by Chris Simms
He carried on, the feeling of leaving civilization behind growing stronger. A gnarled tree ghosted past to his right and the road began to rise towards twin outcrops of rock. Nearly there.
The road passed between the two large rock formations and then began to level out on to the rough plateau. In the gathering night, he could make out Cormorant Lake and its tree-covered island away to his left. On the trees’ bare branches, roosting seabirds were lined up like black vultures.
Two vehicles were up ahead. A dark-coloured four-wheel drive and a white van. He came to a stop, put his car in reverse and swung it back onto the swathe of grass that bordered the road. Then he sat back and watched the vehicles through his side window.
For a second, he thought something shifted in the ruins of the halfway house about twenty metres in front of him. Probably a sheep, he thought, looking back at the two vehicles. You can make the first move. There are more of you.
After a few more seconds, the doors of the van opened and three male figures got out. Where, he wondered, is Zoë? It had now grown too dark to make out if anyone else was in the cab of the van. One of the figures raised an arm and beckoned. Jon clicked open his door. Chill air hit him and he immediately reached for his jacket’s zip. Shit, he said to himself. I wish I had that bloody riot gear. Or just the pepper spray. I’d settle for that. Fingers brushing over the bulge of his warrant card for reassurance, he retrieved the two tapes, hobbled a few metres forward and stopped. ‘Where’s Zoë?’
Two of the figures continued toward him. As they got closer, he could make out their faces. Darragh de Avila and an older man who had a passing resemblance to the nightclub owner. So that’s Gerrard, he thought. They came to a halt adjacent to the halfway house and Darragh slung something towards Jon’s feet.
He looked down. My rucksack.
‘Everything’s in it,’ Darragh announced, a slight squeak in his voice.
Jon looked at him. You, he thought, like to slap women around, do you? Wait for prison. With your feminine looks, you’ll soon find out what it’s like to be someone’s bitch.
The older man smiled. ‘A token of goodwill.’
Keeping his eyes on the pair, he bent his good knee and hooked the rucksack up. Something shiny had dried across the front and down both straps. He checked the front pocket: passport, wallet and plane tickets. My God, they really do want to settle this. He hung the bag from his shoulder. ‘I said, where’s Zoë?’
The old man gestured behind him. ‘Back of the van. Now, hand the tapes over, would you?’
Jon’s gaze shifted to the two vehicles. The figure lurking near them must be Devlan. If that crazy bastard has hurt her… ‘Bring her over. I want to see her.’
Devlan stood at the rear corner of the vehicle, watching as Jon lifted the rucksack. Yes, you put it on, he smiled. Now, come just a bit closer. Da, get him a bit closer and I’ll unlock these doors. He felt in his trouser pockets for the van’s keys and realised they weren’t there. His hands went to his jacket and started feeling round. Pockets were empty. Are they still in the ignition? No – I remember placing them on the dashboard before Dad and Darragh came over to join me. The memory hit him and he wanted to shout with frustration. As they’d all climbed out of the vehicle, he’d heard a jangle in his father’s hand. Da. He fucking pocketed them.
‘We will,’ Gerrard replied a little breathlessly. ‘But first we need to talk. Will you not come closer? I can’t be raising my voice like this.’
Jon measured the distances in his head. They were still a good fifteen metres away and neither man posed a physical threat. It’s Devlan I need to keep an eye on. He moved forward again, halting around ten metres short of them. Glancing over his shoulder, he weighed up how far it now was back to the Peugeot. A dozen or so metres? Not that my knee will allow me to sprint. If it comes to that.
The old man held his coat open. Beneath it Jon could see the man’s shirt tucked into his trousers. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Nothing hidden. No need to worry.’ He beckoned once more. ‘Come on. We won’t bite.’
Liam, perched on the front corner of the car, blew into his hands. ‘I hope they don’t take too long. I’m freezing my nuts off here.’
Whingeing bloody twat, Sean thought.
The driver’s door swung open and Denis got out. ‘They won’t. It’ll be in the back of the van with him and off. How long to the border from here? Plenty of time to amuse themselves with him.’
