by J E Higgins
Victor turned to see the partial end of Sauwa’s blade, hidden loosely under her flannel coat. “I trust you are confident that this is not a means to harm you.” He sank into a worn couch, entirely unconcerned.
“Just taking precautions,” Sauwa responded as she tucked the weapon into her belt. “You know how it works.”
Victor smiled. “I’ve been in this business a long time. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”
Sauwa remained standing and kept her back to a near wall as she carefully scouted for any other entry points or exits. The fact that Victor had no security made her a tad nervous. She had found those in his line of work always had someone nearby in case things went bad.
As if reading her mind, Victor spoke up. “I imagine you expected to see some type of protection for a man in my business. Well, I should tell you my protection is a very well connected and extensive network that handles its own affairs. I don’t need to have the unwanted complication of armed men hanging about when many of my clients, and the network I belong to, gives me considerable means to track down and punish those who would rob me or otherwise disrupt a highly essential system used by very powerful people. I also don’t do business with those who are not vouched for by trusted sources. James does not recommend clients who are of dubious ethics.”
“Most of your clientele is of dubious business ethics I should think,” Sauwa stated, her tone thick with the sarcasm of suspicion.
“Like any business culture,” Victor shrugged, “the black market is no different. There are those who try to maintain a sense of honesty when conducting their dealings because they see the greater benefits of it. There are those who are too consumed by greed and cannot see beyond the immediate prize. It’s, again, a matter of choosing who you to do business with carefully.”
Sauwa studied the man for a long time. This was not the first time she had been involved with the Walhalla network. But, it was a network that was hard to properly understand. She was about to make a big decision with a man she didn’t know, in a world where she had no recourse. Victor said nothing. He sat quietly as he let the young woman make up her mind.
Finally, with a sigh, she slipped the knapsack off her shoulder and placed it on the coffee table in front of Victor. Victor made no move for the bag; he sat still studying the woman’s face. She was hesitant but eventually nodded slightly acknowledging she wanted to do business.
Victor reached over and opened the knapsack. He began pulling out the stacks of money. Carefully he counted it with the meticulous eye of an accountant as Sauwa watched silently. After about an hour he stood up, stretched and looked at his client. “I count one hundred thousand pounds.”
“That’s correct,” she replied quietly. After expenses, she still had six thousand pounds left over from the money Simon had given her back in Northern Ireland.
“Very good,” Victor sighed. “I take five thousand as my fee for making the transaction.”
“Thank you,” she responded.
Victor took his payment from the collection of money, and then gathered the rest into a cardboard box that looked like it had been used recently to store donuts. Placing a lid on it, he looked up. “Where is this money supposed to go?”
“Sydney, Australia,” she said as if fighting to hold back the words.
Victor slid the box off to the side. “That will take some time.”
“I’m in no hurry,” Sauwa said quietly. “It will be some time before it can be retrieved. At least six months, if not a year.”
“That will work then for both of us.” Victor folded his hands under his chin. “Such a large sum will have to be arranged.” The two said nothing as they stared at each other trying to assess the other’s thoughts. Victor’s eyes locked on the box at the edge of the table containing her money. She took his actions as a last chance offer to take her money back and pull out if she was still unsure about proceeding.
Though the urge to retrieve her money swam in her head, her rational mind realized that if not this man and not now, her only other option would be to carry all the money she had in the world with her to be smuggled out of the country by criminals she didn’t know and were taking her to an unknown place. The idea that she would be robbed and killed instantly was all too evident. As far as she knew Victor, or the man who vouched for him, was her only alternative to move her money.
She nodded her head and turned away. Taking this as a sign she wanted to go through with the transaction, he picked up the box as he rose to his feet. He walked back into the adjoining office, away from where she could see him. He returned several minutes later with a folded piece of paper in his hand. Handing it to her, he raised his finger in a warning gesture. “Once you leave here, the deal is final. Your money will no longer exist in this country. You will have to go to Australia to retrieve it. Here is the address of the location in your requested city to which your money will be paid.”
Taking the piece of paper from him, Sauwa took a quick peek to see what was written. She folded it and placed it in her pocket. Victor handed her another small piece of paper. This time it was a receipt from his store with a few scribbles written across it.
“Hand this to the proprietor of the store in the address,” Victor said, as she took the receipt. “It will be your means of identifying yourself to him.”
Sauwa reluctantly took the receipt and slipped it into her pocket next to the address. This was the point of no return for her. She was trusting a complete stranger operating out of a low-end store with all her money. She could only hope it would be at the designated location when she got there. With a nod, the business transaction was concluded.
15
Jeffery Talamadge was intrigued and, at the same time, dubious. Ravenhoof had explained the conclusion his people in Pretoria reached; they presumed Sauwa Catcher was hiding somewhere in the Republic of Ireland. The MI-5 officer thought it rather brash that some intelligence service in Africa should be advising him on the actions of a group his own organization had been investigating for years. He was quite familiar with the workings of Loyalist paramilitaries like the Ulster Volunteer Force. He didn’t need some South African intelligence types dictating to him about what the UVF might have done. However, his vanity aside, his professional instincts told him he could not simply dismiss their assumption entirely.
