She bought a wine and lemonade and noticed a group of four men in their forties or fifties sat around an oblong dark wood table in the first alcove nearest the door. They all glanced at her when she’d first entered, and she reckoned they must be the group. She picked a table under the TV screens to sit down at, and chose a seat that put her at forty-five degrees to the bunch. She could see them without being in their faces, and could pretend to take a selfie but actually catch them by taking an outward facing shot. If anyone asked her what she was doing, which she thought highly unlikely, she’d claim she was taking a photo to show her date what he was missing by standing her up.
As she sat down, one of the men, a short stocky man with thick black hair wearing jeans and a dark blue T shirt, shouted across at her.
‘Come sit with us why don’t you? And let a man buy a lady a drink,’ he said with a friendly smile on his face.
‘I might just do that, if my date doesn’t show. This is the second pub he’s sent me too, I’m not going to a third.’
The man laughed and said his offer remained open, before turning back to his mates, who were huddled forward in conversation. By the accent Christine reckoned they were from north of the Irish border, Belfast accents. Not that she was an expert but the Belfast accent was guttural and a little harsher in tone than the rounded vowels of say, a Dubliner by way of contrast. She wrote a quick text to update Paul and as she pressed send, a huge man in his fifties who looked like he’d come straight from a building site or the docks came rushing in and went straight over to the first alcove. He stood over the group of men. The dark blue T Shirt Man looked surprised to see the new arrival, as did the rest of them.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ T Shirt Man said, adding, ‘If The Man walks in and sees you, he’ll know. Haven’t you forgotten?’
‘The bastard’s not coming.’
‘Don’t be saying that; how many chances are we likely to get to have the opportunity to get this close to him?’
‘It’s true, he must have sussed it or been tipped off. Realised it was foe and not his new Brit-loving bedfellows waiting to greet him.’
The T shirt man then stood up and backhanded the big man hard across his face. The size difference was huge, it almost looked comical, but the big man didn’t flinch, nor did he react.
‘Watch what you’re saying out loud,’ T shirt man said, followed by turning to look around the room. The two guys by the bar were watching one of the TVs, Christine noticed, and the barman had his back to the group washing glasses. Christine suddenly felt very uncomfortable, especially when the big man joined in this knee-jerk recce and his gaze seemed to rest on her. As did T shirt man’s look; this time without the smile. She’d no idea exactly what had just happened, but guessed McConachy wouldn’t be making an appearance; it was time to go.
She left her drink and hurriedly rushed out of the pub without looking at the group of men, though she was sure she could feel five pairs of eyes tracking her every move. The moment she was out in the fresh air, she felt a relief run through her and as she hurried across the road to her car, she noticed the headlights switch on, as did the engine. Paul was in the driver’s seat now so she quickly jumped into the passenger seat and said, ’Just get me out of here.’
Paul didn’t speak; he just pulled out into the traffic and drove. She sighed and risked a backwards glance at the pub disappearing in the background. She could see the big Irishman stood outside the front of the pub with T shirt next to him; both seemed to be staring at her.
‘Are you ok?’ Paul asked.
‘No, I’m not. It was a set up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There definitely was a reception committee in there, but they weren’t there to shake McConachy’s hand,’ Christine said, before repeating what she’d heard. She went on to explain how Dark Blue T Shirt had originally engaged her and how the big man and he had later looked at her. Paul tried to reassure her that if his intel was wrong and they were foe, then there would be no reason for the men to suspect her of anything, they would just be in challenging mode. The two guys on bar stools watching TV would no doubt be spoken to next.
Christine wasn’t so sure.
‘Look. I’m really sorry about this,’ Paul said as he pulled over. ‘I’ll not put you in that position again, I promise.’
He’d got that bit right. Then he said he’d jump a cab and leave her in peace until he had all the proof they’d need. He apologised again and got out straight into the path of an approaching black cab with its yellow For Hire sign lit. She slid across onto the driving seat as Paul jumped into the cab and was gone. Christine took a moment to catch her breath. It had been ten years since she’d given up smoking but a sudden desire for nicotine rushed over her. She ignored it as it was replaced with a need for a very large glass of wine. Now, that was something she could have. She’d also ring Vinnie as soon as she got in and ask for his help. She was starting to feel unsure about Paul Bury.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jason suggested that Quintel wait in the car whilst he took up a vantage point. He said it would be quicker to exit, and Jason knew exactly where to go after his earlier recce. Quintel could see the validity in his suggestion, but was having none of it. He wanted to see, and in any event there would be time enough to get going. Their car was parked on the perimeter road nowhere near the actual entrance. He glanced at his watch; 1.30 pm. People would be starting to arrive soon for the service, which was due to start at two. It would probably be another hour before the mourners were graveside, but it would soon pass. He was looking forward to seeing their subject in the flesh again.
