Blood Whispers (8 page)

CIA Officer Tommy Aquino eased his pale blue Cadillac over the junction and turned right on to Dolley Madison Boulevard to join a queue of lunchtime traffic heading into McLean; he was late for the 12.30 p.m. meeting and hungry. A few miles further on, the car swung left into Old Dominion Road and immediately pulled into the lot of J. Gilbert’s Wood-fired Steaks & Seafood, where he parked up and quickly made his way through the rows of customers’ cars into the restaurant. The steakhouse was full of suits, most of whom were office workers from the surrounding area. A few other officers from Langley sometimes used the restaurant as an informal place to meet away from prying ears, but mostly they came here because service was brisk and the steak was excellent. You could be in and out in an hour having had a decent lunch and some fresh air. Aquino also liked the mood music: trad jazz played at a volume that meant you could still have a conversation without having to raise your voice to be heard above the more usual, soulless muzak.

He scanned the large open-plan dining area and saw Gregg Moran gesturing to him from a table in the far corner near the window.

He made his way over and pulled up a chair.

‘You’re late!’ said Moran brusquely, holding out his hand for a perfunctory handshake. Aquino knew it was all a front with Moran. Underneath the sullen exterior, the guy was just like everyone else. He took the job seriously, but he liked a laugh as well. Today, however, Tommy knew the conversation was going to be a tough one. ‘Sorry, by the time I’d tidied your bedroom and helped your wife get her underwear back on, I realized I was running behind.’

‘Screw you, Aquino,’ replied Moran without smiling. ‘You know how I know you’re bullshitting? ’Cause Dorothy doesn’t do sex any more.’

‘She doesn’t do sex with you, you mean. She’s set her sights a little higher, that’s all.’

‘I ordered you the filet mignon, blue, with the salad on a different plate, but I didn’t know what you’d want to drink.’

‘Coke.’

‘Don’t tell
me
, asshole, tell the waiter.’

Tommy Aquino and Gregg Moran had gone through spy school together. They’d been recruited at the same time, albeit from two different colleges. They had completed their tradecraft on the same day and been friends as well as work associates ever since. They’d opted for the CIA’s Special Activities Division and had worked closely on a number of operations, but both of them knew that the situation they were currently involved in had the potential to not only wreck their careers, but also land them in prison.

‘What you having?’ Tommy asked Moran.

‘Same, but well-done with a Diet Coke.’

‘You’d have to drink gallons of that shit to make any difference to the size of your ass,’ said Tommy, riding him a bit more. ‘Might as well go full-fat and at least enjoy the taste. The sweeteners in that stuff can give you migraines, too, I heard.’

‘My whole life’s a headache; a can of soda ain’t gonna make any goddamn difference . . . Okay, so where we at?’ he asked, starting the meeting for real.

‘The girl’s lawyer is trying to get her into a witness protection programme, but the head attorney guy isn’t convinced she needs it. The lawyer still hasn’t persuaded him that the girl’s life is in danger. Which in a way is good for us.’

‘Will she persuade him?’ interrupted Moran.

‘Probably. Especially now that the Serb has made a home movie for the girl that puts the threat beyond reasonable doubt, but I’ll tell you about that in a minute.’

‘Then what?’

‘If she goes into the programme, she’ll be out of our reach.’

‘Do we know where she is yet?’

‘Finally, yeah. A women’s lock-up in a place called Stirling. It’s the only goddamn women’s jail in the whole of Scotland. At first we thought they’d be hiding her someplace much more secure, but they either don’t know what they’ve got or they’re profoundly incompetent.’

‘What’s the Serb’s state of play?’

‘He’s still on the street, working away like he’s invincible. Doesn’t seem too worried about the girl. Having said that, he’s not so dumb as to think there isn’t a problem, especially since Edwin Kade got busted. I think he’s more concerned about that.’

