‘What’s that?’
‘The little shit’s gone sick and isn’t at home, nor is his own car.’
‘Bollocks,’ Vinnie said before asking, ‘What about Quintel?’
‘His phone is switched on so the live cell-citing still has it somewhere in North Preston; the last mast it pinged off was near the football ground.’
‘When will the line go on?’
‘Dunno, hopefully soon.’
‘Do you think Quintel’s final target is today?’ Vinnie asked.
‘Anyone’s guess, but there seems to be a lot of activity going on.’
Vinnie said he’d take a run up to the north end of the city and see if he could spot the Nissan, that was if Quintel still had it. He couldn’t think of what else to do, well, not until the line on Quintel’s phone went live, then they had a chance. Harry agreed and said he’d stay in the office and await Darlington’s call, and coordinate the surveillance team’s activity.
Chapter Sixty
The Manchester community centre where McConachy was due to speak outside was on a quiet side street not a million miles from The Blarney Stone pub. Paul told Christine not to look for him but he would be close enough should she need him for any reason. She got the impression that he was rather enjoying himself, sneaking about in the shadows. There were two TV channels set up outside to cover McConachy’s address, so she and her two-handed crew blended in well. Fortunately, both the soundgirl and cameraman had not only worked together many times, but had both worked on her programme several times so knew the backstory. The press brief was that McConachy would give a short address before taking questions, which was when she’d strike.
A little after eleven a motorcade of two plain cars and two marked police escort vehicles swung majestically into the street. The cop cars’ blue lights were flashing but with no sirens. A lectern had been set up at the roadside and a number of uniformed police community support officers and two cops held back the handful of locals who had turned out for a nosy. There were more press and TV knocking about than actual members of the public.
Five minutes later and Christine got her first look at McConachy in the flesh; he was not as imposing as he appeared on TV. He was a man in his late fifties, of small build and only about five foot five inches tall. He walked with a pronounced limp, almost dragging his right leg behind him as he stood in front of the podium and tapped on the mike to test it.
‘I don’t have too long before I head off to make my full address,’ McConachy started, ‘but I wanted to pre-empt what I will say later, here first; in this small piece of Ireland on English soil, it seems fitting, and in-keeping with all the marvellous initiatives that are now taking place in Northern Ireland since the peace process gave us the power sharing we all enjoy today.’
‘You getting all this?’ Christine whispered. Both her crew nodded.
‘A lot has been said about the dropping of investigations into the actions of paramilitaries on both sides of the political divide during the troubles, even though these events were considered acts committed within a war, and so therefore should not be treated as crimes. Indeed, it is the pardoning of those convicted which was a cornerstone of the peace agreement in the first place.’
Christine couldn’t hold back. ‘Christine Jones NWTV, is this why you are choosing the UK mainland to say this? To protect yourself from any backlash?’
‘If you’d let me finish Miss Jones,’ McConachy replied. But the short exchange had allowed her and her crew to edge to the front, which was all she needed.
‘As I was saying,’ McConachy continued, ‘In order to silence the critics of this policy, I want to announce today that I have agreed with Whitehall that all similar investigations into historical atrocities committed by the British Army and the Royal Ulster Constabulary – as it was, before it became the Police Service of Northern Ireland - will also be dropped so that we might all move forward.’
Any hope Christine had of ambushing McConachy on the totally different subject she had in mind soon became impossible. After dropping the bombshell he just had, the remaining press and media surged forward with a thousand questions being asked at once. McConachy silenced them as he took to the mike again. ‘I appreciate you have a lot of questions for such a historic announcement, but it might be better at the next venue where there will be more room. I’m sure you’ll all be off over there in a mo. Thank you.’
And with that McConachy was swiftly ushered back to his car. ‘Shit,’ Christine said, as she felt a hand on her elbow. She turned to face Paul. ‘You hear that?’ she asked.
