Skipper Tom used all his naval experience and expertise to hold the boat as steady as he could midway into the massive whirlpool, which had now grown to almost twenty metres in diameter. Tom had judged Katusha’s course correctly: she was now heading directly towards Connor and the starboard side of the boat.
Suddenly a wave jerked the boat violently, bringing the stern – and the blades of the propellors – directly into Katusha’s path. Anya let out another piercing scream as surf swamped over the sides of the boat, stinging Connor’s eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Katusha was just metres from the back of the boat when Connor felt the vessel shift again as Tom won the battle to bring her starboard-side again. A fortuitous wave lifted Katusha up almost level with Connor, who stretched as far as he could reach, before the wave bottomed out, pulling the girl back down and sucking her underneath the boat.
Connor practically launched himself over the side. With Anya now hanging onto his calves, he was pointing vertically down into the sea. He thrust his arms as deep as they would go as another wave engulfed him entirely, slamming his body into the boat’s solid fibreglass frame and forcing any remaining air from his lungs. Connor thrashed his arms about, but could only feel the shocking, raw force of the currents trying to pull him to his death. Then he felt something pass his right hand. It was hair. He grabbed all he could and pulled hard, while swinging his left hand up to grab onto the side of the boat. He heaved with everything he had to bring in his catch. His head broke the surface and he gasped for much-needed air, then hauled again. Two older male passengers were now pulling Connor’s left arm, lifting him into the boat. But he could not and would not let go of the handful of Katusha’s hair. He gave one last haul, as he fought a life or death tug-of-war with the Corryvrechan.
‘Katusha,’ Anya screamed out as her daughter surfaced. She leaned over and grabbed at Katusha’s life jacket. Connor could feel the girl’s body being hauled past him, before he followed her back up onto the safety of the boat. He lay still, blinded from the seawater and unable to move from sheer physical exhaustion.
Tom swung the boat round, bringing the rear within metres of the centre of the vortex as he gave the engines everything they had. But the vessel continued her drift backwards, heading to oblivion no matter how loudly the outboards screamed in protest. Just as it seemed like their rescue attempt was in vain, the propellers started to bite, and almost through the sheer willpower of everyone on board, Dignity stopped moving backwards. The boat came to a virtual halt before finally beginning her slow surge forward to safety.
Connor hauled himself up to cough up seawater from his lungs before he was sick over the side. His vision cleared briefly enough for him to see the black RIB, with Oleg and the hard drive attached to his wrist, speeding off into the distance, having abandoned their own rescue attempt of Roza.
The boat was now clear of the whirlpool. Connor was about to slump back onto the deck when something orange flashed before his eyes in the water. It was Roza’s lifejacket, but without Roza. He leaned over and managed to grab the collar, bringing it in. He closed his eyes and lay shivering from the cold. One of the older passengers had declared he was a doctor and was currently working on Katusha, rhythmically pumping water from her lungs. Connor heard the little girl cough then let out a loud cry.
Skipper Tom was now by the reporter’s side, the boat on autopilot. ‘Well done, lad. Well bloody done.’
Connor held up Roza’s lifejacket.
‘She didn’t attach the crotch straps,’ Tom said. ‘The Corryvrechan would have sucked her right out of the jacket to the very bottom of the sea. Serves the bitch right.’
Connor, Anya and Katusha moved into the warmth of Tom’s cabin, where they stripped off their wet clothes and wrapped themselves in blankets. Connor began to drift off to sleep, whilst Anya cradled her daughter in her arms and softly sang an old Russian nursery rhyme:
Bayu bayushki bayu
Ne lazhisya na krayu
Pridet serenyki volckok
Y ukusit za bochok.
She then sang it in English:
Don’t sleep on the edge of the bed,
Otherwise a grey wolf will come
And bite you on the side.
88: Verification of Death
Monahan checked his iPhone after receiving a text. He stared at the message before a smile grew across his face. He then gave a silent fist-pump and mouthed the word ‘Yes’. It was a routine he always did at the end of a successful mission.
• • •
The doorbell went just as Kelly brought Monahan a cup of tea, to help wash down the nutrition shake.
