THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR (19 page)

“Saint Theresa's House?” I asked, feeling that I should say something.

“We look after homeless teenagers. Mostly run-a-ways from bad homes who ended up on the streets of Dublin. We try to reintegrate them into society.”

“Oh,” I muttered, surprised that the cover was a working institution.

“Danny's idea. He said it is a way to give back.”

I smiled. There were so many things I didn't know about my friend, and yet this didn't surprise me. Behind the killer's mask was a humanitarian who cried over Jameson Irish Whiskey and Caruso, and I hoped that when this was all over I too could do something similar. Julie would have liked that.

“Good for him,” I said.

“He remembered what it was like when he was a child in the same situation,” Sister Angelica said holding my eyes, searching for a glimmer of humanity. But I didn't feel any humanity, surprise, but not humanity. Not yet and maybe never. Julie's death was my death too.

“Good for him,” I said again and turned to stare at the passing cars and small houses on the outskirts of Shannon.

“Danny's my brother, Mr Gunn.”

If anyone had hit me over the head with a brick I wouldn't have been more surprised. When I looked at her, Sister Angelica's eyes held no animosity, just a look of curiosity.

“I didn't know he had a sister.”

“And I didn't know he had any friends, so I think that perhaps we are equally ignorant on some matters.”

“I guess we are,” I answered feeling like a child who felt guilty that he had not been punished for being a selfish little bugger.

“You will be asking yourself what we are doing helping a former British soldier. Will you not?”

“Not the first thing that sprang to mind.”

“Oh,” she said, a slight smile creasing the corner of her mouth. “Then you'll be wondering why Danny's sister is a nun.”

“I confess that did cross my mind,” I replied wondering where this conversation was going.

“We are both warriors, just in a different way. Danny assures me that you are a good man. That is the only reason we are helping you, Mr Gunn.”

“Please, call me Thomas.”

“Perhaps you can do something for the children when this is all over, Thomas. If you are of a mind,” she said quietly, holding on tightly as the van braked suddenly and turned into a driveway that led up to a modest size Georgian house surrounded by a stand of alder and aspen trees a short distance from the house. To the side was a garage and stable complex.

“You'll stay in the stable flat tonight, we'll be leaving early,” Sister Angelica said as she led me to the small apartment above the stable. “I'll have dinner brought to you later. Rest, Danny will call at seven this evening.”

Left alone with my thoughts and a splitting headache, I lay down on the bed listening to the wind in the trees and distant murmur of voices from the house, thinking of how I was going to get myself employed at the Venus Automotive factory. But any amount of worrying the problem was not going to solve it. I had to be on the ground and integrated into the local population before I would find the way.

One of the Sister's brought me dinner at six o'clock, a simple but delicious meal of Atlantic salmon served with a slice of lemon, boiled new potatoes tossed in butter and Italian parsley, a savoury carrot layer, and a generous glass of smooth red wine that went surprisingly well with the fish.

At precisely seven o'clock my burn phone rang.

“I trust you dined well, Thomas,” Danny's voice quietly mocked me.

“Your sister? Really?”

“Some things are private, you should appreciate that.”

“Touché. What have you got for me?”

“You'll be dropped off in Crossmaglen. There's a car at the church with a passport, driver's licence, chequebook and credit cards, another burn phone, a normal iPhone and a MacBook Pro laptop. The access code is our last mission together in Afghanistan. Do you remember?”

“I do,” I answered grimly.

“Just don't spend all the money, it's my personal alter ego you are using, and my money. I'm not rich like you so I'd appreciate a refund. I've arranged a job for you at the factory. Your name is Tom Nelson and you're a central control systems analyst from Orion Electronics in San Francisco, the company that supplies the central computer that controls all the car's functions. They asked for him to sort out a bug in the software.”

“He's a real person?”

“Yup. On a brief sabbatical until you're done. I have a man in the factory, Billy O'Brien, who'll take care of the software problem, so just act nerdy. Nelson is known to be a bit strange, likes to be on his own and not mix with the crowd, so find yourself a B&B in Dundonald.”

