A Real Job

by David Lowe

  David pointed to his ears, and said, ‘I can’t hear anything. My hearings been damaged from the first bomb blast in the kitchen. We’ve to get everyone out of here to the front of the hotel. There’s an even larger bomb likely to go off and it’s in one of the vans parked at the back.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll help you’ Trevelyan said. Going out into the rear of the hotel they saw a large group of people standing there. David shouted at them to go back into the banqueting suite and leave the hotel through the front entrance. One of the male guests looked condescendingly at David. Eyeing him up and down, noticing the officer’s ripped suit covered in dust, his hair now unkempt and blood trickling down his face from the cuts to his head, the man said, ‘And who are you to tell us what to do?’

  ‘This man is a Special Branch officer and I’m Lord Trevelyan of Bude. If you want to stay alive do as you’re fucking told.’

  Sheepishly, the man said, ‘If you say so,’ and started running into the banqueting suite.

  Many were still ignoring David. One was Julia Hudson. Realising it was David she gathered up her gown and ran over to him. ‘What is it?’ she asked him.

  ‘Julia,’ Alan Trevelyan said, ‘David’s deaf from the blast. He reckons there’s a bomb in one of these vans. Help us get everyone out from the back of the hotel towards the front.’

  ‘Of course.’ Waving her arms as if guiding cattle through a field towards a gate she started shouting, ‘I’m the chief Constable of Cheshire. Leave this area immediately. A second bomb is likely to go off.’

  Alan and David joined Julia in encouraging the people to leave the area. Once everyone left the rear of the hotel into the banqueting suite, the three followed them as they made their way towards the front of the hotel. After walking a few paces into the room, there was a large explosion. Much louder than the first with a stronger blast that shattered the glass panes in the picture window and patio doors. With lethal shards of glass flying through the banqueting suite and plaster from the ceiling falling, as the whole room was shaking Alan pushed David to the floor and lay on top of him.

  * * *

  His pistol pointed at the Irishman, Steve said, ‘It’s over Mahoney,’

  As he spoke, both heard an explosion in the distance. A wide grin came across Mahoney’s face. Dreading that he had a good idea where the explosion came from Steve did not turn round to see what it was, he kept his eyes and the barrel of his pistol trained on Mahoney who started laughing as he said, ‘It’s over and I’ve won. That hotel’s just gone up in fucking smoke.’

  Continuing to look at Mahoney Steve said nothing. The only sign of an emotion from him was his nostrils flaring even wider. ‘The Prince, all those important guests and the police officers they’re all dead’, the Irishman said, goading Steve, ‘That includes your mate, David fucking Hurst. He was more of a man than you fucking are. He won’t have cried like a baby like you did when Sean McCrossan and the other lads had a pistol to your head all those years ago. Even though his body will be in bits at least he died like a man, not like you. And just think, you couldn’t save him like he saved you that night.’

  Fighting not to show any emotion in his face, the thought of David being killed by the man he was pointing his Glock pistol at made him place a little more pressure on the trigger. ‘You murdering bastard. That’s all you can fucking do isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not murder, they’re casualties of war.’

  Along with images in his head of David being killed in the explosion, Steve then thought of the farmer’s wife, the security guard and the two uniform officers. ‘You fucking thick Irish bastard, the war’s over. It finished after the Good Friday Agreement.’

  ‘You’re the fucking thick bastard. The war never ended and it won’t be until the British are out of Ireland. That’s what the Omagh bomb should have told your lot just after the Agreement was signed.’ Although Steve was stony faced, Mahoney could see he was getting to him, ‘You’ll never save everyone all the time. You’ll never beat us. I’ve only got to be lucky once, you’ve got to be lucky all of the time and that explosion tells me your luck’s just fucking run out.’

  ‘And so has yours, you Irish bastard.’ Steve said squeezing the trigger of his pistol twice.