‘Should I answer it?’ she asked him.
‘Yeah, why not. What have we got to lose?’
Monahan could hear Kelly talking at the front door before inviting someone in. He listened to the visitor’s heavy footfall. Cop, he thought to himself.
‘An Officer McGill to see you, Malcolm,’ Kelly said, introducing their guest.
‘Charlie McGill. I wondered when you would turn up,’ Monahan beamed.
‘Shall I leave you both to get on with it?’ Kelly asked.
‘I’d rather you stayed,’ McGill insisted. ‘This concerns you too. I am here for the hard drive’.
‘Straight down to business. You haven’t changed much, have you, Charlie boy?’ Monahan replied.
‘The hard drive, Malky,’ McGill said more sternly.
‘Well, here’s the thing, Charlie. I gave it to a reporter. You know, so we can get the truth out there. Expose all the paedos. Tell everyone what really happened to your beloved Diana.’
‘You didn’t give a shit about Diana,’ Charlie spat, his face turning red with anger.
‘That was always the problem with you, Charlie. You cared too much. All that time spent with Little Miss Doe Eyes turned you native.’
‘Where is the hard drive?’ McGill demanded.
‘You missed your chance, Charlie. You must be getting slower in your old age. The reporter took it up the West Coast. If you had been keeping tabs on him, you would surely have known that?’
‘We had a breakdown in communications,’ McGill admitted.
‘What is going on here? How do you both know each other?’ Kelly asked.
‘Sssh,’ Monahan said, putting his finger to his lips. ‘Charlie here is going to confess how he fucked up. So go on, Charlie. How did you miss a sitting duck?’
‘We lost his mobile’s location. It’s the lousy signal up north,’ McGill said shamefaced.
‘A rookie’s mistake. But surely you had his car bugged, Charlie?’
‘He took a different car. They went in some Russian woman’s.’
‘And your men couldn’t follow it?’
‘I don’t have any men. It’s just me.’
‘How can it just be you? You’re a policeman,’ Kelly said in amazement.
‘Because old Charlie here has gone rogue,’ Monahan interjected. ‘Isn’t that right, son?’
McGill pulled a Heckler and Koch 9mm pistol from underneath his jacket and pointed it directly at Monahan’s head.
‘Still using that peashooter?’ Monahan laughed.
‘Where is the hard drive?’
‘It’s in safe hands,’ Monahan said smugly.
‘With the reporter?’
‘I said safe hands. He’d have tried to publish what was on it. Like you and that Russian website. Name-that-nonce-dot-com, or whatever it’s called.’
‘Beast Shamer,’ McGill replied calmly.
‘That’s the one. If you hadn’t started leaking the nation’s secrets, there wouldn’t have been any need for this whole operation.’
‘Operation?’ Kelly said, now totally confused.
‘But you didn’t have that much info, did you, Charlie son?’ Monahan continued, ignoring Kelly. ‘Just a
few old lords who liked their young boys, and all that Jack the Ripper nonsense. But your Russian paymasters wanted more, didn’t they? A lot more. That’s when we let it be known that it was all on a hard drive. Every embarrassing secret and cover-up, right there, inside a little black box. And it was all up for grabs for the first person who could find it.’
‘You set a trap?’ Kelly asked. It was dawning on her that Monahan had been lying all along. That all this – everything – had been orchestrated by Monahan just to reel in McGill.
‘You need to set a trap to catch a mole, my dear,’ Monahan said smiling.
‘Don’t call me “dear”. You used me. You put my whole family at risk. You killed my mother,’ Kelly said, suddenly realising it had been Monahan who was behind the car bombs.
‘All part of the show. It had to be convincing. That these secrets were worth killing for. And they are, believe me.’
‘And Doctor Shabazi too?’
‘Yeah, Duggie was always a dab hand with explosives. He’s not bad with incendiary devices either. Basically anything that goes off with a bang, then Duggie is your man,’ Monahan replied nonchalantly.
‘Doctor Davies? Nurse Mackay in the neighbouring flat?’ Kelly asked.
‘Agents. They were keeping an eye on me in case the mole turned up.’
