Crossfire (35 page)

I knew Dundalk well. It was only an hour and a
bit up the motorway, and just this side of the
border. As a young squaddy in South Armagh's
bandit country, I'd often hear PIRA test-firing
their homemade mortars down there. It was a
sure sign we were going to get zapped within the
next couple of days.

Later, when I was in the Regiment, the area still
teemed with known PIRA ASU members, until
we were told to do something about it. Who
knows? Maybe it really was me who'd killed
Little's mate. I hoped so.

Dom had all the gear from Mr Green's day
sack on the floor. They'd come well prepared.
There were foot-long strips of thin rubber to tie
us up; gaffer-tape for our mouths; even a couple
of black motorbike bags with drawstrings to
bung over our heads.

Mr Green had finally managed to control his
breathing. I knelt down beside him again. 'I don't
want to know, so don't tell me – but if you've got
kids and want to see them again, you'll do as
you're told. I'm giving you the chance to live,
here. You understand?'

He understood.

'In a minute, you're going to give that body of
yours a shake and load your mate into the back of
the wagon. Then all four of us are driving north.
On the way, you're going to do what you're
supposed to do and call the Brit. You got a name
for him?'

He shook his head. I believed him. The Yes
Man was no fool.

'You'll tell him you've lifted us both and you're
on your way. Understood?'

'Aye.'

'Which one of you has the keys?'

He jerked his head in the direction of the spiral
staircase.

'Here's what's going to happen. You're going
to stay exactly where you are until I say to move
or you'll get this in your fucking ear.' I looked up.
'Dom, get the keys, bring their wagon round the
back, then fetch the weapons and unplug that
taser upstairs. Don't want to burn the place
down.'

Dom rifled the body on the stairs. The back
door opened and closed a moment later.

Mr Green got a bit more confident. 'What do
you think you're going to do when we get there?
He'll rip your fucking heart out.'

'I'll just have to make sure I rip his out first.
How many players has he got there in Dundalk?'

'Fucking loads. Why don't you just let me go?
I'll tell you where he is. You can take the car. I
don't want any of this shit.'

I touched his head with the forks. He melted
into the floor once more.

'How many?'

'Five.'

'Including the Brit?'

'No.'

'Where in Dundalk? Town or outskirts?'

'West. A farm. It's a scrappy now.'

That's better. Keep doing what I say and you'll
still be around for breakfast.'

Dom came back and didn't say a word. He ran
upstairs and reappeared with the weapons.

Mr Green's eyes widened. He wanted no part
of it.

Dom went down the stairs again. I repacked
the day sack and slid it on to my back. I grabbed
Mr Green's .38 and pulled out the plug of Dom's
taser.

'Come on, move your mate. And you'd better
dig that phone number out of your head.'

He got to his feet and made for the stairs. I
followed.

Mr Black was in shit state. There was a charred
hole in his back where the forks were still embedded.
The nylon had melted and burnt. There
wasn't any blood, though, just shiny exposed
muscle.

There didn't seem to be much love lost
between the two of them. Mr Green wasn't
exactly in mourning as he lifted the body over his
shoulder. He headed for the back door and I
turned off the lights.

Dom had the Seat waiting just the other side of
the gate.

'Dump him in the back. Then lie on the rear
seats, on your stomach, hands behind your back.'

I tied the thin rubber straps round his wrists,
pulling so tight the skin whitened. Then I sat on
his legs and pulled out the mobile.

Dom closed the gate and jumped into the
driver's seat.

The exhaust billowed in the cold air.

'All right, mate. North on the M1, first stop
Dundalk.'

He turned the lights on and we rolled out
towards the main.

I gave Mr Green a clip across the back of the
head. 'Right, what's his number?'

As he recited it, I dialled. 'You might be thinking
about being clever and warning him, but
remember this. When we get there and the shit
hits the fan, he's not going to give a fuck about
you. If he wants us dead, he'll think nothing of
hosing you down as well. That's if I don't do it
first. So think very carefully about what you're
going to say.'

I lifted my head. 'Dom, give us a good bit of
engine noise and a few gear changes once we're
on the main.'

We turned left, and Dom obliged. I hit the
button and shoved the phone towards Mr
Green's mouth.

