Veil of Civility: A Black Shuck Thriller (Declan McIver Series) (54 page)

Shane stayed where he was, his pistol still aimed at the security guard standing in front of him. He looked between Allardyce and Declan.

"Drop it, Shane," Declan said. "We're not here to hurt anyone. That's not going to help us."

Slowly, Shane allowed the pistol to fall out of his grip and hang by his index finger. He held it up as the security guard in front of him relaxed and turned, taking his pistol back.

"Now what?" Declan asked.

"Now you're both officially in the custody of the Security Service," Allardyce said, "and until I get this matter straightened out, that's where you're going to stay."

6:23 p.m. Eastern Time – Friday

Constitutional Condominiums

6
th
St. & Maryland Avenue – Washington D.C.

David Kemiss walked over to the door, opening it in response to the sharp knock. "Come in, Colin. Come in."

Colin Bellanger stepped into the apartment. In the button-down shirts and ties required at the Senate office building, Kemiss thought the young man looked awkward and lanky. But tonight, in his off hours, wearing a black twill zip-up jacket that fitted his lean figure perfectly, with his hair wet from the rain outside and his glasses exchanged for a pair of contacts, he looked athletic and maybe even sophisticated.

"Dinner's just been delivered. I hope Chinese from City Lights is okay."

"Great. City Lights delivered all the way to Stanton Park? Impressive. Thank you, Senator."

"Perk of the job and its David tonight, I get tired of all the titles."

Bellanger smiled and unzipped his coat, pulling out a thick file from underneath that he had been shielding from the rain. "I can understand that, I guess."

The young man seemed nervous.

"So, I hate to bring you out on a night like this, but you said you'd found something?" Kemiss asked.

While he was trying very hard to be polite and to come off as cool and collected, inside Kemiss was feeling almost panicked. Earlier in the day he had learned that Declan McIver had been spotted in Wales and news since then had seemed to confirm Kemiss' worst fears; McIver appeared to be heading inland towards London. Police in the U.K. had discovered that he had carjacked a couple of tourists not far from where he had spent the night with a wildlife worker and her elderly father. The tourists' stolen car had turned up only an hour outside of London, but McIver had yet to be located. In response to the developments, Kemiss had charged Lukas Kreft with hiring assassins to kill Lane Simard, the only person in London that could positively tie Kemiss to McIver and so to the attacks on Liberty University and Abaddon Kafni. The question burning in his mind was could Kreft find the kind of men they needed to do the job in time? Having never hired professional killers, Kemiss would have had no idea where to start. Hopefully, Kreft was more experienced and better prepared.

"So what is it, what have you got?"

"Well, I think I've finally found something. I hope it will be useful."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Kemiss said with a smile, as they moved into the apartment's main living area and took a seat on the sofa. Two large bags filled with various Chinese entrées were on the table, but Kemiss pushed them aside as Bellanger placed the folder on the table and opened it.

"Yes, sir." Bellanger began removing some of the papers inside the file. "I've been going over the documents you asked me to and I've made what I think is an important connection. Do you remember the plane that the FBI had boarded when it landed in Ireland?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think it was connected to Declan McIver after all."

"Do tell."

"A lot of the names in the file have been redacted and the connection isn't an easy one to make without them, but by process of elimination I believe I've figured out the man who was running the show in the Black Shuck Unit of the IRA. I believe it's a man named Eamon McGuire."

Kemiss bristled for a moment. How could Irish law enforcement have allowed an international fugitive to get off an airplane without seeing him? And what about McIver's presence in the U.K.? He hoped Bellanger wasn't wasting his time. "As in McGuire & Lyons Industries?"

"Yes, sir, the company that owned the plane. Eamon McGuire never played an active role in the company. I guess he was far too busy with his IRA activities, so he left the running of the family business to his brother. Both of them are dead now, but the company is run by Eamon's son, Fintan, who's one of the names on the list of suspects in the Black Shuck Unit."

"And you're betting that
Fintan
is a chip off of the old block and is helping his old childhood friend, Declan McIver, hide out?"

"Yes, sir. Now, I know what you're thinking, that this can't be connected because McIver's in England, not Ireland, but hear me out?"

Kemiss nodded.

"Fintan McGuire was one of the people on that plane when it landed in Ireland, which means he was in the United States. Now, I've gone over everything I can find about him on Google and all over the Internet and I can't find any reason why he would be in West Virginia. I can't even find any reason why he would be in the United States, especially for such a short time. McGuire & Lyons Industries is focused primarily on emerging economies across Europe, Southern Asia and South America. Now, is it possible that he was in town for a meeting at the Greenbrier? Sure it is. But that's an awfully big coincidence, if you ask me, and I don't believe in coincidences."

"He was here to get his old friend out of the country," Kemiss said, though he thought the young man was reaching, possibly out of a desire to make a name for himself in the powerful company he found himself in. Careers in Washington had been made on less. Still, Bellanger was onto something and though he couldn't have known this, the airport McGuire's plane had landed and taken off from was a small, out of the way place not normally connected with the Greenbrier Resort, and that lent itself to the idea that McGuire had been trying to hide something. "Well, I'll admit there are a lot of factors in play and your theory has at best a fifty-fifty shot, but it's worth checking into further."

