The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (44 page)

       
‘Look, maybe I’m not making myself clear. You said  . . .’

       
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Lynch hissed. ‘I need one favour, that’s all. Now get a pen and write this down.’

       
McDonough went quiet and Lynch could practically hear the man thinking. McDonough knew who Lynch was, and what he was capable of. ‘Okay,’ McDonough said eventually. ‘Okay, but just this once.’

       
‘Thanks,’ said Lynch. ‘I appreciate it, I really do.’ There was no point in rubbing the man’s nose in it. Lynch read out the number from the torn map corner.

       
‘It’s a jet, you say?’

       
‘Yeah. Some sort of executive jet. I need to know who it belongs to as well. Can you do that?’

       
McDonough went silent for a few seconds. ‘Yeah. I can do that.’ His voice was cold and flat, almost robotic.

       
‘Luke, I’m sorry I snapped at you,’ said Lynch as kindly as possible. Lynch needed the air traffic controller to do what he wanted, and if that meant smoothing his feathers then Lynch was prepared to do it. If he’d been in the same room as McDonough and he’d had a gun in his hand, then his approach might well have been different. ‘Do this for me and I won’t ask anything else of you, I promise. I swear on my mother’s life.’ Lynch’s mother had died of a massive stroke five years earlier and was buried next to his father in a cemetery outside Castlewellan, but he felt no shame at invoking her name.

       
‘I’ll do it,’ said McDonough, less bitterly this time.

       
‘How long do you think it’ll take?’

       
‘A couple of telephone calls,’ said McDonough. ‘Give me your number and I’ll call you back.’

       
‘I’ll call you,’ said Lynch. ‘Half an hour, okay’

       
‘Okay.’ The line went dead and Lynch replaced the receiver. Marie was still talking on her phone. She waved animatedly at Lynch and he went to stand behind her.

       
Marie replaced the receiver. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ she said.

       
‘What’s curiouser and curiouser?’

       
‘I rang the estate agents, the one whose name was on the school sign. Told them that my boss was interested in the property. The girl there said it had been bought by a Bristol company who are planning to turn it into a conference centre. They’re taking over in two months.’

       
‘So who’s in now?’

       
‘She wouldn’t tell me. I even played the overworked secretary, told her my boss was giving me a hard time, but she still said she couldn’t say. Said it was confidential. To be honest, I don’t think she knows.’

       
‘There’s something strange going on, that’s for sure.’

       
‘What about your guy?’

       
‘Half an hour. I’ll get back to him.’

       
They went to the cafeteria. Lynch ordered two coffees and they chose a quiet table. ‘What are you going to do, Dermott?’ asked Marie as she stirred her coffee.

       
‘In what way?’

       
‘The police are after you, the organisation seems to want you dead, you’ve no visible means of support.’

       
‘Sure, but it’s not all going my way.’ He grinned but could see that she was serious. ‘What do you want me to say, Marie?’

       
‘I was just wondering what your plan is?’

       
Lynch put his head in his hands and watched her with amused eyes. ‘I’m in deep shit, I know I’m in deep shit, but dwelling on it isn’t going to make it go away. I could run, but the world’s smaller than it used to be. There aren’t many places I could do a Lord Lucan, and, as you say, I’m not exactly flush with funds. So in terms of planning ahead, I’m not. In the words of Doris Day,
que sera, sera
. If you’re asking me what my short-term aim is, it’s to see Cramer dead and buried, and maybe dance on his grave.’

       
Marie nodded sympathetically. ‘You’re sure?’

       
‘What do you mean?’

       
She shrugged and put her spoon down on her saucer. ‘Getting Cramer isn’t going to be easy. I just want to be sure that you’re going to go through with it.’

       
Lynch exhaled slowly as he stared at Marie. There was an enthusiasm about her that was almost child-like. It reminded him of Davie Quinn. Poor, dead, Davie Quinn. ‘You’ve never been engaged have you?’ he asked.

       
‘No.’

       
‘You’ve never met anyone you felt you wanted to marry? Someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?’

