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

by Finn Óg

  “What do I tell them?” Áine was almost pleading.

  Min took the phone and read, then he looked up. “Tell them you changed your mind,” he said. “Get rid of them.”

  36

  “Fran, we’re on,” Min said. “And not a word out of you,” he said as he turned to Áine. “Sam wants us back and standing by. He even knows where we parked last time.”

  “How is he—”

  “Look, how he knows the half of what he knows is a mystery, but we should just follow his lead and do what he asks.” He turned to Áine, looking straight into her eyes. “You need to be on the end of the line. You are probably the most effective tool we have. Force – if force is needed, is far better if it’s backed up with intelligence.”

  Áine knew not to argue again.

  “Good to go,” Fran said.

  “Get a piss or whatever you need. Get some water and let’s grab some bars or anything handy. Bananas, ideally.”

  Fran headed for the heads and Áine moved towards Min, her faced creased with worry. “Is that all he said?”

  “That’s all he said,” Min replied, realising that she was moving to hug him.

  “You’ll tell me what’s happening and what you need?”

  “I’ll have to. You’re the only eyes we’ll have. You could well be crucial to whatever it is he wants us to do.”

  “What’s your best guess?”

  “I learned a long time ago not to guess what Sam Ireland might do. He’s a whole different layer of devious.”

  Their embrace was broken by the flush of the toilet, and Fran and Min swapped places. Then there was a scramble together of a flask and water and bars from an old selection box, and the men went out the door at speed.

  Seconds later, they were slowed right back down.

  The lift stopped, summoned, to reception before it descended to the carpark. The doors opened to a blast of neon yellow. The concierge was standing with both hands raised in a placatory gesture as two cops glared at him – one with impatience, the other with anger.

  “I need to speak to her,” the male was saying. “This is an offence – wasting time, nuisance calls. Get her on the line again, please.”

  The female guard was on her mobile, speaking, it seemed, to her station.

  “We need you to call her mobile number. She is refusing to let us in.”

  Min stepped around the woman with Fran at his tail and was making for the door to the stairs down to the car park when he heard the male guard call out to him.

  “Excuse me, sir. Where are you going, please?”

  “Daily exercise,” Min grunted, without turning.

  “Odd time of night to be going for a walk?”

  “Aye,” was all Min said.

  “And are you cohabitants?”

  “Yeah,” Fran started, shuffling past.

  “Are they pyjamas?”

  Min put his hand to the door and glanced back to catch the guard looking at Fran’s ankles. There were, indeed, pyjama patterns peeking around the hem. For the first time he saw Fran stuck for words.

  “What apartment are you in?”

  Min was through the door and holding it for Fran when he heard the question he didn’t want asked being put to the concierge.

  “Are these men residents?”

  The concierge did his best. “Ah, they … I don’t know every resident, like.”

  Fran glared back at him. “We are,” he clarified. “Apartment 13C.”

  “Unlucky for some,” the guard said turning back to the concierge. “Can you show me the register, please, and details of apartment 13C, please?”

  Fran stepped through and the door swung closed. “Wait there, please!” they heard the guard call, but both men forged ahead into the hallway, swung the next door and cantered into the car park. They ran to the car and climbed in.

  “He’ll hold them for as long as he can,” Fran said as he reversed out of the bay, “but he wouldn’t be the shiniest button in the sewing box.”

  “When you get to the barrier, turn right instead of left. Let’s see if we can blow a bit o’ smoke about the place.”

  They waited for Áine to trigger the exit barrier lift, which took longer than felt comfortable. Her only hint of their progress was through the CCTV and she was unaware of the contretemps in the foyer. Just as the white bar began to rise, they heard the howling scream of a police siren ignite from within the underground concrete bunker.

  “Hold on, brother,” Fran shouted, and hit the accelerator, bolting the little car up the ramp and onto the lip of the Liffey.

  “This isn’t helping,” Min shouted.

