfolio is quite impressive."

"And the relevance of this is...?"

"Oh, don't worry Mrs Gallagher. I won't waste your time with extraneous information. You see, Martin Rooney was an IRA sympathiser in the eighties and early nineties. He donated money, housed terrorist operatives and sang rebel songs at weddings. But as the Rooney cocaine empire grew, his association with the conservative Irish Republicans diminished. They were pushing their anti-drug dogma and he was enjoying the profit too much to let his political inclinations get in the way. He kept in touch with a few soldiers from those good old days, though. I suspect that one of those long-standing contacts kidnapped your family."

"Why?"

Stephen Black shrugged. "Let's not speculate. I don't have a complete picture right now but I'm confident that we'll get to the bottom of this lickety-split, without breaking any of the kidnappers' rules concerning police involvement."

"How long before we get to Peckham?"

"Five or ten minutes."

"And what are we going to do when we get there?" Lydia asked.

"I think we should keep an open mind on that front. Best we have a good nosey at the setup and then maybe formulate a plan of action if we deem it advantageous."

Lydia twisted the cap off a bottle of sparkling water she'd taken from McGoldrick's office. The bubbles fizzled on her tongue and tickled her nose. The sensation, coupled with her stress-induced hypersensitivity, brought tears to her eyes. She wondered if this move was a risk too far. Could anything really be gained from a bit of I-Spy with these animals? It wasn't as if they were on their way to uncover the location where her family was being held captive. The exercise was essentially the lion tamer sticking his head in the lion's mouth.

"We shouldn't do this," Lydia said.

"That's just your nerves talking, Lydia," McGoldrick said. "Don't worry. Our man here is the best. He'll do his thing and be gone before these arseholes get so much as a sniff of him."

"I really am quite good," Stephen Black said.

"It's all right for you two to tell me to chill out and go with the flow. It's not your family that'll get killed if things go pear-shaped. No. Forget it. Turn back. I'll just wait for their next call, okay?"

"Lydia," Rory said. "I'll back you one hundred per cent if you really want to bail on this, but don't be too hasty. You've got the upper hand for the first time since these bastards came for your family. It could all amount to nothing, but do you really think you can sit back and let things play out, knowing you had a chance to try
something
and you chose to pass it up? You're just not built that way."

"Well said, that man."

"Shut up, Stevie, will you?"

"That
was
a great speech," Lydia said. "But again, it's easy to dish out advice when you've nothing on the line."

"Well how about this, Lydia?" McGoldrick said. "What if you do jump through every hoop? Play the good little pawn and give them every single thing they want. What then? Do they release your family, shake your hand and say thank you for all your hard work? Or do they decide to put you on to the next client? And another one after that? Where does all the shite end?"

"That won't happen. These people are after Rory for some reason. Once they've got what they want, they'll be done with me."

"They're after money, Lydia, pure and simple," McGoldrick said. "And Rory Cullen's their latest meal ticket."

McGoldrick's tone had a real edge to it and once again Lydia wondered why the old Scot wanted to get anywhere near the whole mess. It wasn't personal and it didn't really take anything out of his pocket. Rory's potential earning power wouldn't be affected if he got cleaned out. And no matter how McGoldrick played it, Lydia didn't believe he had an altruistic bone in his body. He'd an angle to work, she just hadn't figured out what it was yet.

"Look here," Stephen Black said, "we're just a stone's throw away from where our friends are holed up. Seems foolish to turn back now. I assure you, Mrs Gallagher, you have nothing to fear. I'll just perform a brief recce, report back to you and then we can decide what to do next. A little game of peek-a-boo, so to speak."

"We might not get another chance," McGoldrick said.

She could feel their anticipation. They wanted action. Craved it. It was a Venus and Mars thing. In their minds they were presented with a problem and now they had a slim chance at a solution. A terrible weariness descended on her and at that moment all she wanted to do was be still. This was a new kind of helplessness. She'd been at the mercy of the kidnappers for too long and now these men, well meaning as they might or might not be, wanted to tackle the situation. Try to fix things. She didn't have the energy to fight them any more.