       
Marie shook her head. ‘No.’

       
‘Sometimes you meet someone and you just know they’re right for you. Twin souls. It’s as if your whole life had been leading up to the point where you meet that person. It was like that when I met Maggie.’

       
‘Love at first sight,’ said Marie.

       
‘I know, it’s a cliché. But when she walked into my life it was like everything clicked into place. Like we belonged together. She was twenty-two when we met, she’d just left Queen’s with a degree in electrical engineering and she was going to change the world. She had hair that gleamed like copper and eyes like a cat, green like emeralds.’ He stopped when he realised that Marie was grinning at him. ‘I know, I know, I’m talking in clichés.’

       
‘No, Dermott, you’re talking like a man in love.’

       
‘Aye, I was that. Head over heels. Nothing I’ve felt since has ever compared with how I felt then. Like I could live forever. Like I wanted to live forever.’ He picked up his coffee and sniffed it, holding the cup in both hands. ‘You know what was crazy? I knew she sympathised with the IRA, but she never told me she was a volunteer. She was in an active service unit and she didn’t say a word. Mind you, she was Scottish, so I guess it didn’t occur to me that she’d have been recruited.’

       
‘Did you tell her that you were part of it?’ Lynch shook his head and sipped his coffee. ‘So why are you surprised that she could keep a secret? Didn’t you tell me that only one member of each cell knows anyone else in another cell?’

       
‘Aye, of course. But she was so close to me, so close you wouldn’t believe.’

       
‘She was being professional.’

       
‘I know.’ He put down his cup. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ Marie shook her head. ‘I think she was recruited before she went to university,’ Lynch continued. ‘It might even have been the organisation that suggested she study what she did.’

       
‘Electrical engineering?’

       
‘Yeah. She got a first. She was sharp, all right. Sharp as a knife. You couldn’t pull the wool over Maggie’s eyes, she’d let you get away with nothing.’

       
‘Why electrical engineering?’

       
Lynch looked at her levelly. ‘She was a bomb-maker. She made bombs.’ Marie stiffened and Lynch gave her time to digest what he’d told her. ‘We were at war,’ he said eventually.

       
‘You don’t have to explain anything,’ said Marie.

       
‘I know, it’s just that  . . .’

       
‘It’s just that you thought I might get nervous, that I might chicken out. No chance, Dermott. If the IRA hadn’t done what it did, the British would never have talked to Sinn Fein in the first place. So you don’t have to explain anything, okay?’

       
Lynch nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We got engaged the year after she graduated. She was working for a company outside Belfast, making video recorders. I was on the dole but by then I was already a volunteer. I never told her, but I think she guessed. I had to go away at weekends for training, and she never asked where I went.’

       
‘It seems a strange relationship. Both of you keeping secrets from each other.’

       
Lynch sighed. ‘It had to be done. I couldn’t say anything to her, it would have been against standing orders. Her controller was a member of the Army Council, even the rest of the council didn’t know what she was doing. She was sent to London, told me she was going to see her folks in Glasgow. I was sent south for advanced weapons training, I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if it was planned. The next thing I knew was all the bombs going off in London. Real spectaculars. Huge bombs.’

       
‘I remember,’ said Marie quietly.

       
‘The SAS discovered that the active service unit was based in a flat in Wapping. They stormed it, all the volunteers were killed. Maggie was shot in the back, Marie. She was shot in the back while she was lying on the floor. That came out at the inquest. Cramer gave evidence, hidden behind a screen. Soldier B, they called him, but it was Cramer. He said that Maggie was reaching for a gun.’ Lynch sneered. ‘Heckler & Kochs they had, and she was lying face down. Why the fuck would she be reaching for a gun? They executed her, Marie. Cramer shot her in the back because they didn’t want a trial. They killed them all. That’s what the SAS are. Government assassins.’ Lynch’s hands had clenched into fists and he banged them on the table. Marie reached across and held his hands. ‘She was pregnant, Marie. She was two months pregnant. That’s what they found when they cut her open. Maybe she didn’t even know. Cramer killed her, and he killed my baby. So you don’t have to ask me if I’m going to go through with it. I swore on Maggie’s grave that I’d revenge her. Her and our baby. Oh yes, Marie love, if it’s the death of me, I’ll kill Cramer.’ Lynch suddenly realised that he was glaring at her, so intense were his feelings. He forced himself to relax.

