Recovering Commando Box Set

by Finn Óg

  “What about ye, ye big lummox,” he called before embracing Sam.

  To Sinead the whole arrival had come as a shock and she stood straightening her hair and shirt.

  “That’s Danny.” Min gestured over his shoulder as he turned to the cockpit. “Hallo, wee lassie,” he said to Isla, who looked confused at first.

  “Isla, you remember Min?” Sam said.

  “Mini Marine.” Isla nodded.

  “C’mere and gimme knuckles, wee darlin’,” he said, and Isla obliged.

  “And this is Sinead,” Sam announced.

  “Sorry for y’er trouble, sweetheart,” Min said, shaking her hand and holding her by the elbow, looking long into her eyes as he assessed the dynamic. “Lovely to meet ye.”

  “Min and I worked together for years,” Sam said. “He’s an old pal.”

  “You served together?” Sinead said. “You’re a former marine?”

  “No former, am still at it, darlin’. Somebody’s got tae mind the young wans,” he said, nodding at Danny.

  “Well, you’re just in time for dinner,” she said.

  “Smashin’, darlin’.” Min sat down. “Danny, y’ev an hower tae yersel’, son, but dinnae crash that bloody boat!”

  The coxswain nodded, took the bowline from Sam and puttered off round the corner.

  “So, Sinead, Isla, tell me all about yersels – school, work, music, boys?” He winked at Isla.

  “No way,” she replied.

  As rum was poured and tails were split, the chat came easy in the hole on the Isle of Mull.

  “So we know who she is,” the clerk said. “Now how do we find her?”

  “Go to Kent?” her brother asked, devoid of sarcasm – of which he was incapable.

  “She’s not in Kent. She’s here.”

  “Start where you last saw her.”

  “She’ll not be there again.”

  “Car reg?”

  “If I had one, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  “I would.”

  “What?”

  “Rape the DVLA database. Get an address.”

  “You can get into the driver licensing database?”

  “Yes,” he said, not boasting – not able to. Just stating a fact.

  “Have you done it before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “To prove old methods pointless.”

  “You don’t elaborate much, do you?”

  “I was chatting to mates about intelligence gathering in the olden days.”

  “Online?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not chatting.”

  He ignored her.

  “Well?”

  “Someone said that’s how the IRA used to target police and prison officers.”

  “How?”

  “They had someone in the driver licensing office or the sorting office of the post.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t say on a driver’s licence that a cop’s a cop or a screw’s a screw.”

  “They knew the names of the cops and warders from being in jail or from being arrested. All they wanted was the address.”

  “Oh.”

  “Old-fashioned.”

  “So what was your contribution to this chat?”

  “Hacked the database while we were talking.”

  “To prove what?”

  “Humans aren’t necessary.”

  “In intelligence gathering?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you’re smart?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “I am smart. That’s all.” Not boasting. Not able. Just a fact.

  “So how would you find that woman?”

  “Meadow?”

  “Yeah, like, duh?”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Ok,sorry, but what would you do?”

  “Parents.”

  “What?”

  “She’s young. Parents still probably alive. She maybe speaks to them.”

  “How do you find them?”

  “Look for databases in Kent, get an address, hop on the IP, have a look at their email, maybe their hard drive.”

  “As easy as that?”

  He sat silent.

  “Then what?”

  “Then, if she’s there, follow it back the way.”

  “To wherever she is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you do that for me?”

  “Who is Meadow?”

  “Possibly intelligence.”

  “Police?”

  “Maybe, maybe more.”

  “How much more?”

  “A fair bit more.”

  “I’ve no interest in hacking a policewoman.”

  “Then you won’t like what she might be.”

  “If she’s higher up, that’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “It’s …” he shrugged, “harder.”

  “You’d do this cos it’s a challenge?”

  The brother just nodded.

  “You’re seriously twisted, you know that?”

  “Think I might hit the sack and let you two boys talk salty.”

  “We might have bin marines, darlin’, but there was precious little water most a’ the places we were sent tae.”

  “I’m too pissed to imagine what you pair got up to.” She smiled, and to Sam’s surprise she leaned forward and gave Min a kiss on the cheek – which was more than she offered him. “Lovely to meet you, Min.”

  “You too, sweetheart. I’ll be away aff by the mornin’. Mebbe see ye again before long, aye.”

  “I’ll try not to wake Isla,” she said, holding her finger perpendicular to her lips, wobbly, but not quite messy.

  “I might rob y’er man here for a wee burn in the speedboat whenever that long wet streak a’ pish gets back here.”

  “You lads do whatever you want, I’ll be dead to the world,” she said as she pulled the hatch closed with a rattle and a grind. “Oh, sorry, shush.” She giggled.

  Min waited until Sinead had stopped bouncing around below before he turned to Sam. “Ye no – like … bunkin’ up, then?”

  “She stays in with Isla.”

  “Oh?”

  Sam stayed silent.

  “She’s a looker.”

  Sam remained inscrutable.

  “Got tae get back on the bike sometime, Sammy boy.”

  “Let’s not start talking about riding,” Sam said.