The Vectra rolled into a parking space on a residential street. Stephen Black turned off the engine.

"We're here, Mrs Gallagher," Stephen Black said. "Rory's Land Rover is parked nearby, if his GPS signal is accurate. I'd wager that the quarry is in that most attractive block of flats to our right. Say the word and I'll get to work."

Lydia gave the four-storey building a once over. White PVC windows, red brick balconies, rusted satellite dishes. There had to be fifty homes crammed into it.

"The words needle and haystack come to mind," she said. "How are you meant to find them?"

"I've a hunch that the black Land Rover by those saplings is Mr Cullen's."

She spotted Rory's car among a small fleet of less conspicuous hatchbacks and saloons. It'd been parked in a space that was almost sheltered by a plot of shrubbery and three young trees. A couple of teenage boys dressed in branded sportswear eyeballed the Land Rover from the doorway of the closest ground floor flat.

"And I'd bet that those young rogues over there have been paid by somebody to see it comes to no harm." Stephen Black rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. "A higher bidder could easily extract a little inside knowledge from them."

"What do you say, Lydia?" McGoldrick asked. "You going to sign off on a little detective work here?"

She doubted they would take heed of her if she said no. It was time to relent.

"Do what you want, Mr Black. Just make sure you do it well."

––––––––

I
was surprised to see so many of my contemporaries on Twitter. I didn't think a lot of them could read, never mind figure out how to use a computer.

Rory Cullen,
CULLEN: The Autobiography

––––––––

L
ydia watched the man tumble over the low balcony wall and plummet. It looked so slow and maddeningly preventable, like a vase toppling from a shelf. He'd crashed through the front door of the flat Stephen Black had broken into just a few seconds previously. Lydia had thought it reckless behaviour on the ex-spook's part but held her tongue. The lights had been off and Stephen Black had spoken to the dodgy-looking youths from the ground floor before venturing up to the flat they'd pointed to. She assumed that they'd told him the place was unoccupied and he'd decided to investigate. No such luck.

She felt a strange lightness in her lungs as she traced the man's descent from the top floor of the block of flats, like millions of little hands were pushing her diaphragm upwards. And she must have heard the crack of every broken bone on impact. She briefly wondered if a man could survive a four-storey drop. Then the screaming began. The faller wasn't dead but it sounded like he wanted to be.

"Oh my God," Lydia said. "Who's that?"

McGoldrick looked over his shoulder. "Don't worry. He's no friend of ours."

She wanted to vomit but her stomach was empty.

Stephen Black emerged from the flat, silenced pistol in his right hand, pointed at the starless sky. His head whipped from left to right before he stepped forward and looked over the balcony at the screeching man below. It was hard to tell for sure from their vantage point, but Lydia suspected the little mystery man was smiling. He turned and went back into the flat.

"What the fuck is the mad bastard doing?" Rory asked.

"His job," McGoldrick said. "Don't worry. He'll be fine."

"Fuck
him
," Lydia said, "what about my family?"

Rory reached out his bound hands to take hers. She flapped him away.
Fuck your consolation, Rory.

"This is all about your family," McGoldrick said.

"You sure about that, McGoldrick?"

The old Scot didn't react to the jagged edge in Lydia's voice. His whole demeanour was boardroom cool.

"That guy's no daftie, Lydia. He'll get what he needs here then cover his tracks. We've just taken the first step towards getting your husband and son back."

She clenched her teeth against a tide of abuse. Better to store it up and allow an eruption at a more opportune moment. Most likely in a violent manifestation. The recipient was still to be determined, but at that moment, McGoldrick and Stephen Black were high up on her list. She reined in the rage like only a protective mother could. Watched the flat's door.