  As Mahoney fell backwards, Steve jumped into the back of the van and looked inside the holdall. Finding Mahoney’s pistol, he took it out of the bag and calmly placed it in the Irishman’s right hand. Looking down at the dead terrorist, he said, ‘You shouldn’t have pulled your gun on me and that’s for those you killed without mercy. Davey might only have been half Irish, but he was more of a fucking Irishman that you ever were.’

  * * *

  Panic ran through the crowd that had not been evacuated from the front of the hotel before the explosion. As the high numbers made it a slow process, not everyone had been cleared from the area before the explosion. That panic became more pervasive when some of those at the front began to scream, some fainting. Uniform officers began to create cordons at the front of the hotel to allow ambulances dispatched from all around the Cheshire and Mersey area to gain access to the main entrance.

  Wading through the wreckage of the hotel’s banqueting suite, George saw a dazed Julia Hudson. She looked the complete opposite to when he saw her in the control room twenty minutes earlier. Hair bedraggled, her expensive gown ripped, George noticed a large shard of glass embedded in her right arm. He went over to her and said, ‘Your arm? Julia are you alright?’

  She looked at the shard of glass stuck in her forearm and said, ‘I’m fine but there are others in here that aren’t. We need to help them. Have you seen your father-in-law?’

  ‘No,’ George said putting his arm around her, ‘Come on Julia. You need to get that arm seen to.’ He called over a uniform officer to take Julia to an ambulance outside. As she walked out of the wreckage of the banqueting suite, George looked around the room searching for his father-in-law and David.

  ‘George, have you found David?’ Debbie asked running into the room trying to keep the panic out of her voice as she surveyed the carnage.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said looking up at Debbie, ‘I don’t know where he was when the bomb went off.’

  ‘How about Alan? Was he in here when it went off?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ George said taking hold of Debbie by the arm, ‘let’s make our way to what’s left of the patio doors and we’ll search from there.’

  Glass crunched under their feet as they carefully walked through the banqueting suite. Those that were knocked down by the blast were coming to and slowly picking themselves up from the floor. Amid the moaning of the injured, Debbie said, ‘It’s the glass that’s done the damage. Just look at these shards. They’re everywhere.’

  As dust was settling in the room, it made it difficult to recognise anyone instantly. All the people’s clothes and hair were now the same monochrome colour. By the patio doors they saw an elderly man lying on top of another male. George leant down and gently turned the body of the elderly male over to one side. Instantly he recognised his father-in-law. Underneath Alan, they saw David’s motionless body. Placing Alan Trevelyan onto his side, his back punctured with shards of glass, George could feel a faint pulse. He shouted to one of the officers to get a paramedic. Leaning over and in a quiet, reassuring manner, he said in Alan’s ear, ‘It’s George. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you to hospital.’

  Debbie turned David over onto his back and cradled his head in her arm. Still alive, the pains in his head were causing him to moan as he started to come to. ‘You’re one lucky bugger David Hurst,’ she said wiping dust from his forehead, ‘talk about the luck of the Irish, your Irish half’s been working overtime.’ Opening his eyes he tired to speak. ‘Don’t speak, save your strength. Everything’s alright. You got most of the people out. Just lie here and we’ll wait for the paramedics. You’re going to be OK,’
Debbie said. Closing his eyes, he slumped back. In the ruins of what was an ornate room, watching the expressionless walking wounded covered in a blanket of grey dust wandering aimlessly in a shock instilled silence caused Debbie’s spine to shiver at the thought of what might have been if David had not been got most of the guests out.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Belmarsh Prison, High Security Wing, 10.30 hours, Tuesday, 10th November

  After arriving at the high security wing of Belmarsh Prison, Hurst and Adams were sitting in an interview room waiting for McElvaney to be produced by the prison officers. As they were waiting, their thoughts returned to the summer investigation into the Real IRA. Apart from cuts and bruises, all David Hurst sustained in the bomb attack was concussion. The deafness he suffered after the first blast was only temporary. Within weeks his hearing fully returned, unimpaired. By lying on top of David, Alan Trevelyan saved him from suffering any serious injury. During the months after the bombing, Alan convalesced in George’s home, with his grandchildren. They enjoyed doing all his fetching and carrying as they got to know their grandfather even more. Something they had not done too much of when he was a busy House of Lords and Supreme Court judge living in London. In the months Alan was recovering, David made sure he visited him regularly.