Though the Loyalists quite proudly took credit for their exploits ─ they certainly had their own legion of hardened, professional killers to call upon. Yet they possessed the common sense to know when to employ the means to distance themselves from the nastier or more politically compromising affairs. Similarly, the Ulster Defense Association tended to use the extended arm of the Ulster Freedom Fighters to engage in the more brutal and controversial operations the UDA itself avoided. It wasn’t unreasonable to think the UVF would be any different by using a freelancer to carry out a killing that would be difficult for them to do personally.
Still, the UVF didn’t shy away from much. Whatever they would need a freelancer for would have to be big and controversial. This was all just a theory that may or may not be true. Talamadge was anxious to bring this up in his meeting with his counterpart, Ravenhoof. To be safe, Talamadge had opted to stay focused primarily on Northern Ireland. Probing his people working the Northern Ireland beat, he tried to find out what intelligence traffic they were getting regarding mysterious folks suddenly materializing in close-knit Protestant neighborhoods, or UVF types becoming secretive all of a sudden. At the same time, to appease the South Africans, he had sent a request to the Garda asking about any recent killings of prominent Republicans, IRA sympathizers or any other high-profile types.
The South African theory began to take on substance when he was notified that a high-ranking veteran Intelligence officer of the Garda had been assassinated by an unknown assailant the day before. He and Ravenhoof thought it a long shot but requested more information from the Irish government. As the details came in from the Garda, the handiwork was beco
ming clearer. Though he had read of multitude ways Sauwa had dispatched her targets, the calculated, methodical way this assassination was carried out was all too familiar. For Talamadge, it was as if reading a continuance of the files he had been pouring over the last few days. When he conferred with Ravenhoof to ensure he was not getting tunnel vision, he was thankful to find that Ravenhoof was of the exact same mind. Both men believed the signature tactics used were that of their young assassin or, at the very least, it was a good possibility.
With lightning speed, Talamadge was on the phone to the Garda asking about the investigation and who was running it. Ravenhoof was, at the same time, jetting to the embassy to contact O’knomo and make arrangements for his possible travel to the Republic.
Cork Regan knew the underworld of Dublin like the back of his hand. He explained that the Prod (Protestant) terrorists had possibly used a freelancer to kill Donovan, and they would have probably worked the deal using intermediaries. Regan figured out who the Prods would use immediately. The UVF was particular about who they worked with in Ireland. That narrowed the field considerably. There were even fewer black market facilitators that had the intelligence to be involved in such an operation; this fact narrowed the field even more.
Not wanting to let word get around that he was trolling the streets looking for whoever helped the UVF, the IRA heavy opted to work more discretely. Instead of working the usual informants the way the police did, he decided to make the rounds of the establishments these men used as their fronts. Since black marketers needed ways to be approached that didn’t require suspicious meetings on darkened street corners, they all owned businesses that made discussion with all types of societal elements look casual and above board ─ that meant pubs and nightclubs. It was a simple science really. Regan was a known IRA enforcer. His showing up for a drink automatically elicited certain reactions. The uninvolved parties would be inclined to exploit any potential business opportunities. They would talk him up, trying to intimate what goods they had access to or services they were in a position to offer. The man he would be looking for would have his hands full hiding the assassin and would be less inclined to have the IRA hanging about his business. He would be evasive in wanting to open any dealings until his current client was gone.
The Rory Club was packed when Regan and four of the toughest members of his crew entered. This establishment had been the third on their list; the previous two suspects had been cleared relatively quickly. Low set neon lights, coupled with a song from the Cranberries coming over the loudspeaker gave the place a trendy futuristic atmosphere. Keeping the group tight, the five men strolled over to the bar. A gorgeous redhead in her early twenties manned the bar. Seeing the men seat themselves at the far end of the counter, she hurried over to take their order.
“Can I help you lot?” she asked, smiling pleasantly. Her accent was clearly British, which irked the IRA men.
“Just some whiskey. Some Tennessee stuff, if you’ve got any?” Regan opened, forcing a smile on his face.
“Of course, hold on,” the bartender smiled pleasantly as she moved to fill the order.
“Is Rudy Sheehan in by any chance?” Regan asked before the girl had a chance to walk away.
“No, he left a couple hours ago,” she replied.
Regan’s interest peeked. “I’m trying to find him. You know where he might be?”
The girl shook her head. “Na, I’m afraid not. He’s been popping in and out all week.”
“Really?” the IRA man’s eyes widened. “You’ve got no idea where he’s been off to?”
The girl again shook her head. Waving her off to continue fetching the drinks, Regan looked over at the other men.
“Figure we’ve found our man?” one of the men asked.
“Maybe,” Regan replied. “I want to have a wee chat with him before I make any judgment.”