“And then?”

“You're on your own. Billy's a good man, but you're on your own until you're out of there.”

“Okay. I appreciate the help.”

“You'll pay eventually.”

“Saint Theresa's House? I'll be happy to.”

“Good,” he said with feeling.

At the height of 'The
Troubles'
in Northern Ireland in the 1970s, Crossmaglen in South Armagh was probably the most dangerous place in Northern Ireland for a British Soldier. The countryside littered with roadside bombs and booby traps, and a porous border with Eire that the Provisional IRA could cross at will and ambush patrols. Now it seemed a sleepy country town, the old Army Base near the town centre was gone, as was the heavily fortified Sanger that once looked out across the town square.

The car was exactly where Danny said it would be, and after a few minutes checking it out, and a quick goodbye to the Sisters I was on my way north towards Dundonald, hoping I would be able to find a B&B fairly close to the Venus Automotive factory.

There were no vehicle checkpoints on the road, which surprised me, as three days previously a car bomb had been discovered just north of Newry. I had no detailed plan, and was just taking each moment as it came.

Once I reached the outskirts of Dundonald, I headed for the factory and was amazed at the transformation. All the builder’s rubble was gone, and where Julie and I had killed Boyd, De Costas' less than savoury henchman, was a smooth new parking lot in front of a modern glass and concrete structure, with the offices along the front hiding the main manufacturing facility at the rear. As far as major car manufacturers were concerned this was a small operation. Small it may be, but I knew what it had cost, in money and blood.

I drove on and stopped at the nearest service station. The attendant filled the car and gave me directions to a B&B. It didn’t take me long to find the cul-de-sac that he had mentioned. The lady who answered the door was about fifty-five with a cheery face and homely figure.

“Good afternoon, my name is Tom Nelson,” I said holding out my hand. Her grasp was firm and dry. “The guy at the gas station told me you may have a room for rent," I said in my best American accent.

"That's right I do. I'm Katie Dillon. Kevin called ahead and said you'd be by. Come on in." She stepped aside and let me pass. "How long would you be wanting it for?"

"Oh, it's difficult to say really. I have been brought over for a temporary job at Venus Automotive."

"Well it's a small world, my daughter works there."

"Really. What a co-incidence.”

"Indeed. Here we are." She showed me into a reasonably good size room, well furnished and clean. "Will this be what you're looking for?"

"Perfect," I said and she beamed.

"Meals are served in the dining-room. Breakfast at seven, dinner at seven-thirty in the evening. The bathroom is just over to the right." She gestured down the corridor. "You are the only one in at the moment. Winter is usually a very slack time. Once you’re settled in I'll have a cup of tea waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Thank you." We discussed the cost and payment, and then I collected my small suitcase and backpack from the car, returned to the room, unpacked and went down to the kitchen.

Katie Dillon placed a mug of steaming tea on the kitchen table and a plate with several slices of fruitcake in front of me and sat down with her cup. “You fellers from the factory usually stay at the Hotel,” she said watching me carefully. After all the years of violence in Northern Ireland, a strong sense of wariness ran through the community when strangers visited their doorstep.

“Yes they do,” I replied smoothly picking up a slice of cake and taking a bite. “This is delicious and also one of the reasons I like to stay in B&B's. Hotel's are too soulless and it’s good to get away from work for a few hours.”

She smiled quietly, seemingly satisfied with my reasons. “Where do you come from in America?”

“California. I was born in Santa Barbara, just north of Los Angeles.”

“Really, I have a sister who lives in Mendocino,” she said excitedly. “Has done for the past twenty years. Married a lawyer.”

“Which is why they can afford to live in Mendocino,” I said laughing. She picked up on the joke and her face cracked into a broad grin.

“She keeps asking us to visit, but I really can't just now. Too many bills to pay.”

I heard the front door open and close and footsteps in the hall. A young, attractive black-haired girl came into the kitchen.

