Burnell shook his head. “Well, she was bleedin’ wrong, wasn’t she? I’m breaking up with that skinny bitch anyway. Now, do as we say, or we shoot you right here and now.”
She had no other course of action, she sagged to her knees. “I’m feeling like I’m passing out.”
“There you go lads, she’s a gentle as lamb, you can cut her bond now. You’ll have no fight from her.” Cahal said.
Connor took the bonds off her feet and Burnell took the ropes off her hands. They turned her around and walked her towards the cliff.
“Don’t worry, my dear girl,” Cahal said. “If the fall doesn’t kill you, that amount of liquor should do it inside of an hour. They’ll find your body in a day or two and there will still be enough alcohol in your system to make it look like a wonderful drunken night on the cliffs.”
Bernadette made herself weave and slurred her words. She had only minutes to make them think she was drunk before she was.
“How will you…make it…look like an accident… How did I get here?” Bernadette asked. She needed to keep up the act. Look for an opening to attack. The clock was ticking. Soon her time would run out.
“Ah, that would be a problem, but we brought your car up as well. We found it on the road. It will be here shortly. Not a problem, we have it all figured out,” Cahal said.
The sound of a vehicle could be heard in the distance.
“That will be your car now, but you won’t be needing it. Okay now lads take her to the cliff and push her over. Make sure you give her a proper shove, now. I want her to make a nice drop to the bottom.”
Bernadette could hear the sound of the waves crashing below. She felt the wind and the cold air. Everything in her was screaming at her to fight—before the alcohol had her in its grip. The approaching vehicle was a godsend.
The sound of the vehicle was getting louder. Connor turned to look in its direction.
“That doesn’t sound like a car. It sounds like a bleedin’ transport. What’s it doing out here?” Connor asked.
The large transport came closer. A horn blared; its lights went onto high beam. The men stood there transfixed with Bernadette between them.
Cahal turned to them. “Don’t stand there. Throw her over the cliff, you idiots.”
“But there’s a witness now. That driver has seen us. How do we take care of him as well?” Burnell asked.
Cahal took out a handgun. “I’ll scare the bugger off.” He fired a round at the cab of the truck.
Gunfire returned from the cab of the vehicle. Cahal ducked to the ground. “The bugger’s got a gun.”
The big rig came around the corner of the road and began to slow down, the air brakes coming on with the tires screeching as the multiple wheels locked up. It looked like it wasn’t going to stop in time. It was headed for the cliff.
“Shoot the damn thing,” Cahal yelled at Connor and Burnell.
They threw Bernadette to the ground and took out their handguns. They fired round after round at the cab. The rig kept coming.
Bernadette looked up from the ground—she could see the front radiator, the big wheels barreling towards her. She rolled away to the right. The vehicle continued its momentum; stopping with its front wheels almost over the cliff.
The men had kept firing and backing up. Both lost their footing. In a moment of panic, they realized they were in space, falling backwards towards the rocks below.
Bishop jumped out of the cab of the vehicle and advanced on Cahal. “Drop your weapon, you’re under arrest,” he yelled at Cahal.
Cahal was out of bullets. He had nothing left to do but put up his hands.
“Are you alright?” Sullivan asked Bernadette.
Bernadette lay on her back, she turned over and waved with her hand. “I will be in a minute.” She began to throw up.
After several minutes she turned back to Sullivan. “Sorry about that, they pumped me full of whiskey to make my death look like an accident. I was about to fight back, but your large transport did a better job than I could.”
“Did you get the file?” Sullivan asked.
“No, it was a dud,” Bernadette said. “But we do have Cahal.” She stared at him on the ground with his hands being cuffed by Bishop.
“You’ll get nothing out of me. Do your worst. I won’t break. In two days’ time all of Europe and England will be brought to its knees.”
Sullivan stood beside Bernadette. “He’ll be a tough nut to crack. Interrogation won’t get us far. We’ll have to use some drastic measures if we want to stop the catastrophe he’s threatening.”
