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

by Finn Óg

  The man croaked a little and Min wondered whether he was still capable of speech.

  “Then you’re going to listen, thank the person and promise to call back in a while. If you mess about, or make any mistakes, it’s glug, glug, glug.” Sam held the can up again and shook it gently in the man’s eyeline.

  Min asked, “Will they not send an ambulance anyway?”

  Sam hit dial, held the phone to his ear and spoke as he waited. “Bloody hope not. Hospitals are crammed. If we don’t ask for an admission, they should be happy to leave it.” He held up a hand to pause the conversation, then reached down to rest the phone against the side of the man’s head.

  Min and Sam watched him intently as the call was answered.

  “Yeah, I’m at …” He stared up at Sam imploringly, who nodded and held up the can once more, “the photo shop on the Baldoyle Industrial Estate and …”

  Sam turned his head very gently in warning while the man listened. “No, I don’t want to give any names, I’m just …”

  Min was surprised in a way to hear an English accent out of the man. He realised that he had been expecting either an Irishman or someone from a foreign gang.

  “No, it’s not an emergency.” The man looked pleadingly at Sam, who nodded. “There are five men here who have the virus and we need some … No, no, we just need advice.” Sam nodded at him. “Yeah … a few days.” The man was shrugging again at Sam who just nodded him along, and then began to lurch a little while holding his throat – mimicking a choking motion. “Breathing problems, yeah – hard to breathe.” He listened again for a short while. “No, no ambulance, love. Just tell us what to do, yeah?” The man listened again for about a minute and then jumped in as Sam drew his finger across his throat. “Look, thanks, I’ll call again in a while if we need more help but you’re already busy enough and we’re ok for now. Thank you.”

  Sam drew the phone back and ended the call. Then he reached down and started punching the man hard about the eye sockets, leaving enormous damage. Min retracted to the front of the van as the man yelled in pain. Sam paused and began to explain the next steps to his victim.

  “My friend is going to start the van and begin driving, and you’re going to tell me in the next twenty seconds where to go to get the woman.”

  “But I—” Sam set about hitting the man with the buckle of a ratchet he’d ripped off the tool board. “Fuck, right, ok!” the man screamed.

  “And keep the noise down,” Sam said, whacking him again with a heavy blow.

  Min was beginning to get a picture of the scene Sam must have been exposed to inside the lock-up – he had never seen his friend so violently angry.

  “Drogheda,” the man gargled, pronouncing the place incorrectly – using a K, in the way many outsiders do.

  “Where in Drogheda?” Sam shouted.

  “I’ll show you. I don’t know the address. I’ll have to show you.”

  Sam knew it was a bid to stay alive, but he had no intention of killing the man.

  Not while he was still of use.

  37

  Min settled into the driver’s seat and waited for Sam to finishing trussing up his hostage in the back. The man was spared no pain and Min kept an eye on the mirrors as he listened to the groans and muffled yells of the lashing process. Sam stepped forward into the cab and whipped the curtain across, falling heavily into the passenger seat.

  “Better ring Fran, tell him where we’re headed. Remember Drogheda?”

  “I remember,” Min said.

  It had been an illegal foray into the Irish Republic, one year into the peace process. An IRA quartermaster was on the cusp of going rogue and needed some persuasion to stay in line. Min, Sam and another man had been sent to retrieve the man and dump him on the northern side of the border. It had been a messy affair.

  “Wasn’t expecting a van,” Sam said.

  “Fran’s idea. We had a spot of bother with the plods as we were leaving and had tae ditch the car. Besides, he reckoned it was good cover as a delivery wagon.”

  “Smart,” Sam said nodding. “He’s a funny wee fella.”

  “He is that,” Min said smiling. “He’s growin’ on me.”

  “He does that—stop!”

  Min hit the brakes less than a few hundred yards from where they began. “What is it?” He’d spotted nothing.

