Renegades

by Hutson, Shaun;

  ‘Where’s my wife?’ Callahan demanded, his face pale.

  ‘We don’t know that yet, sir,’ said the sergeant, still descending.

  ‘Who took her?’

  ‘We don’t know that, either. We spoke to your servants but they didn’t see much; they were too frightened. I can’t say I blame them. We’ve got them in town now, in a hotel. They didn’t want to stay here. If I were you I’d leave, too. Just for tonight. Give us time to go over the place ...’

  ‘I’m staying,’ Callahan said, interrupting the man. ‘I want you and your men out of here now.’

  The sergeant opened his mouth to say something but Callahan raised a hand to stop him. ‘Just leave me, please,’ he said wearily. The sergeant nodded reluctantly and wandered downstairs, talking into his radio. Other Garda men emerged from other rooms below and waited in the hall.

  ‘We’ve been ordered to keep up a guard on the house, sit,’ he called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘If you need anything my men will be nearby.’

  Callahan nodded and watched as they filed out, closing the bullet-riddled front door behind them. The house suddenly seemed very quiet. He gripped the banister and looked over into the hall.

  At the blood stain on the carpet.

  He walked into their bedroom, where some of Laura’s clothes were draped over the back of a chair. Callahan picked up her blouse and held it to his face, inhaling her scent. He closed his eyes, his teeth gritted. He murmured her name and replaced the blouse gently. Crossing to the drinks cabinet in the bedroom he poured himself a large whiskey and downed it in one. The liquid burned his stomach. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes closed again, hand tightening around the glass. Suddenly, with a shout of rage and frustration, he threw the glass across the room. It hit the far wall and shattered, crystal spraying in all directions.

  ‘Not part of the plan, was it?’

  The voice startled him. He spun round to see Doyle standing in the bedroom doorway, Georgie close behind him.

  Callahan could see blood on the counter-terrorist’s shoulder. He took a step towards the bedside cabinet.

  If he could reach the .38 in there, perhaps take them by surprise ...

  ‘You shouldn’t have double-crossed your Irish friend,’ said Doyle, a smile on his lips. ‘This wasn’t part of the deal, was it?’

  ‘How did you get in?’ Callahan asked, edging closer to the cabinet.

  ‘I told you we’d be back,’ Doyle said flatly, glancing across at the cabinet. ‘If you’ve got a gun in there,’ he nodded towards it, ‘I’d forget about trying to get hold of it.’ He pulled the .44 free of its holster and pointed it at the millionaire.

  Callahan shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed, head bowed.

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked wearily.

  ‘That’s not important. What does matter is that we do know. Everything. Your involvement with Maguire, with Westley and Donaldson. The pay-off to the IRA. About the only thing we don’t know is what time you have a shit in the mornings.’

  ‘We were here when Maguire took your wife,’ Georgie told him.

  ‘Did they hurt her?’

  ‘I don’t know, but they seemed pretty keen on hurting us.’

  ‘Help me,’ Callahan said. ‘Help me get her back. I’ll pay you as much as you want. You know I’ve got money.’

  Doyle shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think Maguire would be very happy to hear you trying to make a deal with us, Callahan.’ He glared at the millionaire. ‘Besides, not everyone can be bought.’

  ‘So there is some morality inside you, is there, Doyle?’ the millionaire said, smiling bitterly.

  ‘I couldn’t give a fuck if they slice up your old lady and send her back piece by piece. I want Maguire for my own reasons and I’m going to get him. If you want your wife back you might be able to help.’

  It was then that the phone rang.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  Callahan looked at it dumbly, then picked it up.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, his throat dry.

  ‘Callahan.’

  He recognised the voice immediately, jabbed a button and switched the call to speaker-phone.

  James Maguire’s voice filled the room.

  ‘We have your wife, Callahan. Think about it. I’ll call back in an hour.’

  And he hung up.

  Eighty-Five

  She slowed the car down when she saw the Garda vehicles parked across the entrance to Callahan’s estate. As Catherine Roberts drew closer one of the uniformed men approached the car and signalled for her to wind down the window.

  He asked for some I.D.

  She produced a driving licence which he pored over like a valuable antique, looking at her occasionally as if the name on the licence was suddenly going to transform itself into a photo to verify the truth of her identity. Handing the licence back he asked why she was at Callahan’s place.

  ‘I’ve got some business with Mr Callahan,’ she said. ‘He is expecting me.’

  The officer wanted to know what kind of business.

  ‘I work for him,’ she said, glancing around furtively.

  Did Callahan always have this kind of security?

  He told her she couldn’t go through.

  ‘It’s important,’ she insisted. ‘I have to see Mr Callahan. If you let him know I’m here ...’

  The officer cut her short, telling her that the estate was sealed off, no one was to enter.

  ‘Please just call him, let him know I’m here. He’ll see me, I’m telling you.’

  The officer looked at her for a moment, then pulled the two-way from his belt and flicked a switch. Catherine watched and listened as he contacted one of his colleagues. He gave the other man her name and waited. He told Catherine she would have to wait while the officer inside the grounds checked with Callahan himself.

