The Dead Yard (24 page)

"I can’t lie to them, I—"

"Take it easy, mate, you don’t have to lie, not exactly, what you’ll say to the cops is pretty
much what happened: three guys broke into the base, they took you with them, you got away, and
you heard a shot. That’s it. They’ll take you back to the police station for medical treatment,
maybe to a hospital, doesn’t matter. You tell the cops that you got away from us and you ran and
you don’t know what happened to us. Ok?"

He nodded, but he still wasn’t convinced.

"Don’t feel bad about it. The FBI is going to be talking to you in an hour or so, you can tell
them the truth. There’s probably going to be an agent called Harrington. You can tell him
everything. But if you tell your buddies or your fiancée or the cops or anyone else that I shot
Seamus, I’m fucked. The terrorists will find out what really happened tonight and they’ll kill
me. Do you understand?"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because it happens to be true."

He blinked rapidly, his eyes wide and inexperienced. The fear was dissipating.

"Ok, I think, I—"

"No, no thinking. You’ll either do it or you won’t, tell me which it’s going to be. Hurry up,"
I said.

He thought for a moment, struggled with it, but obviously he wanted to buy the story, either
that or he was a hell of an actor.

"Ok, I’ll do it," he said.

"You better not be lying. My life’s at stake. Dozens of lives."

"I’m not lying."

He looked at the gun butt peeking out of my pocket. I clicked my fingers in front of his face.
I needed the locus of his attention on me.

"Tell me what you have to do. Repeat it back," I said.

"I don’t tell the cops shit, but I do tell the FBI."

"Very good."

I had him, but I had to be a hundred percent certain. I crouched beside him, looked into his
eyes.

"Now listen, Ryan, I’m trusting you with my goddamn life, so you better not fuck up."

"I won’t man, I owe you."

"One last time. Don’t tell the cops, but tell the FBI."

"I understand," he said seriously. "It’s like when you have to do deep recon."

"That’s exactly what it’s like. Good. I like that. Ok, I have to go, give me ten minutes and
then you can start screaming for the police. Got it?"

"Yes."

I stood.

The soldier looked at me. He wanted to say something. I waited.

"Thank you for saving me," he said. "And good luck."

"I’ll need it," I said.

I took the .45 out of my pocket, threw it into the Parker River, and ran as fast as I could
into the swampy undergrowth.

I headed north for fifteen minutes until I came to a wood. Here I adjusted the straps on my
prosthesis again, caught my breath, got my shit together.

What now?

Go back to Gerry’s?

How?

Hoof it.

Plum Island is a long sandy outcrop that runs parallel to the coast of northern Massachusetts.
On the maps it’s an island but in fact at low tide the island is effectively joined to the
mainland by a marshy spit of land. From where I was, north of the Parker River, it wouldn’t be a
difficult trek east across the marsh and up onto the west shore. I could easily make landfall in
the Plum Island wildlife reserve, cut across the quarter-mile-wide island to the Atlantic side,
and walk up the beach to McCaghan’s house.

That would take about an hour.

I thought about it and it seemed feasible, and I was about to get going but then, like the
sleekit wee character I was, a new plan began to grow in my mind.

A better one.

A much fucking better one.

What was it that I’d said to her? I saved your operation tonight. That I bloody had and they
owed me.

I stood and instead of going east to Plum Island I went west out of the woods and towards the
highway.

Brambles, an old graveyard, and eventually the trees intersecting with Route 1A again.
Perfect. Not far now. I turned north, keeping to the undergrowth by the side of the road. Just
before the town of Newbury I stopped at a gas station that I’d noticed several times before.

It was after nine o’clock, so the gas station was closed for the night. Still, I staked it out
in the forest until I was damn sure it was unoccupied. At a break in the traffic I ran across the
road.

The gas station
was
deserted and the object of my mission, the pay phone outside, was
in full working order. I could call Samantha now without a danger of our call being intercepted.
I picked up a rock and after a couple of tries I smashed the big light illuminating the gas
station’s forecourt.

I popped in a quarter and dialed Samantha’s number.

"Hello?"