  “I was nae goin tae.”

  “Where’s your mate?”

  “If ye turn on the mast headlight, he’ll scoot over. Told him to hang fire on Iona.”

  Sam reached in and flicked the toggle. “Where we going?”

  “Ye not want a wee burn in the new boat? She’s a beast of a thing.”

  “So long as we’re not away for long. Neither of them can hold her off if the anchor drags.”

  “Safe as houses in here, but we’ll no’ be long, Sam.”

  The growl of the engines was absent this time and only the lights betrayed Danny’s arrival.

  “She’s very quiet.”

  “He’s showing aff. That’s her on electric propulsion.”

  “No prop noise,” Sam remarked.

  “No prop.”

  “Oh?”

  “Jet. For rivers. She can be dropped by heli, motored as far as ye want, then switched to this stealth-like mode. Ye canny hear the motor even when y’er sittin’ on it. Danny’s probably mindin’ no’ tae wake the wee un.”

  “You couldn’t wake her with a hammer when she’s been at sea all day.”

  “She’s a lovely young lassie, Sam.”

  “She is.”

  Both men prepared to jump aboard as the menacing boat pulled up.

  “Danny, sit y’ersel’ in the cockpit here and keep an eye on this fine vessel. I’m going tae remind this man what it’s like tae have toys tae play wi’.”

  Danny stepped onto Siân as ordered while Min took
the helm of the other boat and they slid silently out of the hole. Once beyond the echo, Min offered Sam the wheel, knocked a switch to disengage the electric jet and reverted to petrol.

  “Where do ye want to go?” Sam asked.

  “Let’s listen to Mendelssohn.”

  Sam plotted a course from memory, turned north and opened up the engine. His neck strained at the acceleration, holding onto the wheel to stay upright. Min had anticipated the surge and smiled knowingly.

  “Told ye! She’s a bloody animal!”

  Within ten minutes they could just make out the black circle of Fingal’s Cave on Staffa. Sam had always thought of it as an island – many others argued it was a rock. Regardless, it had held an odd allure for the German composer; his overture – the Hebrides, inspired by its loneliness and isolation; a tribute to the natural sounds of the rise and fall of the sea.

  “Long time since I was in there,” he shouted as the boat was depowered.

  Min leaned forward and touched a screen on the console. “C’mon, we’ll just about fit.”

  “No way,” Sam said. “She’s too big to go in.”

  “Watch this,” Min said, and tapped a few icons on the screen. “Take y’er paws off the wheel, pal.”

  Sam lifted his hands as if the helm was hot and watched in astonishment as the engine switched itself off and the boat navigated itself through the rock-strewn entrance and into the chiming cavity. Min fired on a few lights that bounced and rippled around the stunning ceiling. Sam looked up and round at the beautiful rocks – a mirror image of those on the Giant’s Causeway on the Antrim Coast; a different country with a sister geology. Min tapped and swiped and the boat held itself in position.

  “This is amazing.”

  “Aye. Well, so’s what you’ve been doing.” Min’s tone had changed dramatically.

  Sam looked straight at him, worry creeping through his shoulder blades and into his neck. “What?”

  “I’m with ye, pal. Never worry about that. But Rob, the opso, he’s bin lifted.”

  “Shit.” Sam closed his eyes.

  “Dinnae panic. He wis a’ the end of his rope wi’ it all anyway. He wis lookin’ out a’ the job. He’d had enough.”

  “But – arrested?”

  “Kinda. From what I can gather – which is nae much, by the way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Cos I’ve bin questioned mysel’. He’d bin in touch.”

  “How did that go?”

  “They’ve nothin’ – nothin’ on him and nothin’ on me. It’ll be fine. But I’ve tae tell ye somethin’.”

  “What?”

  “They’re on this, and in a big way. You make a wrang move, y’er for the clink. No question.”

  “That it?”

  “You know what Mendelssohn was on about when he wrote thon choon?”

  “I do.”

  “Aye, well, isolating y’ersel’ and that kid’s no gonna dae much good.”

  “Min—”

  “Naw, Sam, hear me oot. You and me’s old pals and a’ve earned the right to say ma piece. You should take that lassie you’ve met and ye should enjoy a second chance. No tae many gets wan.”

  “You’ve made your point.”

  “And Greencastle.”

  “What?”

  “That’s where the bomb came from.”

  “Fuck, Min, you know how to turn a corner. Greencastle, Donegal?”

  “Aye.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Dissidents involved in drug smuggling. Two brothers. Right up your street too.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “By sea, sunshine. They bring the snort in by sea.”

  The opso stared at his Crocs. His room was as good as he could hope for given that he was confined. Quarters were better than holding cells, not that those had been used for nearly two decades now. They’d been rough then and were no better now. Perhaps the only reason he hadn’t been sent there was because they were full of bits of kit held by the spanners and the techs, as well as old computers and monitors that were yet to be cleansed and destroyed.

