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

by Finn Óg

  “Busy,” Fran said. “Look at the cars outside at this time of night.”

  “Maybe it’s a mechanic’s? They could be waiting for work to be done.”

  “I hope so, brother, otherwise you’re facing at least twelve people inside.”

  Min made his way into the industrial estate, keeping an eye on the format of the units. For the most part the buildings were uniform and boxy with either windows or shutters, depending on whether they wanted to display their wares or protect them from theft. He looked up, but the roofs were uniformly metal and sloping. A flat roof could present a skylight or opportunity but none of the buildings offered a way in from above.

  He walked around the back of the building, remaining at a distance, seeking any concealed cameras, but saw only one – covering the entire car park with a poor-quality floodlight on a high pole. That didn’t mean there were no other cameras, he reminded himself. There had been a time when he had been expert in using covert imagery – along with Sam. Back then they’d have been directed in by staff who watched endless hours of footage for what often amounted to an intense five-minute window of violent activity.

  As satisfied as he was going to be, he crept in closer. He crossed the car park under the eaves of the surrounding terrace of units, stopping short of the corner and staring into the gloom as he waited for his vision to adjust to the lack of light. He panned across the gable of the shuttered building. It was about a hundred feet wide and fifty feet long. There were two shutters and a lot of bare concrete wall. Down the side of it he traced across, searching for what he felt must surely be there. It took a few moments but his eyes came to rest on a darker oblong shape: the door. Shutters, invariably, would be closed from the inside – access and egress was usually achieved elsewhere.

  He stood for another few minutes, listening, hunting for any crack of light emitting from the building, but could find none. Perhaps it was empty. Maybe the men had left. Maybe they had never been there at all. He decided that he’d done his appreciation – way in, way out – and should refrain from overthinking it. He walked briskly forward and tugged his jumper cuff over his hand and began pulling the door handles on a few cars. Two alarms started wailing and he walked calmly down the side of the building, beyond the door and into the darkness, where he waited.

  The result was telling, but disappointing. Min had hoped the door would open and an inspection of the vehicles would follow. Instead, someone – somewhere, used the remotes to disable the alarms and double lock both cars.

  Min’s heart rate rose a little as he again hunted around above him and to the sides – worried that he was being watched from within. Most commercial cameras, he knew, gave off a deliberate low light as a preventative measure – a series of red dots or a gentle green glow to tell potential thieves that the property was being monitored. If there was a camera on him, it was higher grade – and hidden – which suggested a more sophisticated reason for the security. Again Min counselled himself against overthinking. Most scenarios were more straightforward than they appeared. Most scenarios.

  He nudged around with his boot until he found a stone large enough to achieve what he wanted, and walked quickly back to the parked cars. Selecting a van – which he hoped would be full of tools or equipment worth protecting, he smashed the side window and leaned in, found the door lever and pulled the driver’s door open, setting off the alarm. Then he reached back a little and triggered the sliding door, pushing it back hard and loud, hearing it judder on its guide rails as he returned to his station not far from the building’s side door.

  Within thirty seconds the frame around it lit up and he heard a key insert and turn at a high level, then another lower down. The door opened in, folding out a stream of yellow light, making him edge instinctively further from it. A figure leaned out, hands pressed against the sides of the door frame, and looked both ways before retracting. Then two people emerged quickly from the building. One stepped out and turned to face him directly, the other moved around to the front of the building.

  Min stood with his back to the wall, staring at the figure less than twenty feet away, silhouetted but apparently looking straight back at him. He looked about six feet tall, broad at the shoulders, and remained completely motionless. Min knew the man’s night vision wouldn’t have kicked in – the light inside was too bright, and that meant he remained in the safety of a pool of blackness. It offered little comfort, though, given his exposure.

  The van alarm stopped. Min heard the side door draw closed again, the driver’s door followed, then footsteps. The second man retraced his steps and appeared at the corner behind the man standing sentry in the door light. “Don’t think they got away with anything.” Min noted the English accent. “Scally bastards.”

  The second man turned into the building again, but the silhouette stood for a few more silent seconds, eyes front, before taking a pace backwards and turning firmly to the light. Min stared hard at the figure as he began to move back inside. The man’s face turned again in Min’s direction, causing his heart to stop for a split second. The man had a wide, long unkempt beard and a tight woollen hat. Then the body vanished into the light and pulled the door behind him, and Min listened as only one of the two locks was rattled home. Then the light went off again, leaving the area in complete darkness, and blurs floating in front of his eyes.

  But he knew what he’d seen.

  The man who had stood staring was, unmistakably, Sam Ireland.

  32

  “What did you just say?” Áine might have had time to calm down while Min and Fran were away but she was about to re-enter orbit.

  “Sam’s in there.”

  “Is this some sort of feckin’ joke?”

  Fran was standing at Min’s side. He knew how to use his mouth, but he also knew when to keep it shut.

  “I caused a disturbance outside. I was planning on someone coming out and leaving a chance for me to get in, but he stood there on guard, like, staring over towards me. I dunno. I just don’t know.”