'It's me. We've got them . . . We've just left now
. . . No trouble, both of them can still talk . . . See
you there.'

He nodded and I pressed the red button.

I sat back up, still on his legs. 'Now you're
going to tell us everything about this scrappy
and who's going to be there, and what you
would have done if you'd been in the driving
seat.'

Dundalk was a big market town whose main
claim to fame during the war had been as a safe
haven for bad terrorists. Nowadays most people
knew it for having spawned the Corrs. As kids
they'd probably practised their harmonies in the
front room accompanied by the dull crump of
PIRA on homemade mortar.

The wet streets were all but deserted. I was
fucked. My head bobbed up and down and
banged against the window as the street-lights
strobed past.

I wasn't the only one. Mr Green had cramp
again. I raised my arse a bit so he could fight the
spasms, then sat back down on him. With his
hands strapped up behind him, about the only
other thing he could do was talk.

Half a mile of ruptured old concrete track led
towards the farm. He told us he had to make the
call immediately before he turned on to it. At the
top of the track there was a cattle grid, then a
yard full of crushed cars and piles of tyres. As we
drove in, we'd see a line of four old artic containers
that housed the reclaimed scrap. I stored
all these details. If the landscape deviated in the
slightest detail, if the track was mud not concrete,
if there was a gate instead of a cattle grid, I'd
make him very sorry indeed.

Finbar was in the second container along from
the right. He was kept tied up most of the time.
He slept on a big cushion and had a bucket to
piss in. I'd watched Dom's reaction under the
street-lights as he listened. He kept the Seat on
the road, but he gripped the wheel so tightly his
knuckles were as white as thermal imaging.

Dom glanced over his shoulder. 'We're nearly
out of town.'

'Start looking for somewhere good and dark to
pull in, and we'll get ourselves sorted.'

The street-lights petered out just after a sign
had thanked us for visiting Dundalk. Dom
slowed about a mile out of town and turned into
a lay-by that led to a picnic area. Our headlights
picked out tables and seats, and information
boards about the local wildlife.

I climbed out and stretched. 'Weapons first,
mate.'

Dom went to the back and opened up. I loaded
a mag into an AK, pulled back on the cocking
handle and released it. It was good to hear the
familiar clunk as it rammed a round into
the chamber. They'd have heard a lot of those
clunks in this part of the world over the past
thirty years. Even the cows wouldn't have
bothered raising their heads.

Mr Green must have heard it too. He pressed
his face a little bit harder into the seat, like he was
hoping it would turn into a black hole. He
was probably wondering if we'd bin him now
he'd described the Yes Man's procedures and the
lie of the land.

I handed Dom the weapon as we got out of the
wagon, and pulled him to one side. 'You sure you
want to do this?'

'It's OK, Nick. I know what I've got to do . . .'

'It's not going to be your best day out. If
Fuckface in the back there is telling the truth,
there's going to be at least five of them carrying,
plus the Yes Man. This might sound corny, but
our only hope is to go in with speed, aggression
and surprise. You got that?'

He half smiled. 'SAS?'

'We control the fuckers, lift Finbar and get the
fuck out. Straight off to Siobhan, and take it from
there . . .'

'What about the Yes Man? We can't just kill
him, Nick. He's at the heart of all this. We can use
him to expose the whole network.'

I ignored him. 'Our mission is to get Finbar,
bung him in the back of the wagon and get the
fuck out. We're not trying to change the world.
End of story.'

'And the Yes Man?'

I shook my head. 'How many ways are there to
tell you this? We've got to kill everyone who tries
to stop us – and that means
everyone
. We've just
got to crack on with it – step up to the plate, or
whatever you Transylvanians say.'

He half smiled and lifted the weapon. 'I've
never fired one of these in anger. I did my conscription
in the forestry service.'

'Well, we're about to find out how good your
basic training was.'

I didn't want him to dwell on it too much.
When he was in front of a camera he might have
thought he was invincible, but it's a different
story when you're doing the firing and anyone
with half a brain is firing back.

I walked back to the wagon, loaded and
cocked my own AK. 'I'll drive now, mate – you
sit on Fuckface. Remember, if we don't get stuck
in, we lose – then Finbar and Siobhan lose as
well.'