  Being his closest friend and having worked so long together, reading between the lines of Steve’s statement regarding the shooting of Mahoney, David knew in his heart the Irishman never offered any resistance to Steve. Whenever his DS asked what really happened, Steve would simply mile and reply, ‘It’s all in my statement.’

  What they would discuss openly was Murphy and his wife being found dead at a villa in a Turkish resort. Although never confirmed, the intelligence reports strongly suggested he ran off with the money given to him by Sayfel to fund the Real IRA. Al Qaeda, and Sayfel in particular hunted him down and killed Murphy and his wife. With the success of the investigation into the Manchester and Bradford Al Qaeda cells, along with the arrests of the Real IRA, Sayfel’s plans of starting a terrorist war on two fronts in the UK had been stopped, for now. It was frustrating for both the officers that Sayfel and the Real IRA had a degree of success. Fourteen people died with many more injured in the Grosvenor Hotel bombing. Even though Hurst’s actions prevented the death toll from being even higher, demonstrating their capability to operate on the British mainland put the Real IRA firmly on the terrorist map.

  The security services had further successes as the Police Service of Northern Ireland traced O’Byrne to an address in Portadown and arrested him. Along with McCullagh, Maguire, Connell, and McElvaney, the five men were due to stand trial at the Old Bailey in London in a week’s time, while the six arrested in Liverpool had already been convicted two weeks earlier for a variety of terrorist related offences. Having received a letter from McElvaney’s solicitor at their CTU office in Manchester stating McElvaney had requested to see the two officers prior to the trial, the CTU had arranged for a visiting order to enable the two officers to see him in the prison.

  As the door to the room opened, both turned to see a handcuffed McElvaney being brought in by two prison officers. One closed the door and stood by it while the second officer escorted the Irishman to the opposite side of the desk David and Steve were sat at. Unlocking the handcuffs the prison officer took them off McElvaney’s wrists and said curtly ‘Sit down,’ and looked at the Special Branch officers. ‘We’ll be outside by the door. If he kicks off or when you finish with him, press this button here.’ The prison officer pointed to a small push button on the desk in between Steve and David.

  The prison officers left the room closing the door behind them. David looked at McElvaney and said, ‘This is irregular Danny. You know we can’t discuss next week’s case, so what do you want to see us about?’

  ‘I’ve a message for you from my brigade commander. I’m only the messenger, so I’ve got no part in this. If you agree that you’ll do nothing to me, I’ll tell you.’

  David looked at Steve, who nodded they should let McElvaney say what he had to. ‘I agree,’ David said.

  ‘We know what you did to Sean McCrossan in Ireland.’

  ‘I know that! I told Maguire what happened when I arrested him,’ David said wondering where this was going.

  ‘We know it was murder. There was a fifth member near the farm that you never found and she saw it all,’ then looking at Steve, McElvaney said, ‘and we reckon you killed Dave Mahoney in cold blood. Us three go back many years and my brigade commander wants you to know that the threat made to you in ninety-six, has been taken up by the Real IRA and our associates.’

  ‘Your associates?’ Steve asked.

  ‘He wants you to know the Real IRA has friends with other non-Irish groups active here in Britain and the rest of the world. He wants me to make sure that you know the threat I gave you all those years ago about being dead men is no longer a threat. It’s now an order that’s been given by the senior command of the Real IRA. And believe me that order will be carried out.’

