Recovering Commando Box Set

by Finn Óg

  Plus, he was bored shitless. Three TV channels were all the bed and breakfast offered. The landlady didn’t seem impressed that he stayed in the house so much. She’d suggested he go for a round of golf on the course he could just about see from his bedroom window. Golf. Hardly. The only thing he had ever swung was a baseball bat – and even that hadn’t been to his liking.

  So he went for long walks and drank tea in expensive Carlingford cafés, and gradually became a curiosity for the locals – the lonely bloke they saw on the road who didn’t really speak to anyone. It was only a matter of time before someone realised who he was, and then he would need every cent that was left of his cash stash, and to move on.

  “This is only gonna work, mate, if you learn to trust me.”

  Sam walked the opso to his car. Both had the stirrings of hangovers but Sam was keen to get this blast from the past off the boat before Isla woke.

  “It’s not personal, Rob – it’s just the way we’re built. You know that.”

  “Well, whatever, mate. But I tell ye this, I admire what you’re doing even if I can’t quite work out how you’ve been doing it.”

  Sam said nothing. They got to the opso’s Ford and stared at one another, before slapping shoulders and falling into another muscular embrace.

  The opso took the chance to whisper into Sam’s ear. “It’s not rips you want to watch for, fella. It’s mobile aerial platforms.”

  Sam gripped him a moment longer. “What?”

  “Drones, mate, size of your hand. We’ve cut the staff in half cos of them. Amazing little things.”

  The men drew apart.

  “Is there one watching us now?”

  “No, mate,” the opso said with a sigh. “I’m not here to screw you over. I’m here to help you finish these bastards. It’s long overdue and I want them gone. I think deep down you know that.”

  Sam knew what had happened to the opso’s father all those years ago.

  “My little girl only has me left. I cannot go down. Do you understand that?”

  The opso looked back towards the boat. “Yes, mate, I get it. And I promise you, I’ll do what I can, but I’m not alone in that ops room. There are other DETS and other agencies. You need to be so fucking careful. These MAPs, they’re incredible. They’re not buzzing around like you’d expect. You can’t even hear them.”

  “Good to know. So when do you start – helping?”

  “Greenore.”

  “What?”

  “The manager. He’s in a guest house in Greenore. It’s in—”

  “I know where Greenore is.”

  “He walks every day. Round the village in the morning, then down by the lough at night.”

  “What time?”

  “Nine, never later than ten. By the ferry port. Every night. He’s there – just staring, taking the air.”

  “At what?”

  “Across the lough.”

  “To the north?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Same place every night?”

  “Yeah. Railings at the terminal.”

  “Exactly the same spot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you a photo?”

  “Have you lost your mind? Never heard of collusion? The days of the military passing images to mercenaries are long gone. You don’t even get to take a phone out of the unit these days, mate.”

  “Have you got eyes on him?”

  “Yeah, so be careful.”

  “What about the rest. The others.”

  “I’ll be in touch, mate. Somehow.”

  Sam nodded. In his heart he believed the opso was genuine, but he had too much to lose to allow himself to be sure.

  The boss was prepared for prison. He’d spent half his adult life in one, but not for nothing. He resented the prospect of being sent down for someone else’s disaster. There was no return for Ballycastle, no message; nothing that would keep the fight alive. In fact – the event had been utterly counterproductive. There was no propaganda in killing children. All that did was secure a backlash. He had imagined a spectacular that would secure admiration within his own ranks. The higher the pedestal upon which his people placed him the less likely they were to question his motivations and decisions. Every now and then someone in his position had to pull off a major coup – a high-profile killing, one that would make the national and international news. Such events kept the dream alive, it allowed fresh recruitment and gave his role in this struggle purpose.

  Without such events there was nothing. There was the dole or a life of ordinary decent crime. He’d gone down the dissident route, so there was no cushy job in government or Sinn Féin or community work for him. All ties had been severed, not that he wanted back into the fold.

  He was just the same as the recruits he was grooming but he was in harder, in deeper, with no choice.

  Except now he was stitched in from all sides.

  The opso stared at Libby and decided to feign anger. “You lot want to make your minds up.”

  “I know.”

  “Why would we pull the plug? We have this guy in Ballycastle the day before the bomb exploded. We know he’s an associate of Grim. We know he’s a close friend of the unit’s leader. Bloody hell, we watch lesser people more closely, Libby.”

  “But he’s out of our jurisdiction.”

  “We are always watching people out-of-area!”

  “I don’t mean out of this DET’s area, I mean he’s outside the state – outside the UK! He’s in the Republic of Ireland. This could cause diplomatic ructions.”

  “They’ll never know we’re there – they don’t have the tech. You know that, Libby.”

  “It’s too dangerous. Too risky.”

  “This is an order?”

  “If you want to make it that. Just pull the team out.”

  “They’re not on land, they’re at sea – and they’re using the best of kit. This doesn’t make sense.”

  “You make a point,” Libby relented, “but that’s what has come down from above, so we have to do it. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  “So you agree with me – we should be keeping eyes on him?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think,” she said. “It matters what our superiors think. And they say get out of Dodge.”

