Death in the Burren (16 page)

“Me too,” McAllister agreed.

Then he remembered.

“That’s silly of me. The coffee shop would be open for business inside. Why don’t we take it in turns to have some and then we can decide what to do next. It might be best if we telephoned the Gardaí and reported finding the Opel.”

While they were checking for money the rain renewed it’s onslaught, and they noticed a blurred figure return in the deluge to the white van.

McAllister, who was to go first, decided to wait until the rain eased.

A few more cars drew up and parked around them but nobody emerged, the downpour was too heavy.

It was this fact which caused McAllister to notice the two figures approaching from the cave building and making for the van.

“Bloody fools,” he thought to himself, “they have to be in a helluva hurry, they must be absolutely soaked.”

There was something odd about the two, though. One seemed to be pushing the other along.

McAllister leaned forward, he beckoned urgently to Schmitt.

“Quickly!” he said, “turn the key and switch on the windscreen wipers!”

Schmitt fumbled at the ignition key before he managed to carry out McAllister’s instruction.

“It’s them!” shrieked McAllister. “That’s Patsy in front just climbing into the van!”

Without a second thought the two flung open their doors and dashed across the car park in the sheeting rain towards their quarry.

Patsy was already inside as they approached but the man behind her suddenly turned around and saw McAllister and Schmitt bearing down on him.

It was O’Lochlen.

S
TARTLED, MCALLISTER JERKED BACK
and stopped in his tracks staring intensely, and with shock and puzzlement, at the sodden figure standing by the door of the van some fifteen feet away. Schmitt drew up beside him.

The rain beat down mercilessly, as they stood, momentarily, like figures in stone, frozen by indecision, each caught off guard by the presence of the other.

Then McAllister, thinking again of how near they were to rescuing Patsy, lunged forward at O’Lochlen only to find himself threatened by a handgun pointing straight in his direction. There was a grim and menacing look on O’Lochlen’s face and McAllister again drew to a sudden halt. Schmitt had not moved.

“Take one more step, either of you, and I’ll blow you’re bloody heads off,” screamed O’Lochlen, a distraught look on his face.

As he did so he backed carefully into the passenger seat of the van keeping the gun trained on McAllister, who expected the engine to spring to life, and his quarry to escape once again. But nothing happened.

An anxious voice came from inside. “I can’t get this one to start. There must be a circuit breaker switch hidden away somewhere.”

At that, Schmitt darted towards the rear door of the van in an heroic attempt to help Patsy, but O’Lochlen instantly fired the gun and Schmitt collapsed. Blood streamed from his thigh and diluted as it flowed into the saturated ground.

This incident seemed to unsettle O’Lochlen. A crazed look came over his face, he looked around like a wild man who had been hunted into a corner.

McAllister knew the situation was balanced on a knife edge. He could see that something had snapped inside O’Lochlen and that his own immediate fate could be decided at any second.

The tension was broken by a shout from one of the cars parked nearby, “Hey, what’s going on there?”

O’Lochlen whipped around, startled by the intervention behind him, and McAllister knew this was his chance. He didn’t have many options. One was to lunge towards O’Lochlen in an attempt to disarm him, but he calculated that the distance was too great and that he would simply suffer the same fate as Schmitt -- or worse.

The other was to dive behind a low wall which jutted out into the car park from the mountainside just a few feet away. Making his mind up in an instant McAllister flung himself behind the wall and pressed his body into the sodden ground. He prayed that O’Lochlen would be too distracted simply to follow him there and coldly finish him off.

McAllister hoped that the pressures bearing down on his adversary would cause him to make further mistakes and open up an opportunity which could be seized upon, but there was no denying that he had never experienced such numbing, helpless, fear.

He simply had to lie there and wait, listening intently for sounds which would tell him what was happening, and keeping an eye on the end of the wall in case O’Lochlen came after him. If that happened his fate would be decided by his own split second reaction.