"Samantha, it’s me. I want you to pick me up at the gas station south of Newbury on Route 1A.
I’ll wait here for fifteen minutes."

I hung up before she had a chance to say anything and then retreated into the shadows. Her
burgundy Jag appeared a little over ten minutes later. She had pulled a coat on over her
nightgown. Her eyes suspicious, her lips thin and furious. She opened the car door.

"North on 1A," I said.

I got in, she turned the car, and we drove for Newburyport.

"Michael, what do you think you’re—" she began, but I put my hand on her thigh and cut her
off.

"Just listen…listen first. This is the whole story. We broke into the National Guard base to
steal explosives, there was a soldier on guard duty, Seamus grabbed him, and he alerted the
peelers. We ran out into the swamps, Jackie got away, but the soldier fell down and Seamus
decided to kill him…. I had to shoot Seamus to save the soldier. I told the soldier not to say
anything to the cops and to save it for the FBI. I think he’ll do what he’s told."

Samantha redigested the information.

"Who was with you?"

"Seamus, me, Jackie."

She thought for a moment.

"Are you sure the soldier won’t speak to the local police?" she asked.

"No, he won’t. I told him to tell the FBI what happened but not the local police. If I were
you, I’d get on the blower straight away."

"Good. Hold on a minute, darling. This line is secure. Let me take care of it."

She picked up her car phone and called someone who told her that the FBI were on their way to
Rowley. She asked to be transferred to Stephen Harrington. She filled in Harrington and told him
to get Specialist Ryan away from the cops as soon as possible by telling them this was an FBI and
ATF matter. When she was done, she hung up and blew me a kiss.

"You did well, Michael, you saved the day," she said with a grin; but I wasn’t having any of
it. She wasn’t going to butter me up.

"Damn right I did. In more ways than one. Not just telling the soldier boy what to say. I
could have given myself up to the cops and my cover would have been blown and you’d have had to
pull me out. Operation over. And the best you could have gotten from the whole thing would be
Jackie for an attempted burglary. That would be it. Gerry, Touched, everyone else scot-free and a
million times more suspicious. A million times more careful. Oh, and one more time, keep your
bloody car away from Gerry’s house."

Samantha nodded.

"I’m sorry, I just drove over there today to make sure that you were installed safely, get the
lay of the land around the house. Did someone comment on it?"

"No one commented on it, but don’t do it again, Touched notices things. And you don’t need to
walk up the beach to give me warnings either. I may be a novice at this but I can handle myself.
Just stay off Plum Island completely. With me you have to lay back. Give me room to breathe."

She nodded. She had been overprotective and she had made a mistake. I was right to put her in
her place.

We reached Newburyport. She drove up State and down Pleasant and pulled round the back of All
Things Brit. She parked the car and turned off the lights. I looked at her. She knew I was
gunning for something.

"What?" she asked.

"You want to talk here or in your flat?"

"We don’t have to talk."

"Oh, I think we do," I insisted.

"What do you want me to say, darling? Don’t make me cross. I’ve already told you that you did
a jolly good job," she said.

"No, no, it’s gone beyond the pat on the back. I saved the operation tonight."

She opened her handbag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered me one. I declined; she
lit one for herself.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I want a million dollars. Half a million each for the convictions of Touched and Gerry."

"You want money?" she asked incredulously.

"Aye, I want money. The FBI gives me a stipend of about five hundred a week. It’s nothing. I
want to be set for life. This is my opportunity."

"A million dollars. Don’t be silly, there’s no way Six would ever approve—"

"Oh, they’ll approve. You were right, Samantha, it’s not just a bunch of dreamers. These guys
are serious. Have you heard of a group called the Real IRA?"

"Yes, dissident republicans, very small, nothing much to worry about—"

"You think not? Well, I beg to differ. Gerry and Touched are planning to go under their
umbrella in the next few months. Their plan is to set up cells and start a bombing campaign as
soon as possible. By Christmas, they’ll have bombed a lot of commercial targets, got the nod from
the Real IRA, and then they’re going to go for targeted assassinations. They are going to be
killing people. Ambassadors, businessmen, retired army officers. These boys are bloody serious.
And they’re careful and they’re good. And I’m the best chance you’ve got of bringing them down
before they get started. We’ll save lives, save treasure, nab the fuckers. It’s the only way. You
won’t discourage them by harassment. They’re hard-core. They’re pissed off at the IRA, at the
American government, at the Brits, at anyone in their way. Very, very dangerous."