Even though both men were not referring to Fisnik Abazi by name they were making no effort to disguise their conversation. They both knew well enough that people only started listening when you behaved like you had something to hide.

‘The problem is,’ continued Aquino, ‘the Serb’s trafficking activities have already brought him to the attention of the security services over there; he is now under surveillance, and Edwin Kade has given them a direct link to us, so we have to ask ourselves if we should back out until things calm down or get out altogether.’

Gregg Moran was shaking his head. ‘We’d have to take the Serb out. If he’s arrested he won’t go down quietly, and we can’t afford to have him shouting his mouth off, which – knowing the son-of-a-bitch – is exactly what he’ll do. If we take him down we’ll have to do it ourselves, no one around him will touch him: clan loyalty and all that bullshit. And if we do give him the ultimate fuck-off tablet, we’re left with an even bigger headache: trying to find someone as well connected in the Balkans. For the moment the Serb has to stay. But let’s look into the logistics of sending him on holiday. Who’s running the surveillance on him over there?’

‘Local. It’s being done by the cops, but the security services are looking over their shoulders, fairly low grade.’

‘So our biggest problem is the hooker. If we get rid of her, everything just might return to normal.’

‘And getting Edwin Kade the hell out of there.’

‘Why doesn’t he just jump on a goddamn plane?’

‘His head is mashed up pretty bad: can’t fly. If they make the link, he may be asked to give evidence against the hooker.’

‘Jesus Christ!’

‘The Serb reckons he should be able to deal with the hooker issue easily if we can get her back out on the street. He’s already made contact with her parents back home. This is what I was going to tell you. Got them on camera telling her to keep her mouth shut. He figures when she sees it she’ll be too scared to say anything. He has someone in place now, so I figure the hooker’s covered . . . it’d still be better if we could get her released.’

‘Trouble is, we don’t know how much the she’s said already.’

Aquino nodded in agreement.

‘What’d Abazi do, threaten to kill the parents if she talks?’

‘In the first video.’

‘How many videos did he make?’

‘Two.’

‘So in the first he threatens the parents, and in the second . . . ?’ Moran let the question hang for a moment.

‘Who knows, but you can make an educated guess. He’s only sent the first video so far, but the point is he’s already made the second, which of course the girl doesn’t know. My guess is, either way, the parents didn’t come out of it too well.’

Moran shook his head. He didn’t need to watch it to imagine the scenario. He took a slug of Diet Coke, then said, ‘He’s a nasty son-of-a-bitch, no doubt about it.’

‘He’s holding the second video in reserve, in case the first one doesn’t have the desired effect. Although I’m still not sure that killing the parents is gonna motivate her to stay quiet, but he’s the one making the play.’

Moran let out a thin whistle between his lips.

The waiter arrived holding the side orders of salad and a couple of plates on which sat two perfectly cooked steaks. ‘Can I get you guys anything else?’

Aquino answered. ‘Yeah, can I have a Coke; the full-fat version?’

‘Sure.’

With that, the waiter left.

Moran picked up where they had left off. ‘Okay, so this situation may not be as bad as we first thought. I’ll put in a call to London and tell them we may have an interest in Abazi and the hooker. I’ll also ask what they can do about the charges against her. If they’re dropped then she’s free to go and we can leave the rest to Abazi.’

‘If we call London we’re going to alert them to our involvement and that could land us in the shit,’ said Aquino, cutting into the steak and taking a mouthful. ‘Especially if the girl ends up staring at the sky with six feet of dirt in her eyes . . . damn this steak is good! So far they haven’t connected the girl to Kade . . . but they will.’

The waiter was back at the table with the Coke. ‘Anything else I can get you, gentlemen?’

‘We’re good,’ replied Moran. He waited until the waiter had gone before starting again. ‘Leave London to me. Because of Kade, they already know there’s something going on. The next question, however, is the one that’s gonna knock a few pounds off your gut: gonna ruin your appetite every time it pops into your head.’ Moran finished chewing, then swallowed a large mouthful of Diet Coke to wash down the beef before continuing. ‘The lawyer: what do we have on her? If something happens to the girl, the lawyer’s going to start sniffing round like a TSA dog snuffling at a bag of explosives on the carousel.’