‘Sure did, come on, let’s get to the next venue before the pack.’
Five minutes later Christine was a passenger in Paul’s hire car as he put it through its paces. ‘You after me landing in your lap again?’ she asked.
Paul just grinned as he concentrated on his driving; both of her crew were in the back seat, Paul said it would be quicker in one vehicle, which it would. Though by the look on her cameraman’s face he was probably wishing he’d put his camera in the boot now as he tried to cocoon it on his lap while the car slew around several corners.
‘Didn’t see that coming, talk about wanting to appear all things to all men,’ Paul said.
‘That’ll enrage his lot,’ Christine said.
‘Aye, they’ll see it as another example of him rolling over to let the Brits tickle his tummy,’ Paul said.
‘Smokescreen though. Did you note his choice of language?’ Christine said.
Paul just gave her a quick quizzical glance.
‘When he’s describing what the terrorists did during the troubles – and he really means the IRA but can’t say it – he talks about “acts committed within a war” and “should not be treated as crimes”, but when he talks about what the British forces did, it becomes “atrocities”.’
‘Well spotted,’ Paul said.
‘He probably doesn’t even realise it himself.’
‘Anyway, how do you intend to play it at the next venue?’ Paul asked.
‘We need to get in first, before the hoo-hah goes up at the end again. And, it’ll spoil his “historic moment”. It just depends if you can get us there before a fully equipped police escort?’
‘Better believe it; anyway it’s not that far.’
Christine glanced at Paul as he concentrated on throwing the car’s occupants from side to side with what was obviously an involuntary smirk on his face. Now she was sure he was enjoying himself.
Chapter Sixty-One
A crowd had been gathering for a while now, Quintel noticed. It was up to about fifty he reckoned and was being held back by a cordon of police where the driveway to the barracks’ main entrance met the pavement which abutted the road. A lectern had been set on the pavement and a second one was being set up near to the sentry at the entrance to the compound. ‘A couple of those fuckers look like the press,’ Quintel said as he glanced at his watch; 11.30 am.
‘Don’t be worrying about that, you’ll be through before they know what’s hit them,’ McKnowle said.
‘How do you know where the SAS escort to - whoever the fuck will be talking - will be? I mean I know an escort is an escort, but we’ve only got one crack at this, it could all become a bit fluid,’ Quintel said.
McKnowle turned to face him with a puzzled look on his face, which seemed a bit spooky as the sun came out at that very moment and threw a spotlight on his face, giving it a ghoul-like quality.
‘What Sass escort yous on about?’
‘Well, I just assumed the target was ex-SAS.’
‘And why would you be thinking that, Jackie-boy?’ McKnowle said, his voice with a sharp edge, and his countenance taking on an even harsher look.
‘It was just with you saying the target had been at the scene where you got shot, all those years ago, that’s all,’ Quintel quickly said, and noticed the look on McKnowle’s face ease a little.
‘Arh, I did say that, didn’t I?’
‘Look no
offence, but I’m going to need to know which fucker to throw the grenade at?’
‘So you arh. Fair enough,’ Mcknowle said before glancing at his own watch. ‘The target isn’t one of those Sass twats, though I’d love it to be, but there is no way of ever knowing who they were. I’ve had to settle with Reedly and Carstair instead.’
Quintel still didn’t quite understand the relevance of Reedly and Carstair; he hadn’t needed to, but was now intrigued. McKnowle clearly saw this and explained. He told Quintel all about the British strategy of justifying the security forces’ “murders” of the IRA’s volunteers up until the late nineties. How Carstair had been the government minister who brought in the policy and how Reedly had been the detective inspector charged with executing it. Quintel now understood his hatred of them.
‘I spent twenty years in that hell-like state, while those two bastards covered up the Sass’s actions. I had thought about asking you to kidnap them first so I could try to torture the information out of them, but I realised not even they would have known the Sass’s true identity. It would have been all that “Soldier A and Soldier B” bollocks.’