“Do you have anything to persuade him with that’s semi-legal?” Bernadette asked.
Sullivan shook his head. “Not really, one of my detective sergeants once used a flush toilet as a makeshift water boarding. We still didn’t get much.”
Bernadette looked down at the defiant Cahal and back to Sullivan. “I have an idea that might work.”
Sullivan arched an eyebrow. “You promise not to kill him?”
Bernadette smiled. “If he has a strong heart, he’ll be fine.”
53
Bernadette stared at Cahal Callahan through the one-way window outside the interview room. They’d been in the room for three hours since they’d returned to Garda headquarters from the cliffs. Cahal had asked for a lawyer, said he wasn’t about to say anything and that he wasn’t a tout. He’d given them nothing.
“I think it’s time for something drastic.” Bernadette said.
“What do you have in mind?” Sullivan asked.
“Can you get your hands on that Smith and Wesson I brought in?”
“Yes…but what do you intend to do with it?”
“Present a convincing argument. I’ll need Francine Dooley brought in as well but put some of this in her tea first.” Bernadette said, passing a packet of pills to Sullivan.
“What are you doing with this?”
Bernadette shrugged and blew out a breath, “this was my desperate measure to get Cahal back to Canada. The people who are about to bombed are more important.”
“This will all be highly illegal.” Sullivan said.
“Murdering innocent people is illegal and immoral. We have a poor poker hand here. I need to bluff—you’ll have to stay out the room.
Bishop came up to them, “What’s our next move?”
Sullivan turned to him, “follow me, we’ve got some things to prepare. I hope your resume is up to date. This might be our last day on the job.”
An hour later they returned to the interview room.
“You can’t do anything to me, Bernadette Callahan,” Cahal said. “You have no jurisdiction here, you have no power, and you can’t ask me any questions. Anything you get from me will be thrown out of any court. Having you in this room is improper police procedure, isn’t it now, Sullivan?”
Sullivan leaned up against the wall. “I have a mind to leave you alone in the room with her while she beats you senseless just for the sport of it.”
“But you won’t now, will you? You know if you put a mark on me my lawyer will stitch you up something proper. None of you will have jobs at the end. No, you can’t lay a hand on me.”
Bishop walked over to Cahal and leaned on the table; he was inches from his face. “Look, we heard there’s two bloody big bombs on the way to England. You tell us where they are, and we tell the prosecutor to take it easy on you.”
“Easy on me? Hah, what’s that to mean? Twenty years instead of thirty? At my age this means nothing. You’ve nothing but empty threats. You got nothing to bargain with me lads.”
Bernadette went over to Bishop and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and motioned for Bishop to follow him out of the room.
Cahal eyed Bernadette as she stood there. His hands were shackled to the table, and he rattled his chains. “And you’d love to strike me now, wouldn’t you? Take your vengeance out on me?”
“I have other plans for you, Cahal. If that’s your real name,” Bernad
ette said.
“What’s that to mean? Of course, it’s me name…”
The door opened. Sullivan and Bishop walked in with Francine Dooley. They put the shackles on her and sat her across from Cahal.
“What’s she doing here?” Cahal asked.
“Ah, that’s a good question,” Bernadette walked to Sullivan and took a Smith and Wesson revolver from him.
“What do you think you’re doing with that? You’ve not the nerve to shoot me, have you? This is just a grand show. Do your worst, then,” Cahal said with a laugh.
“Leave us,” Bernadette said to Bishop and Sullivan. “Make sure the video is off.”
Bishop and Sullivan walked out of the room, both of them looked at Bernadette with concern in their eyes.
Bernadette took the gun and opened the revolver and spun the gun casing. “You’ve heard of Russian Roulette?”
“What, you think I’m afraid of dying? Don’t be daft. An old man like me, afraid of death—you’ll be doing me a favor,” Cahal said.
