Before: Sam Ireland Thriller Book 4 (Sam Ireland Thriller Series)

by Finn Óg

  She woke at four o’clock to a persistent buzzing. It was dark outside and she hadn’t pulled the curtains, which exacerbated her fear. She creaked painfully to the intercom panel, terrified that it might be her assailants but more scared that it could be the Guards with the news.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s just me, darlin’,” the gruff Scot’s voice almost overwhelming her with relief.

  “Min,” she whispered, “come up.” She pressed the button and crouched, wincing, to remove the rubber wedge. She opened the door and waited for the lift.

  She heard footsteps and saw his burly form emerge from the elevator. She stepped into the hallway and did something she hadn’t done before. She reached for a man she barely knew and began to cry uncontrollably, gushing her thanks for his arrival, sobbing into his neck and shoulder, clinging tight, refusing to let go.

  “What have they done to you?” Min said, over and over. He stroked her hair and allowed her to rest against him, there, in the hallway.

  She felt his tenderness and thought of Sam – wondering whether he was capable of similar softness; wishing it for her sister, willing her to live to feel its comfort.

  “They’ve got Sinead,” she sobbed. “It’s been two days. She would never vanish like that – not when I need her. There’s just no way.”

  Min said nothing, sensing the need to wait and listen.

  “It’s all to do with that bloody phone. They wanted it – whatever was on it. I should have told them where I dumped it, but I just didn’t think. I’ve led her into this, and she won’t even be able to tell them where to go to search for it.”

  He led her gently in a crab-like walk into the apartment and sat with her on the couch, cradling her head and rubbing her shoulder.

  “Can you find them – can you get her back?” she pleaded.

  “We need to tell the police,” he said gently.

  “I did. They don’t care. She hasn’t been missing for long enough.”

  “But did you tell them about the attack? That she’s likely to have been abducted?” he pressed gently.

  She stiffened. She had hoped Min would persuade her that kidnap was unlikely – that there would be comfort and chinks of light to let hope creep in, but realised that wasn’t the way these men were built. They were realists, always erring toward worst-case scenario.

  “No,” she admitted. “Sinead’s so cross with me as it is, I didn’t want it to lead to Sam. If he got arrested because of all this, that would be the final straw.”

  “Surely there’d be a way of explaining it without linking to Sam? And that’s another thing,” Min said. “We’ll need to tell him. He’ll have to know.”

  Áine hadn’t really considered that – Sam’s investment in Sinead’s welfare. “But what if …”

  “They’re not after him. I’ve been up and down it with every intelligence check I can think of. He’s not on their radar at all. Not even a blip.”

  “He ran for nothing,” Áine said, not a question – just a statement reflecting the irony of their situation.

  “We’ll tell the police first thing,” Min said. “There’ll be a skeleton response staff at this time of the morning, so we’ll call at nine. Before that, let’s see what we can find.”

  “How?” Áine said. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Will there be anyone awake overnight at the convent? Is there a night shift?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t care. I can call anyway.”

  “OK, give them a buzz ,” Min said. “See if there’s any CCTV that might show this pimp woman.”

  “I don’t think there are cameras at the convent.”

  “Worth asking anyway. And we’ll get the CCTV from this building too. See if we can work out how the pair that attacked you got in here and what way they left after.”

  “I can break that from my system here,” Áine said, glad of the focus and structure.

  “Also – did you plug the madam’s phone into your computer?”

  “No, I was careful as hell with it,” she said. “But I do have a rig that could cope with it – keeping it vanilla and offline.” She placed her hand on his chest, pushing herself upright.

  “And you dumped it?”

  “Yeah, it’ll be gone now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It was days ago. It was a bin in the park. They’ll have emptied it by now.”

  “Even with the lockdown?”

  “I just assumed …”

  “Assume nothing, hen. Assume nothing.” Min rose. “Where’s this bin, then?”

  By five thirty Min was soaked through with sweat and standing, for the second time, at the apartment door. He wasn’t smiling but was shaking his hand in which rested a handset. “This the one?”

  “Unbelievable,” Áine muttered, stepping aside to allow him in. “You switched off location?”

  “Couldn’t. It’s dead as Hector. Battery’s puffed.”

  They walked without thinking to the control room. Min pulled the light switch with a familiarity Áine noted and from which she drew an odd warmth and pleasure. Then they sat, her pulling a cable from a bank of leads; him drawing a keyboard and mouse towards himself.

  “Let’s see what’s so bloody important, then,” he muttered.

  It took a few moments for a battery icon to appear, empty, followed by a red bar. “If we can’t get the location switched off immediately, they could ping it to this apartment. They could come back,” she tried to keep the tremble from her voice.

  “I’m banking on it,” Min said. Áine shot him a glance – part fear, part awe. “Don’t worry, darlin’. You’ll no’ be here if they come. I’ll be the one to greet them.”

  “Thank you,” she said, wondering whether she might already have … don’t be stupid, she told herself.

  “Now, you’ll have to tell the big man.”

  “What?”