Sean kept his head slightly turned, straining for the sound of any vehicle approaching from the direction of the Galway road.
Liam spat into the grass. ‘Sure, that guy’s going to suffer.’
‘And so will the tout-girl when Devlan finds her,’ Denis added. His eyes lit up. ‘Maybe he’ll let me have a go on her first. I’ve always fancied a ride on that one.’
Sean turned his head. A vehicle! The other two caught its low tone and looked up the road connecting to the N59. Seconds later, it appeared.
Some kind of off-roader, Sean guessed, judging from the height of its headlights. It reached the junction, slowed down and started to indicate right. Range Rover, Sean thought, looking at the two letters in the registration. YZ. Londonderry. He felt the saliva vanish from his mouth. It’s them.
‘Shall I fetch the shotgun?’ Liam murmured.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sean replied. ‘It’ll be holidaymakers, lost their way.’
Denis stepped forwards, hands raised. ‘Road’s closed.’
The vehicle stopped and a slight man with short black hair and a bony face got out of the passenger side. Walking quickly towards them, he asked, ‘Which of you is Sean Doyle?’
Liam and Denis turned to Sean, a look of bafflement on their faces. Sean’s hand shot up like he was in class. ‘Me.’
The man swung a pistol up at Denis’s chest. It gave a muted phut. Denis sat down on the road, lips still parted in surprise. The man swung the weapon round. Liam just had time to begin standing, palms raised, when the noise sounded again. The tip of the ring finger on his right hand vanished and he sat back down on the car’s bonnet. A hole had appeared in the chest of his jacket. The man closed the remainder of the gap, held the gun to Denis’s head and fired once more. He fell back, the rear of his skull thudding against the road. Blood welling from the stump of his finger, Liam’s mouth was opening and closing. The man stepped sideways, pointed the gun to Liam’s temple and pulled the trigger a fourth time. Liam’s head flinched as if he’d been slapped and he toppled from the vehicle.
No exit wound, Sean thought. Hollow-point rounds, ricocheting round inside the skull.
The Range Rover’s doors opened and another two men got out. Sean stared at them, hand still in the air.
‘Help us get them out of sight,’ the first man ordered, sliding the weapon into a shoulder holster.
No one spoke as the two corpses were dragged into the long grass of the verge.
‘Right,’ the man who’d done the firing said, looking off down the bog road. ‘How many out there?’
Sean peeled his lips apart. ‘Three.’ Then, clearing his throat, added, ‘Plus the Englishman.’
The man reached into his side pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. On it was a passport-sized photo of Jon Spicer. Sean could see a series of numbers below the image, alongside a stamp for Greater Manchester Police. Must be from his personnel file, Sean thought. Jesus, they have people everywhere.
‘Him?’ the man asked.
‘That’s the one.’
The shooter turned and walked back to the Range Rover. Sean trailed uncertainly behind.
The man stopped at the open rear door and looked into the vehicle. ‘It’s three. You OK with that in this light?’
Sean stole a glance through to the back seat. A man was sitting there, adjusting the telescopic sights of a rifle. Holy shit, thought Sean. That’s a G3-SG1, sniper’s version. Telescopic sights and under-barrel bipod. So it’s true; they did hang on to some of the heavier stuff.
Th
e man with the rifle continued to prepare his weapon. ‘Not sure. Get me within one fifty metres and I’ll tell you. Might need the headlights on full.’
The man nodded. ‘Right you are.’ He turned to Sean. ‘You? Why you ever ran with this shower of shit. Keep this end of the road secure until we come back. Then get yourself up to Lurgan and report to McGuire. He has work for you.’
Jon hobbled a couple of metres closer. What was Devlan up to back there? Now he seemed to be searching around in the vehicle’s glove compartment.
Darragh’s eyes moved from Jon to somewhere way off behind him. ‘Did you see that?’ he said quietly.
Gerrard’s brow buckled. ‘No. What?’
‘Thought I saw lights, out in the bog.’
‘Car lights?’