“No, not for you,” Bernadette said. She spun the revolvers’ magazine, then took one bullet out of her pocket and inserted it. She closed the chamber and spun it. “This is for Francine.”
“What are you’re doing?” Cahal yelled.
Francine looked up at Cahal and then over to Bernadette. She seemed docile, almost content.
“Francine doesn’t seem to be afraid now, does she? Maybe it’s because she’s had a special tea we made for her. Don’t you remember the GBH you gave Harvey Mawer and my dog? Makes people somewhat docile. She hasn’t a clue what’s going on. She won’t even feel the bullet going into her brain.”
Bernadette spun the gun’s cylinder, put the muzzle to Francine’s head and pulled the trigger. A loud click bounced over the walls of the room.
“Bloody hell, you bitch, you ficking bitch. What do you think you’re doing? You’ll never get away with this. You’ll be done for murder,” Cahal screamed.
Bernadette spun the cylinder. “No, I doubt it. I was showing you the gun I’d taken from your hired killers and it went off. Sorry, oops, they say. No video record and my word against yours—didn’t know it was loaded.”
“The name of the bomb targets, Cahal.” Bernadette pointed the gun at Francine’s head.
“No, you can’t do this. You’ll never get away with it…”
Click went the empty chamber.
Bernadette spun the cylinder. “What are the odds in Russian Roulette? You know they’re good when there are two or more players, but here, it’s only Francine. This one bullet and her brain—what’s it going to be, Cahal?”
Bernadette pointed the gun at Francine’s head again. “You’re running out of time. Well, actually, Francine is.”
“Stop, I’ll tell you,” Cahal screamed.
Bishop and Sullivan came into the room and stood there hovering over Cahal.
“There’s a laundry van heading for a hotel in Brighton.”
“Which hotel?” Bishop asked.
“I’m not sure. I only know it’s the same one the IRA blew up years ago in the troubles,” Cahal said.
“And the other one?” Sullivan asked.
“A van is delivering a photocopier to Canary Wharf where the European Union are meeting.”
“When is it happening?”
“Tomorrow at noon, both vans arrive at the same time. They’ll off load the bombs then detonate them by remote,” Cahal said.
Sullivan turned to Bishop. “Get that information to MI-5 and Scotland Yard.”
Bishop left the room.
Francine stared at Cahal, she seemed to wake up. “Oh, John, you shouldn’t have told them. You’re a bleeding tout you are.”
“I’m sorry, Francine, I couldn’t see you die,” Cahal said.
Bernadette opened the chamber of the gun. It was empty “There was never any fear of that, John Dooley. I palmed the bullet. It was fake.”
“I’m not John Dooley. Now you’re off your head,” Cahal said.
“Well, now we’re going for the bonus round. You are going to tell us where the genetic files are and who is running this crazy cult.”
“Ha, well, my confession will never stand up in court. And you’ll not scare me with that fake bullet. Good luck on that.”
“Here’s what I do have. I have two bodies in a grave in Kilmeague and I bet you the bones of John Dooley have DNA matches for the real Cahal Callahan’s. All I have to do is give the Garda a swab of my DNA and they’ll match.”
“So, what of it?”
“The police report says Francine was the last to see the real Cahal alive. And she was the one who identified his body at the morgue. When they open the cold case file, they have some pointed questions for her. Probably hang their deaths on her.”
“I did it. I did them both. I killed Aideen and Cahal Callahan.”
“Why?”
“Francine was sweet on Cahal. She had his baby. The Callahans wanted nothing to do with her, they only wanted the baby. Called us tinkers. I filled them full of liquor and drowned them. Then I stole Cahal’s identity. People thought we looked alike. I went to their house and took his clothes and his papers for his merchant seaman work. No one suspected me.
“What happened to the child?”
“It was poorly from the beginning. Francine carries some bad genes; the little nipper didn’t have a chance, barely lasted two years. We buried her out back of Francine’s place.”