  Another officer wandered over and asked her to open her boot.

  ‘What for?’ she demanded.

  Security check, she was informed.

  Reluctantly she got out of the car and did as she was instructed, waiting impatiently as the Garda officer rummaged around inside. Satisfied that there was nothing offensive he slammed the lid down and wandered around to the front of the car.

  ‘What now?’ she said irritably. ‘Do you want to check under the bonnet too?’

  He did.

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ Catherine said. ‘What’s going on here? Just let me through, will you?’

  Neither of the Garda officers spoke. The one at the front of the car merely stood waiting for Cath to release the bonnet. Then he began peering inside that, too, shining his torch over the engine.

  ‘Does Mr Callahan know I’m here yet?’ she asked angrily.

  The officer could only shrug.

  She continued to wait.

  Georgie dabbed gently at the last smears of congealed blood around the wound in Doyle’s shoulder and dropped the cotton wool into the sink.

  He had been lucky. The bullet had passed straight through without damaging either bone or nerves. It ached, and the area around the wound stung like hell, but apart from that he had little discomfort. The hole, large enough to push the tip of an index finger into, was already beginning to close up. Georgie pressed a gauze pad to it and began bandaging, her eyes drawn again to the maze of scars on Doyle’s torso. He caught sight of her looking in the mirror but said nothing.

  ‘Do you think they’ll kill her?’ asked Georgie, continuing with the bandaging. ‘Laura Callahan? Do you think Maguire will kill her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t doubt it,’ Doyle answered. ‘But not yet. If they’d wanted her dead they’d have shot her when they first broke in here. Maguire wants something, that’s obvious.’ The counter-terrorist glanced at his watch. ‘Another twenty minutes before he rings back. If he keeps his word.’

  Georgie finished bandaging the wound and tied a neat bow in the dressing. Doyle reached for his sweatshirt.

  As he did’ so,
Callahan walked into the bathroom. He saw the patchwork of scars on the other man’s body and winced. Doyle caught his reaction in the mirror but ignored it, slipping his sweatshirt back on.

  ‘Keep out of the way,’ Callahan told them. ‘There’s a policeman at the door. I don’t think the Garda would appreciate it if they knew you were in here.’

  ‘What does he want?’ Doyle asked.

  ‘He says there’s someone to see me. I’ve been expecting her.’

  ‘Do they know that Maguire phoned here?’ asked Doyle.

  Callahan shook his head.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Don’t tell them.’

  ‘They might be able to get her back,’ Callahan said, ‘which is more than you’re doing.’

  ‘Ok, tell them. But if you do, I can guarantee your wife will be dead within the hour. The Garda will go thumping all over the countryside looking for her. If Maguire thinks you notified them he’ll kill her.’

  ‘How can you be sure he won’t kill her anyway?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Doyle flatly.

  ‘Who’s the woman who’s come to see you?’ Georgie enquired.

  ‘She’s doing some work for me,’ Callahan said sharply. ‘Now, like I said, keep out of the way until I tell you it’s clear.’

  Doyle watched as the millionaire left, then touched his bandaged shoulder lightly, satisfied with the dressing. He looked at Georgie and smiled.

  For a second she thought she saw some warmth in the gesture but it quickly faded.

  She could go up to the house.

  The first officer told Cath that she had been cleared. She muttered something under her breath, started the engine and drove through the gates 20 the estate, past the two vehicles parked on either side.

  The long driveway was rutted in places and the car bumped unceremoniously over it. When she finally came within sight of the house she had time to be impressed by its size and appearance before she brought her car to a halt. There was another Garda car parked about a hundred yards to her right, the men inside watching her as she walked across to the front door of the building and knocked. She was slightly perturbed by the bullet-holes in the wood.

  The door was opened a moment later by Callahan, who ushered her in.

  Pleasantries were exchanged briefly, then he led her through into the sitting-room and poured them both a drink.

  ‘I have the window here,’ he said. ‘It’s in a room in the West Wing.’ He sipped his drink. ‘You can begin work on it as soon as you like.’

  ‘I don’t need to,’ she said. ‘I didn’t come here to continue work. I came here to warn you about the window.’

  Callahan frowned.

  ‘There is a treasure connected with it,’ she told him. ‘But the treasure is guarded.’

  Callahan looked vague.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said irritably.

  ‘Do you remember the figure on the window, the large figure in the centre of it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘That is the guardian: a demon called Baron. Gilles de Rais worshipped it. That’s why he had the window constructed in the first place, to honour it and to thank it for giving him the secret he wanted so badly. I worked out that the panels of the window hold that secret.’

  ‘Do you know how to release it?’ Callahan demanded.

  Cath looked at him incredulously.

  ‘This creature, this force, whatever you want to call it, would be unstoppable if it was released now.’

  ‘What is the secret that it guards?’

  ‘Immortality,’ she said flatly.

  Eighty-Six

  The silence seemed interminable.