‘I don’t know.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘I want your other son here, too,’ Jon said. ‘What gets said now has to be agreed by all of us.’
‘Devlan does as I say,’ the old man stated.
Jon looked at him. ‘Like trying to gas my wife and daughter?’
A muscle went off at the corner of the old man’s eye. It made him look like he was trying not to wink.
Jon hitched the rucksack higher on his shoulder. ‘Just get him over.’
Gerrard shrugged. ‘So you give the orders now?’ He dropped his chin to his shoulder. ‘Devlan? Go ahead!’
The figure had got back out of the van. He hesitated then set off towards them, his footsteps the only sound. Looking confused, Gerrard glanced over his shoulder.
Gradually, Devlan’s shape took form and Jon felt the muscles in his throat start to contract. Here he is. The man who released a fighting dog at my daughter, cost me Punch and almost killed my entire family. He studied the other man’s face, wanting so much to see it contorted with pain. Stay in control, he said to himself. Do not lose it now.
Devlan came to a halt beside Gerrard. ‘Da, you took the keys to the fucking van.’
That same high voice, Jon thought. Both brothers sounded like their balls never dropped.
A look of dismay passed across the old man’s face. ‘I did?’ He started patting the pockets of his coat.
Devlan’s eyes locked with Jon’s. ‘The fuck are you staring at?’
Jon kept looking. I can feel the hatred coming off him, he thought. Like needles in the air. Play it nice and easy. You’re nearly out of here. Don’t do anything to provoke things. The words were out of his mouth before he even knew he was about to say them. ‘You, my friend, need bringing down.’
The skin below Devlan’s eyes flinched as if specks of dust had blown into them. Then his lip curled back to expose his crooked teeth. ‘Me? I need bringing down?’
Jon nodded.
‘Yeah?’ Devlan gloated, like he knew some kind of secret.
In the silence that followed, Jon thought he heard the faint rumble of a car’s engine.
Not taking his eyes off Jon, Devlan half-turned towards Gerrard. ‘Can you believe this cunt?’
‘No,’ the old man murmured. ‘I can’t.’ He removed a set of keys and handed them to his son.
‘Let’s see about bringing things down,’ Devlan snapped, moving back a step.
His words caused the other brother to shift nervously to the side. Jon registered the movement and a sense of unease swamped the pit of his stomach. That wasn’t about handing Zoë over. Are they planning something else? Curling his fingers more tightly round the strap of his rucksack, he looked past them towards the van. Is Zoë even in there? Jesus, is this a trap after all? What are they up to? His heart suddenly started pounding. I might have to run. Whether my fucked-up knee wants to or not.
The old man’s eyes shrank to slits as the unmistakable sound of a car engine drifted to them from across the bog. ‘That Sean?’
Jon risked a quick glance behind him. Headlights flashed momentarily in the vast expanse of darkness. They vanished as the road dipped, only to reappear again slightly closer. Whoever’s driving that, he thought, is in one hell of a hurry.
‘That Sean?’ The old man repeated more loudly. ‘Devlan? Ring his number.’
Cursing, the son took out his mobile, pressed a few buttons and held it to his ear. A few seconds passed as the sound of the approaching vehicle grew in strength. ‘He’s not answering.’
Darragh’s eyes bounced from his father to his twin and back again. ‘Dad?’
Gerrard tilted his head to the side to look past Jon. ‘What’s he playing at?’
‘Da, I’m opening the van,’ Devlan said, backing off another couple of steps, phone still held to his ear.
This isn’t right, Jon said to himself, beginning to move away from the group.
‘You want Zoë?’ Gerrard barked, thrusting a forefinger at Jon. ‘Then don’t you take another step.’ He glanced back at Devlan. ‘Try Liam’s phone.’
Jon felt light-headed with the adrenaline coursing through him. He looked down at the tapes in his hand. This is not fucking right.
‘Fuck!’ Devlan started keying in another number.
Jon lifted his chin. ‘Zoë!’ he shouted down the road. ‘Zoë, are you there?’
Gerrard’s fists were clenched at his sides. ‘Is he answering!’
