by Ian Graham
As the sun set, Declan put down his backpack and looked west toward the front door of the villa where the IRA unit that included Meaghan McCraven was said to be holed up. In addition to the weapons they were to provide, the gang he'd made contact with was supposed to have taken him to the unit's location, but clearly that hadn't worked out as planned. It had taken him several hours to locate the property on his own, far longer than he had wanted, but here he was, hoping he wasn't already too late. Apparently the UFF had made contact with the same gang, and if the gang had tipped them off to his presence, he could be walking into a trap.
He surveyed the property from the cover of a patch of Loblolly pines, looking over every nook and cranny of the flat-roofed, stucco sided vacation home and its two pools and sundecks. The wooden shutters were closed tight, and only a late model Land Rover parked at the end of the home's long driveway indicated that there were occupants inside. Eamon McGuire had told him that the home belonged to a wealthy American businessman named Michael O'Keefe who was sympathetic to the IRA's cause, but Declan wondered if the man knew his house was being used as a staging area for a bombing that would kill dozens of innocent bystanders. Somehow, he doubted it.
If there was a trap set for him, he couldn't see any evidence of it from the outside. The only way to know was to walk up to the front door and find out. He removed a Beretta pistol from his bag and flicked the safety off as he picked up his bag and strolled out of the brush. On the home's porcelain tiled porch, he stood just far enough to the side of the door to avoid someone shooting through it. Reaching up, he pounded several times with his fist.
"Who's there?" a female voice asked.
"Meaghan, it's Declan. Donovan sent me."
After several moments the door opened a few inches, and Meaghan McCraven's slender face peered out, her brown eyes darting around before finally landing on Declan. "Donovan sent you?"
"Aye."
She looked over the parts of the property that were visible from the door again and closed it, released the chain-lock and reopened it wide enough for Declan to step in. Before he did, he regarded her for a moment, a feeling of despair rising inside him. It was his fault that she was here. It was his hatred and anger that had first brought her into contact with the IRA and had placed the ideas of the armed struggle in her head. Standing there, three thousand miles from home, with bare feet and wearing a black sundress with her chestnut brown hair spilling down around her shoulders, she looked angelic and innocent. He hoped she was still innocent, that her association with the IRA hadn't led her to commit the kind of acts that would blacken her soul forever, the kind of acts he'd seen and done. "Let's get inside," he said as he glanced over his shoulder. "It's not safe out here."
"You say Donovan sent you?" Meaghan said as he stepped inside. "He didn't tell us anyone else was com-"
"Like hell he sent you!" a voice said from behind the door as it was pushed closed with force. Declan dropped his bag and turned as a man stepped forward with a pistol aimed at his chest. Blocking the man's advance, he grabbed his thumb and twisted his hand and the gun away, pointing it back at its owner as he brought the man to the floor. He placed his knee on the man's chest and held him down with the gun under his chin.
"Eff you!" the man spat as he tried to struggle.
"Jesus, Declan let him go!" Meaghan screamed as Declan heard the sound of a rifle being charged. Two more men stood from behind a couch, one with an AK-47 aimed at him.
"Let him up! Now!" the man with the rifle ordered.
Declan kept the man where he was. He recognized the others as Paul Boyle and Dean Byrne, two Provisionals known for committing small attacks throughout Belfast and the surrounding areas. He looked down at the man he was holding and slowly released him. Callum O'Connell stood up gingerly from the floor and re-aimed his pistol. "You just couldn't stand that she was here with someone else, could you?"
Meaghan looked aghast as she moved to stand between O'Connell and Declan.
"That's got nothing to do with it," Declan said. "I'm here because McGuire picked up intel that the Brits were onto you, that they'd sent a team of UDR thugs to wipe out the entire unit, just like they did in Gibraltar."
"Oh screw McGuire!" O'Connell shouted. "That old man would have us runnin' around making kissy faces with the touts and tryin' to-"
The sound of a vehicle skidding to a stop came from outside, and Declan turned to the door, pulling it open as he withdrew the Beretta from his belt. "No time for talking, they're here! Get down!" He aimed the pistol at the black SUV and squeezed the trigger twice. The bullets impacted the windshield as the vehicle's occupants exited and ran for cover. Declan sighted one as he ran towards a cluster of Loblollies and dropped him with a double shot to the head before he turned to another and fired three times into the man's chest as he ran sideways, attempting to aim a pistol.