The man who'd fallen from the balcony had stopped screaming. It didn't bode well for him. Then it registered with Lydia that none of the residents of the block of flats had gone out to see what had happened. They'd probably written it off as a gang stabbing and didn't want to get into the middle of it.

Less than a minute later, Stephen Black sprang from the shadows with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He raced along the balcony towards the communal stairway and spiralled downwards. Then he was out in the open. He went directly to the silent man on the ground, regarded him for a heartbeat and pointed his elongated pistol at him.

The muzzle flashed.
Phut. Phut.
Stephen Black's victim jerked twice. Rory made a choked noise. A failed scream. Lydia accepted his hands when he offered them for the second time. McGoldrick seemed unfazed by the coldblooded murder.

Stephen Black got into the car and handed the backpack to McGoldrick. The swarthy little man twisted in the driver seat to look at Lydia and Rory. His eyes were bright and wide, his face radiant, his breath slightly hitched. He could have been out for a brisk walk around the park.

"I think we'll get a lot out of that little manoeuvre," Stephen Black said. "Got a bagful of goodies."

"You killed that man," Lydia said.

"It was a mercy killing. He'd have died of internal injuries sooner or later after his nasty drop."

"It's not like the guy jumped off the balcony, though," Rory said. "You must have pushed him."

"Self defence, I assure you."

"We can talk about this later," McGoldrick said. "Get us out of here."

Stephen Black gunned the engine and drove out of his kerbside parking space with all the lackadaisical calm of a Sunday driver.

"Did you kill the other one too?" Lydia asked.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I met two men in biker gear earlier and the same two men came to Rory's house to steal the safe. Was the other one in the flat?"

"He was well hidden if he was."

"So it's only a matter of time before the second guy sends word back to Belfast about this..."

No attempt at assurance was offered.

"You realise that you two are responsible for whatever harm comes to my family now, don't you?"

Rory wiggled his hand out of Lydia's tightened grip. The men in the front said nothing.

###

I
t took them fifteen minutes and three separate sets of directions to locate Donna in the hospital. The Royal was basically two buildings meshed together, one modern and one ancient, and some of the floor numbers didn't even match up. Take the stairs to the second floor in the new building and you could find yourself on the sixth when you navigated your way to the old one – without mounting a single step.

John Gallagher lay shirtless on a cot, his wound sewn up but not dressed. Yellow dye stained the area around the stitches. Donna stood by his side. She made an adjustment to John's IV drip then faced Cormac.

"How's he doing?" Cormac asked.

"Surprisingly well. The wound's clean and he's been pumped full of antibiotics and painkillers. In a few days, maybe a week, we can think about sending him to a hospital across the water, get him closer to home."

"A week? I don't think that's a good idea. O'Neill's men will be looking for us."

"What can I tell you? He needs time to recover."

"But surely he'll need to disappear before people start asking you awkward questions."

"He's had surgery, Cormac. The awkward questions have begun. No doubt the police will be along soon to find out who he is and why he's been shot."

"They've called this in?"

Donna shrugged. "I didn't ask them to, but..."

"We have to leave now."

John moaned and shifted in his cot.

Donna's brow furrowed. She spared her patient a quick glance then returned her focus to Cormac: "That's not happening."

"O'Neill has somebody feeding him information from my unit. If they're even half-awake and John's name comes up in a police report, the goon-squad will be here ahead of whatever pair of uniforms they send this way. You want to explain to them what's best for your patient?"

"Fuck's sake, Cormac."

"What can I say, Donna? We need to get moving." Cormac waved his hand at the IV and heart monitor setup. "How much of that stuff is portable?"

"We can't just wheel him out of—"

"This isn't a discussion. Gather up whatever you need. Mattie can help you carry some of it. I'll scope the way ahead. We're leaving this minute."

"In what? We can't fit all this stuff in my car."

"I'll get something sorted. Meet me at the Falls Road entrance."