  “Sam’s at sea, Min. There’s no way he could be back. Come on, like, he couldn’t be back. He couldn’t be there. He just can’t be. You’re wrong. You must be.”

  “Mebbe.” Min closed his eyes and shook his head gently.

  “Why did you two not stay there? Should you not be finding another way in?”

  “Something’s not right.”

  “You think!”

  “I need you to work something out.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Listen to me. There is nothing I could achieve there that isn’t likely to cause more problems. There’s a call I need to make and something I need to do – and I need to do it quick cos we either get the police involved or we don’t, and I just don’t know which it is yet.”

  “It’s get the police involved!” Áine screamed.

  “Work out how far it is from Dominica to Ireland – exactly how far.”

  “What?” Áine shouted. “There’s no way it can be Sam. And if it is, and he’s tied up in this I’ll bloody…”

  “You’re not seriously thinking he’s involved with them?” Min stared at her.

  “No, cos he’s not there!”

  “Just see if there’s any flights operating.”

  “I could just e-mail him and ask,” Áine snarked.

  “No, there’s something…”

  “You don’t even believe yourself. It’s obviously not me who needs to rest.”

  “Fran, look up AIS and see what ships have made the journey recently. Do all of it now,” he ordered. “We need to work out what the hell is happening here.”

  “Dominica to Dublin is three and a half thousand nautical miles.”

  Min’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, calculating. “Even if he was doing ten knots, that would take him two weeks, and there’s no way he’s been doing a steady ten knots.”

  “Because it’s not fucking him! You saw someone else.”

  Min ignored her and turned to Fran. “Wh
at’s the fastest cargo ship do?”

  “About eighteen knots if they’re in a real serious hurry.”

  “What’s that work out at?” He turned to Áine.

  “It’s still eight or nine days minimum. And that’s just to get to the dock. I’m telling you, Min,” she softened very slightly, “you’re wrong. It can’t be him. And it’s hurricane season – he’s not going to cross the Atlantic with Isla with that hanging over them. It’s just not him.”

  “Isla,” Min said absently. “Get Daniel on the phone.”

  Áine stared at him. “Did you get a bang on the head?”

  “Please, just make the call,” he said.

  Áine stomped into the control room and emerged with the IP phone to her ear. She listened for a moment and then handed it to Min. He listened to the ringtone and, once again, a groggy answer.

  “Yeah?”

  “Danny, it’s Min.”

  Áine started to pace, staring at him in the reflection of the huge windows against the dawn outside. Fran fell into the sofa, bemused.

  “I’m good mate, I’m good. Listen, I need to get to the point, pal. When exactly did Sam leave?”

  Áine turned to look straight at him. He held her gaze.

  “Right. And Isla – she went with him?”

  Min listened and nodded at Áine, who threw up her arms in an I told you so gesture.

  “And, Danny, did he go on the boat?”

  Min listened and nodded again before his expression changed to one of keen interest. “You’re on his boat now? What d’ye mean?”

  His face was inscrutable for a moment, then he shook his head repeatedly at Áine. She covered her mouth. Fran leaned forward.

  Min listened intently, eyes now on the far wall. He held out his open hand and spoke slowly and deliberately. “So, what boat did he leave on?”

  He covered the end of the phone and whispered urgently to Áine. “Caribbean Symphony, a cruise liner – look up its top speed.” He returned to the phone. “Danny, what was his plan? And was he upset or … angry?” Min looked at Áine again. “Naw, man, she’s missing – that’s the problem. We’re trying tae find her. Look, I don’t know what’s going on here at all, but as soon as I do I’ll call you straight back, ok? Honestly, I’ll let ye know as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Thirty knots, top speed. So, even at that, it would have taken most of six days,” Áine announced, falling into a chair.

  “It’s never going to do top speed,” Fran said. “The operators will be too miserable to burn extra fuel.”

  “So it can’t be him – it’s impossible,” Áine repeated.

  “It would be impossible,” Min said with a grimace, “except that he left three days before we last spoke to Danny.”

  “What! Why didn’t Danny say that before?”

  “We didn’t ask when he’d left – we didn’t even ask how. And Danny’s not the type to give information away for nothing.”

  “Are you for real?” Áine’s face twisted into incomprehension.

  “So what’s the timeline here?” Min started pacing. “Sinead went missing ten days ago, right?”

  “Yeah,” Áine replied.

  “But we didn’t tell Danny she was missing until … when?”

  “Seven days ago.”

  “So Sam left the Caribbean ten days ago?”

  “According to tight-lipped Danny,” Áine growled.

  Fran, quietly, re-entered the fray. “So Sam left before Sinead even went missing.”

  Min and Áine both looked at him. “That’s about the height of it.”

  “So why did he leave at all?”

  Áine stood up. “Maybe he just decided the threat was gone and, with the letter from Sinead – came home?”

  “Wait a minute – would he even have received her letter?”

  Áine pulled over the Post-it pad and started writing down dates. “Well, he’ll have got the first letter, which makes sense cos there was a reply, but, you’re right, I don’t see how he could have received her second letter unless …” They both looked at Fran.