  The opso looked around. It was a far cry from what he’d been offered when he first joined. He had an en suite, for a start, he had a tiny kitchenette, a nice desk with a lamp. His mattress was his own – purchased from a real civilian shop and devoid of skin-piercing springs. Gone were the frisky pictures torn from mucky magazines. Instead, his own photography – panoramics, sunrises and sets over the local scenery reminded him of his love that had grown for this godforsaken landscape. He wondered whether he would ever walk the hills again as a free man. Unlikely. They’d find some way to bang him up.

  Yet and all, he couldn’t lament the loss of his freedom. The time had come. No one else need feel the grief he’d endured as a young man. If only they’d moved sooner to wipe out the leadership of the remains of the paramilitaries – the most bitter and manipulative of the dregs of the war. If only they’d ignored the deals done by the spooks and the civil servants perhaps there wouldn’t have been a bomb in Ballycastle.

  And then a notion occurred to him: cover up. That’s what Libby’s lot were best at. It made sense that the deeper the shit, the greater the need to have the real story concealed. The logic was convoluted but it was there. If he could find a way to let Sam finish the group, the spooks would have to conceal the truth – exposure would be too embarrassing. The opso needed to make sure nobody got to Sam before he was finished. That was his best hope.

  24

  Seventy-five nautical miles, six knots minimum cruising speed, thirteen hours max.

  Sam was worried for the opso. Rob had done him a favour, but Sam couldn’t help but feel that his old colleague had failed. He’d known about the bomb vehicle, so he should have forced its deactivation. No question. While Sam appreciated the opso’s attempts at repentance, there was part of him that felt he deserved his place in military prison. Rob would survive in the glasshouse, and he’d keep his counsel.

  Sam was beginning to feel the wind at his back. He now had the information he required and Min was adamant they hadn’t yet identified him – in fact, Min said the questioning made it clear they had no idea who was removing the dissidents.

  “John, it’s Sinead.”

  Sam watched her make a call for him.

  “I’m well, thanks, and you?”

  She’s so polite, Sam thought, this could last forever.

  “And how’s Kaitlin?”

  Spoilt little bitch.

  “Ah, I’m sorry. It’s gonna take time.”

  It’s gonna take a lobotomy.

  “And Julianne?”

  Out the back, digging for gold.

  “Yes, they’re fine – all grand. Happy out, actually.”

  Sam suddenly felt guilty for his ungenerous thoughts towards John’s dreadful family.

  “Grand, grand. So, John, your friend and mine was wondering if you’d had that delivery yet?”

  Sam looked to sea and hoped hard.

  “Ah, good, he’ll be pleased. Then would it be possible to send it on for us?”

  Jurisdictional advantage – no border to cross with odd military-grade equipment, no checks, less hassle.

  “Ok, well, we’ll let you know where. Apparently they’re keen to get going, so they’ll be in touch. And, John, thanks a million.”

  Sam smiled.

  “Take care and God bless,” she said, before looking up at Sam. “So how does he know where to send this stuff – whatever it is?”

  “Put your phone down below, sure.”

  Sinead did as she was bid and returned to the cockpit.

  “Coordinates,” Sam said.

  “And how does he get those?”

  “They’ll be with him already. He checks his old-fashioned pigeon hole every day.”

  “I see,” she said. Her tone had changed.

  “What?”

  “You’d planned all this out.”

  “What?”

  “
When you asked me on holiday.”

  “No,” he said.

  “No?” she looked at him, almost accusingly.

  “Really. No,” he replied.

  “Coincidence, then?”

  Sam hadn’t intended to explain everything – fewer people equalled lower risk, but now he felt he had to. “I didn’t bring you as cover,” he said.

  “What did you bring me as?”

  “A friend.”

  “A friend,” she sighed as she repeated the response.

  “Min said he wanted a chat. I’ve wanted you to meet him for a while. He’s, like …”

  “Your bessie?”

  “What?”

  “Your best friend.”

  Sam thought for a moment. “He’s a good mate, but …”

  “But what?”

  “But, well, you might be my best friend.”

  “Oh,” she said, shock on her face. Perhaps she wilted a little. She had got more than he was used to giving.

  “I didn’t know what Min wanted to talk about. I thought he maybe needed a hand with something. Instead, he was offering me help with something.”

  “I assume it’s something you’re not going to tell me about?”

  “Not that I don’t want to, just that it’s best for you if that’s the way it is.”

  “So Min’s sending the coordinates.”

  “Aye.”

  “John’s not technical. Will he know what they are?”

  “I’m hoping he can work out what coordinates are for. Min’s got access to internal and external postal systems and has a small army at his disposal. Literally. He’ll manage to get a message out undetected.”

  “Smart.”

  “But not thought-through or contrived or pre-planned.”

  “Ok, so where next?”

  “I’m going on a drug run.”

  “Well, Sam Ireland, life around you is never dull.”

  Two days was all it took.

  “You found a meadow in a field?” the clerk asked.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. What’s she doing – living in a field?”

  “It’s not a field,” her brother said.

  “What is it then?”

  “Google Maps has to blur out security installations on their satellite imagery.”

  “Oh?”

  “Otherwise the MoD would shut it down.”