It wasn’t easy to hear anything, though, other than the sounds of the storm which was still sweeping the mountainside and pounding the rain into his exposed body. It was a truly awful situation.

And what about Paul Schmitt? A thigh wound was very dangerous if it wasn’t seen to. The loss of blood would quickly weaken him.

And Patsy? She was in extreme danger too and must be going through Hell.

At this thought McAllister was filled with a sudden anger and had to control himself against making a rash move. Paul Schmitt was suffering the consequences of such an action.

“No.” McAllister told himself. “No more silly heroics. I’ll have to wait for the right moment, but I’ll have to keep up the pressure for Patsy’s sake. The sooner she’s out of the grip of those lunatics the better for her. And me, come to think of it - I wasn’t cut out for this. With so many people around now they’ll never get away.”

Encouraged by this last thought McAllister dragged himself through the wet gravel and peered cautiously around the end of the wall. The rain beat pitilessly into his face as he peered through narrowed eyes.

He was in time to see O’Lochlen and another man, who looked familiar, but whom he could not immediately identify, push Patsy out of the van and bundle her quickly towards the cave entrance.

McAllister dragged himself up and went to check Paul Schmitt, who was lying in agony and bleeding profusely. He spoke some words of encouragement to Schmitt and, on seeing a car arriving and parking nearby, it’s occupants totally unaware of the events which unfolding, quickly explained the situation and asked them to help get Paul to a doctor.

Turning his attention, now, to Patsy and her abductors, McAllister was in time to see them enter the Aillwee Cave and cause a commotion.

O’Lochlen could be heard, over the wind, screaming dire warnings at the few people who had been standing looking out at the rain or wandering in and out of the doorway. They soon scattered, frantically, in an effort to get away from this sudden threat and quickly disappeared out of sight as if by magic.

McAllister saw the trio go through the entrance and decided to follow. He was happy to make it to the shelter of the overhang outside the doorway and paused to catch his breath and take stock of the situation. At least he was out of the downpour.

Should he go in straight away and risk being shot down or simply wait there in the knowledge that the Gardaí would have to arrive eventually, and lay siege to O’Lochlen and his companion?

It was at that moment that McAllister remembered who this mysterious companion was. He had been introduced to him by Balfe, of all people, in the Orchid Hotel. Was it the evening of the concert there, at which Eileen O’Leary had played? No, McAllister remembered now, it was the following morning when he had called to see the Italian musicians before they left for Galway.

Considine, that was his name. Considine. Now the incident was clear in McAllister’s mind. He was the tall stooped individual who had been talking with Jack Cameron and Andy O’Lochlen!

Yes, O’Lochlen! But what on earth were they up to now? What motive could they possibly have for all this carry on? It made no sense whatsoever to McAllister, who was totally perplexed by the sequence of events.

In fact, he told himself, he was really sick and tired, fed up and drained by all this danger, mystery and unwanted adventure. He wished the whole thing would go away and leave him alone. He did not need all this. He wanted to be somewhere else entirely, with Ann, living life as it used to be, and not scurrying, and being dragged, all around the Burren for reasons which were entirely beyond him.

McAllister was becoming angry, which was a comparatively rare occurrence. Angry, not at anyone in particular. He did, of course, take exception to being robbed, shot at, burned out of his bedroom, and to being flung into the boot of a car and driven around all night. But in the absence of any discernible motive on the part of those who were doing these things to him he could not work up any personal animosity towards them. McAllister would be quite happy to call it quits now. If everyone put down their guns. let their prisoners go, patched up their wounded and just walked away, he would walk away too and try to forget it all.

The door suddenly burst open towards him and a man threw himself on the ground and rolled over and over away from the cave entrance.

McAllister watched in astonishment as the man then picked himself up and looked around. He was young and athletic and the whole exercise obviously cost him no effort. Eventually he spotted McAllister.