I got in behind the wheel, with the AK across
my lap and the two spare mags tucked into my
jeans. I waited for him to close the door, then
headed on towards Dundalk.

'I need to see where the fuck we're going.'

Dom let Mr Green sit up.

'Left at the next junction. It's about two miles
down the road. You'll see the sign for Caitriona
Farm on the right. I'll need to call before you
drive up it.'

I handed Dom the phone. 'Number's still on
there, mate.'

We drove on in silence. There was fuck all to
say; we just had to do.

Mr Green was getting his voice back. 'Listen,
fellas, just drop me off. I'll do the fucking call, but
let me go. Come on.'

I didn't bother to reply.

'We're here.' The badly handpainted sign
wired to the fence would have looked at
home in Kabul. I swung on to the track and
stopped.

Dom tapped the keys and shoved the phone to
Mr Green's ear.

'Aye, yep, it's me. We're turning in now.' He
nodded at Dom, who cut the phone and shoved
it into his pocket.

'Dom, shut him up. Use the gaffer-tape and the
rubber strapping. Do his legs as well.'

'Hey, come on, please, let me go, fellas – I
won't say anything, I won't do—'

Dom rummaged in the day sack.

I drove up a crumbling concrete track on full
beam. I flicked on the fancy front fog-lights for
good measure. There were no buildings yet, just
shiny wet grass.

'You ready, Dom?'

I heard the click of his AK's safety lever.

'You make sure you point that thing at them,
not me.'

I wasn't worried about getting shot. That was
the business I was in. But getting shot by one of
your own side is a bit of a fucker.

I checked my own safety. The arm was still up.

We crested a gentle rise. The farm was spread
out below us. Light spilled from the ground floor
of what looked like the main house on to a
cracked and pitted concrete yard. Wrecked cars
were piled haphazardly to the right of it, just as
Mr Green had said.

We rattled over the cattle grid.

The concrete hard-standing was about twenty
metres wide and fifty long. The containers were
jammed together in a line and padlocked up
between the wrecks. The rest of the yard was like
any other scrappy – in shit order. Hosepipes led
in all directions from wall-mounted taps outside
the house. Oily rags had been dropped where
they'd been used. Tyres were stacked four or five
high in a long line, like the safety wall at a racetrack.
Dirty water puddled the concrete.

Three guys emerged from the front door and
stood waiting. Their cigarettes glowed in the darkness.
The full beam and fog-lights hit them and
they half turned or shielded their eyes with their
hands. They were dressed for Sheriff Street, not the
countryside, in jeans, trainers and leather coats.
The lights were blinding them and I could see their
mouths working as they cursed.

'Dom, you're going to hold them outside here.
If they move, don't fuck about. You OK?'

'You can depend on me, Nick. I won't let you
down. Or Finbar . . .'

I stopped the wagon with the three still caught
in the beam. I left the engine running. I opened
the door and got out. Dom was just behind me.

Weapon in the shoulder, safety lever down two
clicks to single shot, I took one step to the right of
the main beam.

They turned their heads. 'For fuck's sake, turn
your lights off, you stupid shite . . .'

I kept my voice low. 'Stand still.' I kept
moving. 'Stand very still.' I spoke like I was trying
to coax a child. 'I have a weapon. Stand still.'

I took a couple more steps and they saw what
was going on.

'Show your hands! Hands, hands!'

All three were thirty-something. All three had
a cigarette cupped in the right hand where their
weapon should have been.

'Who's got the keys? Keys for the containers. I
want the boy.'

Dom made himself visible on the left. The one
in the middle flicked his cigarette to the ground
and nodded towards the house.

I had to go straight in. I didn't know when the
next lot might be coming through the door. I
moved towards it. It was still ajar. Right hand on
the pistol grip, pulling the butt into the shoulder,
I pushed it gently with my left.

I moved into a tiled hallway. There was a
strong smell of cigarette smoke. Voices filtered
from a room at the end of the corridor. The
beamed ceiling was low. I crouched to present a
smaller target as I started along the hall.

The voices got louder. There was a burst of
laughter. Cigarette smoke lingered in the doorway.

'On a job well done.' I heard educated Belfast.
Glasses clinked. 'Shall we go and sort these shites
out now, or let the lads play about for a while?'

I strode into the room, weapon up.

