‘I’ve spotted a couple, not least on the entrance to the site,’ Jason answered, adding, ‘but I wouldn’t mind a look at those trees from behind. I’ll drive out and park up on the perimeter and have a quick look.’
‘I’ll wait in the motor then,’ Quintel said.
They returned to the car and Jason drove out of the carparks and stopped on the perimeter road, close to where an elevated ridge supported a group of mature trees. Quintel put the car radio on and waited.
Thirty minutes later, Jason returned to the vehicle. ‘Any good?’ he asked as Jason closed the driver’s door.
‘Perfect. We get a great elevated view, and it’s relatively close to the road, so all good news.’
‘So we can leave the car here, get the view we need, and be off in ragtime?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Brilliant, let’s go and find a local hotel for the night.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Christine checked the time on the dashboard clock as she pulled up outside the same pub. It had just gone eight and dusk was turning into nightfall. She glanced through the bay window into the pub’s front snug, half expecting to see Bury sat in there waiting for her, but the room looked empty. Then she heard the passenger door being opened. ‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaimed before she realised that it was Bury.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said as he closed the car door.
‘Where did you come from?’
‘Been stood in the shadows, until I saw you pull up.’
‘Well, give me a bit of warning next time; you nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Sorry, again.’
‘Ok, Paul, what’s so urgent you need to separate a girl from her Prosecco?’
‘The main man, the one I told you about. He’s meeting some local Republican cronies in an Irish bar in the northern quarter of the city.’
‘You’ve got good intel.’
‘We never ask about such matters but, yes, he’ll be there for a couple of hours.’
‘So do I finally get to find out who your nemesis is?’
‘You do.’
‘That’ll please my editor.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I hope you aren’t expecting me to ambush him tonight?
‘No, I need more proof yet, but if I’m right, the bastard is playing both ways.’
Christine asked Paul what he meant, and he told her that the guy was Catholic, and in a senior position in Northern Ireland; on the face of it he was all for the new power sharing assembly helping to unite both Unionists and Republicans in a common goal. There was even talk of him being nominated for an award. But if Paul was correct, he was at the heart of all that was corrupt inside NIUCS – Northern Irish United Crime Squad. According to Paul he was due to meet local Irish Republicans for a social gathering in an Irish boozer called The Blarney Stone. She knew the place. A typical commercial Irish pub full of TV screens with every possible sport being shown at the same time.
‘As I recall, it’s a bit of a man’s pub - won’t I look out of place in there?’
‘I just thought you’d like a look at the man close up, and witness who he’s meeting.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He knows me, so I can’t get too close, it’ll spook him, but the guys he’s meeting are all from over here, so they won’t know me, but trust me, they will be bad boys. Surely it would help your story to put him together with undesirables?’
‘It might if I knew who we were talking about?’
She watched Paul take a deep breath before he said, ‘Mathew McConachy.’
‘As in the First Minister in charge of the Northern Irish Assembly?’
‘Aye, that’s him.’
That would be a scoop, Christine thought - the effective leader of the regional government in the Province who was currently the darling of Westminster. She understood why Paul seemed so jumpy. He showed her a photo of McConachy on his smart phone, and she instantly recognised him, but it didn’t do any harm to refresh her memory. Then she asked Paul exactly what he had in mind.
He suggested that she simply locate where McConachy was in the pub, note who he was with, and try to get a photo if possible, perhaps by taking a selfie or something, then he would be able to ID who McConachy had met. If she got in close enough she might be able to hear some of their conversations. He’d stay outside in the car and try to clock them as well; as they came and went.
It was all starting to sound a bit like a surveillance operation to Christine, and she wished Vinnie was with her. She suggested bringing Vinnie into it so he could go in the pub with her, make it all easier.
‘No offence, but I don’t want to trust anyone else just yet, these men have contacts all over the place.’
She tried to argue Vinnie’s position but Paul was having none of it. She asked him if he had any idea who McConachy was meeting, but Paul said he didn’t.
‘Look, just give it twenty minutes, like you’ve been stood up, enough at least to put McConachy together with men he would no doubt not want to be publically seen with. He’s not really known this side of the water, he’ll feel safe.’
Truth was she’d been in as soon as she realised who was involved. She drove the short distance to The Blarney Stone and parked up on the road outside, opposite the main door. The time now was 8.45 pm and according to Paul, the meeting was due from 9 pm. She took a deep breath and left Paul in the car as she walked confidently to the main entrance to the pub. It was a large two-storey building with its front aspect painted white, with large brass lamps sticking out over bay windows.
The main room had a long bar at one side facing a brick wall with several flat screen TVs on. Off to the right under the two ground floor bay windows were alcoves with table and chairs. The place was quiet, as after all it was a Monday evening and as far as she was aware, there were no major sporting events on that night. Indeed, the TV screens seemed to be playing replays from the weekend’s football action, and all had the volume turned down low. Two guys who were sat at the bar on stools glanced up momentarily as her stilettoes clicked against the hardwood floor.
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 interest 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.
Vengeance Page 12