‘And me being kidnapped in the Highlands?’ Kelly continued.
‘Sorry, we hung you out to dry with that one. Our friends in MI5 did us a turn. Kept you under the radar. Again, it was to make it as convincing as possible to you and our mole.’
‘You took one hell of a risk putting all that info out there,’ McGill said.
‘It was worth it to catch you, Charlie boy. I was supremely confident it wouldn’t reach the public domain.’
‘Arrogantly confident more like. The reporter’s computer geek friend has probably made a copy,’ McGill continued.
‘Correct. He had, but again, it’s all taken care of. We’ve got the copy and the geek is no more. Had a bad asthma attack, according to Duggie, and the copy’s gone up in smoke. So you’re right, I do feel arrogantly confident. That’s how winners feel, Charlie. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you now?’
‘You know what they say about pride before a fall,’ McGill warned.
‘Ah, Charlie. The only proverb I live by is “when the going gets tough, the tough get going”,’ Monahan sneered.
‘Are you even sick?’ Kelly asked.
‘Only in the head,’ McGill butted in.
‘Exactly.’ Monahan smiled. The shot was deafening, forcing Kelly to put her hands over her ringing ears as she slumped down on one knee. Disorientated, she looked up to see Monahan was still grinning. There was a black hole in the white sheet, with a puff of smoke rising from it. She turned round to see McGill clutching his bloodied arm, his gun lying on the floor.
‘I never did like you, Charlie,’ Monahan said, throwing the covers back to reveal a handgun that looked a lot bigger and more powerful than McGill’s. ‘You worshipped the ground Diana walked on. But she was nothing but a filthy whore who’d sleep with anyone who showed her any attention… A bit like yourself, dear,’ he said, turning his gun towards Kelly. ‘Didn’t take much to get you into the sack, did it? With a patient too. You should be struck off.’
‘You’re insane,’ Kelly said, turning to attend to McGill.
‘They don’t call me Mad Malky Monahan for nothing. And leave him alone. Dying’s too good for his type. But I will take his gun. Pick it up by the barrel very slowly and put it on the bed beside me. There’s a dear.’
Kelly did as she was told, making sure she made no sudden movements. ‘You planned all of this, didn’t you?’
‘Most of it. You were a bit of a Brucie bonus, in more ways than one. I improvised. When I saw you reading that Diana shite, it was too good an opportunity to miss. You were the perfect cover story. There was a good chance our mole here would have seen right through me, even with all my deathbed confession shit. But you swallowed it hook, line and sinker. The poor nurse caught up in a massive conspiracy. It was the perfect trap.’
‘Can you even hear yourself?’ Kelly asked. ‘You took advantage of someone who cares for terminally ill people.’
‘Oh, my poor, little angel,’ Monahan mocked. ‘I do look ill though, don’t I? I had to convince you I was really dying. My notes said I was, so why would you doubt it? The iodine drops in my eyes also gave me that lovely jaundiced look. Months of dieting helped a lot as well. Can’t wait for a dirty big steak. I’ll be glad if I never taste a nutrition shake for the rest of my life. Chuck in some erratic breathing and Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt.’
Kelly could do no more than shake her head in disgust.
‘There was just one snag. A little side effect, if you will. I have become rather accustomed to the morphine. Be a dear and reload the machine for me,’ Monahan said, indicating with the barrel of his gun towards the syringe driver. ‘I think I’ve become a wee bit opium-tolerant. I’ll sort all that out once this is all over though.’
Kelly changed the empty syringe for a new one full of the yellow, powerful, pain-relieving liquid.
‘And I know my dosage is thirty milligrams. So don’t try to overdose me,’ Monahan warned, still pointing the gun at her menacingly.
Kelly set the digital display to thirty milligrams as instructed, turning it round to show her hostile patient. ‘Happy?’ she asked.
‘Perfect. I may as well have one last whack to celebrate. This shit is better than champagne.’
A tense moment of silence passed before Kelly asked, ‘Did you really kill Diana?’
Monahan burst out laughing. ‘Fucking Diana. That’s all anyone wants to bloody know about. What does it matter?’