There were three of them sitting in old, floral-patterned
armchairs. The Yes Man was in the
middle. The two smoking either side of him were
older, in their fifties, faces hard as stone.

They weren't fazed to see me. They kept hold
of their glasses. A bottle of whisky stood at the
Yes Man's feet.

'Playtime's over. Give me the keys for the boy.'

The Yes Man's eyes flicked between his companions.
He was out of his depth now.

The one on the right held out his hands. 'Sure,
sure. Take him and fuck off. Tell you what, I'm
going to stand up and reach into my trouser
pocket. The right pocket. I have the keys.'

I nodded.

'Stone! This is ridiculous . . .' The Yes Man was
recovering fast.

The guy on the right heaved himself out of
his chair. Very slowly, he moved his hand to his
trouser pocket; his left was still wrapped round
his whisky glass. 'Stay calm, son.'

The Yes Man was feeling feisty. 'Stop this nonsense,
Stone. What's this boy to you?'

His companion rounded on him. 'Shut the fuck
up!' He held up a set of keys and turned to me.
'Let's keep everything nice and calm now.'

There was a burst of automatic fire outside.
The next thing I knew, a whisky glass was flying
through the air. All three sprang into action. I had
to assume they were going for weapons. I fired a
quick double-tap into the one with the keys. A
pistol clattered to the floor from his other hand.

I stood my ground, swivelled slightly right. Both
eyes open, I fixed centre mass on the second target,
who charged at me, head right down like he was
making a rugby tackle, as the Yes Man disappeared
through one of the doors behind him.

I double-tapped downwards, into his back,
and he collapsed on the floor.

A cloud of cordite rose to join the cigarette
smoke. It was like being back in the Jock's bar.

I scrabbled round the two bodies and found
the ring of keys.

Another burst came from outside.

I charged back down the corridor. 'Dom, I'm
coming out! Dom, don't shoot! Dom!'

There was no reply.

I got to the end, gulping for breath. 'Dom, I'm
coming out, do you hear me?'

Nothing.

Fuck this. Weapon in the shoulder, I moved
into the doorway. Over to the right, against the
wall, three bodies lay in a heap. One must have
taken a chance on Dom not opening up.

Dom was caught in the Seat's lights. He was
frantically kicking and pulling at the lock on the
second container. I ran across the yard, past Mr
Green, who lay bound and gagged on the greasy
concrete. He was moving like a slug, trying to get
away.

'Dom! I've got the keys! Dom, calm down!'

He'd tried to blow the lock apart. There were
strike marks in the steel all round it. Rust had
been blasted away to expose shiny metal. He was
lucky a round hadn't ricocheted into his head, or
gone straight through and hit Finbar. 'Stop, mate
– I've got the key.' I pushed him aside. 'Cover me,
mate. I don't know who else is out there.'

I took a deep breath and started trying the
keys. The third worked.

I pulled back on the handle. The locking bar
creaked and the door swung open. The light from
the Seat flooded in.

Dom rushed past me. 'Finbar! Finbar!'

He was just where Mr Green had said, lying on
his side, on a large dog cushion. There was a
bucket in the corner, surrounded by oily engine
parts and wing mirrors. The smell of shit was
overpowering.

'Finbar!' He turned back towards me, eyes
wild. 'Nick, he's not . . .'

I went over and rolled him on to his back. 'Feel
for a pulse . . .'

I lifted an eyelid. The eye was glazed and dull.
I looked for an entry or exit wound. There was no
blood.

'Finbar!'

He groaned. He tried to say something. A
syringe and the rest of his paraphernalia were
scattered over the floor.

'Dom, it's OK. The fuckers have kept him
smacked up. He's going to be OK.'

Dom looked as if he didn't know whether to
laugh or cry. 'It's me, Finbar, it's Dom.' He
cradled him in his arms. 'It's OK, we're here.'

I tugged at Dom's arm. 'Come on, let's go,
mate. Somebody will have heard that lot and
called the police.'

He pulled gently on Finbar's arms and the
mass of matted blond hair was moving off the
cushion. 'It's OK, Finbar, it's all right, it's Dom.
You're OK . . .'

The boy finally realized who it was.

'Dom, for fuck's sake, get him out to the wagon
– we've got to go!' My shout echoed round the
container.