The clatter of machine gun fire sounded from the trees, and bullets impacted the side of the house, tearing away chunks of plaster. Declan slammed the door and pulled Meaghan onto the tiled floor. "Get down! Get down!"
Boyle and Byrne retook their cover behind the furniture, and O'Connell hit the floor below a window. "What the hell's goin' on?" he shouted as bullets lacerated the shutters and the door, raining chunks of wood onto them.
"McGuire said there were seven and I just dropped two!" Declan shouted as he kept Meaghan huddled in the corner with him. The gunfire outside stopped, and O'Connell stood, pulling open the shutters and aiming his pistol.
"No! Don't!" Declan yelled.
A three round burst from an automatic rifle sounded, and O'Connell's face disintegrated, blood and brain tissue flying into the air as his body fell lifelessly to the floor, what was left of his head landing with a hollow thud.
"No!" Meaghan screamed and reached toward her fallen lover.
Declan held onto her tightly to keep her away from the doors and windows. "He's dead! There's nothing you can do!
"Are you sure there are seven?" Boyle shouted as he peeked around the side of the couch with his Kalashnikov.
"No!" Declan said. "Could be twenty out there! We need to get out the back while their fire's concentrated on the front! They haven't had enough time to spread out but that'll change!"
"Right!"
Boyle and Byrne crawled toward a sliding glass door. As they neared it, Byrne raised himself into a crouch and reached for the door handle. Gunshots exploded from the opened window, and the interior of the house was shredded with bullets, Byrne catching several in the chest before falling onto his back where he lay still.
"Damn!" Boyle shouted as he scooted furiously away from the door and back behind the couch.
Declan could see the muzzle flash of the weapon. The gunman was standing at the window and firing in. He pushed Meaghan away and rolled out, pulling the Beretta's trigger rapidly. The gunfire stopped as Declan's shots impacted the window sill. Declan jumped to his feet and ran for the window, passing it in a rolling motion as he fired at the fleeing gunman who screamed in pain as he was hit. Declan lowered himself to the floor again as his attack was met by more automatic gunfire from outside. If McGuire's intel was good, there were four left. He low crawled back across the room to where Meaghan sat huddled in the corner, grabbing his bag and dragging it with him.
"Are there any other vehicles here besides the Rover?"
"There's a moped in the garage!" Boyle yelled.
"No good. We need something a lot faster. Anything else?"
"There's a speedboat by the pier!"
The gunfire from outside slowed to the occasional burst. Declan knew that was meant to keep them at bay while the men outside spread out. Soon, they'd have the house surrounded. But how long could they hold it before the police showed up? Would the police come? Did the police in Anguilla even have guns? He wasn't sure.
"Where's the pier?"
"Straight out the back door and down to the bay, about a hundred yards." Boyle answered.
"Any cover?"
>
"Some low lying brush; it's downhill through a gully most of the way."
"Can you operate the boat, love?" Declan asked.
"Aye." Meaghan said nodding.
"Looks like it's gonna be a run for it then. I hope you brought some shoes. Boyle, get her to the boat and I'll cover you as you go."
"I can shoot, too!" Meaghan scolded.
Declan released the magazine in the Beretta and reloaded. "I know, but I want your attention on that boat. It's your only ticket outta here." He handed her the Beretta. "Once you're in and the motor's started, cover Boyle as he boards and then the two of you get out of here!"
"What about you?"
"I'm gonna draw their fire. I'll be better off on my own."
Boyle stayed low as he left his cover. "I hope all that shite they're sayin' in Belfast about you McGuire boys is true, for your sake." he said as Meaghan pulled on a pair of tennis shoes.
Declan removed a Taurus PT92 and an H&K MP5 from his backpack. "Belfast doesn't know the half of it," he said as he pushed a magazine into the H&K, charged the weapon and flicked the selector switch to semi-automatic. "I'm going out first. Keep your eyes on that front window until you're outside the building. Ditch the weapons once you're a safe distance from the shore and meet me on the beach at Conto Bay. It's a short walk north to the airport from there."
Boyle nodded as he replaced the magazine in the Kalashnikov. "I gotta give it to McGuire. He knows how to get things done."