  Deep down, David knew McElvaney was serious. Leaning across the table he said, ‘Your threat or order as you call it, doesn’t frighten me and I know Al Qaeda were funding your operation last summer. I saw it with my own eyes. So tell me something I don’t know.’

  McElvaney paused for a moment and stared at David and said, ‘I know what I’ve said has got to you. You know how close we got to your sister. It’s only a matter of time before we get to you,’ and looking at Steve he said, ‘and you. My commander wants you to know that all you did was postpone our activities in Britain and we will be back. It’ll be sooner than you think. When we are, you two and your families will know about it.’

  ‘That’s threats to kill,’ Steve said sitting back in his seat, ‘that’s enough to give you and your mates an extra ten years.’

  ‘Let’s be honest DC Adams, none of us are going to get short sentences for what happened are we?’

  ‘No,’ Steve said.

  ‘So your threats make no difference to me. For the rest of your lives, you’ll both have to keep looking over your shoulder. Now press that button. I’m finished. I’ve nothing else to say.’

  As Steve went to press the button David grabbed his hand and stopped him. Hurst stood up, pushed the chair he was sitting on across the room and leaning across the table, his eyes narrowing, he glared at McElvaney. Unlike most of the investigations he was involved with, this one had got under his skin the most. Running through his mind was how the man sat opposite him was the first to give David a death threat and how this Real IRA cell had targeted his family. For David it was personal. The Real IRA had crossed the line first, not him. Looking McElvaney directly in the eye and pointing his right index finger in his face he said, ‘This interview’s not finished, I’ve got more to say. I’ll tell you when this interview’s fucking finished. You don’t scare me and Steve anymore. I personally wiped out fucking McCrossan and the others in Ireland, Steve took out Mahoney and you and the others are behind bars. You can’t even trust your new mates, Al fucking Qaeda. They hunted down and killed Murphy in Turkey. Now that’s efficiency, not like you fucking bunch of shitheads. You had years to get us two, but you couldn’t do it.

  ‘You said to me when we first met that I had no Irish blood in me. Well guess what? You’re fucking wrong. I’ve got Irish blood and an English heart and that’s the worse combination fucking thugs like you can come across. Here’s fucking why. You’ve not only touched the cloth by killing police officers in Ireland and now in England, which makes us really angry, you tried to get my family. That my friend makes me so fucking angry you can’t imagine what I want to do with the lot of you. I’m not talking to you as a police officer, but as a Liverpool born Irishman. I’ve so many connections in Ireland you can’t even fucking comprehend how and when they will get you and your mates if you touch me or mine. As I’ve got so many connections in Liverpool, your
lot’ll never get anywhere near my family again. You fucking know that. When I twatted you and O’Byrne in the pub in Liverpool, most of the punters in there are Irish Catholics with a leaning towards the nationalist cause. They didn’t give a shit about you because you wanted to get me. I have people on both sides of the fence inside prison who owe me favours, so don’t think I can’t get to you while you’re inside this fucking shithole. So, your threats, orders whatever the fuck they are, don’t get to me anymore. Enjoy your life in your ten by twelve cell for the next thirty years while me and Steve go out of here free men. There’s no Good Friday Agreement coming up on the horizon that will let you out early like last time.’

  David lowered his voice and said, ‘Years ago you made threats that I’ll admit had me and Steve fucking scared. They were the days when the Provisional’s had power. The Real Fucking IRA! You’ve no power! You’re fucking nothing more than wannabe murdering thugs without a cause. Even Sinn Fein agrees with that! You don’t scare me or Steve anymore.’

  Leaning right across the table, into McElvaney’s ear, slowly emphasising each word, he whispered, ‘If . . . any of you . . . come near me or my family again . . . you’re a fucking dead man . . . that’s no threat . . . it’s a fucking promise.’

  David pressed the button, turned his back on McElvaney and with Steve walked towards the door as the prison officers entered the room and strode towards the ashen faced McElvaney.