Border Angels

by Anthony Quinn

  “I thought you were one of the gawkers,” he explained.

  “What gawkers?”

  “We get lots of visitors pretending to be house hunters. What they’re really here for is a tour of a ghost estate.” He offered Daly a seat. “You’d think the place was a crime scene, the way they drive slowly around in their cars, pointing at all the For Sale signs. It’s been at least a year since I saw a genuine buyer.”

  “What about number sixty-eight? Anyone interested in that house?”

  Mooney flinched. “We had a lot of strange people coming and going over the weekend.”

  “What about a group of Croatian women?”

  Mooney thought about the question. “What do Croatian women look like, in your opinion? Don’t they dress the same and look the same as Irish women?”

  “I’m talking about women who may have been kidnapped and held prisoner there.”

  Mooney appeared not to have heard him. “I’m busy packing for a flight tonight, Inspector. Excuse me for being blunt, but I’m in a hurry.” He got up to leave.

  “The only place you’ll need to pack for is a police cell if you don’t tell me what’s going on in that house.”

  Mooney’s face looked stunned. He sat back down again.

  “Has something happened to Lena Novak?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “He told me he’d captured her.”

  “Who’s he?”

  Mooney sighed wearily. He explained to Daly how he had hired a former IRA man called John Ashe to trace the whereabouts of Lena Novak. His brief had been to question Lena and uncover the missing peace funds, and in return he’d given Ashe a new identity, a Jeep, and access to money.

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t realize he was going to double-cross me,” Mooney said with bitterness.

  “Tell me more.”

  “I still haven’t come to terms with his betrayal. Last night Ashe rang to say he had Lena Novak but that his plans had changed. He was working for a new boss now, one who paid much better.”

  Mikolajek, thought Daly to himself. He said nothing while the horizons of the investigation changed in his mind.

  “What about kidnapping women? Surely that wasn’t part of the brief you gave him?”

  “I handed him the keys to number sixty-eight and got some workmen to build a secret room for him. It was his stipulation. I thought it was a place for him to hide, if necessary. I left him to his own devices.”

  “Why did he take the women prisoner?”

  “He was doing what he knew best—spreading terror. He wanted Lena Novak’s attention, to force her into revealing herself.”

  Daly thought he knew what Mooney meant. People who believed their lives were in danger made predictable decisions. He wondered how predictable his and Lena’s plans were to people like Mikolajek and Ashe, who were obviously well versed in manipulating the frightened and vulnerable.

  “You have to help me find Ashe. And the missing women.”

  “It’s too late, now.” Mooney eyed Daly. “You were stupid not to have arrested him when you could. And I was twice as stupid to trust him with such a sensitive investigation. I should have known from the start that he wouldn’t follow orders. Ashe was no longer political in any way. He had no loyalty to the past or to the Republican party.”

  “This man was following your orders. You facilitated these kidnaps. You provided him with a vehicle, identification, and money. If anyone is killed, you’ll face serious criminal charges. Don’t imagine you’re going to wriggle out of this one.”

  A tremor of worry flashed across Mooney’s frozen features as he imagined the new possibilities, the fresh horrors that might arise now that Ashe had switched allegiances.

  “Is Ashe a killer?” asked Daly.

  Mooney said nothing.

  “It’s an important question. I want you to think carefully about it.”

  Eventually Mooney answered. “A long time ago, yes. But now . . . I’m not sure.”

  Daly thought he saw a glimmer of Mooney’s real face, one whose nerves were braced against the idea that he might have set a maniac in motion.

  “Last night he told me he had locked Lena Novak in the boot of his Jeep.”

  “I know. I rescued her.”

  Mooney visibly relaxed. “That puts you in a dangerous situation, Inspector Daly. Look at what happened to the last man who tried to rescue Lena Novak. If I were you, I’d get as far away as possible from that woman.”

  Daly made to leave. “I’d contact a solicitor as soon as possible, Mr. Mooney. You’re going to need one when we take you in for questioning.”

  When he got back into his car, he phoned the cottage but there was no answer. He drove home as fast as he could, fearing that Lena had disappeared once again.

  40

  In return for emptying his savings account, Daly received little more than a pensive stare from Lena when he returned home.

  “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” he asked.

  “I was out.” Her voice was calm and superior. “I went to get some clothes and women’s things.”

  “In the Jeep?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should have stayed here, like I told you.”

  “I’m not your prisoner.” Her blue eyes were drenched in defiance.

  He didn’t know how to reply. He stood still and stared at her. Why couldn’t she see what he saw—the dangerous men advancing, the chaos seeping around them, their time running out? Perhaps she no longer knew what fear was, he thought.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s not safe for you to be in public, especially in that Jeep. Next time ring me. Tell me what you’re doing.”

  The hours dragged by in the cottage. Lena wandered through the rooms and the back garden like someone sitting out a sentence. To help pass the time, Daly began sorting through the boxes he had transported from his former home in the city. He unpacked his things—books, clothes, CDs, and old letters—but try as he might, he could not push away his rising sense of anxiety. He felt a pang of conscience that what he and Lena were doing was breaking the law, but he convinced himself that the end justified the means. How many more crimes would they prevent by capturing Mikolajek and making sure he was locked away?