Declan stood, placed the pistols in holsters on his belt, and moved toward the sliding glass door that led to one of the property's pools. "I'm going to draw them south away from the pier. With any luck, they'll think I'm all that's left and follow."
He gripped the door handle and pulled it open. Stepping onto a narrow porch with a staircase leading to a pool below, he ran to the right where he was covered by the edge of the house. Gunshots clattered and chunks of wood were torn away as bullets struck the banister, the glass window in the door shattering. From his cover, Declan could see the gunman in a patch of trees on the north side of the pool. Surveying the surrounding area for other attackers and seeing none, he flicked the MP5 to full auto and rolled out. Bullets flew from the snub-nosed barrel as he pulled the trigger. Wisps of dust followed the shots to the clump of trees where they tore branches loose until they found the gunman, who screamed painfully as his body was riddled and fell away into the tall grass. Declan stopped firing, slung the H&K onto his back by its shoulder strap, placed both hands on the banister for leverage, and jumped off the porch onto the deck below. Running to the left, he jumped off the pool's decking and onto the dusty ground at its base, concealing himself from the view of anyone else on the north side of the house. From the south, a gunman rounded the corner of the house and aimed an AR-15. Chunk. The weapon jammed. Declan kicked the gun aside with one foot as he spun and delivered a back kick to the man's stomach, knocking him down. Drawing his pistol, he shot the man twice before placing his back against the house and looking for the other men he knew were about.
Shots sounded a short distance away and he looked realizing there was a shooter in the brush firing at the house. Boyle and Meaghan had to be on their way out. He charged towards the scrub brush. The gunman was lying prone in the grass and scurried for better cover as Declan jumped over a rocky dune that was concealing his approach. Shooting the man in the back as he fled, Declan slid onto his side to use the dune for cover. He peered over the edge and saw Boyle descend a set of steps on the deck and disappear. Where was Meaghan? Hopefully she was ahead of him. He hadn't come to save the likes of Paul Boyle. Everything had grown quiet. Had there only been six assaulters?
Movement jarred his attention, and automatic gunfire sounded again. Declan rolled onto his side to see another gunman standing on the edge of the cliff firing an AR-15 into the bay. He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. The gunman's chest exploded in a flash of red, and the man's body fell backwards off the cliff and out of sight. After reloading, Declan jumped to his feet, aiming the weapons around in search of anyone else as he rushed toward the edge of the cliff. The gunman had fired at least twenty rounds into the bay. Had Meaghan and Boyle made it to the boat only to be mowed down from above? Fighting the urge to close his eyes so he wouldn't see Meaghan McCraven's wrecked body on the white sand, Declan looked over into the Caribbean Sea.
A red and white speedboat shot toward the setting sun leaving a white wave behind it. Declan took a deep breath as he saw the driver's long brown hair flowing in the wind. Meaghan had made it and behind her, Paul Boyle was seated in the rear of the craft. Declan turned back and looked at the bullet riddled house. From the looks of it, the battle was over. For today.
An hour later, Declan watched as the speedboat slowly approached the darkened, half-moon beach of Conto Bay. Meaghan killed the motor and let the slender craft grind to a halt in the sand as she moved out from around the steering wheel toward the front of the boat.
"Where's Boyle?" Declan asked.
Meaghan grimaced. "He was hit, didn't make it."
Declan saw bullet holes near the back of the boat and dark stains on the carpet. "Sorry."
"I threw his body and the guns overboard," she said vacantly. Declan opened his arms and held her for a moment. He didn't know much about Paul Boyle or any of the other men who had died today, but he didn't have to. Despite being his fellow Irishman, they weren't good men. They were killers who were willing to take their fight to people who more than likely had never set foot in Ireland and probably never would. They were the kind of men he used to be. Or were they? He'd killed today, too. What gave him the right to claim a moral status higher than theirs?
"Let's go." Meaghan said as she reached down and pulled off the white shoes she was wearing. Declan noted the red stains on the faux leather as she turned and tossed them back into the boat.
"You're going to regret that," he said as they walked north. "The road to the airport's gravel."
Chapter Four
11:29 a.m. Local Time - Sunday, 10th June 1990
Aldergrove Airport
Belfast, Northern Ireland