And it was worth checking into further. Though Declan McIver had been seen in the U.K., all of the eyewitness accounts had said that he was alone. There had been no sign of his wife which meant that he had to have hidden her again, and property associated with McGuire & Lyons Industries was as good a place to start as any. Even if McIver himself wasn't there, the presence of his wife would mean that he would eventually show up. Kemiss picked up his cell phone and dialed a number. "Allan, it's David. I have something I want you to look into."

Kemiss quickly caught Allan Ayers up to speed and set the NSA analyst to work. When he hung up the phone, he turned back to Bellanger and said, "Let's eat."

He had invited the young man to his home not because he had said he'd found something, Kemiss could have learned that over the phone, but to ensure that he had the young man's confidence. The job he'd been charged with was highly sensitive and while he had been told that at the time Kemiss had given it to him, he needed to be told again and made to realize the consequences of betraying that trust.

8:19 a.m. Local Time – Saturday

Greumach Manor

Loch Builg, Aberdeenshire – Scotland

"Well, if nothing else," Shane said, as he looked around at their surroundings, "we've established that there is, in fact, a bunker underneath Greumach Manor. I can make a small fortune writing books about it from my jail cell. My kids will appreciate it, I'm sure."

Lying on one of the eight sets of barracks-style bunk beds that occupied the stone walled cellar they were in, Declan opened one eye and flashed a smile. "You don't have any kids."

After their failed attempt to win the aid of Lord Dennis Allardyce, they had been taken beneath the castle and locked in what appeared to be the barracks part of whatever there was underneath the small fortress. As they'd been led below, they'd passed through several oak doors that appeared to be as old as the castle itself, and that had been reinforced with iron beams. With each of the doors undoubtedly locked as Allardyce and his security guards had returned to the upper floors, escape was impossible. The only other entrance stood at the far end of the room and was secured with three iron crossbars that had been riveted to the stone walls. Whatever was beyond had obviously not been used in a very long time.

"Right," Shane said, standing from his own bunk and causing a cloud of dust to rise from the thin mattress. "Well, I'll find one of those old birds that have a thing for inmates, you know? We'll get married, have conjugal visits and adopt a whole cadre of orphans from around the world. Just like Brangelica."

"Brangelina."

"Right, whatever."

Shane was never beyond a joke, but Declan knew the seriousness of their situation wasn't lost on him. Without the help of Allardyce, not only would they both be arrested and tried for their various crimes, but the only hope of learning the identity of the person who'd passed Declan's information from Great Britain to America was gone and with it, the last chance he had of exposing the conspiracy he'd become the center of. While Allardyce had said he would “get the matter straightened out,” Declan couldn't think of anyone that the aristocrat would have contact with that would possibly know the truth of what was going on. Short of an undercover sting operation being run by the governments of both Great Britain and America to entrap the conspirators, Allardyce would only get the official version of the events which, as far as Declan knew, had been designed and directed by the people who had been controlling the investigation through Seth Castellano. Despite the gravity of his own situation, Declan rested easy knowing that Constance was in good hands. Fintan would protect her, help her change her identity, and while her life might not be what she'd hoped for, she'd be alive and in time could possibly find happiness again.

A loud sound echoed from outside the room and Declan knew immediately that it was the sound of the doors being opened along the hallway that led to their current location. But why? Had the authorities finally arrived to take him into proper custody? By his best estimation, it had been just over eight hours since he'd broken into Greumach Manor and confronted the MI5 director, and eight hours was almost exactly how long it had taken them to drive from London the previous day.

With another loud slam as one of the iron deadbolts was released, the door to the barracks room opened and two of the black-clad security guards slowly stepped in, each aiming a pistol. Neither Declan nor Shane moved as the two guards regarded them coolly for several moments. Finally, they stepped aside and Lord Dennis Allardyce appeared in the doorway, wearing the same clothes he had the previous night.

"Leave," Allardyce said, waving his two security guards out, "now."

The two men exchanged surprised looks and then slowly turned and left the room. Allardyce pushed the heavy wooden door closed behind them and took a deep breath. "I've spent the last several hours going over this," he said, as he tossed a thick file onto one of the two rectangular, wooden tables that separated the two rows of bunks. Dust shot into the stale air as the file landed with a thud. "It's very interesting reading, but it leaves a lot to be desired. Starting with the confirmed guilt of any of the one hundred or so men mentioned as possible suspects."

Declan looked at the legal-sized manila folder, its edges worn with age and its contents held inside by a thick rubber band. Faded red letters stamped on top of the folder read
CLASSIFIED
over the official seal of the United Kingdom's Cabinet Office. On the folder's tab the words
PIRA – BLACK SHUCK
were clearly visible in blue ink.

"Your name appears thirty-eight times in this file," Allardyce continued. "Every single mention of you is pure hearsay and speculation on the part of the informer, in fact every single mention of anyone in this file is hearsay and speculation, yet the American, and now the international, media seem to be under the impression that you've already been tried and found guilty of every possible crime listed."