Sean Shanahan and Mary Kate O'Rourke have been sitting in Peador O'Donnell's beautiful and meticulous old pub for the better part of an hour, sipping pints and talking of this and that. Some ad hoc musicians have stepped forward and are setting up to play, a tradition at this historic pub. Sean clasps Mary Kate's hand which is resting on the table. He turns in his chair and faces her, leans closer with a look that turns into a gaze, and if truth be told, sees Mary Kate for the first time.
She is a buxom lass, yet petite. Brown hair that is glistening in the pub lights and has dark brown eyes that brighten when she speaks. Her lightweight beige sweater is not barmaid tight but does show off her figure. Her chocolate brown skirt and matching shined slip-on shoes show her to be a neat, well-groomed and naturally wholesome lass. Pink lipstick and nails, and hair in a pony-tail freshen her look to match her tongue. Fair unblemished complexion, and with all else gives her the perfect look of a touched-up photographic portrait. The lilt in her voice adds sparkle to her words, and her sense of humor lends life, perhaps beyond reality.
Before he can speak, she places her other hand on his and says, "Sean, you're up to something, I can tell. This place is wonderful, and the music is grand. You know I'm more than fond of you, but my aim, and that of the church, is to marry and give me self to that man and me life to him. You've been me love for a good time now and have not taken one step toward my aim except tryin' to get me knickers down around me knees. Tell me then, what is different this night, Sean Shanahan of Derry Town?"
"Mary Kate, you are a brash, beautiful Irish lass. Take a moment to be shy and listen to me, for I am more than fond of you. Always have been. Since long before we knew of such things, let alone talked of them."
"Do you love me, Sean Shanahan?"
"Yes, I do Mary Kate. But let a man have his say."
"I will, Sean, but not until I tell you that I love you as well. And have since the first day I saw you wearing your scruffy short pants with shirt tails out flappin' in the harsh wind, and skipping stones on the River Foyle. In the park. Do you remember that? You turned and stared at me with your hands on your hips and sayin', 'Did you see that, lass? All the way across.' I love you, Sean Shanahan. Now say what you will, or want."
"Ahhh, Mary Kate O'Rourke, you may be impossible to live with, but I'm wanting to do just that. Since you are not only the most gorgeous lass in all Derry, but the most proper, I need to ask your father to allow me to court proper-like. And declare my intentions." He pauses, shrugs his shoulders. "How can I ask? He's not about, and I don't know where he is."
Mary Kate leans close to Sean, pulls her right hand from his grasp, leaving her left still holding him firmly. Cups his face with her right hand and brushes kisses on his forehead, cheek, and ear, then a nip on his neck and finally an open and long kiss on his lips. Several tables around them applaud and cheer. The fiddlers stop and bow from the waist with full smiles. Then start playing She Wears My Ring. The crowd cheers again. Mary Kate and Sean sit facing each other, flushed red but smiling and laughing. When the song is over the crowd cheers again, and the quartet of fiddlers bow and go about their music for the night starting with another ballad, The Rose of Tralee.
Sean brings Mary Kate's left hand to his lips. Kisses her palm. Whisper's, "I love you, Mary Kate, and want to marry you. How can I talk to your father?"
"First, he's in America. Boston. And I will call him tomorrow at his shop there. Tell him this wonderful news and arrange a time for you to call, or perchance he will come home and allow you to do it all proper-like. How's that?"
"That's wonderful, luv. Now, let's have a fresh pint and listen to the music. Then take a walk after, though it 'tis a harsh wind startin' to rear its teeth."
"A harsh wind is it. You wouldn't be pokin' fun at me, now would you?"
"No, but I will be kissin' you again before I bring us another pint."
"That's good because up to now I've been doin' all the liftin'."
"Mary Kate, you have a quick and sharp tongue. But, I be guessin' it will be worth it all."
She cups her hand on his face as he leans in, whispers in his ear, "You won't be guessin' for long, Sean me love, and you won't be wantin' another." She kisses him full on the lips, long, working her tongue with his. Then eases back. She feigns a bite to his nose and whispers, "Maybe we can change the order of things if me father doesn't march to our beat." She squeezes his hand, adds, "The pints, Sean. Surely you're not that easily distracted?"
"I am by you. But, the pints it will be." Sean gets up and heads for the bar sooner than waiting for a barmaid. All are more than busy now serving tables and pulling away from groping hands of dirty ole' men, and a few young lads as well.