  He stared through the tiny attic window with its view of rutted bog land and the distant lough, water churning to the brim of the horizon. His father had spent his last winter, muffled in clothes, staring out at the same bleak landscape, the only landscape he had ever known. One day he might end up the same, thought Daly, watching over a view that never changed, with plenty of time to grieve over the past and his lack of nerve.

  He knew that what he was planning had nothing to do with police work. All the same, he was committed to helping Lena. He could not abandon this woman whose path had crossed with his. He was prepared to do whatever it took to ensnare Mikolajek, because the crimes he had committed against women like Lena were so appalling, the injustice so great, that he had forfeited his right to liberty.

  She was waiting for him when he came down the stairs.

  “Do you think we’ll get Mikolajek?” she asked.

  “I’ve no way of predicting what will happen tomorrow,” he said truthfully.

  They went to their separate beds just after 10:00 p.m.

  The next morning, they were both up early. Another dawn had brought fresh doubts to his mind over what they were doing. Every time he ran through the events of the past few weeks, and each of his encounters with Lena, he got the feeling that he was missing something important. When he asked her to explain her side of the events, the details remained unchanged, but a feeling of uncertainty still nagged at him.

  Somehow, her readiness to keep going over her story and put his doubts at ease seemed slightly unnatural, like a woman patiently explaining away the details of an affair. He
worried that she had come to him because she had detected a flaw in his makeup. Was she seeking his protection or comfort? Or was she using him for a darker purpose?

  After breakfast, he asked her a question. “Why was Mikolajek so afraid of your doll?”

  “You have so many questions.” For the first time a note of impatience had crept into her voice.

  “But this one’s important.” He tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice. “That night I met you in the farmhouse brothel. You said you’d come back to find the doll. Was it really just for sentimental reasons?”

  She looked at him in a different way. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I don’t understand Mikolajek’s fear, and that makes me suspicious.”

  “Suspicious of whom? The doll? Or me?”

  “Suspicious of everyone. It’s what happens when you devote your life to uncovering criminals.” He stared at her, trying to read her thoughts, but they were hidden away in a language he could not understand.

  Before leaving the cottage, he checked the gun in his jacket. He confirmed that the magazine was filled with the official number of ammunition rounds. It had been a long time since he had shot at anything other than a fixed target, and he hoped that he would not have to use the weapon today. He checked the safety and slipped it back into his jacket. When Lena walked outside and climbed into the car, he took out his mobile and thumbed in Irwin’s number. Daly quickly explained to him the plan he and Lena had set into operation. There was a long pause from Irwin.

  “What the hell are you playing at, Daly?”

  “Look I don’t have the time to explain everything now. Mikolajek is a dangerous criminal, but he’s the key to everything. Once we have him, we’ll find out what happened to Fowler and the Croatian. All I’m asking you to do is meet me at the Maghery roundabout and tail me from there.”

  “You’ve sidelined me from the beginning. You and this prostitute. It’s a bit late to be calling in the cavalry.”

  Daly rubbed his jaw. He suddenly felt out of his depth, a long way out. He glanced out at the car where Lena was waiting. She was one of those women who had been pulled out too far by dangerous currents, who swam up from the fathoms to tug you under no matter how hard you fought to stay on the surface.

  Irwin spoke again. “I think you should hand the entire operation over to Special Branch. Let the experts handle this one.”

  “It’s not my choice. She won’t cooperate with anyone else.”

  “OK.” Irwin sighed. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Send a forensics team to my cottage. There’s a black Jeep parked in the orchard. Get them to examine it thoroughly.”

  “Why are you driving so slowly?” Lena asked, twenty minutes later. “Are you thinking of pulling out?”

  They were still ten minutes away from the pickup point for the passports. He had barely shifted out of fourth gear. The road lay before him, a relentless conveyor belt taking him to certain doom. Normally, he found driving an aid to thinking, but this morning, the pace of his thoughts was as sluggish as the Renault’s old engine.

  “I don’t know,” he lied. “I think the engine’s losing power.”

  He pulled in at a lay-by and got out on the pretense of checking under the car’s hood. He should have stuck to solving ordinary crime, he thought, as he pulled out his mobile phone. Hidden from Lena’s view by the hood he made a surreptitious call to Irwin. At least hunting down a few burglars or drunk drivers was satisfyingly straight­forward, with none of the intricacies of plotting revenge with a victim as complicated as Lena.

  “Where are you, Derek?” he hissed into the phone. “I didn’t see you at the roundabout.”

  Irwin said nothing for a moment. “Sorry. I had a flat tire.” His tone was less than sincere.

  “I’m not bullshitting you. This is deadly serious.”

  “Then why did you pick me to burden with your harebrained scheme?”

  “You owe me one, remember?”