‘No – it’s just bloody ringing.’ Devlan took another step closer to the van.
Then the road at Jon’s feet lit up, individual stones suddenly visible in the wash of light. He glanced over his shoulder. What was going on? Behind the headlight’s glare was the dark outline of a vehicle. It filled the space between the twin outcrops of rock some hundred metres away. Jon wasn’t sure if he heard one of its doors close softly before it began to advance slowly once more.
Darragh squinted. ‘Is it the Guards? That’s too big to be Sean’s car.’
‘Not the Guards,’ Gerrard murmured. ‘Devlan?’
‘No fucker’s answering!’ Devlan replied, still edging away.
I’m caught in the middle, Jon thought, keeping his eyes on the de Avilas. A rabbit in the bloody headlights. The low throb drew closer and now Jon could hear bits of gravel making a popping sound beneath the vehicle’s oversized tyres. The noise of the engine dropped abruptly.
No one moved and Jon thought for a second that whoever was driving the vehicle was awaiting instructions.
‘Da?’ Devlan whined. ‘I’m letting him out.’
Him? Jon thought. Who is him? Oh fuck, does he mean the other Alano? That’s what they’ve got back there, not Zoë. Dizzying nausea caused him to take a shuffling step sideways as he slung the tapes into the long grass of the verge. They’re going to let that thing loose on me.
Whiteness was suddenly all around them as the vehicle’s lights went on full beam. Jon saw the shadow of his legs stretching across the tarmac towards the de Avilas. Gerrard and Darragh immediately raised their hands in an attempt to shield their eyes. Behind them, Devlan turned and started to run.
The air at the side of Jon’s head seemed to come apart: thin whips followed a nanosecond later by two sharp retorts from back down the road. First Gerrard then Darragh flew backwards as if yanked by invisible wires. Jon dropped to the ground as the air hissed again.
Devlan was a handful of metres from the van when his shoulder jolted. The phone flew from his grip. Jon wrapped his arms over his head as another retort rang out. Something sparked off the front of the van then shrieked away into the night. A flapping of wings broke out from the nearby lake as the cormorants took flight. Devlan regained his stride. Now roaring at the top of his voice, he was almost within touching distance of the van. A series of deep and savage barks started up from within the vehicle, followed by a thudding noise. The entire thing began to rock on its tyres.
Another retort and Devlan’s torso was driven suddenly forward, as if he was a sprinter dipping to cross the line first. His head cracked into the van’s front grille and his legs buckled. Jon brought his own knees up into a foetal position as car doors started to slam. Footsteps rapidly ap
proached. Jon lay still and he knew that, even if he wanted to move, his muscles wouldn’t respond. The footsteps passed him and three pairs of legs came into view.
‘Make sure of them.’
Two of the people split off to where Gerrard and Darragh lay motionless, arms thrown out at their sides. Jon lifted his elbow a fraction and watched as the two striding men produced handguns. They fired directly into the father and son’s heads. Oh no. Oh shit. Oh, oh fucking shit.
The third man calmly approached Devlan, who was now on his back, groaning. The hand holding the van’s keys flapped lazily in the air. The man positioned his pistol inches from Devlan’s forehead and pulled the trigger. Devlan’s hand fell to the road with a slap and both legs went into spasm.
The man straightened up, frowning with irritation. The booming succession of barks continued. ‘What?’ he said, seemingly to himself. Turning his back on the van, he raised a hand and pressed two fingers against his ear. ‘Say that again.’ He listened to the earpiece for a moment then lowered his hand and gestured at the halfway house to the other men. The other two men brought their weapons up and moved off to each side.
‘Break open that shotgun,’ the leader called, gun also directed at the ruins. ‘Toss it on to the grass and come out.’
A second later a shotgun was thrown from behind the remains of the foremost wall. ‘It’s not loaded.’ Two pale hands appeared, followed by Kieron’s face.
No, Jon thought. Oh Jesus Christ, no. ‘I’m a policeman,’ he said, raising himself onto his knees. ‘With the – ’
‘We know what you fucking are,’ the leader snarled, still looking at the halfway house.