At the bar Sean orders their pints. Waits.
Danny will not believe this, and I bet I'm in her knickers before Saturday night confession.
CHAPTER 13
"Bring a gun. Preferably bring at least
two guns. Bring all your friends who have guns."
A gunfighter's rule
Rocco and Adrianna arrive in Rapallo in the early afternoon, check into their suite overlooking the town and seaside, and immediately enjoy a snack at a street-side cafe before they start Adrianna's shop 'til you drop routine. Rocco's patience runs thin frequently. Thus they incorporate respite stops at quaint sidewalk cafes for a glass of Chianti. In time the setting sun on this western coastline is not only picturesque but a cue to wander back to the Excelsior to freshen up and dine at its Eden Roc Restaurant.
The Israeli's, Agents Marnee Kaslar and Reis Hazzan, also check in at the same hotel getting one of the smaller rooms. Although not as expensive, in time, the cost will draw severe commentary from Headquarters though they will be reducing expenses by sharing. Twin singles will ease the strain on the budget but not on Reis. Nonetheless they begin the tail quickly, often changing leads to avoid being spotted. The good news is that Rocco is not on a high alert although casual his checking on a tail is habitual. Adrianna is oblivious to such things.
Adrianna is wearing one of her three new outfits for dinner. The Eden Roc seaside dining room of the hotel has a breath-taking view of the fading glow of the sunset. The patio is covered by a white awning. The tables covered with draped white linen are adorned with fine silverware and a white porcelain pots of freshly cut flowers. Each table is candlelit and the soft white and blue lights surrounding the patio create a warm ambiance Rocco and Adrianna sit at a table for two, on the balcony rail. The restaurant, as one would suspect, specializes in seafood all freshly caught from the Tyrrhenian Sea. Life for these two is good it would seem, certainly for Adrianna.
And as it is it would seem for the pair of eyes watching from a far corner table. A young couple, looking like tourists, or lovers, or conceivably both. They speak in Italian in hushed tones. Part of the selection process for Marnee and Reis was that they speak several languages, Italian and English being two. They have been educated in Jerusalem, the United States and elsewhere abroad. Both have worked assignments in Italy several times. They have the dark hair and complexion of a native of this country. A warm picture of two young lovers, vacationing, however in reality, each missioned to kill, and have before, with their hands or any weapon to include the ones they are carrying tonight.
Marnee whispers, "We should finish and move on. Go hang out in the lobby bar. My guess is that Romeo here is going to sip wine and then head for the boudoir for the evening."
"I agree. I hope she doesn't cause him to have a heart attack or stroke before he leads us to our man."
Marnee laughs, more a snicker. "He wishes ... well, not for an attack."
"Let me sign the check and we'll leave. We're going to have our hands full tomorrow. He's going fishing, or thus it appears. She however ..."
Marnee smiles, finishes, "Primp, shop, primp and get set to get ready to do it over again. And again. What a life."
"You can do all that except the shop portion. I'm willing."
"If you suggest thi
s again. Even think it again, your choices will be the tub or the floor. And if you blink, the hall."
They leave quietly, ignored by the room of still filled tables, and certainly unseen by Rocco sipping his wine, gazing at Adrianna and the seaside view.
Hunter arrives at Dulles International Airport. He is to meet Joe Zachary here, and he will depart from here later on a Pam Am 747 for Heathrow in London. Dulles, with its unique design, was dedicated by President John F. Kennedy on November 17th, 1962 and is still to some extent a white elephant. It's an inconvenient twenty-six miles from downtown Washington and not an easy trip from the suburbs. However, times are changing and the flight options are much greater than at its conception. Particularly if you're a Texan and want to fly the colorful Branniff Airlines.
Hunter finds Joe in a bar in the terminal, sitting in a far corner table. The restaurant portion is not full and those here are all seated at the bar, busy drinking, talking, reading papers or people watching. And those being watched are the few females passing through the terminal, most seem to be "stews". Most young. All beautiful, but none in the same league with PSA stews.
Hunter sits next to Joe, both have their backs to the wall and are facing out toward the terminal. Hunter says, "Does Ruth know you're out here watching the skirts?"
"There's better where I work, and more of them every day."
"Not better than PSA, believe me. Long legs, big on top and hot pants ... and breath, but speaking of work, what'd ya have for me that's new?"