       
Marie looked at him earnestly. ‘I’ll help,’ she said softly. ‘I want him dead as much as you do.’

       
They sat in silence for a while. Lynch looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to call him again,’ he said. ‘You wait here.’

       
Lynch went back to the line of telephones and dialled McDonough’s number. The air traffic controller answered himself this time. ‘It’s a privately-owned jet, not a charter firm. The owner is registered as Vander Mayer. Andrew Vander Mayer. Do you want the address?’

       
‘Definitely.’ Lynch copied it down. It was an office in Kensington. McDonough even had the postcode and a telephone number. ‘Where was the plane going?’ Lynch asked.

       
‘They filed for Heathrow. They should be landing just about now.’

       
‘What then? Are they going on somewhere else?’

       
‘They haven’t filed another flight plan, if that’s what you mean. Look, I’ve got work to do, okay?’

       
‘Thanks, Luke.’

       
‘Yeah. Right.’ McDonough cut the connection. Lynch stared at the name and address he’d written down. Andrew Vander Mayer. Who the hell was Andrew Vander Mayer? And why was the Sass-man flying around in his corporate jet?

       
Lynch turned around to find Marie standing behind him. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not worried that I’d do a runner, were you?’

       
Marie held up the keys to the Golf and jangled them. ‘Not really,’ she said. She tossed the keys to him. ‘So, what did he say?’

       
Lynch gave her the name and address. ‘Unusual name,’ she said. ‘What do we do now?’

       
‘Back to London.’

       
‘Isn’t that dangerous? Bearing in mind what’s back there.’

       
Lynch weighed the keys in the palm of his hand. ‘We could leave the Golf here and rent another car. So long as we keep away from your house, we should be okay.’

       
‘But they’ll be looking for you, right?’

       
‘Let’s check the papers and find out.’ They went over to the newsagent’s in the departures terminal and bought
The Times
, the
Daily Telegraph
and the
Independent
, and most of the tabloids. Only the broadsheets carried the story of Foley’s body being discovered in the boot of the Sierra, and none had connected it with the deaths of the IRA men in Maida Vale. Lynch frowned as he read the story in the
Telegraph
. The police were sure to have dusted the car for prints, and unless the technicians had been totally incompetent, they wouldn’t have had too much trouble getting a match.

       
‘No mention of you,’ said Marie.

       
‘Aye, but it could be a trap. It could be they want me to think it’s safe.’ He made a clicking sound with his tongue, then quickly came to a decision. ‘What the hell, I’m no worse off in London. And the longer we leave it, the more likely it is that Cramer’ll disappear again. Come on, let’s go.’

       
‘Why don’t we fly back?’

       
‘Because Special Branch cover all the airports as a matter of course. You don’t always see them, but they’re there, checking all arrivals. Besides, we’d never be able to get the gun through the metal detectors. No, we’re better off driving.’

       
‘Do you want me to do it in my name?’ she asked.

       
‘No, love. I’ve got a licence in another name, and a credit card.’ Lynch thought it better not to mention that the licence and credit card had belonged to Sean O’Ryan, one of the men he’d killed in Maida Vale.

The Lear jet touched down gently, its tyres kissing the tarmac so softly that Cramer couldn’t even discern the point at which they made contact with the ground. ‘Smooth,’ said Allan appreciatively. ‘These guys know what they’re doing.’ He unclipped his seatbelt as the jet taxied to its parking space, guided by a man in blue overalls. A large Mercedes pulled up in the distance. It appeared to be a twin of the one they’d left behind in Swansea. The man in overalls guided the Lear to a halt fifty yards from the Mercedes.