  “The second letter was sent by ship. It was only after that that I was told to use email.”

  “So, no, he wouldn’t have got her second letter – whatever was in it. And he’d have left before she’d have told him that I’d been attacked.” Áine confirmed.

  “If he was just coming home for Sinead, why not sail home, then?” Min said. “Why get on a cruise liner?”

  “He wanted to get back to see her? Maybe he was excited. Maybe has a heart after all.”

  “I dunno.”

  “It’s hurricane season – you said it yourself. He wouldn’t take Isla into a hurricane.”

  “I reckon he’d just wait.”

  “How romantic,” Áine grunted.

  “What about the pandemic – maybe that’s why he left?”

  Fran raised a hand, as if at school. “If I may,” he began, “ships are super spreaders for Covid. I don’t see him taking that child on a cruise liner unless he was in a hurry.”

  “That’s a point,” Min said, turning to Áine. “He must’ve been in a rush.”

  “How is a super spreader ship allowed to travel when every other form of transport is locked down?” Áine remained sceptical. “And how would Sam bloody Ireland manage to get on a ship when nobody’s allowed to do shit like that?”

  Fran was scrolling on the screen of the iPad. “It was in the news,” he said. “Efforts to get British holidaymakers home,” he read. “Three thousand passengers on board a luxury cruise liner have made a joint appeal to the Foreign Office to assist in the release of the ship from a Caribbean island. The passengers’ request is that a UK port is opened to allow them to return home, amid tightening restrictions on travel and quarantine. The Caribbean Symphony left Southampton and was three weeks into a two-month tour of the Americas when it was detained on the volcanic island of Dominica. There are no reports of infection among the passengers, although the crew and the estimated two thousand Britons on board have been confined to the ship with no permission to disembark. The remainder of the ship’s complement is believed to be from Ireland and other parts of Europe.”

  “See?” said Áine. “There’s no way they’d let anyone on that ship. No bloody way. They’re not gonna chance someone taking the virus on board.”

  “With respect,” Fran said, “I have witnessed first-hand that man’s ability to get on board sea-going vessels. If he wanted to get onto that ship, he would get on, no questions asked.”

  “Not with a child,” Áine dismissed him. “And where would they even stay? If there are three thousand people on board, there’d hardly be many family cabins left, would there?”

  “You make a point,” Fran said.

  “He’d find a way,” Min said, “if he needed tae.”

  “With Isla in tow?

  “It’s what we were trained to do. It would be wee buns tae him. Honestly.”

  “He’s not gonna have scaled a rope with his daughter hanging off his back like a chimpanzee.”

  “Look, it wasnae all guns and grenades. Ye have tae understand that if there was a way tae get on a ship without anyone knowing, that would be the preferred option. No question. He could have got on with cargo, he could be bluffed on as part of the crew. I mind once we were sent to get on board the QE2 cos some gobshite was smuggling guns from the states to the IRA.”

  “What?”

  “We just boarded inside the pallets of grub. None of the crew were to be told. Found a spare cabin, located the weapons, did what we had tae do and sailed across the Atlantic like Lords.”

  “How?”

  “Free beer, great grub.”

  “No I mean…”

  “Just like I said. It really wasnae very hard.”

  “And Sam was with you?”

  “He was team leader.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  Fran broke in while staring at his screen. “Caribbean Symphony docked in Cork four
days ago!”

  Min looked up. “I just assumed it would go to England.”

  “Course you did. You forget there were Irish nationals on board,” Áine grunted.

  “That’s enough time to get someone to look after Isla, then get to Portmarnock, isn’t it?”

  “S’pose so,” Áine conceded. “This is mad, though. It makes no sense. I just don’t buy that a ship was sitting pretty and waiting for them.”

  “It had been there for nearly two weeks remember. It was probably the talk of the island,” Fran said.

  “Right enough, Danny mentioned it was detained. They’d have to allow it to be provisioned, good business for the island. Then it was probably turned around and sent straight back.”

  “Exactly,” said Áine. “So how did he get a child get on board? He was hardly going to offer them his passport, was he?”

  “We all know who we’re talking about here,” Fran sighed. “Who knows how, but we know he was well able for it.”

  “This is unbelievable,” Áine sat down again and held her hand to her head. “This is completely insane.”

  “So what’s he doing?” Fran asked. “If it is him at the lockup, and you’ve got to admit that it could be, what’s he doing there?”

  Min looked from Fran to Áine and back again. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Does anyone want to consider the elephant in the room here?” Áine said.

  “What?”

  “Sam Ireland just might not be the glowing character you both seem to think he is.”

  “Catch y’erself on.”

  “Well, I’m just saying we should consider all possibilities, shouldn’t we? I mean, if it is Sam, then where’s Isla? Who’s he palmed her off on this time?”

  “Family. Must be.”

  “In lockdown?” Áine said.

  “Come on, Áine, you know how he is with her.”

  Áine wilted a little. “I just think we need to consider all the alternatives.”