‘So far we’ve drawn a blank: no dirt,’ Aquino said. ‘She’s quite highly regarded, not only by her contemporaries, but also by the criminal fraternity: a lot of the big players want her to represent them. The establishment see her as a bit of a pain in the ass: she’s a scrapper, a troublemaker even. Seems dedicated to her work. Followed the usual career path: did a postgrad legal practice course for a year after getting her law degree, then a two-year training contract before fully qualifying. Even took a job as a legal secretary in her holidays from college to “broaden her knowledge”.’

‘What’s her field? Criminal?’

‘Criminal law and human rights, but the human rights thing is more of a sideline. Things that stick out: suffered severe bouts of depression as a teenager. Sees a shrink on a regular basis. Doesn’t use her cell much, and it’s not exactly what you’d describe as a smart phone . . . it’s a basic model, so no info to be gleaned from it. Doesn’t email at all and she does all her shopping in a goddamn shop!’

Moran’s forehead creased. ‘What the hell? She doesn’t have a cell phone or use email?’

‘She does have a cell, she just never seems to use it. And she sometimes uses email in her office, but she always logs on using someone else’s computer.’

‘Social networking sites? Facebook, Twitter, any of that shit?’

‘She still posts things in a mailbox.’

‘Jesus Christ! You gonna tell me next she sends the important stuff by frickin pigeon.’

Aquino laughed.

‘So she’s hiding something,’ said Moran matter-of-factly. ‘Possibility a significant event when she was a child that would link in with the depression and the shrink?’

‘We’re still working on it, but to date she’s proving to be something of an enigma: nothing on her before the age of eight. Like she popped up out of nowhere.’

‘Okay‚ well, we need to pop open that particular
matryoshka
and see what’s inside. We need something we can use to discredit her if she starts making too big a noise. In fact . . .’ Moran took another slug of Diet Coke then stared Aquino straight in the eye.

‘What?’

‘It might be no bad thing if she got caught in the crossfire when they take the hooker down, you understand what I’m saying?’

Aquino looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, I don’t think we should go there right now, Gregg. It won’t be long before something turns up that we can use on her: contain her if she starts messing our game.’

Moran shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘Fair enough, but I would still get word back to Abazi: let him know that no one this end would be that upset if she got hit. So far nothing has shown up on the police computers. We’re right inside the lead investigator’s laptop and nothing is showing. Whatever the girl has told the lawyer hasn’t been passed on yet. If we act quickly enough we could stop the spread.’

‘I disagree, Gregg.’ Aquino’s voice was steady and calm. ‘If the lawyer gets taken down there are going to be a whole lot more dogs sniffing round the shit pile. I think the word to the Serb should be the opposite: avoid any other casualties at all costs.’

Moran nodded a few times then said, ‘Yeah . . . maybe you’re right. Anyone else we should keep an eye on? What about the interpreter? We got any concerns there?’

‘None.’

‘You having dessert?’

‘Shit, it’s no wonder your ass is getting so big, Moran. You haven’t even finished your main course and you’re already thinking dessert.’

‘You got to plan ahead, Tommy. Only way you’re going to prevent yourself from becoming a star on the wall.’

It was just after teatime when Keira turned off the A710 and drove the final few miles down into Scaur. The village’s only road ran alongside the Urr estuary and was bordered on the landward side by a thin row of white fishermen’s cottages behind which rose the dark green wooded slopes of Mark Hill. There was one pub halfway along and a small village shop at the far end that sold a few essential food items and an odd mixture of randomly selected keepsakes. Jubilee Path rose steeply from the shop at a right angle and was barely wide enough to fit a car. The house her mother and grandmother lived in was near the end of this path and had a view that stretched all the way from the start of the River Urr at one end, along the full length of the tidal estuary, to the wide, open Solway Firth at the other.