‘So who are we looking at today?’
‘I telt you properly afterwards, no offence, Jackie-boy, but what I can telt you is that the target was the ASU commander on the night I was ambushed and left for worse than dead.’
Quintel hadn’t seen that coming. Now he understood why McKnowle couldn’t use one of his old terrorist killers to do these jobs. There would have been no problem with Reedly and Carstair, but a fellow member of the IRA? And an active service unit commander to boot. ‘Forgive me, Bobby, I hope you don’t mind me using your first name?’ Quintel said.
‘Only in private, but no worries.’
Though Quintel now knew why McKnowle had gone outside on this job, and why Reedly and Carstair had been targets, he still didn’t know why the ASU commander was, so he asked, ‘Is it because he didn’t want to do all of the man’s family, and left you on your own after the ambush went down?’
‘Either of those reasons in themselves would be justification enough, Jackie-boy, but it runs far deeper than that, so it does,’ McKnowle started, and then opened up again like he had done at the bar the previous night. He went on to explain that he was actually a very, very senior member of the IRA’s ruling Army Council. He didn’t say he was at the top, but Quintel wondered if he had been. McKnowle told him of his hard-line views and that he would never have approved with the whole peace process that the paramilitaries on all sides eventually agreed to with the Brits. As far as McKnowle was concerned the war was still on now that he was free from his medical incarceration.
‘I’m taking care of my own business and then I’ll start the war again,’ he said.
‘So why the ASU commander?’ Quintel asked again.
‘After he legged it and I was carted away, he wheedled his way into the Army Council and eventually took over as a major influence within it. Something that would never had happened if I’d still been on my feet. The arrogant twat used to visit me in hospital to tell me how well the peace discussions were going. He was freeking pleased with himself. Thought I would be too. I had to just lie there and listen to it.’
No wonder McKnowle was such an angry man, Quintel thought, so he knew to go lightly now. ‘Maybe he thought you would have approved?’ Quintel offered.
‘Approved, approved,’ McKnowle said, adding, ‘that bastard knew. He was taunting me, taking the piss, rubbing in the seniority he had gained. If I’m to restart the armed struggle, he’d have to die anyway; it just so happens that it’s also personal.’
Quintel glanced out of the window and noted more activity building up outside. McKnowle also turned to face the window, before adding, ‘It doesn’t look like it’ll be long nar, best you check the kit.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
Vinnie was getting tired of aimlessly driving around looking for any sign of the old Nissan. He knew that the part- registered number had been logged into the ANPR – automatic number plate recognition – system, but with it only being a partial, it would be hit and miss whether a roadside or vehicle born camera would pick it up. In fact, the more he learnt about Quintel, the more convinced he was that he’d have ditched the motor by now. Even if he hadn’t initially been aware that he’d been clocked in it in Blackpool, that bent bastard Blister would no doubt have made sure afterwards. He’d also taken a ride to Blister’s address, which was also in the north of Preston, but made sure he didn’t get too close. He spotted a surveillance vehicle parked up near the house keeping watch, so veered off before he passed the address. He’d not heard from Harry since he’d left the nick, which must mean no good news. He eventually pulled up into a small car park opposite Preston North End Football Club’s Deepdale ground on the one side and a huge inner urban park called Moor Park on the other. He noticed that it was past 11.30 am as his phone rang. Harry.
‘Hi Harry, is the line on?’
‘Unfortunately not yet, and to make matters worse, Blister’s turned his phone off.’
Brilliant, Vinnie thought, the phone they really needed intercepted – Quintel’s - was turned on, but with no interception, whereas Blister’s was being intercepted but he’d turned it off. ‘Is the cell-citing still active?’ he asked.
‘That much we still have, and according to the last update a few minutes ago the handset is still somewhere in north Preston. But the reason I’m ringing is that I’ve just spoken to a local uniform superintendent who seemed harassed because of a last minute security issue he’d been given.’