  Ring Fran and tell him where we’re headed and to clear the way ahead. I’m gonna grab some of those boxes.” Sam pointed out the window to an upright recycling skip on the edge of the industrial estate. Min dialled and waited for the ringtone through the speakers as he watched Sam grab box after box and stack them against his chest, balancing as he turned towards the van. The phone was answered, muffled and with a din.

  “Yeah?”

  “Drogheda,” Min said.

  “Motorway or back roads?”

  “Fastest route,” Min said. “Motorway.”

  “On the way,” Fran said. “Call me back in five – I’ll be on the M1. We’ll have to keep the line open from then because it’s impossible for me to dial you on the bike.”

  “Received,” Min said and cut the line. Then he leaned over to open the passenger door for Sam, who bundled the boxes into the cab.

  “If we get stopped, we’re following the plan. Delivery drivers.” He pulled the curtain across.

  “If they believe that they’ll believe anything,” Min said as they pulled off, Sam stacking boxes between them.

  “They’ll want to believe it. No cop’s looking for trouble or to make arrests with this virus all over the place.”

  Job complete, he pointed to a sign for the M1 Northbound, Min nodded and dialled again.

  “We’re joining the motorway in two,” he said.

  “I’m two miles ahead, brother. All clear so far.”

  The growl of the motorbike was a constant in the cab as it droned though the radio speakers. Min knew to be cautious because of the open line, but had questions nonetheless.

  “You ok?”

  Sam just nodded, reluctant to commit his voice to an external communication.

  “Are there others, back there?” Min asked, deciding there was little point in concealing his voice, given he’d already spoken on the same line a number of times that day.

  Sam stared ahead and just shook his head slowly. Min took that to mean the five men mentioned on the Covid call had expired.

  “Car breakdown on the slip lane. They were trying to flag me over. Be prepared for a responder,” Fran’s voice was remarkably clear through the speakers.

  “Received,” Min said.

  Sam gestured for Min to hand him the phone. He hit the mute button. “I dunno what this next place will be like, but back there it was six-to-one. You don’t need to be involved in the next bit, though. It’s best if you’re not and can get away and take Sinead with you – if she’s there.”

  “Catch yourself on, pal. I’m here and I’ll be at your back.”

  “I’m the only one tied into this so far. If we can, I really want to keep you from the grubby bits.”

  Min nodded. “We’ll do what it takes. Let’s wait and see.”

  “Blue lights headed south,” Fran’s voice suddenly rattled through the cab.

  Sam took off the mute button.

  “Police?” Min asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Min slowed a little, checked his headlights were dipped. The closing speed meant that they saw the lights quickly. Two police cars moving fast in the opposite direction.

  “That’s good news, aye? Two cars committed to an incident further south. We’re close enough to Drogheda. The town canny have that many response vehicles available.”

  Nobody replied.

  Min’s and Sam’s faces lit up, illuminated by the road lights every few seconds before shuttering into darkness again. Min could sense Sam’s cold stare forwards, his shoulders braced and his exposed forearms still pumped from whatever exertion they’d been deployed to.

  �
�Taking the slip into the town,” Fran informed them.

  Sam spun to the rear, lifted the curtain without pulling it back and Min heard him wrestle with something. Sam’s hip pushed through the gap, knocking some boxes onto Min’s lap. Sam turned a little, dragging the man’s battered face between him and Min, allowing him just enough height to see out of the windscreen.

  “Where next?” Sam growled, pulling a rag from the man’s mouth.

  “Right at the roundabout,” the man panted.

  Min shouted into the radio, “Can you hear that?”

  “No!” Fran replied.

  “Right at the roundabout.”

  “Just as well, I’m beyond it.”

  “Slow down, we’re gettin’ directions here.”

  “Ok!”

  “Next?” Sam said.

  “Pass a shopping centre,” the Englishman said. “Keep going all the way to the river.”

  Min repeated the instructions to Fran.

  “Got all that, what way at the end?”

  Sam gave the headlock a tight squeeze and the man yelped out. “Left!”