The BMW climbed the steep gravel path and came to a halt at the side of the house facing out towards the estuary. Keira killed the engine and stepped out into the rain, which had eased to a drizzle, then stood for a few moments taking in the view. The air was filled with a complex aroma of rich pine from the surrounding forest and salted sea air carried in over the Irish Sea, along the Solway and up from the sandbanks below.

The light was already beginning to fade.

In the distance small patches of blush-red sky had started to appear through the breaks in the cloud, throwing rays of fading sunlight on to the sea below. The sound of rainwater could be heard seeping through the moss and into the soil beneath her feet.

There was a rustling noise in the large laurel bushes over to her right. As Keira turned, the sound immediately stopped.

She caught a glimpse of something moving: a black shiny object glinting in the darkness.

Something, or someone, was watching her.

Keira stood frozen, peering into the tangle of branches for several minutes, waiting for whatever it was to move again.

The metallic clank of a bolt being unfastened behind made her turn sharply. As her mother appeared at the back door a large black crow battered through the knit of laurel stems with a flurry of beating wings and rose shrieking into the night sky.

‘You coming in?’

‘Just getting some fresh air.’

‘Did I give you a fright?’

‘I thought there was someone hiding in the bushes.’ Keira made her way across the loose gravel path towards the light of the porch. ‘You scared the bejesus out of me.’

Inside, the windows of the kitchen were covered in condensation from the pots simmering on the stove.

‘Hungry?’ asked her mother as she closed the door and gave her a hug.

‘Starving.’

Keira’s mother was in her mid fifties, but looked much younger. She had a beautiful face with few wrinkles, and kept herself toned and fit. Keira had gone through a phase of trying to encourage her to go on dates, but after several failed attempts to find a partner her mother had taken her aside and told her she’d ‘met, loved and lost the only man who ever mattered’ to her and she really wasn’t interested in dating: after that Keira stopped trying.

‘Where’s Gran?’

‘Up in bed, or at least she was. I heard her moving about a minute ago, probably trying to get herself dressed. She hates for you to see her like this.’

Keira frowned. ‘Jesus, as if I care how she looks. I care how she is.’

‘D’you want to have a quick bite first?’

‘No, smells great, but I’ll go up and see what her craic is, then eat later.’

Keira made her way upstairs on to the short landing and knocked on the door of her grandmother’s bedroom.

‘Come away in,’ croaked a voice in a broad Newry accent.

She stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind her.

For a brief moment the sight of her grandmother’s withered frame made Keira blench. She was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror fiddling to close the buttons on her cardigan. Her gaunt face was stretched with pale, yellowed skin, through which it was almost possible to make out the solid mass of chalked bone underneath. Her hands and wrists were thin and frail as though the muscle underneath had dissolved, leaving only the skeletal outline behind.

‘Ye never seen a corpse before?’ said her grandmother as she shuffled over to an armchair by the window and gently lowered herself into it. ‘You’ve a face on ye like a Lurgan spade.’

‘A talking corpse: there’s something. Stop playing for the sympathy vote.’

Her grandmother nodded her head as if she approved, but said, ‘Less of your cheek.’

‘What are you doing out of bed? You’re not supposed to be up.’

‘Says who?’

‘The entire medical profession.’

‘What do they know!’

‘Everything that you don’t.’

‘I’m trying to keep in shape.’

Keira raised an eyebrow.

‘Did you see the Morrigan out there?’

‘It’s just a crow.’

‘I heard it screaming at you. Been sitting there for the last three or four days waiting for me. It knows my soul is about to go back on the market and it’s got first call.’

‘You’re not turning into one of those cranks that believes in all that shite, Gran, c’mon.’