  “How?”

  “We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “Fear not, brother,” Fran all but laughed, “we’re headed for home turf – I grew up in this part of town.”

  The tiny car hurtled at a speed it ought not to have been capable of through the streets of the inner city, turning hard down short one-ways and bouncing out the other end with a breakneck haul on the wheel.

  “Is this absolutely necessary?” Min was gripping the grab rails as Fran played the handbrake. “They’re no’ gonnie launch a helicopter for a breach of lockdown regulations, are they?” Then the Bluetooth took over with a loud ring.

  “Hello,” Fran called at the radio.

  “Fran, man, I held them off best I could. They were looking for your reg plate and I wouldn’t let them look at the cameras without a warrant. Did I do ok?”

  “You did grand, my man. You did grand.”

  “I didn’t tell them you weren’t residents either. I didn’t tell them, Fran.”

  “Good man, good man!” Fran shouted. “Gotta go!”

  Min looked at Fran. “He told them, didn’t he?”

  “Course he feckin’ told them.” Fran smiled. “He’s got a criminal record and he can’t be affording to lose that job.”

  Min shook his head as the car began to settle. They entered a leafy area before Fran pulled a tight turn and suddenly they were coastal again and headed towards a toll bridge. Min squirmed a little in his seat, but Fran took the right lane and the barrier lifted automatically.

  “Do you own the town?”

  “It sees me coming!” Fran laughed and tapped a dongle on the dash.

  “What sort of car is this?” Min asked as it gripped and turned fast onto a bridge.

  “One with a looked-after and carefully remapped engine,” Fran said smiling. They passed the Point Depot and within seconds plunged into Dublin Port Tunnel.

  “Should we be …?”

  “Most direct route,” Fran called as the sound in the car changed and they hummed through the yellow illuminated pipe. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Not tae get arrested would be a start,” Min said, “so maybe you should slow down a bit?”

  “I mean, when we get there?”

  “Just what I said. Park up, wait for instructions.”

  “Ah, I thought you just weren’t saying what he really wanted in front of the young one.”

  “I’m saying I think we might make a balls of this whole thing if the cops find us and pull us in.”

  “I have a plan,” said Fran.

  They fell into silence, Min anxious and fidgeting, glancing through all the windows. There were frighteningly few cars on the motorway and he couldn’t help but scan the lanes looking for blue and yellow stripes or a flashing light. He hunted for an excuse for when they, as seemed inevitable, got caught. His mind came up with nothing but tumbleweeds as he considered their predicament: two men, largely unknown to one another and not involved in essential travel, speeding in a car during a lockdown. Not to mention that one was serving military and inexplicably in a different and historically hostile jurisdiction. There was no story that seemed to Min to plausibly fit. For the first time ever he considered posing as a gay lover for the day.

  “What’s this idea of yours, then?” he eventually asked as they passed the airport.

/>   “I have just the vehicle,” Fran announced. He pulled off onto a slip road, opened the engine’s throat and kicked fuel down its gullet. Min’s back pinned itself to the rear of his seat. They made six or seven turns and within minutes were almost rural. Fran swung the car into a driveway and drew it to a screeching halt in front of an enormous garage.

  “You may alight from the vehicle,” he said. “We have just the ticket for our next ride.”

  “That explains the mental driving,” Min said as the garage shutter rolled up to reveal a pristine workshop. Along the edges were steel workbenches, precision drills, grinding discs and presses. On the walls there were what seemed like a hundred spanners and tools of all kinds – shining and oil free. Lit to the rear, Min could just make out road racing motorcycles – he recognised a Honda and a Ducati. But in the middle, staring at them, was a large Mercedes Sprinter van.

  “You’re a racer?”

  “I was a racer,” Fran said smiling. “Still do a bit but it’s the young fellas I look after now.”

  “How did you know I could ride a bike?”

  “I didn’t?” Fran said.