"Glad to see you're focused. However, inside the folded newspaper in front of you are some photos and artist sketches. Pretty good. You can take the paper with you. Everything else we know, you know. The trail stops in Pisa." Joe passes. Takes a sip of coffee. Looks at Hunter, asks, "Did you want some?"
"Naw. Had too much on the plane."
Zachary takes another sip, continues. "He stills owns that London flat. His is empty we think. The other three are still leased; run by a property manager. He's paid from Geneva. The rent goes to Geneva. We have nothing else of a paper trail. Interpol doesn't either. Don't have or can't get anything regarding money transfers. Do know it's a huge account. Millions upon."
Hunter asks, "Any in Italy? Elsewhere?"
Joe says, "We have nothing in that regard. Hell, he could be dead for all we know. Except, one of his henchmen, Rocco DeStefano, was in Pisa, at least as of yesterday. And that guy, Antonio Rizzo, that I suspect everyone is looking for, hasn't been spotted yet. We think he went to ground in Pisa. If not, he's gone. If you find him, you may find out where Pisces is or went. And, if you can get to his other henchman, Bruno Costa, you could for sure find his boss. Of course, either might kill anyone that asks a question. You'll want to be careful. Both pictures are inside also. And Rizzo's as well. He's a good lookin' guy. Probably a lady's man so the gals at Alberto's must know something of him. But he must know that Pisces is looking for him, hard."
"Okay. What about Patrick Shanahan? And O'Rourke? And any other of their cohorts?"
"Was just going to get to that. Patrick Shanahan is, was, a hit man for the PIRA. No doubt. His target was Samantha for the reasons I've already described. Shanahan has two brothers back in Ireland. Both in the Army. Both on the Brit's suspect list, or people to be watched. The Brit's say those two, Danny and Sean, younger than Patrick, are still in town. Derry. The Brit's don't think the PIRA will seek retribution. Shanahan was a casualty of war. No one killed him. He fell off a cliff." He pauses. Then, "I agree with them. He's not a problem, or it shouldn't be for us. For you."
"Well, Joe. I tend to disagree or why would this gent, O'Rourke, been dispatched to find out what went on? And find me? Come to my house? Joe, I know this IRA splinter group is a vindictive bunch. Hard corps. Clannish. Hell, Joe. In weaponry they've advanced but mentally they haven't moved much beyond axes, spears and clubs. My guess is that either they, or if not them, the two brothers will want some blood. Mine."
Joe nods agreement. "You may be right, but MacBeer doesn't think so."
"MacBeer," Hunter snarls.
"Yeah, well, we'll fix that but for now, be careful and I will stay with it. For your sake if not the Agency's. As a friend. And handler. Now, Marine, the bad news."
"Bad news. Where was the good news? I've got a gut feel I'm going to be one pissed-off Marine in a second or two."
"Former Marine, but, yes, probably more than pissed." Joe pauses, stalls some more by looking around the entire bar and concourse area, exhales loudly, says, "O'Rourke is gone."
Hunter stares at Joe. Takes his right hand and rubs his forehead hard, then moves it down, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Looks up, sighs, "Gone? Where? And how the hell did that happen? The police had him?"
Joe exhales again. Eyebrows raised. Grimaces. "There must have been a team with O'Rourke. After he left your house in the squad car, there was an accident. Not an accident per se, they were rammed by another car. The patrolman got out, was knocked unconscious by one of the men. They un-cuffed O'Rourke and fled. The car was found later abandoned at the airport. The descriptions of the two men were vague at best from the patrolman and three eye witnesses, two of which were street people." He pauses, "You know, they even have them in San Diego. Probably wear Bermuda shorts though. Anyway, they weren't interested or didn't want to get involved."
Hunter listens, his head held in both hands, slumped nearly to his chest. "Wonderful."
"SDPD and the FBI put out an APB. Notified Immigration here and in Canada. Bradovich was playing it straight and was having O'Rourke brought directly to the FBI head shed. For his cooperation, he was invited to attend the interrogation. Obviously, there was none. Bottom line, O'Rourke is gone, as are his two buddies. The FBI is watching his home and shop in Boston, and the Boston PD has the APB." Joe gazes at Hunter, "Sorry, pal. We, they, them, us, whomever, fucked-up."