  The opso was delighted but managed to appear incensed.

  “Let’s go for a spin in the new van.”

  “Where to?”

  “Wanna go see Sinead?”

  “No, Daddy.”

  “Why? I thought you liked Sinead.”

  “I do, but Dublin’s a long way.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It’s five hundred miles, Daddy.”

  “It’s about one hundred miles – an hour and a half. That’s, like, the length of a movie on your iPad.”

  “Is it?”

  “You can sit up front and choose the music.”

  “Can I?”

  “Yeah, but if you’re watching your iPad, you have to wear headphones.”

  “Ok.”

  What was the point in earning that money in Venice, thought Sam, if he couldn’t treat his kid to a night in a hotel every now and again.

  Áine answered the intercom, which was good news and bad.

  “You’re like a bad penny.”

  Sam looked around in vain for the camera through which the twin was evidently eyeing him.

  “You’ll never find it. It’s either small or very far away.”

  The door buzzed and Sam led Isla into a plush marble atrium with a curving staircase; stainless and spotless on account of never being used. The lift to the right stood open but Sam didn’t know what floor he was going to. A door opened well above them.

  “Seven!” echoed, to which Isla answered with excitement.

  “On the way, Sinead!”

  “That’s not Sinead,” Sam said.

  “Sounds like her.”

  “It’s her sister, Áine.”

  “Her t
win sister?” Isla said. “That’s why she sounds just the same.”

  “That’s about as far as the similarity goes,” he muttered.

  The door to the flat was ajar when they got out of the lift, so they tapped and walked in nervously to see Áine filling a kettle.

  “Hello, there,” came from behind, and Sam turned to find Sinead drying her hair with a towel, fresh from the shower.

  “Sorry. Bad timing.”

  “’Tis not,” she said. “Hello, me little flower.” Sinead bent down to give Isla a hug, watched intently by Áine.

  “You live in a posh house.”

  “I know,” said Sinead. “Áine bought it for me.” She winked at Sam. “This, Isla, is my twin sister.”

  “Hiya,” Áine said. “Heard a lot about you. D’ye want a bar?” Áine brandished a packet of Kit Kats.

  Isla bashfully shook her head.

  “I’d say you do, you’re just shy cos I’m new to ye. We’ll be fine in a while, you and me. Now come on and get a bar.”

  Curiously, Isla took the familiarity as it had been intended and walked forward and took a Kit Kat from Áine.

  “What d’ye say?” said Sam.

  “Never mind y’er oul fella, Isla. You and me will be fine without thank yous, thank you very much. Now come on, let’s see what’s on the telly.”

  She held out her hand and to Sam’s surprise, Isla took it. They walked off and Sinead and Sam had barely hugged hello when he heard the pair laughing from the other room.

  “You should have told me you were coming.”

  “Sorry. It’s great to see you, but it’s not just a social visit, so I didn’t want to phone.”

  Sinead stiffened just a little. Then her eyes fell and her poise relaxed. “At least you’re honest about it. Are you here to see me or her?” She nodded to the living room.

  “Both of you.”

  “Do you need Isla minded again?”

  “No, no, I’m not offloading, I just need someone I can trust.”

  “Right so. Are you staying long?”

  “Well, depends. I wondered if you’d like to come for dinner with us tonight? Maybe like the night in Gigha – some seafood somewhere? Bring herself if you want to.”

  “I’m sure she’d love a night with you, Sam.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “So maybe business first, pleasure later?”

  “I’ll need to plead with your other half for that.”

  “Áine!”

  The sister appeared at the doorway, brows raised in scornful inquiry.

  “Sam needs your help.”

  “No shit.”

  “Kids present,” Sinead said.

  “More than one.” She looked at Sam but pulled the door behind her.

  “I hear you’ve got a spaceship of tech here,” Sam said. “Was hoping for some guidance.”

  “Is this guidance going to end up with someone dead?”

  “Course not,” Sinead said and looked at Sam, who said nothing.

  Áine shook her head, unconvinced. Sinead’s eyes creased, the left side of her lips stretching.

  “All I want to do is look something up without anyone ever knowing I looked it up. That’s all.”

  Which was true.

  “Well, you can help with that, can’t you?” Sinead said.

  “Monkeys can help with that,” Áine replied. “It’s what other animals do with such information that concerns me.” She looked straight at Sam.

  “Make the world a safer place?” he said.

  “Listen to Kofi Annan.” Áine nodded her head in Sam’s direction.

  “Just give him a hand,” Sinead said sighing, “then we’ll all go out for tea.”

  Sinead disappeared and Sam heard a hairdryer blow before Áine stopped staring and started speaking.

  “C’mon so, the boss has spoken.”

  She led him through an incredible river-view lounge. Isla had almost disappeared into a golden shagpile rug as deep as a field of rapeseed. A short hallway led to a door with Mission Control etched into it. There were no windows inside, and the room was lit by blinking LEDs and server stacks. Áine pulled a cord that cast a soft light over three keyboards and tapped a screen, bringing it to life. She hammered away on the keyboard for a few minutes and eventually an input bar appeared.