‘Aye, well, we’ll see soon enough. Haven’t I always told you this place is magic. Sure, it’s the only place you ever get a good night’s sleep. That’s because you’re safe, protected: you’re watched over here. When we first arrived in Glasgow, all those years ago, you used to wake up screaming in the middle of the night so often it got to the point you were scared to go to sleep at all. That stopped when we moved here. Why d’you think that was?’

‘Therapy.’

‘Yer arse. It was nothing to do with therapy. You know fine well there’s something about this place so let’s just leave it there. Anyway, I have a question. When you get to heaven, d’you think you arrive in the state you shuffled off in?’ Every few words her grandmother spoke were punctuated with shallow gasps for air. ‘It’d be hellish . . . if you had to spend the rest of eternity . . . looking like this. Sure if heaven’s all it’s craic’d up to be why don’t we all just kill ourselves anyway?’

‘You seem fairly convinced that’s where you’re heading.’

Her grandmother smiled then took the next few minutes gathering her strength in order to continue. ‘I want your abiding memory of me to be the woman you grew up with . . . not this clattering bag of bones in front of you now . . . It’s bloody awful. If I had my way you’d be . . . talking . . . to me . . . from the other side of the door.’

Keira didn’t patronize her by telling her she looked fine. Their relationship through the years had been based on honesty and now was not the time to renege on that pact.

‘The woman I grew up with wouldn’t have given a damn what she looked like.’

‘Aye, true enough.’

Her grandmother’s face suddenly creased and her eyes closed tight as another agonizing spasm took hold.

‘Are you okay? D’you want me to get you anything?’

Without opening her eyes or lifting her head her grandmother raised her forefinger and waved it gently from side to side. ‘I’m fine,’ she whispered. ‘When I’ve said what I have to say, I’ll take my medication, just give me a moment.’

‘What d’you mean, “take your medication”? Why haven’t you taken it already?’

The old woman tapped the side of her skull with her finger. ‘You can’t string a bloody sentence together when you’re on it. When I leave I still want to be able to read the exit sign.’

A moment later she had recovered enough to continue. ‘You look terrible, darling. Tired. You working too hard?’ She lifted her head and stared straight at Keira.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good.’

‘Is that what you wanted to say?’

‘It’s coming now, just give me a second . . . I spoke with Father Anthony, a few weeks ago – he’s moved to somewhere in the Glens of Antrim – but he’s agreed to come back and take the Mass.’

‘What Mass?’

‘I know you’re not going to like this,’ continued her gran, ‘but I want to be cremated and my ashes spread over the boys’ graves back in Newry. I want the service to be held in the cathedral.’

Keira stood in silence for a few moments, aware that her gran was waiting for her response.

‘You don’t know what you’re asking . . .’

Her grandmother held up a hand to stop her. ‘Well now, that’s where you’re wrong darlin’. I know exactly what I’m asking. You don’t want to go back because that’s where your demons are, but I want you to go and confront them. It’s time to smite those bastards into the ground and take your life back before it’s too late. You’re a beautiful young woman, walking round with a weight on your shoulders that’s crushing you into the ground: it’s destroying your life. It’s time to stop. The priest has something to give you; something that’ll help.’

‘Help with what?’

‘Come on, now, it’s me you’re talking to. You’ve never breathed a word about it, but I know you want to find out about your father too. Who he was, what he was like, what happened. It’s all waiting for you. It’s time.’

‘Jesus, Gran!’

‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but there’s a lot to gain.’

Keira was shaking her head. ‘I’d do anything for you‚ Gran, you know that, but I’m not sure I’m up to it. Really, I just don’t know if I can go back there.’

‘Well, I do know . . . and I know you won’t let me down. That’s not to say you shouldn’t be careful over there. You may not have set foot in the place for over twenty years, but there are still people in Northern Ireland hold grudges over what happened between Finn McCool and Gol Mac Morna and that was in the third century. No announcements in the papers or anything like that. I want a quiet affair. One other thing,’ she continued. ‘I’d like a piper: someone playing the uillean. Let Father Anthony choose the music: he has a good ear.’