“Blimey, I wouldn’t stand there if I were you, mate. I’d get as far away as I could, while the going is good. There’s some bloke in there with a gun and, if you ask me, he’s off his rocker. A complete screwball.”

He made to dash off but McAllister beckoned to him.

“Tell me what the situation is inside. What’s happening?”

“This bloke just burst in and started screaming and waving a gun at everybody. There was a crowd starting a tour and he herded them into a corner over there against the long counter.” The young man pointed to the left of the entrance.

“There’s another bloke with him and a woman, but she looks in very bad shape.”

“Thanks,” said McAllister.

“Is this something to do with you, mate?”

“In a way. That woman is a friend of mine.”

“Crikey!”

He paused for a moment, then thinking better of it said, “Well I’m off, best of luck.”

With that he dashed off through the rain towards his car.

“Can’t blame him,” McAllister muttered to himself, as he squeezed back against the wall under the overhang.

He had just done so when a shot rang out inside.

McAllister shuddered and prepared, throwing all caution to the wind because of his concern for Patsy McBride, to fling himself through the door and take his chances inside. He wasn’t too sure in his mind what this might achieve but the tension of wondering about Patsy was too much for him and he simply had to do something.

He took a deep breath, but again the door burst open towards him and another young man sprawled to the ground at his feet.

McAllister hesitated and his new companion stared up at him, fear showing in his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

“It’s alright,” McAllister said reassuringly, “I’m not with those men.”

He could see the youth relax.

“What was that shot all about?” he asked. “Who was he shooting at?”

“Me!”

“Why you?”

“I had to make a run for it, right across the shop, and he tried to stop me. That other fellow was just inside the door and he was gone before anyone could react.”

“Oh I see,” said McAllister.

“What are you doing here anyway?” asked the youth, “What’s this got to do with you?”

“That lady with them is a friend of mine and I’m trying to help her. I’m not sure what I can do though.”

“What’s this all about?”

“Oh, it’s a very long story,” sighed McAllister, “but the situation is that the Gardaí are searching all over for them and myself and another friend got caught up in the whole business and spotted them coming up here. I’m sure the Gardaí will be up in this direction before long.”

“Is that woman a hostage or something?”

“Correct first time,” said McAllister.

“Wow. She does look as if she has been very badly treated.”

“Now,” McAllister asked, “can you tell me the situation inside?”

“By the way,” he went on, “are you with somebody?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean are you on holiday with your family, or friends?”

“Oh no, I work here. I do guided tours and help out in the shop.”

“I see,” said McAllister thoughtfully, “anyway, what’s happening in there?”

“Well, they just burst in, screaming and waving the gun and pushed everybody into a corner. After that man escaped they made us lie down on the ground and said they’d shoot the first person who moved. I was the nearest to the door and decided to chance it.”

“You were lucky.”

“I know.”

McAllister looked thoughtfully at the youth.

“You say you work here. Can you think of anything I can do to upset those gangsters.”

“Why don’t you wait for the Gardaí? You said they would come up here eventually. Anyway where’s your friend? Didn’t you say there was somebody with you?”

“Oh yes, they shot him in the leg over there at the other end of the car park and some people took him away for help.”

“My God, this is really serious.”

“Don’t I know it,” sighed McAllister again.

“The thing is,” he went on, “I really think the longer this goes on the more chance there is of somebody else being shot and I owe my friend Patsy McBride a lot. I can’t leave her in that situation without doing something, if it’s at all possible.”

The rain beat down mercilessly and the wind, which had become violent, began to drive it into their inadequate shelter, soaking their equally inadequate clothes. They cringed and shivered under the onslaught.

It may have been the misery of this situation which prompted the youth to say that there was another entrance into the cave where they would at least have shelter from the elements.

“Lead me to it,” said McAllister with enthusiasm.

M
c
A
llister followed
as they dashed through the storm, around the entrance building, to a wooden door set into the rocky hillside.