‘I would just like to know.’
‘I bet Charlie would too. He’s spent the last two decades trying to find out. Haven’t you?’
McGill groaned a response. The colour had completely drained from his face, and a dark stain was growing around where he clutched his shattered arm.
‘Of course I killed the bitch,’ Monahan said smugly.
‘I don’t think you did,’ Kelly replied calmly.
‘Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?’
‘Psychosis. I’ve seen it in patients before. Yours is probably post-traumatic stress disorder. No one who has done all the things you have escapes unscathed.’
‘Save me all the touchy-feely bullshit.’
‘Don’t get me wrong. I believe you were in the tunnel that night. But I think you were trying to look after Diana. You were part of her security detail. But something went wrong, didn’t it? Her driver was going too fast. He clipped that Fiat Uno and crashed. Your Fiat Uno. The one you were driving. The one I saw in the garage,’ Kelly said, placing her hand softly on Monahan’s knee. ‘But Mad Malky Monahan could never fail, could he? Your reputation relied on your one hundred per cent success rate, am I right? No one could know you screwed it up. So over the years, Diana became one of your hits. Another successful mission. I think you started to believe it yourself. But I understand. I truly do. You are not a well man. Your mind is in turmoil. But it wasn’t your fault, Malcolm. It was just an accident.’
Kelly wanted to keep Monahan talking, but she knew it was a gamble: Monahan could so easily respond with the squeeze of a trigger. He stared silently into the middle distance, recalling events from his past. Eventually he whispered, ‘The stupid cow should have worn her seatbelt.’
‘Let me help you, Malcolm,’ Kelly continued. ‘Let me get you the treatment you need. It’s time to stop the mayhem.’
Monahan turned his head towards her, his eyes now refocused and full of menace. He grinned. ‘Nice try, dear. But your Florence Nightingale act won’t wash with me. Yes, MI5 instigated a cover-up. It wasn’t a conspiracy to murder, but to hide the fucking accid
ent. If it wasn’t for that useless French driver going like the clappers… he nearly took me out in the Uno before he swerved and crashed. I knew she was fucked the minute I looked at her. That’s why I left that file encrypted. If something had gone wrong then I couldn’t have that one slipping out on Charlie’s Beast Shamer website, tarnishing my good name by being involved in the biggest fuck-up in the history of our secret services. That file will go back into the vaults forever more and my dirty little Diana secret will die with both of you.’
‘I knew you were involved.’ McGill said, grimacing through the pain. ‘You were always too gung-ho for my liking. Your ego was too big for protection work. You had to be the centre of attention.’
‘Guilty as charged, Charlie. What a total waste of my time and energy it was trying to look after your whore of a princess anyway.’
‘She was a better person than you could ever hope to be.’
‘Wasn’t too good at picking her friends though, was she? Or her lovers. Was she, Charlie? Did you want to be her true friend? The man who would always protect her. Maybe even get a wee shag in return? Then she took up with a flash Arab and I bet she never looked twice at you again.’
‘There’s no point even arguing with you, Monahan. Kelly’s right, you are insane,’ McGill said as he leaned back against the bedroom wall for support, the energy seeping from him as quickly as the blood from his wound.
‘And you’ll be quite dead shortly, Charlie. Wonder if Elton John will write a soppy song for you as he did for your precious Di? Like a candle in the shitter, he didn’t know what had hit her...’
‘Go fuck yourself, Monahan.’
‘So am I to get a bullet too?’ Kelly asked.
‘If you want. Would be quicker that way.’
‘Where will it end, Malcolm? When will the killing stop?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to be in the cold, hard ground before that ever happens.’ He raised the barrel of the gun and aimed at Kelly’s head. ‘Ah, dear Kelly. It was fun. I’ll do you first before finishing off old Charlie boy here.’
Kelly and McGill braced themselves for what was coming. But nothing happened. The seconds ticked past slowly as they remained frozen to the spot, like a cast waiting for an actor to remember a line. The tension was broken when Monahan gave a small cough, followed by another, then another. Each becoming louder and more hacking, and the gun now shaking in his hands.
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