Samantha looked at me with contempt.

"If that’s true, then it’s your duty to help bring—"

"Duty nothing. I had a way out tonight. You know it, I know it, and there’s bugger-all you
could have done about it. I could have turned myself in to the peelers and blown my cover. But I
didn’t. I had to kill a man tonight. Let’s not forget I saved that soldier boy’s life and topped
a pal of mine."

"Seamus wasn’t your—"

"It doesn’t matter if he was or he wasn’t. It’s still not easy. Ok? So as I see it, I’ve made
plenty of sacrifices for you already and if this operation is to continue I want the fucking
money. What’s a million to the civil service? To MI6? I don’t know, what would it be, less than a
tenth of one percent of your annual budget? It’s nothing. And this will be a major coup. Kudos
from the Yanks,
muy
prestige, promotions all round."

Samantha thought for a moment.

"I suppose I could ask. It really wouldn’t do any harm to ask."

"Damn right you’ll ask and you’ll get it."

"I can’t guarantee anything. But certainly, darling, I’ll see what I can do," she said.

I shook my head.

"No, that’s not good enough. You won’t see what you can bloody do. You’ll make an oral
agreement with me right now, and you’ll have it drawn up by tomorrow. I want a pardon from Mexico
and from Spain and I want my record wiped and I want a million bucks for information leading to
the convictions of Touched and Gerry."

She puffed on her fag, stubbed it into the ashtray. Opened the box, took out another.

"Well?" I persisted.

She nodded, looked at me.

"Ok, Michael," she said softly.

"You’ll get it done?"

"I’ll get it done."

"Good. Now, you got any water? I am dying of thirst."

She reached behind her seat and handed me a bottle of water. I drank the entire thing in one
big gulp.

"You want to take a shower at my place?" she asked.

"No, I can’t."

"What are you going to do now?" she asked, concern drifting back into her voice.

"I’m going to go back to PI and square it with Touched. I’ll say I got separated from Seamus
and the soldier and I don’t know what happened next."

She thought for a moment.

"I’ll get the ATF to take over the investigation tonight. And we’ll do a press release
tomorrow. We’ll say that it was a burglary gone wrong and the burglars took the soldier hostage
and he escaped."

"Seamus worked for Gerry, so when you find his body you’ll have to send a couple of FBI agents
round to the construction firm. It’ll be too suspicious if you don’t," I said.

"Of course. And we’ll bring Gerry in for questioning, too. It’s the least he’ll be expecting.
And this might be enough to get a judge to order a tap on his phones, although I believe they’re
awfully strict in this country," she said.

"Tap all you want, but I’m not wearing anything," I said.

"I wouldn’t ask you to, you’re doing enough as it is, darling," she said sweetly, her smile
coming back again.

"Damn right."

She blinked, hesitated. I wound down the window to get rid of the smoke smell.

"Michael, I have to ask this. Was there any other way with Seamus?"

"Talk to the soldier. He’ll tell you. It was him or us."

"Ok," she said quietly.

"I can’t bloody dillydally. Drive me close to the Plum Island turnpike and I’ll make my own
way to Gerry’s."

She nodded, stubbed out her cigarette, started the car, drove in silence to Plum Island, and
dropped me at the deserted entrance to the wildlife refuge, where there would be no witnesses to
see me get out of the vehicle.

"So you’ll have my contract and my pardons by tomorrow?" I asked again.

"Yes, Michael," she said, biting her lip.

"Good."

I clicked my seat belt off and went to get out of the car. Samantha stopped me.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Uh…I don’t know if it’ll be useful, but I found out about Kit’s real mother and father,
they’re from New York. Hector and Lilly Orlandez, so she’s really a Latina, surprising with her
complexion, you wouldn’t have thought—"