  “Ok. This is a search engine. It’s not Google, but it’ll find anything you need to find. Whatever you’re doing, you’ll be dark – which means I’ll be protected from whatever the hell you’re up to. So fill your boots. Let me know when you’re done, and we’ll swab the place and get rid of your smell.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  Áine left the room without another word.

  Sam started with the easy stuff. He began with “mobile aerial platform” and spent ten minutes scrolling past cherry pickers and diggers on the backs of lorries. He added “drone” to the mix, then “military” and eventually “reconnaissance”. Then he got lost in cyberspace for almost an hour investigating the present capabilities of the military packaged into the size of a Snickers bar. Sam shook his head at the imagery that could be relayed by tiny silent devices that returned to their pods at the touch of a button using GPS. His mind reeled through the possibilities until he got an indication of the cost – tens of thousands of euro per unit.

  “We have a hungry young woman out here!” Sinead called at the door.

  He looked up at the clock. He’d become immersed in the drone stuff and hadn’t even looked at what he needed to find. He closed down the browser and reopened it, hammering in “dissident republican” then “manager”. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. There, in glorious colour, courtesy of a dozen newspapers, UTV and Sky News, were images of the next man on the list.

  Sam closed everything he could see to close and readied himself for a nice night in good company, but he remained distracted by the drones. He opened the door, with one more glance behind, and walked into bright, startling daylight. The sisters had given Isla a coat of make-up, the type of girly treat he had no capacity to provide. She radiated excitement as she anticipated his reaction – she was almost shivering.

  “Ah, Isla, you look so beautiful,” he said. “So grown-up, what age are you – twenty-five?”

  “No! That’s so old. I’m nineteen, Daddy!”

  “Wow, you look it darlin’.”

  Her smile was as wide as the Liffey itself.

  “We are at your disposal,” said Sinead, who for the first time that Sam could remember was wearing a dress. Áine appeared to have wilted and accepted the invitation too.

  Sam nodded appreciatively. “Why don’t we ask John along? It would be good to catch up with him.”

  “What do you want me to do with this?” The clerk’s brother stared at the screen. The video had ended. “You pair make me sound like some sort of weirdo who’s downloaded child porn.”

  “S’pose we do,” his sister said. “Never thought of that.”

  “Who’s the blade?”

  “When are you going to stop talking about women like that?”

  “What does she know about me?”

  “I’d say she knows everything.” Her brother’s face was blank. She wondered if he was capable of reaction.

  “Who is she?”

  “Someone who wanted me to do something illegal for them, and they used you as leverage to get me to do it.”

  Which was not entirely true, but it was close.

  “I got you in trouble?”

  “It’s done. Now you’ve got to help me limit the damage.”

  “What did they get you to do?”

  “There’s no benefit in you knowing. But they have me, and they have you by the balls, and unless we build in an insurance policy they will always have us.”

  “Have they got evidence on me?”

  “They’ve been rummaging around. I imagine it’s enough for you to go to jail for years. Oh, wait – I’m a lawyer, I know it’s enough for you t
o go to jail for years.” He stiffened at the prospect.

  “So what do you need me to do?”

  “Find her.” The clerk pointed at the screen.

  “How? If she’s some sort of—”

  “Agent? Spook?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s your problem, little brother. I’m sure you’ll work out a way cos if you don’t – you’re going to prison. And so am I.”

  John seemed to relish the company – particularly that of Isla, who coaxed a dormant or unrealised grandfather in him. He joked and played and made things with napkins, and he received sufficient reward for his efforts too. Isla responded with giggles and drawings and questions. All in all, it was a very easy evening in a typically expensive Dublin restaurant.

  Eventually John rose to excuse himself. Sam gave him five minutes and took the opportunity to follow. The jacks were down two flights of stairs and were comparatively dingy. He found the father drying his blue-veined paws beneath an incredibly noisy blower.

  “She’s a credit to you, Sam,” he shouted.

  “She’s taken a shine to you, anyway,” Sam shouted back.

  “That child is a breath of fresh air. Brings it all home a bit – what could have happened.” John gave up on the dryer and shook his hands before rubbing them, looking around himself conspiratorially. “How’s it all going?”

  “Well. Everything is going well. I wanted to say thank you for your help before.”

  “You have done more for me that I for you, Sam,” said the father.

  “I was paid for that. You were helping for better reasons.”

  “Perhaps not better, Sam, but for good reasons.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. So, just to be clear, dinner this evening is on me.”

  “Thank you.” The father nodded. Monetary gestures were of no impact beyond the regard they conveyed. “Now, you let me know if there is anything else I can do.”

  “Are you sure?” Sam asked warily.

  “I’m sitting in a house in Ballsbridge with a wife who does not like me and a daughter who barely grunts in my direction. I have money coming out my ears and few friends. If there is a purpose that can serve, then I am sure. Absolutely.”