A vehicle fired up behind me. I ran out as a
Mondeo estate screamed past. The wheels
lurched over Mr Green's head with two sickening
thuds.

There was nothing I could do but fire. It was like
someone crashing through a vehicle checkpoint. I
stood, got a good position, and kicked off a series
of rapid single shots into the fading shape.

Brake-lights came on and off.

I kept firing.

Finally it crashed into a post beside the cattle
grid. I was already running.

The Mondeo's rear window was frosted; it had
taken five or six strikes.

The Yes Man was crumpled against an airbag.
Blood leaked from his neck; he looked like he'd
just burst an extra big boil. His eyes were closed
but he was breathing.

I wrenched open the door and reached in for
the keys. He wasn't going anywhere.

I turned to see Dom staggering to the Seat with
Finbar in his arms.

I ran back and helped lift the boy into the front
seat, then threw my weapon into the back. I
dragged out Mr Black and left his body where it lay.

Finbar was slumped forward against the dash.
I helped Dom get a belt round him. I lifted the
boy's chin. 'All right, mate?'

He looked, but he didn't see.

I concentrated on Dom. 'Take the weapons,
soak them in bleach, get all the DNA off and
dump them. Burn this fucking wagon, soon as
you can. You ready to go? Turn right on to the
main – don't head for the town. Every man and
his dog will be heading this way. Go on, get on
with it.'

'But, Nick . . .'

'I'm going to stay here, mate. The Yes Man's in
that wagon. What's the point of getting the boy
out if he can still come back and get us? Go on,
fuck off, get Finbar back to his mum. We'll
contact each other through Kate, OK?'

He put a hand on my arm. 'I still haven't said
thank you.'

He went to hug me and I pushed him away.
'Get off, you soft bastard. If you don't get a move
on, you'll be cuddling a five-hundred-pound
cellmate, not me.'

He smiled and jumped behind the wheel, and
I ran back towards the Mondeo.

The Seat rattled over the cattle grid and was
gone.

I tried dragging the Yes Man from the
wreckage by his arm, but his legs were trapped
and he ended up hanging upside-down, his back
arched, blood splattered across his shirt and tie.

His breath rasped through his blood-choked
throat. The round hadn't gone all the way
through his neck, just nicked him.

I dug out the snub-nosed .38 from my pocket
and raked the hard steel fore-sight along his
cheek.

He looked at me with no emotion. 'In the boot
. . . Four hundred thousand pounds . . . In a
diplomatic bag . . . Take it. Just leave me . . .'

I knelt beside him. 'You know what?' I dug the
muzzle into his wound. He shuddered with pain.

'I've never known your name, but it doesn't
matter, because I've never wanted to invite you
round for dinner.' I thought about Pete and
Magreb and all the other poor bastards who'd
got in the Yes Man's way. 'You once called me
arrogant and disrespectful, but you're a whole lot
worse than that. You're responsible for a lot of
innocent people getting fucked over and killed,
and you don't give a shit.'

'And you do, Stone?' He almost spat the
words.

I stood up. 'Yes,' I said. 'I do.' I walked across
to a nearby stack of tyres. Lying across the top
was a rectangle of flowery material that had once
been a curtain. I grabbed it and dragged a length
of hose across to the cattle grid. Then I went and
turned on the tap.

He knew exactly what was going to happen. I
didn't need to explain.

I threw the curtain over his face and gave him
the good news with a round in each elbow; I didn't
want him able to rip it off with his hands. He
screamed and jerked left and right, but all that
happened was that the blood leaked faster from his
neck wound.

I splashed water over the curtain until it
hugged the contours of his face. He choked and
bucked and tried to kick his trapped legs free. I
knew exactly how he felt. I carried on going for
thirty seconds before I pulled the cotton aside.

We were both soaking wet. He gulped and
wheezed and begged me to stop.

The horizon flashed blue from the direction of
the town.

I threw the soaking curtain back over his face
and redirected the hose. This time it wasn't
coming off. He was never going to have the
chance to get at me, or Dom, or Dom's family,
ever again.

The gag reflex contorted him. He was drowning,
and as his life ebbed from him I felt nothing
but relief. No more threats, no more Sundance
and Trainers turning up and filling me with
dread because I knew there'd be a shit job I had
to do.