The weather had turned since lunch, and the intermittent rain would make it less comfortable, though it did add to the aura of the place. Discussion over, he followed Jason away from their hire car and through a break in the hedge down a narrow unmade path behind a coppice of established trees. The way rose steadily and by the time it levelled out, he could tell that they would have a decent elevation looking down onto the gravesides. Where the track levelled, Jason turned right and started through the trees, which were mainly silver birch set one to two metres apart. He came to halt behind Jason as he squatted down a couple trees from a steep grassy hill that led down into the cemetery. Quintel noticed that, although still high, the sun was behind them now and would be in the faces of those below – if it ever came out again - Jason had chosen well.
He crouched down next to his man and made himself as comfortable as he could. Looking down to the many rows of graves, some freshly laid, some not, he noticed that there was only one which was open and freshly dug, with earth stacked up beside it. It also had what looked like astro-turf around the hole, ready for the mourners to get in close without soiling their shoes. He knew it was the right one. 1.45 pm; it wouldn’t be too long to wait now. He watched as Jason unpacked his rucksack, first handing him a small pair of field glasses. He practiced with them for a few minutes whilst Jason sorted himself out.
‘I’ll be happier once he’s in the ground,’ Quintel said.
‘Pity they’re not cremating him,’ Jason added.
‘It’s against the Jewish faith, apparently.’
‘No matter, once he’s buried, he’s buried.’
‘Very profound, but I know what you mean. Anyway, our local contact has said there are no problems. And the funeral is not what we’ve come to see,’ Quintel said.
‘Once we’ve watched the burial, I suggest we move back towards the road, to get a better view,’ Jason said.
‘Why’s that?’
Jason explained that the path through the cemetery neared the embankment further along; it came within ten metres, which would be easier for them, plus it’d give them a head-start back to the motor.
‘Fair enough, plus it’ll separate things from the other bastard a bit; at least physically.’
Thirty minutes later, the funeral party arrived at the graveside, and Quintel could see that their main intere
st was one of the pallbearers. There were six and he was one of the rear two. Quintel watched the proceedings through his binos and felt relief as the coffin was eventually lowered into the ground. The stiff had done its job. He looked at Jason as he packed up his bag and saw his hand-signal that it was time to leave. Slowly and quietly they backed up into the trees and then he followed Jason to the next vantage point. As they settled in Quintel could see the advantages; not only were they a lot nearer the path, but the embankment was steeper here, giving them a more elevated position. Then he had a thought. ‘What if they about-turned and head back the way they’d come?’
‘If you look, there are little blue signs signifying that the path is one-way. I guess it stops any chance of folk walking into the incoming stiffs,’ Jason said.
Quintel relaxed and settled himself, and then looked through the binos. He could make out the entourage by the graveside. ‘I can still see them; I’ll give you a shout once they move.’
‘Cheers, Boss; it’ll be easier with you spotting for me, but I’ll be ready.’
Five minutes later and the party were on the move, and a further three minutes after that and the group of about thirty people were slowly meandering their way towards their position. The path narrowed as they neared, forcing the mourners into single-file. Perfect. ‘They’re getting close. Ready?’
‘Ready, just a little nearer.’
Quintel could hear Jason’s movements but didn’t look; he kept his eyes on the target. He was about midway in the group, with a break of about five or six feet between him and the rest of the party, front and back. Even the mourners don’t like him, Quintel thought, as he watched the front of the line start to pass their location.
Then he heard a metallic click coming from Jason’s position.
Quintel watched as the small metal object looped through the air. He could hear Jason packing his stuff away, but Quintel couldn’t take his eyes off the event. Their target was still in the narrow part of the path, still with several feet of space before and after him. As the grenade passed the half-way mark, their target looked up. There was no noise, but perhaps his peripheral vision had picked up on the movement. He seemed to look puzzled as he viewed the advancing object, now three-quarters of its way towards him.
Then Quintel saw the recognition flash across their target’s eyes; a horror-struck expression replaced his quizzical visage. The man started to run whilst he bellowed out a warning, which Quintel was sure wouldn’t be understood by the others until it was too late. ‘Get down, Boss,’ he heard Jason say, but ignored him. He was mesmerised by what he was seeing. But he couldn’t quite understand why their target was running towards the advancing object, rather than away from it. In fact, he passed under it as he headed towards the embankment. If he’d been playing cricket or baseball, he could have caught it.
Then he felt a hand drag him harshly backwards, away from the edge of the trees and the view. Jason then threw Quintel onto the ground and landed on top of him as the explosion roared overhead. A second later and there was absolute stillness, but for a cacophony of sound caused by hundreds of birds lifting off from the treetops.
Two seconds later, and the bird noise was drowned out by unmelodious screaming with an intensity Quintel hadn’t heard before. It was hard to discern whether it was exclaiming pain or terror; probably a mix of the two. As he listening in this instance he realised he was being dragged backwards again.
‘Come on, Boss, time to get out of here,’ Jason said.
On hearing Jason speak, he broke his reverie-like state and realised that his ears were ringing, too. He turned to see Jason ahead of him, running down the track towards the road. Quintel would have dearly loved to go back and take a look at the utter carnage they had no doubt caused, but knew it was not a risk worth taking. For all he knew someone might already be scaling the steep embankment, though he doubted it.
They arrived at the car together and Jason drove. Moments later they were well away from the area where they had entered the grounds. ‘That was fucking amazing,’ Quintel said.