“Why are you involved in this cult?” Bishop asked.
“They said they could recreate Francine’s child. She believed them. I did it all for her. She’s my only family. I wanted her to be happy.” John Dooley said, he looked across at Francine. A tear fell from his eye.
“Who’s running the cult and where are the files?” Bernadette said.
John Dooley shrugged. “I truly don’t know who the masked man is, but a guy named John Dunne does. He’s the mouthpiece for all our dirty work. Find him and you’ll have all your answers.”
“Where do we find him?” Sullivan asked.
“Swords Castle.”
“That’s been in reconstruction for years.”
“Yes, it has, financed by Odin Genetics. The castle is closed to the public and they’ve been making it their own little hideout for years. There’s a special entrance they use the public can’t see.”
“Can you draw us a map?” Sullivan asked.
“Aye give me a pen and paper,” John Dooley said. He took a piece of paper and drew a diagram. “That masked bugger—he’s brought all this down on us, me and Francine, he has. And make sure you guard all the exits, that place has three different tunnels; I’ll draw them all, and one more thing…shoot the bugger in the head for me.”
“Thanks for the information, I’ll see what we can do on your request,” Sullivan said. He took the paper, folded it, and started to walk out the door. He turned to Dooley. “I’m sending in another detective to take your complete statement. If you mention anything of how we attained your confession, I’ll make sure we press the investigation of your sister. Do you understand me?”
Dooley nodded his head in reply. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
54
John Dunne sat at the long table as the man in the mask looked over reports. He hated these meetings, but Ronan made him attend. He told him it was good for him to get a sense of the history that was taking place. Dunne did not believe any of it. He only believed in the euros in his bank every month.
“Is everything going to plan?” the master asked.
“Yes, the bombs are on their way. They left Ireland two days ago. They are to be detonated tomorrow,” Dunne said. He often averted his eyes from the strange mask. The voice that came from it sounded like Darth Vader with an Irish accent. It was always a strange time.
“What will you do with the recruits who are going on the mission?” the master asked.
“Would you like me to dispose of them?” Dunne asked.
�
�Yes, nothing gets back to me. Kill them all. Tell the assassins I’m giving them all special places in Valhalla for their service.”
Dunne tried not to roll his eyes. “Of course. I’ll have it done.”
“You haven’t called me Master. Why is that?” the mask asked.
“Ah, so sorry, slipped my mind, somewhat busy in the killing department. But, yes, Master, I will see that your wishes are done.”
The master nodded his head. That was the way Dunne knew he was pleased. His cell phone buzzed. He looked down. It was an alarm. Not just any alarm, but the one that told him the police were on the way.
“I need to go—so do you,” Dunne said.
“You didn’t call me master.”
Dunne stood up. “The police are on their way—Master.” He hit a button that showed him the security cameras. “They are at the door. Out the back way. Now.”
The master jumped from his chair, whirled, and headed for the hidden door they used as their escape route. All of this had been planned in advance. The hidden door led to an underground bunker and several corridors.
Dunne hit the red button to open the door. It swung open. A large man with a machine gun stood in the doorway.
“On the ground now,” The man yelled.
Dunne hit the ground. The masked man grabbed a broad sword from the wall, yelling something incoherent he charged.
A quick burst of machine gun fire sounded. The masked man dropped beside Dunne. The mask fell from his face—it bounced across the floor, exposing the face of Ronan Bronangh beneath it.
“You daft bugger,” Dunne said.
Sullivan and Bishop came into the room. “You must be John Dunne, then?” Sullivan asked.
“Yes, that’s me,” Dunne said.
“A source tells us you’re the main man in this whole cult. I’m sure we’ll have multiple charges for you once we investigate this.”
“Look, if we can cut a deal, I’ll tell you everything. The man you want is lying dead beside me.”
Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5) Page 27