Hunter doesn't say anything for several moments. Joe continues to stare at him, then shifts his gaze to the ceiling, other tables, bar, and finally back to Hunter. Hunter is not glaring at Joe, but the look is focused. The stare of his eyes are like ultra-thin ice picks, punching into the retina of Zachary's eyes. "Joe, this convinces me. They, the PIRA, are wanting revenge for Shanahan's death. And they either suspect or know, or want it to be me, or don't give a damn. To them, it's me. They are going to try to find me and kill me. You need to find this O'Rourke asshole and kill him. And his two friends. And the Brits need to pick up the Shanahan brothers and stow them someplace. I don't need these bungholes chasing me while I'm looking for Pisces. After that, we can take care of the IRA or whatever they call themselves nowadays."
"We'll try, Hawk. I'll put everything I can on this. O'Rourke has a brother in Ireland. I've already sent one of our assets to watch the man and check him out. See where it leads. Perchance to a local leader. The Brit's will be helping."
Hunter shakes his head. "O'Rourke has a brother? In Ireland? Let me guess. He's in the Army too, right?"
"Apparently. Twin brothers as a matter of fact. Mickey and Mike."
Hunter's eyes roll to the top, "And one is married. Right? To Minnie, who works for Looney Tunes, the Irish version of the SAS and CIA."
"No, but Mickey is married and has a daughter, Mary Kate. We're watching her also. She lives with and works for her Uncle Mike."
Hunter breaks out laughing. And does for a good two or three minutes. Then with tears in his eyes, says, "Joe, if this wasn't damn serious, it would be funny. I mean Roadrunner cartoon funny. Is this a script for Disney?" He laughs again.
The Hawk pauses, wipes his eyes with the back of his hands. His face turns to stone. He hisses, "Joe, find 'em. Kill them all. Mickey, Mike, the two buddies, the brothers, and Mary friggin' Kate. Kill them all or they're goin' to kill me, or damn sure try. And if they do try, Joseph Jackson Lee Zachary, there will be collateral damage strewn along my path that will make the fire-bombing of Tokyo look like a family picnic. Understand?"
"Hunter,
we can't kill them all. Good, Lord. We'll get O'Rourke back or find him. The others, we'll watch, and if they make a move, we'll move right along with them."
"Kill 'em, Joe." Hunter picks up the folded newspaper. "Or I will. You did say, Derry?" Peeks inside the fold. Tucks it under his arm, says, "Anything else? I've got a plane to catch."
Hunter is standing beside the table now. Joe looks up, mumbles, "MacBeer." Looks down at the table shaking his head. Then back to Hunter.
Hunter sits. "What?"
"I'm smelling old cheese. I'm seeing shadows. I'm smellin' dead bodies. I'm diggin' and gettin' old bones and cadavers. He's so dirty, Tide has found a formula yet to help. Watch your six. Be careful. Especially of Columbo, even though I put her in the game with you. I promise you I will do everything I can and will tell you what I find, when I find it."
"This is incredible. Unbelievable. Staggering. Mind-blowing or boggling, or whatever. And in Technicolor. Okay. I'm leaving. Stay in touch. And tell everyone that might come near me that I'm not going to be polite. I'm not going to be professional. I'm going to kill everyone I meet." He turns to leave, takes a step. Stops. Returns. Pats Joe on the shoulder a few times, says, "Thanks, Joe. Semper Fi." Then turns and leaves toward the Pan Am departure area.
Joe remains seated. Stares after Hunter. Whispers, "Semper Fi, ole buddy. Semper Fi. I will try or die." He sighs, "And no further than the back of my fighting hole, Hawk. Not one inch."
Mary Kate calls her father. She is a mixture of tears, giggles, and prayers. The time difference should work. Her dad should still be in the shop. If not, she'll call his number at his flat in a few hours. Like here, he lives above the shop. He might stop at a local pub for a pint and some darts.
She gets no answer and hangs up after ten rings, each counted on her fingers as her one hand rests on the table top beneath the wall phone in her uncle's living room. He is at a pub for sure. She believes in her heart that she must tell her father first, or at least try as best she can to do so. After she puts the phone back on the wall, she looks out the window onto the narrow street below, then to the sky above and whispers, "Mama, I've found me a good man and one that I don't think is involved in all this rubbish. I miss ya, Mama," and blesses herself as she steps back from the window.
Ded Reckoning Page 14