  “Listen, I can’t get any sense out of you. Why don’t you bring that prostitute straight to the police station? Tell her the whole plan was just a ruse to get her into the interview room.”

  “The only way out of this mess is to go through with the plan, but I need backup.”

  Lena appeared at the side of the van, cigarette in hand. She looked at Daly quizzically.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Daly switched off the phone. “The mechanic thinks it’s nothing too serious.”

  Concern shadowed her naturally melancholic face as she watched him check the coolant level. She blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke and stared at him. Her eyes focused on him with watery concentration.

  “Don’t worry, Celcius,” she said. “The worst Mikolajek can do is kill me.” Then she blew him a kiss and turned to walk away.

  His phone chirped briefly. He checked the message. It was from Irwin. It read: Black Jeep gone from your cottage. House ransacked. He shook his head. Madness, the entire plan was pure madness, he thought. The trap door of doubt groaned beneath his feet.

  He was about to phone Irwin back and call in armed assistance when he heard the screech of brakes. A Jeep careening by halted abruptly and made a tight U-turn.

  Daly dove for cover when a gunshot rang out. He heard the scampering of feet and several more shots followed by the pop of tires bursting. A car door slammed shut, and a woman’s voice called out his name. When he looked up, the Jeep was speeding off in the opposite direction, and Lena was gone. He jumped into the car and shoved it into gear. He took off as hard as he could, but the wheels thumped uselessly against the road. He had two flat tires. He jumped out as the Jeep sped into the distance. Reaching into his jacket, he fumbled for his gun, but it was gone.

  41

  Jozef Mikolajek reminded himself that women were always late as he waited in the empty bar. He could feel the weight of his anger rising in his chest, but he forced himself to be patient. He needed to control his emotions; otherwise, they might spoil all his preparations and the game he had devised this afternoon for Lena Novak. He must be calm, he told himself. He must remember the patience of the shepherds and hunters in the mountains above Zagreb. They knew that missing sheep always returned, bleating for help, and that, sooner or later, the prey came looking for the hunter. Those were the laws of the wild. The laws he had believed in all his life.

  He went over to the door and checked the street. He watched as a young woman pushed a pram past the pub doors. Try as he might, he could not remember Lena Novak’s face very well. He had offered escape and a new life to so many girls from the east that recalling the details of one in particular was like trying to remember a glass of cheap wine he had drunk a long time ago. The kind of wine you gulp down carelessly, not thinking of the headache it might leave you with in the morning.

  He sighed. The last few months had been some of the most difficult of his entire life. First, fearing a police swoop, he’d had to shut down the border brothel, then his fuel-laundering and bottling plant was raided, and, just a few days previously, the police had busted Home Sweet Home. Suddenly, his entire criminal empire looked vulnerable. Anger swelled inside him again. That girl had somehow been the trigger for his bad luck. She had humiliated him more than any other living person had ever dared. Over the past two months, he had stockpiled enough revenge and anger to start another war, never mind kill her. Ever since she had escaped, he could feel his compatriots point at him and mock. “Look at him, he can’t even manage to control a simple woman from a mountain village.” No wonder his businesses had suffered so badly.

  However, revenge wasn’t the principal reason he was waiting for Lena Novak in this dingy pub. It was money, or at least the promise of money. Enough money, he hoped, to put his criminal empire back on its feet again. For the first time in days, he smiled faintly. With so many personal setbacks, he had to learn how to ap
preciate the simple things in life: a fine wine rolled on the tongue, a good cigar, and this meeting with his missing prostitute, this promise of victory over a desperate woman. He was willing to spend the rest of the afternoon savoring her defeat.

  A voice broke the silence.

  “I didn’t realize they allowed animals in here.”

  Mikolajek looked up toward Lena’s voice. He hadn’t heard her enter.

  “Hedler’s out of town today,” he said. “He asked me to step in.”

  She glanced nervously about the deserted bar. “I knew you’d be here waiting for me.”

  He looked her up and down. A dim recollection came back to him of a winter landscape and a girl on a freezing cold bus. However, Lena Novak had changed since then. She stood before him dressed in a smart trouser suit with black leather shoes. Her short hair was swept back and her face carried just a hint of makeup. He raised an eyebrow. She looked like a cutthroat businesswoman instead of a whore on the run.

  “Where’s your policeman friend? The loser in the ancient Renault.”

  She ignored his question and sat down opposite him. She stared at him without blinking.

  “Are you going to run again?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “From the very beginning I knew you’d find me,” she said. “I came here so that you would see me as I am. An elegant woman with her own life ahead of her. Not a piece of trash for you to keep abusing.”

  It was his turn to stare at her. Blinded by the mechanical business of selling sex, he had somehow overlooked the beauty that ran through her face and body. In her figure he saw the imprint of the girl he had known back in Croatia. He remembered a pretty dress she had worn once, held by delicate straps around her slender shoulders, but the memory quickly dissolved. A successful man never missed a business opportunity, he reminded himself, and a very important one had just fallen into his lap.

  “You’re going to have to stop looking at me in that way,” she said.