  “Then what?” Sam screamed in his ear.

  “Cross the bridge.”

  “Then?”

  “Then stop,” the man said.

  “Take a left then cross a bridge,” Min repeated to Fran. “Then you drive on. We might be stopping.” He looked to Sam for confirmation but Sam only shrugged in return.

  “All clear,” Fran informed them after about twenty seconds. “Turning left along the river … forking right onto the bridge. I’ll go ahead as far as line of sight will allow. Keep an eye ahead for any traffic coming your way. All clear here, though, not a sinner.”

  Min allowed the van to follow Fran’s track, then pulled in at a bus stop and looked at Sam. “Don’t wanna be here long, pal.”

  Sam flattened the fingers on his free hand and sliced it back and forth – cut the line.

  Min placed the phone on mute again. Sam leaned down.

  “Where now?” he rasped into the man’s ear.

  “Nowhere. You get nothing more from me until I know I’m getting out alive.”

  Sam looked up at Min. “Tell him we’ll call him back. Let’s find a spot away from people, this is going to get noisy.”

  The man began to buck and shout. Min did as requested and pulled into the road while Sam and his charge wrestled and fought their way from the cab into the back of the van. Min could feel motion in the rear as Sam went to work. He looked for a space of wasteland or another industrial unit, then decided to follow the river eastwards. The screaming started and Min could hear a can of thinners being grabbed, garbled conversation, more painful screeching. Silence.

  Eventually Sam’s head appeared through the curtain. He looked around.

  “Tide coming or going?” he asked.

  Min looked to out the window. “It’s pretty dark, but it’s a river – it’ll be going, won’t it?”

  “I don’t want this carcass floating back against the flow on a turning tide.”

  “I thought you needed him?”

  “I’m reasonably confident he told me the truth,” Sam grunted. “Looks like it’s dropping.”

  “Wha?”

  “The tide. Boat hanging seawards – must be flowing out.”

  “I didnae even see a boat.”

  “Find a quiet spot and we’ll get this thing finished.”

  Min drove on for a few miles. “I can barely see anything, but all I can see is flatlands and marshy shit,” Min said, his head shaking.

  “Keep going. Closer to the mouth the better.”

  The phone rang. Min answered, “Quick detour, sorry.”

  “What are ye doing?”

  “Bit of persuasion. Call you back shortly, ok?”

  “Grand.”

  Min pulled a right as the main road ended and they bumped and rolled down a gravel path until they were prevented from going further because of a gate with a bar designed to stop travellers setting up camp.

  “Gypsy bars, pal. What d’ye wan tae do?”

  “I’ll carry him, you turn the van. I’ll be quick as I can.”

  Sam vanished into the back and Min heard the odd clink of the can again. The door opened and Min could feel the van rock on its springs as two bodies alighted.

  Min waited a full half hour, tempted to look behind the curtain, but not tempted enough.

  Fran rang again. “Fran, I’ll get back to you soon as I can?” Min’s knuckles tightened around the wheel.

  “Sizeable Garda presence now, brother,” Fran informed him. “Meat wagon, two cars and a paramedic.”

  “Where?”

  “Town centre.”

  “Must be attending an incident.”

  “I’d say so. All blue light. Where are we headed?”

  “I dunno. He’s no’ here just now. I’ll let you know.”

  “He’s not there?” Fran sounded baffled. “Oh-kay, so.”

  Two minutes later Sam rocked the van as he stepped back in. He was holding the can of cellulose and doused his hands and forearms in it.

  “Bit extreme way to sanitise,” Min remarked.

  “It’s DNA, not Covid, I’m wanting rid of.”

  “You didn’t make him gargle it, did ye?”

  “Didn’t need to. But I promise you this,” Sam turned to Min, “what those bastards are doing in there … I swear, making him swallow it would have been too good for him.”

  Min thought back to the suicide of the kid in England. “I might have a sense of it,” he replied. “Right, where to?”