Detective Sergeant Ryan Youngest was surprised, if not perplexed when he found himself sitting in the office of his commander, opposite a man from British MI-5. There was also another man he understood to be from South Africa in the office; he still wasn’t quite clear on his position. The commander, Ian Rose, barely heeded the pleasantries of introductions before attempting to take control of the conversation.
“These men are here regarding your Donovan investigation Detective Sergeant,” Commander Rose said. “They think they may have information pertinent to your case.”
“Well, it’s all still speculative at this…,” Talamadge tried to answer before being cut off.
Rose quickly interrupted. “They see parallels between your case and similar killings carried out by a person they are looking for.”
“You must have come here in quite a hurry,” Youngest replied, shifting his head between his commander and the two men. He was not quite sure whom to address.
Sensing the moment, Talamadge quickly took up the conversation. “Just to be clear, we’re not exactly sure this is the person we’re chasing. However, the information we’ve received regarding your victim seems to fit the methods used by our killer. It further narrows the field that the analysis our researchers have done presumes our killer is most likely here in the Republic and is probably being protected by one of the larger Loyalist paramilitaries.”
Youngest sat back; his interest heightened. “And you think this person would have been contracted by the UVF to kill Detective Sergeant Donovan? Who is this person and, if on the run, why would he expose himself by carrying out an assassination that would be guaranteed to bring him a lot of police attention?”
“That is why we want to discuss the matter with you,” Ravenhoof, the South African suddenly interjected. “It is a theory and one we need to investigate further. But, as you have said, the killing of a high-level police officer in your Counter Intelligence unit would be a big prize for a group like the UVF.”
“It would also, as you have pointed out, bring down a powerful response from your organization,” Talamadge spoke up. “Using a freelancer you can distance yourself from would be a logical decision, especially if that freelancer is a highly skilled, professional killer who is beholden to you for her safety.”
“Still,” Youngest replied, “I mean, this seems like wishful thinking on your part.”
“Possibly,” Talamadge nodded, “which is why we want to discuss our theory with you.”
“Of course, you need to discuss this,” Commander Rose interjected abruptly. “Our department wants to give you our full cooperation.”
“Provided you’re equally forthcoming in sharing your information,” Youngest retook control of the conversation clearly irritating his superior.
“Of course,” Talamadge smiled. “Provided we have control over who sees it, we can offer you what we have to assist you in your own investigation.”
“Good, then it’s settled.” Rose was up and walking about. “We will move your meeting to a secure briefing room, where you can continue your discussion. I will stay involved to ensure good cooperation between our agencies.”
The meeting ended with Youngest, Talamadge and Ravenhoof being shown out of the office. Left alone in the hall to speak amongst themselves, the mood shifted and became more suspicious in nature.
“You really think my case is connected?” Youngest, was not sure he liked the idea of working with spooks. His experience with the shadowy world of espionage and intrigue had left him with a foul taste for the whole business.
“That is why we want to speak to you first,” Ravenhoof replied.
Talamadge pointed his thumb toward the office they had just left. “Your boss seems rather anxious for our help.”
The trio began to walk. Youngest pursed his lips. “This is a high profile case alright, with the highest echelons of the department paying close attention to it. If you can offer us a viable suspect, he’d be dancing on his desk. If that suspect is a highly sought professional assassin wanted by someone as prestigious as British intelligence, then it’s even a bigger prize for us.”
Making it to a deserted conference room, Youngest ushered the two visitors inside. Shutting the door, the Detective Sergeant turned to them. “I have a theory. Now that you’re here telling me all this, it is starting to make sense. Donovan investigated a lot of different things including terrorist groups, both Republican and Loyalist. He largely focused on their activities south of the border. Quiet comments have intimated he had sympathies for the IRA and the Republican cause. I’ve also heard that certain people known to be working with the UVF here have been assassinated, and the assailants were thought to be IRA. Suspected safe houses and other facilities used for UVF operations have also been attacked, and IRA forces were suspected.”
“You’re saying Donovan may have been passing intelligence to the IRA about Loyalist operations in your country?” Ravenhoof took a breath, as he processed what had just been said.
“I’m saying, I thought my theory was wild at best. It is starting to sound more like a logical consideration after what you’ve been saying.” Youngest was beside himself. The idea of a respected and decorated detective of the Garda being an informant for a terrorist group was not something any policeman wanted to consider.
16
Rudy Sheehan didn’t know what to make of the situation. When he got back to the Rory Club, Kella, his new barmaid, was quick to explain about some rough looking types asking about him. Kella had no interest in Rudy’s business affairs. She was simply working the bar to pay her way through medical school. Still, she had good sense and street instincts. She instantly figured the men for some hardened criminal types.
Kella’s instincts had proven fairly accurate in the past when she was concerned about someone. Since he was currently hiding someone who, he was sure, had committed a serious crime in his city, he was already concerned about who might come around asking questions. The problem was, who were these guys and what were they after? Was it even related to his charge or to some other affair he’d been embroiled in?