  “Call Danny. Speak to Sam. Let him know. He’ll be mad as a bull wi’ sore balls if you don’t let him know what’s happening. And that’s no place to find yourself, sweetheart. No place at all.”

  Áine pulled over the IP phone, looked at the Post-it she had scribbled the number on, and dialled. The ring went on forever.

  “Yes?” a Caribbean accent croaked groggily.

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes,” the voice said again. “Who is this?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you. It’s Áine, Sinead’s sister. I’m looking for Sam?”

  “Not here,” the voice sounded defensive.

  “It’s ok, it’s all ok. He’s not being looked for – we know that for sure. I just need to speak to him. Something’s happened.”

  “But he’s not here,” Daniel said.

  “I know he’s there. Honestly, it’s all ok.”

  Min leaned over and took the phone from Áine. “Dan, it’s Min, I’m with her. What she says is right enough. The danger has passed. There’s naebody looking for him.”

  “Min?” Daniel said. “You are with Sam’s woman?”

  Áine could overhear what was being said, but knew it was no time to rail against the possessive.

  “Aye,” Min said, “with her sister. It’s complicated, but we do need to speak tae him.”

  “But,” Daniel said, “it’s not possible. Sam is gone.”

  17

  “What do you mean, gone?” Áine’s headache, which she’d become less aware of since Min’s arrival, returned as she’d listened second-hand to the transatlantic conversation.

  “Ach, I wouldnae worry. Sam just, like, pisses aff frae time to time.”

  “That much I do know,” she said without warmth. “If he’s vanished, then there’s no point in wasting time on him.”

  “You’re not a fan?”

  “No reflection on you,” she muttered. “He’s just … pissed her about a bit. And, as you say, fecked off from time to time.”

  “He’s a good bloke, you know. He wouldn’t do that deliberately, or if it
wasn’t necessary.”

  “Well, you would say that, you’re his best mate.”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it, though.”

  Áine turned her shoulders painfully towards him, and saw that Min was sincere. She felt strongly that he was an honest person, a man who dealt in facts, no matter how unwelcome those facts might be. She relented, a little. “Sinead’s been through more than a person should go through in life.” She stared again at the screens, uneasy at her betrayal, desperate to explain herself to this solid and reassuring man. “She’s … she needs minding.”

  “There’s two of them in it, then,” Min said.

  “I know about his wife,” Áine said. “I know she was murdered and he was overseas. You were probably with him.”

  “Naw,” Min almost laughed. “We parted ways in our service just after he met Shannon. Sam went AWOL, got busted. I stayed in the service.”

  “I know.”

  “What?”

  “I know – she died, Sam left, you stayed.”

  “No, no, this was before. Sam was a rare breed – bootneck first, later an officer. That’s no’ often that happens, hen. The men loved that. They’d have done anything for Sam, so he was the boy they selected for a fair whack of difficult shit. Then on one op, he disappeared. He sent us all aff safely. We had no choice but tae see through our orders while he vanished. Next thing he pops up in Cyprus, and before we know it he’s hitched and ditched.”

  “Married?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ditched?”

  “Back to bootneck – a marine again. No fancy smancy operative any more.”

  “Aah,” Áine nodded, the pennies dropping like an arcade shelf finally pushed to its limit. “You two were special forces.”

  “Aye. Has he no’ said?”

  “Not to me, but it makes sense.”

  “I just assumed …”

  “Assume nothing, Min.”

  He snorted. “Touché.”

  “Does Sinead know?”

  Min thought for a moment. “I … guess so. I don’t know. When I first met her I had some fancy toys, so I just thought he’d have filled her in, you know? But Sam can be funny like that.”

  “Secretive?”

  “No, not really, just he never seems to think anybody else would care, if that makes sense.”

  “Care that he was a killing machine?”

  “Oh, aye, here we go.”

  “What?”

  “How do you sleep at night? How do you live with what you’ve done, etcetera, etcetera?”

  Shame ran over Áine in a hot wave. She stammered, “No, Min, I don’t mean—”

  “It’s inevitable. People are bound to wonder. Least you’re straight about it. Most folks beat around the bush a bit before they get to the real question.”

  “Which is?”

  “How many people have you killed? What’s it like?”

  There was a long silence.

  “And?”

  “I don’t know, and it’s fucking horrendous. But this isn’t helping find your sister, is it?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m glad it’s said. I hate when things is left unsaid.”

  Áine found herself smiling. She lifted the madam’s phone. It was still too dead to switch on.

  “Let’s get a look at this building’s cameras, aye?”

  18

  Min watched Áine closely as she navigated her system. She could feel his occasional nod in gentle appreciation as she broke through two firewalls and entered the frames of a central security agency based in County Cork.

  “Nicely done,” Min said, “they’re a big outfit.”

  “This company has the contract for a lot of real estate in Ireland, even the big tech companies, so they’re not flahoolick with their systems.”

  “Flahoolick?”

  “Careless? Some words are hard to explain.”

  “Casual?”