  “I’m not sure bikes are what Sam’s looking for.”

  “I am sure that he is not expecting bikes,” Fran said.

  “Then what are we …?”

  “We’ll take the van, man. The van!” Fran called as he moved towards the driver’s door.

  “Ah, right, ok,” Min said, following his lead and making for the other side, his plastic bag of grub swinging at his hip.

  “The one vehicle that can travel the roads without suspicion or interrogation!” Fran announced as the doors closed. “They’ll think we are agents of Mr Bezos delivering essentials to the needy!”

  Min had to hand it to him, it was as flaw free as they could hope for in the circumstances.

  “The cops will trace your car, won’t they?”

  “Eventually,” Fran said nodding, “but it’s registered to the union office, so it might take them a while. By which time … job done, hopefully. We’ll not be here, anyway.”

  “Is there naebody in the house?”

  “There is, but that woman is well versed in dealing with unsolicited inquiries, brother. I’ll text her and give her a nudge when we get to Portmarnock.”

  Fran turned into the road and took off at an altogether slower pace.

  “Have ye lost your mojo?” Min asked.

  “This, my friend, is a special vehicle worthy of care and attention. Besides, the back isn’t some grimy old wagon. Take a look.”

  Min arched around in his seat as Fran reached down and pulled a lever, allowing Min to spin backwards. He laughed then pulled back a heavy curtain to reveal a kitchen, raised bunk beds and a small workshop. In the centre, harnessed by cargo straps, was a shining Yamaha XT 1200. Like everything else, it was gleaming.

  “Very nice,” Min crowed. “Very, very nice.”

  “Thank you,” Fran acknowledged the appreciation. “Perhaps Sammy boy will need a bit of kip whenever he’s done.”

  Min unscrewed the top of a water bottle slowly, trying to soften the snapping plastic cracks to avoid waking Fran in the back. He’d taken to the bunk after an hour’s waiting at the rendezvous point.

  Min felt exposed – sitting as he was at the side of a road with no evident purpose in mind. He had resolved to plead the need for rest after a ferry journey if questioned, but, still, the lack of a well-rehearsed cover story made him uneasy. Plus, Fran was snoring like a fat dog in the back.

  He held the phone low to attract as little attention as possible, checking it every few minutes for further directions. None came. A second hour passed, then he ate. Then he sat. Then he debated what might be going on inside the lock-up.

  The knock came into the third hour. A middle-weighted tap on the back barn doors. Min looked in both mirrors and cursed himself for not having seen anyone approach. He glanced down at the armrest console, looking for the central locking and wondering whether it would open the rear doors.

  Then he paused – should he just open the door? He swivelled his chair and pulled the curtain back just as the second knock became more vigorous. Fran stirred in the bunk. Better placed to react, Min tensed to pounce if necessary and pressed the unlock button.

  One side of the door swung open and a man in a disposable mask with a low-pulled woollen beanie hat lurched inside, falling forward without using his arms to save him. He clipped the exhaust of the motorcycle as he did so, forcing him to roll slightly. Assuming it was Sam – injured and in need of aid, Min sprang up to help the man, but then came a second person, sprightly and alert, who leapt up to the van’s floor level and turned to pull the door shut behind him.

  “Don’t touch him,” the second man snapped the command as Min stooped over the injured body. He looked up at the speaker, who was cramped under one of the folding bunk beds. Concealed behind a clinical face mask and hat, Min still knew who he was looking at.

  “Took your time,” was all he said.

  “What’s going on?” Fran’s head appeared round the edge of the bunk.

  “Fuck, Fran,” the second man said.

  “At your service, brother. Good to see you after all this time. Even if you smell like a bonfire.”

  One hand reached around to unhook the mask from an ear and Sam stared from one man to the other. “This is hardly Covid compliant,” he said smiling.

  Min looked down at the man on the floor. “Is that why I’m no’ to touch him? Has he got it?”

