The Dead Yard (30 page)

"She’s not going with the rest of us?" I asked Kit.

"Nah, she’s going first to get the cabin ready. I was supposed to go too, but there was no
way," she said.

"She’s totally incorrigible," Jackie said. He considered me a mate now to whom he could
lightheartedly bitch about his crazy girlfriend.

"Was it really bad last night, back at the flat?" I asked him.

"I do not even want to talk about it," he said.

"What happened last night?" Kit asked. "Was it that woman you chased out of town?"

My mouth opened and closed. Chased out of town? Who had told her that bald-faced lie? And what
other unpleasant episodes had they kept from her?

Hmmm. Exactly how sure were they of her and Sonia? And if her own father was ashamed to tell
her about the horrors Touched had perpetrated, it might mean that she was pliable and not as
committed as the three men. Good. I would choose to believe it that way. Maybe I could even like
her without the guilty conscience.

Kit tapped her foot. She was waiting for an answer. I looked at Jackie but he wasn’t ready for
an off-the-cuff remark and I wasn’t going to help him out.

"Nothing," he said finally. "I had to clean up a big mess."

Kit looked at him suspiciously and let the matter drop.

Jackie smiled at me and fidgeted with a gun in his pocket. A small-caliber revolver. So both
he and Gerry were packing heat. But that was ok too, I wasn’t worried.

Having lowered his flags and put them away, Gerry walked over.

"Ok, lads and lasses, we better go. I told Touched I’d pick him up by six and the afternoon is
wearing on."

"Where is Touched?" I asked him.

"Oh, he went up to Portsmouth already, Kittery actually, Kittery, Maine," Jackie said.

"We’re meeting him there?" I asked.

"Yes, well, we are. We have a slightly tricky but ultimately rewarding task to accomplish.
Important for you, Sean, in particular. I think this will be an opportunity for you to show
Touched that paranoia is perhaps not the most agreeable of notions."

Gerry locked the house and we piled into another big McCaghan Construction van. Jackie
driving, Kit and Gerry squeezed into the other seats of the front cabin. Only a half-partition
between them and me in the back. Gerry had locked me in, I’d noticed, but it didn’t faze me. If I
wanted to escape I could easily cry for help any number of times in the slow drive through
Newburyport before we got to the highway. True, Gerry could have shot me with his silenced 9mm,
but it was moot, I wasn’t looking to escape, I was looking to bide my bloody time….

It was nearly dark when we arrived in Kittery—a small town just across the water from
Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

We drove into a landing place for boats and, sure enough, there was Touched, large as life,
twice as nasty, looking sinister in leather jacket, boots, and a brown shirt.

"There he is," Kit said happily.

Yeah, good old Uncle Touched.

He slammed the side of the van and, using his own key, opened it and got in the back next to
me. He nodded a hello and I nodded back, but when he noticed Kit his good humor departed.

"Gerry, what the fuck is she doing here?" he asked.

Gerry looked shamefaced.

"I couldn’t keep her away," he said.

"Jesus Christ, Gerry, I thought we discussed this," Touched said. "She was supposed to go with
Sonia and get the cabin ready."

"We did discuss it—" Gerry began but Kit cut him off.

"First of all, Touched, it’s not ’she,’ my name is Kit. And second of all, you are not the
boss of me, and third of all, how come you’re bringing along Sean, who’s been with us for less
than a week, and not me? How come? I’ll tell you how come. Because I’m a girl and you’re a
fucking sexist pig," Kit said loudly.

"Keep your voice down for one thing. And for two, just because you’re Gerry’s daughter doesn’t
mean I can’t give you orders. I
am
the boss of you and you’ll do as you’re fucking
told," Touched said.

Kit stared at him, then at her da. Touched clenched his fist. Another time, another crowd and
he would have belted her. But Kit slipped in one of her devastating apology/seductress smiles.
Touched quivered, cracked, relented.

"Well, anyway, I guess now that you’re here," he said, "I suppose I have no bloody
choice."

"No choice," Kit said triumphantly.

Touched looked at Gerry. "Did you tell Kit and Sonia about Sean’s wee dose of house arrest?"
he asked.

Gerry coughed. "Er, no, I’m afraid I did not have an occasion for that, we were all so busy
and what with the packing and everything," he said.