‘What kind of issue?’ Vinnie asked.
‘He says some ex-IRA terrorist is due to make a speech set up at short notice; or short notice to the cops in Preston, anyway.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Very near to where you were headed. Outside Fulwood Army Barracks.’
‘Why, is he just trying to wind up the military?’
‘Probably,’ Harry said, adding, ‘I’ve put a call into our friend Major Crompton, and have our intel cell ready once we get a name.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The uniform super wouldn’t tell me who it is, which is fair enough from his point of view,’ Harry said. Always the diplomat, Vinnie thought, he’d have taken a more brutish approach.
‘But I’m hoping Major Crompton will surely know, and then we can do some research.’
‘What about Darlington?’ Vinnie asked.
‘On voicemail, probably in a meeting, and I daren’t go through his staff office; we don’t know whether Blister was working alone or not.’
‘Any news on that slime ball? I’d love to have five minutes alone with him after what he’s tried to do to Christine.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that Inspector, but no, to answer your question, but he’s got to return home sometime. Anyway, for now can you keep the area around the barracks warm?’
Vinnie said that he would and ended the call before firing up the Volvo engine. He also noticed that the sun had come from behind the clouds at last.
*
‘There the fucker is. It’s been a while since I saw that ugly face peering over me with his rancid breath, but that’s him so it is,’ McKnowle said.
Quintel took a long look at the man as he got out of a plain car, and was relieved to see the marked police escort vehicles all sod off as soon as they’d dropped him. He started to head up the driveway to the podium near the gatehouse as McKnowle had said he would. This guy certainly had some pretty sharp intel. Quintel studied him and wasn’t particularly impressed by the man’s demeanour, and voiced as much.
‘Don’t be conned by physical appearances alone, he’s been a bad man in his time, before he turned into the traitor that he now is,’ McKnowle said, adding, ‘some of the meanest Sass I’ve ever come across were the meekest looking; not all muscles and noise like the Paras and the Marines. Just mean, dirty, sneaky bastards, and ASU commanders were the same.’
&nb
sp; Quintel noticed that their target was wearing a light grey summer suit, which also helped mark him out from the crowd. ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘I’ll not mistake him, all five foot four of him, so I’ll head to the motor, bell me when we’re ready.’
‘I telt yous what, Jackie-boy, I know I said I’d keep away, but nar I’ve set eyes on the twat, I’ll come with yous.’
Quintel wasn’t entirely surprised by this; in fact it gave him an idea. It would mean parking on the main road to get a long distant view of when their man made his way to the podium by the pavement, but it would greatly increase their chances of success. ‘Ok, he said, and then threw the car keys at McKnowle, and added, ‘You drive and I’ll throw the grenade. But we’d better get moving, it looks like he’s about to start the first part of his address.’
Chapter Sixty-Three
Vinnie drove past the Barracks twice, once from each direction. He had approached the Y shaped junction from the top right of the Y. The Barracks themselves were set back on a bend with a large grass verge separating the street from the perimeter road. Vinnie could see a large crowd of sixty or more being held back by a police cordon on the wide pavement, next to a podium set up by the entrance road to the barracks. On his second drive past he saw a second lectern set up on the entrance road to the Barracks by the sentry post. He didn’t know if the ex-IRA terrorist had permission to do his address there or not, but guessed he had by the bored look on the sentry’s face. He turned right at the junction and headed back towards the football ground where he’d turn around and try and find somewhere to park. His phone rang, so he pulled over. It was Harry.
‘I’ve just had Darlington on and Major Crompton. This must be it. The ex-terrorist is thought to have been on a job years ago in west Belfast but escaped. Nothing could ever be proved, but when I dropped the name that Darlington gave me on Crompton he just said, “I’m unable to confirm or deny your speculation, but if he’s linked to your targets already attacked, then…,”’
Vengeance Page 26