  “Not yet,” Sam said, “but he will shortly.”

  Min handed Sam a bottle of water, which he put to his lips and chugged down in one tilt.

  “Needed that,” he gasped.

  Fran slid down from the bunk and flicked up the folding bed, but even still the cabin had suddenly become very cramped. The man lay motionless on the floor, wedged in beside the motorcycle. Sam, remaining crouched, bent over to check his pulse.

  “What de ye need, pal?” Min stared at the motionless body.

  Sam looked up at them both as if about to deliver bad news. He was thinking hard. “This your van, Fran?”

  “It is.”

  “And your bike?”

  “Black Beauty,” he said smiling.

  “Can you scout for us?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We’ll be changing location. We need to make sure there’s nobody ahead to disturb our progress. You could do it on that.” He flicked his head at the bike.

  “Yeah,” Fran said, “I have a Bluetooth speaker in the lid.” He tapped a helmet hanging from a bracket on the van’s wall. “Where are we going?”

  “Dunno yet. I’ll know soon, though. This prick’s just pretending to be out so I don’t hurt him. Would you be able to get on the road and see who’s about?”

  The man on the floor stirred, shuffling in discomfort.

  “No bother,” Fran said. “I’ll just leather up.”

  Sam gave Min a knowing look while Fran was distracted pulling down a set of long-john leathers and a heavy jacket. He retrieved two gloves and a high-vis, then started fiddling with the Bluetooth set-up. “Once for luck,” he said, and called his personal phone from his work mobile. The device in Min’s pocket began to buzz. Min swiped to answer and Fran held the helmet up to his ear. “Steak and beer, brother. Loud and clear.”

  They levered off the ratchets, threw open the barn doors and quickly lowered the bike to the ground.

  “So just mooch around till you call me?”

  “Please, Fran. Thanks a million,” Sam said, and pulled the door closed again.

  Sam held up his hand until they heard the bike fire up, then Min began.

  “Thanks a million for coming Min,” Sam started.

  “No problem, but are you aware of what’s going on?”

  “About Sinead?”

  “You know she’s missing pal?” Min said softly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, do d’ye know where she is?”
/>
  “That’s what we’re about to find out.” Sam rolled the man on the floor onto his back and pulled off the mask before punching him hard with his palm straight into the lower side of his nose. Min could see the man had already suffered a going-over.

  The man choked and gurgled then stared up at Min, pleading for reprieve. Sam produced a phone and prepared a number, then looked up at Min.

  “Any more water?”

  Min handed him a bottle as Sam looked around the van. He reached out and took a shammy cloth, then noticed something better and unhooked a can of cellulose thinners from a bungee at foot level. He stared down at the man, whose eyes were like frisbees. Min couldn’t understand why the captive was so silent.

  “I was going to waterboard you,” Sam started, “but you see this?” He held up the can. The man gave the tiniest of nods. “This is acetone. If you don’t drown, it’ll burn its way through your oesophagus and you’ll choke to death after a horrible period writhing on the floor of this vehicle.”

  Min looked at his mate, curious more than concerned that Sam may in fact mean what he said.

  “So I’m making a call, and you’re going to speak to the emergency Covid line. You’re going to give the address of the lock-up, and this is what you’re going to say … are you ready? Listen carefully, or you’ll be drinking thinners, ok?”

  The man nodded more enthusiastically than before.

  “You’re going to describe the lock-up exactly, give its number, and you’re going to explain that there are five men in there who all have the virus. Ok?”

  The man nodded. Min wondered what shape the five men inside must be in.

  “You’re going to explain that they all have breathing problems, but if they offer you an ambulance, you say no. You decline. Understand?”

  “You can’t—” The man croaked in protest and tried to raise his shoulders but Sam rammed an elbow hard into his face again, shuddering him to the floor.

  “You’re going to say you’ll call again later if things get worse. For the moment you just want advice on what to do. Clear?”