Touched sighed. "Kit, it’s like this, we had a bit of a close call yesterday and now Sean is
under close watch. He knows it and he approves of it, so he doesn’t get access to firearms and
you’re not to be alone with him. Understood?"

Kit looked at me strangely, a little intrigued by my new status, but she obediently
nodded.

"Better brief them, Touched," Gerry said.

Touched cleared his throat and grinned excitedly.

"Ok, folks. This is what we call a target of opportunity. I know what you’re thinking, we
should lie low for a few weeks after all that’s happened in the last couple of days. But it’s
exactly the opposite. We have to prove to the real Provos in Ireland that even in the face of a
couple of setbacks, we can hit fast and hard and effectively," Touched said, explaining nothing
at all.

"Yeah, but what’s the mission?" Kit asked.

"The mission for you is to do nothing, Kit. I’m handling it. Me and Gerry will do all the
work, the three of you do what we say and stay out of it. Me and Gerry are old hands, we know
what we’re doing."

Touched reached into his jacket and gave Kit and myself each an old Webley revolver.

"These are just for show, they’re not loaded. Gerry and me will do any shooting that’s
necessary," Touched said, but I checked the gun anyway in case there was one in the chamber.

"What about me? I can help. I got mine," Jackie said.

"Jackie. Don’t you do a goddamn thing without my say-so. Understood?" Touched said.

Jackie nodded.

"The mission, explain the mission," Gerry said.

"Ok then. I’ve got a motorboat and we’re going to that yacht over there in the harbor with the
two masts and the yellow paint. It’s called the
Elizabeth Regina
. We’re going to go on
and get someone and get off it again. Simple as pie," Touched said.

"Who are we getting?" Kit asked.

"The
Elizabeth Regina
is owned by Peter Blackwell," Touched said significantly.

Kit, Jackie, and I looked stupidly at one another.

"Surely you know who he is, Sean?" Touched said.

"Sorry, Touched, no clue," I admitted.

"Peter fucking Blackwell is a full general in the British Army. He was commander in chief of
the British Army in Northern Ireland for full four years. Four years. Two tours. Target number
one for the Provos for four years and they never got him. He’s on leave from Germany now, but
still, he has to be very high on everyone’s list back home. As high as Thatcher, some people
might say," Touched said triumphantly.

I couldn’t help looking at Kit for a moment. She knew that I’d been in that army too. But Kit
didn’t bat an eye. Good for her.

"What’s he doing over here?" I asked Touched.

"Intelligence wins the day, Sean. I found out that his boat the
Elizabeth Regina
was
entered in the Kittery Twenty-Four-Hour Race that begins the day after tomorrow. He flew in
yesterday, he’s spending the night on the boat, his crew joins him in the morning, and then he
goes off racing. Except that he doesn’t. We get him first."

"What do you mean, get him?" Kit asked.

"We lift him. We kidnap him," Touched said.

"You should tell them why," Gerry whispered.

"We grab him and on a stolen cell phone we call the State Department and tell him that unless
Hannity, Buchanan, and O’Reilly are allowed to go to a third country unhindered then we’ll kill
Blackwell. If they release the Newark Three, then we let him go and it’s kudos for us, if they
don’t release them we kill Blackwell and again it’s kudos for us."

I looked at Kit, but her face was turned away. Was she upset? What was she thinking?

The plan was ok but no Manhattan Project. Hannity, Buchanan, and O’Reilly, the Newark Three,
were a trio of IRA hoods who had been in an INS detention facility in New Jersey awaiting
extradition back to Ulster. They were small-time gunrunners, so I suppose Touched and Gerry
thought it was just about possible that the British government would pressure the State
Department into letting them go in return for General Blackwell’s safe release. Possible, but not
probable. The Brits had a long-standing policy of not negotiating with terrorists.

Still, the underlying assumption was correct. It would be a win-win for Touched. If they
didn’t release the three, he killed the general and got big respect from every dissident
republican in Ireland. If they did let the three out, again big fucking respect.

But even so, a high-profile kidnapping that could go horribly wrong in many ways was more a
sign of weakness than one of strength for the Sons of Cuchulainn.

"Won’t they trace your call?" I asked.

"No, they won’t. Thought of that. I got a couple of nicked phones from my mate in the Hampton
Beach casino. I’m only making one call and then I’m throwing the phone away. If they release the
Newark Three, we’ll hear on the radio, and if they don’t we’ll hear that, too."