  Callahan stood in the centre of the room looking towards one window while Cath stared at him. It was as if neither wanted to disturb the stillness. Finally Callahan spoke.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me this creature can materialize?’ he asked softly.

  Cath nodded.

  ‘The guardian will be released if a sacrifice is made,’ she told him. ‘The death of someone will release it. De Rais used children.’ She got to her feet. ‘Mr Callahan, I never thought I’d say this but you must destroy that window.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Destroy it? I have no wish to destroy it.’

  ‘If Baron is released, you can’t hope to control him.’

  ‘He will give the secret to whoever summons him, correct?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Correct?’

  ‘I told you, there has to be a sacrifice.’

  He looked at his watch.

  Maguire would be ringing in a few minutes with news about Laura.

  Laura.

  Callahan looked at the phone, willing it to ring.

  They would kill Laura.

  ‘Destroy that window,’ Cath said forcefully.

  Ring, you bastard.

  ‘If you don’t I will,’ she threatened.

  ‘You stay away from it,’ snarled Callahan. ‘I thought you wanted to know its secrets as much as I did.’

  ‘I did, until I found out what they were.’

  ‘You were obsessed with the window. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to witness the materialization of that creature; don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to learn from it,’ he said. ‘You’ve been to far more elaborate lengths than I have to protect it. You were the one who covered up a murder, not me.’

  Cath glared at him.

  ‘That was before I knew the truth,’ she said. ‘If I’d known then I’d have helped Channing destroy it.’

  ‘But I told you, it can’t be destroyed. It mustn’t be.’

  ‘So who are you going to kill? I told you there has to be a sacrifice.’

  ‘I’m not going to kill anyone,’ he said quietly.

  Cath looked puzzled.

  It was then that the phone rang.

  Callahan looked at it for long moments, then took a step towards it.

  Upstairs Doyle and Georgie looked at the phone by the bedside.

  It rang. And rang.

  ‘What the hell is he doing?’ muttered Doyle.

  Callahan finally picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear.

  ‘Yes. Who is it?’ he said.

  ‘You know fucking well who it is,’ Maguire said. You’ve had an hour to think about it, to wonder what we’re doing to her. Or what we will do to her. Now listen to me.’

  Upstairs, Doyle carefully switched the phone to speaker. He and Georgie listened intently to the conversation, Georgie picking out not just the words that were exchanged but also the sounds in the background. She could hear a low rumbling growing steadily louder.

  ‘I want one million pounds,’ said Maguire. ‘Paid within twenty-four hours. No interference from the law. I’ll call you again to tell you where to leave the money.’

  ‘I can’t get hold of that sort of money in twenty-four hours,’ said Callahan.

  ‘Bollocks,’ snapped Maguire. ‘One million or I swear I’ll cut her fucking head off myself and send it back to you.’

  Callahan didn’t answer.

  ‘You shouldn’t have crossed me, Callahan,’ the Irishman said.

  Georgie could hear the rumbling in the background growing louder. It built to a crescendo then faded slowly away again.

  ‘Twenty-four hours,’ Maguire repeated, then slammed the phone down.

  What’s going on?’ asked Cath, bemused.

  ‘The IRA have my wife,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Callahan smiled thinly.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘After all, sacrifices have to be made.’ The smile broadened into a grin.

  She understood.

  ‘No,’ Cath murmured, shaking her head. ‘You can’t do it.’

  ‘For years my wife and I have searched for the ultimate thrill. The realization of that dream is here now; do you think my wife would deprive me of it?’

  ‘You’re going to let them ki
ll her,’ Cath said, her voice a low whisper.

  ‘It seems I have no choice. I can’t get a million pounds together in the time they’ve given me.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ she said, her voice catching.

  ‘Insane to want knowledge? Insane to want a secret men have dreamt about since the beginning of time? Insane to want immortality?’ He shook his head. ‘I’d be insane not to want it.’ He gripped her arm. ‘Now come and show me what the window means.’ He smiled. ‘I need to know.’

  Eighty-Seven

  She could see nothing. The piece of tape across her eyes ensured that.

  She couldn’t speak because of the rolled-up length of cloth they had stuffed into her mouth, secured by a tightly-knotted cord which cut into the soft flesh of her neck. Her lip still throbbed where it had been split.

  All Laura Callahan’s senses could take in was the babble of voices close by, the smell of damp and the bare boards of the floor on which she sat, some of them mildewed. She jerked as she felt something scuttle across her bound hands. In the blindness of her captivity she imagined all kinds of things, all manner of noxious creatures crawling over her skin. Spiders. Cockroaches. Ants. She wanted to scream, then to ask them to remove the tape, to loosen the bonds cutting into her wrists. But she could not ask, could not beg, could not implore because of the gag which filled her mouth. It tasted stale, like an unwashed handkerchief; she realized with revulsion that was what it probably was. The thought caused her stomach to contract, and for a second she feared she would vomit. But would they remove the gag then or leave her to drown in her own puke? She had heard them threaten her with death and had no doubt they would carry out the threat if they were not given what they wanted. She felt like crying, but her fear prevented even that release of emotion.