‘You’re breaking my heart here, Gran,’ said Keira, her eyes starting to burn. ‘Is this why you wanted to see me? To make your funeral arrangements?’

‘It’s not about me‚ darling, it’s about you, I want to give you the key to unlocking your past.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a door I’m ready to go through just yet.’

‘I know that, but you need to. And when you’re standing on the other side you can slam it shut behind you and get on with your life.’

There were so many things that Keira wanted to say to her, but mostly she wanted to be strong for her grandmother and if she tried to speak now she knew that she would lose it.

‘Come here now and take my hand,’ said her grandmother, as if she were reading her mind.

Keira moved to kneel on the floor in front of her chair and clasped the old woman’s bony fingers between the palms of her hands.

Her grandmother responded with a gentle squeeze. ‘When you know something in here,’ she said, banging her fist in the middle of her chest, ‘it doesn’t need to be spoken. Never once trouble yourself that I didn’t know what you thought of me, or I didn’t realize we had a special relationship. But if I’m to get through the long silence, I need to know that you’re happy . . . That’s why you have to go back. Father Anthony’s your starting point. Don’t think you’re doing it for me because I’ve asked you to: you’re doing it for yourself. I know a lot more about what happened that night all those years ago than I’ve ever let on, and the time has come to put it right.’ The old woman was staring at Keira with tears in her eyes. ‘I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I need to go home and I want you to take me there. When the time is right I want to be with my sons up at St Mary’s. Sure, Monkshill has a better view over the city, but it’s always blowing a bloody gale or raining up there.’

The two women sat staring at each other, holding each other’s gaze. Suddenly Keira said, ‘“Smite!” Really?’

Her grandmother caught it straight away. Her head tipped back as she started to laugh, her thin shoulders shuddering helplessly as she tried to control the sudden outburst and catch her breath.

Eventually Keira joined in, until they were both rocking back and forth with tears running down their cheeks.

The figure hiding in the bushes broke cover and started back down the steep path leading to the black Land Rover Evoque, which was parked near the water’s edge. There was nothing more to see. All the necessary information about the lawyer was now known: where she lived, where she worked, where her family home was. Most of it would be irrelevant – back-up information should it ever be needed – but thoroughness was essential: even the smallest details could prove useful. The trip had been worthwhile.

Keira Lynch was the one person with access to the target: the more that was known about her, the less chance there would be of making a mistake.

From the roof of the house, the crow watched as the figure climbed into the black car and slammed the door.

Moments later a cloud of smoke billowed from the rear tyres as it screeched off along the front and disappeared into the darkness at the far end of Scaur.

Keira was woken by a strange tapping noise from outside that sounded as if someone was throwing small stones against the window. Her bedroom was in total darkness except for a small pencil-slit of moonlight flaring between the curtains and fanning out across the floor. As she turned to look at the time on the bedside clock, she noticed her grandmother standing at the foot of the bed.

She should have been alarmed, but instead she felt strangely calm, almost as if she had been expecting her.

‘Are you all right, Gran? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong, I’ve come to say goodbye.’

Suddenly a large crow appeared silhouetted against the curtains, flapping its wings and squawking loudly, its beak tapping noisily at the pane of glass.

‘Don’t go over there,’ whispered Keira, the sense of panic rising in her voice as her grandmother started towards the window. ‘Don’t go over there,’ she repeated, but her grandmother wasn’t listening.

Just as she reached the window she turned and looked back at Keira. ‘It’s time. You take care now, my darling, and remember,’ she said banging her fist against her chest, ‘when you know it in here . . .’

Keira opened her eyes and lay for a few moments staring up at the ceiling‚ the strange dream lingering in her consciousness. The shadow cast by the Morrigan may have been a figment of her imagination, but she was aware that something was different.