  “Housing estate. I know how to get there and I know the number. He didn’t know the name of it, though. It’s not far from where we stopped. We need to go past a burned-out building, and I’ll know the rest from that. Fill you in as we go.” Sam’s head motioned forward.

  38

  “Right, pal?”

  “Freezing my arse off, but, sure.”

  “Any sign of the cops?”

  “No, brother, moved past, but if there’s a casualty you’d expect the paramedic to be back at some stage.”

  “Need ye tae go back to where we pulled in, facing the way you were when you stopped and see if there’s a housing estate in red brick off to your right.”

  “Ok.”

  They heard Fran’s bike start again and the growl of its engine. “It’s behind a hospital, apparently.” Min looked at Sam for confirmation of what he’d been told. Sam nodded. “Beside a graveyard.”

  “I know the hospital, alright,” Fran replied.

  The van moved swiftly but within the speed limit back towards the town as the men listened to Fran’s progress. After ten minutes they heard him clear his throat.

  “There’s any amount of housing estates, but I’m in a red-brick one. There’s a big wall and there could be a graveyard in behind it, alright.”

  “Ok,” said Min. “Standby.” He muted the mic and turned to Sam. “This would be quicker if you guided him in, you know? He’s using the channel. It’s as safe as we know how.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about, Min. You don’t think I’m happy to have you both fall for this and not me?”

  Min turned back to the road. “I dunno – you’re no’ saying anything, I just—”

  “I haven’t spoken because I don’t want you linked to me. I’m the only one with a real trail here. Yes, you two have been in the vicinity, but it’s me who’s covered in DNA, prints and whatever else. If they investigate, it’s only me connected to the lock-up, and it will be only me who goes into this house.”

  “No way, man.”

  “No debate – not this time, not with this.” Sam’s tone left little room for argument.

  “This channel is not something they can track, pal.”

  “We only think that. You and I both know there’s nothing that can’t be cracked, so we can’t be sure. We’re out of touch with this stuff.”

  “But Rob—”

  “But Rob nothing.
No chances. Enough people have been fucked about by my decisions. We get her – if she’s here, then we get out. You get back to base, the boy on the bike goes back to work and she goes home. We’ll talk about the rest after the dust has settled.”

  “So you’re saying nothing on the channel?”

  “Correct. Just tell him to go into the estate, see if there’s a burned-out building on the end of a row – it should have metal shutters on the door and windows. I can find my way from there.”

  Min shook his head in resigned disagreement, reached forward, took the speaker off mute and conveyed the instructions.

  “Moving in now,” Fran said. “Red-brick terraces to my left … Bloody hell, it’s labyrinthine.”

  Sam shifted uncomfortably, nervous at the detail being sent down a line – secure or otherwise. Min copped it.

  “Maybe keep the comm minimal, aye?” he called to Fran.

  “Sorry,” Fran came back.

  They heard the engine lower in revs. Min held up a finger and circled. He’s turning.

  They entered the warmth of lamp-lit streets once more and took a right past the bus stop, following signs for the hospital.

  “I have it,” Fran announced. “The building you’re looking for.”

  “Still nae plods about?”

  “No, nothing, brother,” Fran replied.

  “Ok. Standby.”

  Min hit mute. “What d’ye wanna do?”

  “When we’re close tell him to come out to the entrance so we’re sure it’s the right estate, then we drive in and I’ll deliver my parcel.”

  Min opened the line. “Can you drive out and as you see us just point which way.”

  “Grand.”

  Within one minute they saw the bike’s lights and slowly turned in past Fran. He turned on his saddle and gestured straight, then left. Min could see the tail light of the bike pull off in his wing mirror, and took the left. He could hear Sam pulling on plastic gloves and looked down for a moment. They were bright orange – he recognised them as gripped protective gloves usually sold in motor factors for mechanics.

  Sam leaned forward. Min muted the phone.

  “There’s the burned-out house,” he said. Min’s gaze locked on and his head turned as they passed.