"We wouldn’t really kill the general in cold blood, would we?" Kit asked, her face controlled,
calm.

"Damn right we would. He’s a war criminal. A British occupier. We’d have to, Kit. It wouldn’t
be a murder, it would be a sanctioned execution," Touched said.

"So far it’s been all hits against us. Revere and Seamus and the FBI snooping on us, but now
we’re striking back, we’re taking the war to the enemy," Gerry added.

"Would you kill him, Dad?" Kit asked.

"Time is pressing," Touched said before Gerry could answer.

We got out of the van and went down to the boat Touched had rustled up from somewhere. A
large, long boat that in Ireland we called a dory. Tied to a wharf, it was still a little tricky
to get in it, especially for Gerry. But eventually, when we were all nervously aboard, Touched
pulled the outboard and it whirred into life.

Portsmouth Harbor was packed full of ships and boats. To the right was the Piscataqua River
and to the left was the Atlantic. The
Elizabeth Regina
was not the biggest boat in the
harbor, but it was still large. A two-masted schooner, about sixty-five feet long.

Not the sort of thing you could afford on army pay. The general obviously had money.

Touched steered us closer, the dory struggling against the current and Gerry’s weight. Kit was
next to me, shivering. She had removed her trench coat and was dressed in only a thin black silk
sweater. I put my arm round her and she didn’t refuse it and Jackie, bless him, didn’t mind.

Since I was near the back, Touched handed me a pair of binoculars.

"Is he still moving about, Sean?" he asked me.

I looked through the binocs and, sure enough, I could see a figure belowdecks futtering
around.

"Aye."

"And there’s only one person, Sean?" Gerry asked.

"Yup. I think it’s just one guy, but I don’t know how on earth you could know that for sure,"
I said.

"Don’t get smart, Sean, I’ve been watching the bloody boat for the last four hours. It’s one
guy," Touched said.

"One old guy. One unarmed old guy," Gerry said.

"How do you know he’s unarmed?" Jackie asked.

"There’s no way he would have been allowed to enter U.S. territory with a gun on his boat,"
Gerry said, discounting the possibility of a flare gun, boat hook, ice axe.

"Which is not to say that he is not armed and not dangerous. He will definitely be the latter
and maybe the former. So if it comes to trouble, Kit, you hang back, looking menacing; Sean, your
job is to look after Kit; me, Gerry, and Jackie will handle the old man," Touched said.

Closer. There was music coming from the boat.

"Hey, that’s Radiohead," Kit said to me.

"Sounds like the general’s up with the kids," I said skeptically.

Whether he was into Radiohead or not, he had very helpfully placed half a dozen fenders along
the port hull of the
Elizabeth
so that other boats could easily moor alongside.

"Masks on," Touched whispered. We pulled on black ski masks and gloves. It wasn’t completely
dark yet, so if anyone was passing in a fishing boat or a dinghy they’d certainly notice us.

Unfortunately, no one was passing.

Touched cut the dory’s motor and we drifted for about twenty feet until we were against the
Elizabeth
’s hull.

"Fend off," Touched whispered to Jackie. Jackie had no idea what Touched meant but he put up
his arm anyway to stop us crashing into the side of the boat. We were near the ladder at the
stern and Jackie had the presence of mind to nudge us along so that we could climb it rather than
having to haul ourselves up over the rail. Gerry probably couldn’t have managed that in any
case.

"Up you go, Jackie boy," Touched said.

Jackie climbed the ladder and pulled out his gun. There was no sound from the subdecks. I went
next, then Gerry. The whole stern of the boat bobbed in the water when he came onboard; but again
nothing from belowdecks. Kit next. Touched last.

Touched led us to the cabin entrance and he opened the sliding hatchway that led down below. I
followed him into the forecabin. A large luxury yacht, fitted out for at least a dozen crew, not
really a racer, more of a cruiser because it had a big heavy cooking stove, a drinks cabinet,
even a library up against one wall. Radiohead coming from a CD player.

A door opened at the rear of the boat. A young man in a bathrobe humming to the music.
Curly-haired, blond, early twenties, maybe even younger, an Eton pugilist’s nose, a handsome face
with deep green eyes.