‘You’re lucky you didn’t get your head blown off,’ Jason said.
Quintel looked at the fresh mud down his front, before replying, ‘Yeah, I owe you, I was just stuck in the moment.’
‘I know, it does that the first time you use one of those little rascals,’ Jason said.
‘One will have done the trick, wouldn’t it?’
‘To be honest, Boss, it would have been too risky throwing a second one; we’d have been exposed. People’s natural reaction is to look towards where the threat is coming from, rather than to hit the deck, as daft as it sounds. Pros hit the deck, whilst evaluating the threat. But I can’t see any way our man could have survived that. Had it been any closer the fucking thing would have bounced off his head.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Sorry I couldn’t chat when you rang, or make it around here last night, I was in conference with a barrister and his legal team over an old job that’s at court at the moment,’ Vinnie said.
‘No problems I hope?’ Christine asked.
‘No, they just needed a further statement from me to nullify some bollocks the defence were coming up with. I’ve only just finished it,’ Vinnie said, looking at his watch. It was gone three, most of Tuesday already over. ‘Is everything alright?’ he asked. ‘You seem deep in thought.’
‘Well, I had quite an evening,’ Christine said as she placed a mug of coffee down on the occasional table and sat opposite Vinnie.
‘By the way it’s a great place you’ve got here,’ Vinnie said, hoping to elicit a smile, but none was forthcoming. Then Christine told him everything, including what had happened the night before.
‘That sounds well iffy. You think it was a set-up?’
‘Undoubtedly, if this McConachy had expected a welcoming committee from fellow Republican sympathisers, then he was in for a shock.’
Though Vinnie didn’t know much about Mathew McConachy, the fact that he was the First Minister of the Northern Ireland regional assembly was massive.
‘Well, if it was McConachy who was due to attend, he was obviously warned off.’
‘Obviously, but why do you say if?’
‘I was just thinking that as he didn’t show, you only have Bury’s word that it was McConachy who was supposed to attend.’
‘True,’ Christine said, before adding, ‘so are you wondering about Bury, or whoever is supplying him with intelligence?’
‘Either could be flawed, but if it is all about McConachy, and if he is still an active Republican feeding titbits to paramilitaries, then you’ll need to tread carefully, Christine. I mean, how much do you trust Bury?’
‘He seems on the level, and he is clearly under a great deal of pressure and doesn’t appear comfortable or over-eager in what he says. In fact, it took many conversations of reassurance over the phone before he agreed to meet me. Unless you’re about to tell me different? I’m guessing you got my voicemail message?’
‘I did,’ Vinnie said, ‘and I have made some very discrete enquiries this morning before coming here. As far as I can find out without scratching too deep and causing an alert, he was a very well-respected senior officer, with an impartial agenda.’
‘That’s the way I had read him. In all my enquiries into this story, people I have spoken to were mostly Catholic and Republican, or Protestant and loyal to the UK crown. Bury admits he is a Protestant but points out that his wife is Catholic.’
Vinnie had an old mate who had done some undercover work in Belfast years earlier as the troubles were coming to an end. Long since retired and living abroad. As he had told Vinnie at his leaving do, he’d been an undercover operative for twenty years and was running out of places to live in the UK where he felt safe. Vinnie didn’t mention Jimmy to Christine, there was no need, he might have nothing to add, but if anyone would have an inside view on Bury, it would be him. He’d left him a message to ring but without saying why. ‘I’m just wait
ing for one call back, but Bury on the surface looks genuine enough,’ he said. Then added, ‘But I’m worried about you putting yourself in any danger, like last night. Even though they probably looked twice at everyone in the pub, not just you.’
‘That’s what Paul said.’
‘There you go, then.’ Vinnie’s mobile vibrated to life on the table. He picked it up hoping it would be Jimmy, but saw it was Harry. He mouthed the word “Harry” at Christine before answering it.
‘You still in Manchester?’ Harry started.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Because some sicko has just thrown a hand grenade at a funeral in Blackley.’
Vinnie had seen many things in his job, but this was a new low. ‘Who in God’s name would do such a thing?’
‘I’ll give you a guess in a minute,’ Harry said, before he went on to tell Vinnie of the brief circumstances as he had them. Amazingly, no dead yet, but seven were injured; two of which were serious, and one of which was critical. It appeared that the grenade had been aimed at one individual who was partially separated from the other mourners at that moment.
‘I’m guessing the target is the critically injured, then?’ Vinnie said.
‘Amazingly, no.’
‘Well, one of the serious, then?’
‘Amazingly, no,’ Harry repeated, before going on to explain that the target must have seen the grenade coming as he shouted a warning, before diving underneath it.
‘Why underneath?’
‘There was a steep embankment from where the bombers struck; but where it flattened out on to the ground there was a drainage ditch. The target had the presence of mind to dive into it and missed most of the blast. He does have some lacerations to his arse, which must have been sticking up, but he’ll live.’
‘Ok Harry, it’s guess time. You said Bombers with a plural, but before I try, who was the intended victim?’
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 38