  “Yeah,” Áine said, a little surprised. “But it can mean generous too. It’s just one of those words. Doesn’t matter.”

  “They might not be shabby but it still didn’t take you long to get in.”

  “Well, I used to work for some of those big tech companies.”

  “Used to?” Min asked, as Áine’s hands danced over the keyboard.

  “Another little something to thank your best friend for,” Áine said.

  “What d’ye mean?”

  “Sam was running around Libya a while back, probably exterminating all in his path, and he got me to do a bit of back-end work for him. Through the jigs and reels it got me pinged by US intelligence and sacked by my firm.”

  “Oh, shit,” Min said.

  “Oh, shit, is right. That was a hundred-and-fifty-grand-a-year job.”

  “No, I mean, you’ll be on a watch list.”

  “Ah, yeah, never mind the top job I lost – I’m on a watch list.”

  “It’s a shame about the job, agreed. Sorry. But if you got flagged by the NSA, then you’ll be watched.”

  “And you think I don’t know that?” Áine said, offence rising in her like heartburn.

  Min looked exasperated. “But how do you function knowing they’re watching your keystrokes?”

  “I make sure they can’t,” Áine replied.

  “Function?”

  “Watch my keystrokes.”

  “Look, hen, even if you’ve VPN’d this kit to hell and back they’ll find a way if they think you’re a threat.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What?”

  “Tell you what, instead of me explaining all this to you, why don’t you get one of your military weirdo hacks to see if they can find me? You run an intelligence unit, right?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then let’s see what you can see.”

  “Ok,” Min muttered, confused.

  “And Min?”

  “Aye?”

  “Call me hen again and you’ll be the bull with sore balls.”

  Min was in the kitchen making a call when the madam’s phone lit up. Áine reached forward and lifted it, watching the battery symbol migrate to a bitten apple. She quickly popped the device – cable attached, into her black jammer pouch, the lining of which, in theory, should leave its transceiver redundant. The door opened behind her.

  “We’ve got life.”

  “What’s the wallet for?”

  “It’s supposed to jam the signal. I bought it from China, so it might work and it might not.”

  “I kinda want them to come back for the phone,” Min said.

  “I know, but I want to see what’s what first.”

  Min looked at the screen bank as Áine ran software to crack the phone’s code. “Why do you have all this kit?” he asked.

  “Long story,” she said.

  The characters went from underscores to stars and the phone opened itself to them. “What do you want to look at first? The images and videos are filth.” Áine shifted uneasily remembering what she had seen when she had opened it with Sinead. “Maybe social media?”

  “Aye, might be the best way to find out who these bastards are.”

  The phone had its passwords saved, but required a fingerprint, so for the second time Áine ran a programme against it, which took longer than the first.

  “I don’t understand how you have this kind of gear. I’ve never seen these before.” Min nodded at the icons on her computer dock.

  “That’s cos I built them my own self,” Áine replied. “And unless you’re employing me, you won’t have seen them. That’s the plan, anyway.”

  “Are ye a snooper?”

  “A what?”

  “People paying to have you snoop on their other halves.”

  “That sort of thing has been requested. But, no, that’s not what I do.”

  “What, then?”

  “I mess with code to put the time in. I’m employed by big tech to build security systems. The best way to build the
m well is to break them. I have a team of developers who stack it all up, then I come in and knock it all down again. They fail better the next time.”

  “Ok, and then you keep the software?”

  “I refine it – quietly, just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case Sam makes a bollocks of it and I get fired again. It’s good to have some intellectual property that might keep the wolf from the door. I don’t know how or why I might use the software, but it keeps my hand in and makes me employable if I can talk about what works and what doesn’t. And, look …”

  Facebook opened on the screens.

  “It comes in handy.”

  Min shook his head gently. She swiped and scrolled at speed, forcing him to hold out his hand.

  “Hang on, no’ so fast. What the hell is this?”

  They were looking at images of young people in various states of repose, all without essential garments.

  “Agh, no, child porn?”

  “No,” Áine said decisively, “look at the age of them.”

  She rolled down the page at speed, so as not to intrude further into what were obviously private moments.

  “They’re teenagers – still kids,” Min said.

  “But it’s not teen porn,” Áine said. “Look.”

  A crafted post appeared: We know what you’ve been up to in your bedroom, dirty little boy. Here’s the video. Two thousand euro and this goes away for good. No money and it gets sent to all your FB friends.

  “Fucking bastards,” Min said.

  Áine had already opened another screen and was typing a name.

  “Who’s that?”

  “The kid they were blackmailing.”

  “How fast do you read?”

  “Young eyes.”

  “I didn’t even see his name.”

  “You’d want to pay attention, then,” Áine sniped, and immediately felt the need to moderate her tone. “I know this isn’t your normal area of expertise.”

  A page full of results appeared, and the news drew their hearts into their boots.

  The family of the Durham teenager whose body was recovered from the River Wear have appealed to young people to keep themselves safe online amid reports he was being blackmailed. It’s believed images of the boy had been circulated on various social media platforms in the days before his death.