"Hello, I'm Eileen. My mother told me we had a guest. It's unusual at this time of year." She held out her hand and I shook it. Her disturbingly blue-grey eyes surveyed me frankly, as women do in this country. It was unnerving. Evidently she liked what she saw, as she smiled warmly and sat down in the chair opposite.

"Tom Nelson," I said.

She smiled. "Yes I know, from Orion Electronics to sort out the software problem on the central control system."

“Word gets around quickly,” I said easily. If only she knew the truth.

“We can't release the cars until that's done, the glitch is shutting down the engine fuel control.”

“You work with Billy O'Brien?”

“That's right. Not that I'm technical at all, that's your department, I just manage the paperwork.”

I could feel the sweat prickle on the back of my neck and wondered just how much she knew about the real Tom Nelson.

“Eileen love, I'm sure Tom would rather just relax and not think about work tonight.”

Eileen poured herself a mug of tea and sat down at the table, looking at me over the top of her mug ignoring her mother and chatting about the factory and her job. As she sat and talked, it was my turn to study her. She was of medium height with a good figure. Her mouth perhaps just a little over-generous but her eyes held a hidden warning. My guess was that if she decided to she could be a physical and passionate lover, or a violent and passionate enemy. Just like the country itself.

Eileen talked all through dinner, asking questions about America and California in particular, and then invited me to the local pub to round off the evening, where he introduced me to a couple of her friends who also worked at the Venus Automotive. For an hour they flooded me with questions about California and I thanked God I knew the State well and could talk as if I had lived there all my life. Eileen seemed to bask in the glow my presence seemed to excite, and if I had not been so focused on my mission, I would have enjoyed the attention, but instead I thought that when I turned up at the factory in the morning, I would have unsuspecting allies that would cement my identity.

The four martinis Eileen had tucked away made it a little awkward as I tried to slip into my room once we had returned to the B&B. For a moment she blocked the way, her mouth slightly open, eyes staring at me dreamily.

“Goodnight and thank you for a lovely evening,” I said and gently slipped away from her intended embrace, closed and locked the door behind me and heaved a sigh of relief.

I didn’t need complications.

At breakfast the following
morning, Eileen showed no hint of the near encounter the night before.

“Bright and early I see Tom,” she said as she joined her mother and I at the table. “Billy O'Brien does like his staff to be punctual.”

The drive to the factory took ten minutes and Eileen showed me where to park then walked me to the office at the side of the main factory building. Billy O'Brien was nothing like I expected. Tall, barrel-chested with grizzled grey hair and a ruddy complexion. He looked more like a farmer than a software computer programmer.

“Tom, good to meet you, I hear you're staying at Eileen's Mum's B&B,” his voice boomed across the office as he strode over to shake my hand.

“Happy to be here Mr O'Brien.”

Billy looked at me a mischievous sparkle in his eye and I knew Danny had filled him in on my background.

“It's Billy. Follow me, I give you the ten cent tour.” He turned and strode off. I looked at Eileen who squeezed my arm and winked before walking to her desk.

The factory was an eye-opener. The first place he showed me was the main assembly line. We entered what I almost mistook for the central control at Houston. There was an array of panels, switches, lights, dials and television monitors. The room itself was three-sided glass, looking out over the production line. It was like something from outer space. It was the first fully automated assembly line I had ever seen and I was staggered. Through the glass I saw car shells being moved about, welded, turned, sprayed, dipped, all without any help from a single human being. I had to close my eyes and look again.

"The monocoque chassis are made from pre-formed aluminium beams that are assembled and welded automatically. Once the main monocoque gets to the end, the engines, wheels, suspension and interior are all carried out by our own work force. By using robots for the body construction we can cut manpower by a third and speed up production. It also allows us to pay the workers more than if we had to pay a team of specialist aluminium welders. Come. Follow me."

I still had my mouth open. So this is where the money had gone. I was still going to kill De Costas but now I had a grudging respect for his ability to get things done. Billy behaved like a boy with a new toy as he showed me around the factory. It was the best equipped and most modern of its type in the world, full of the latest inventions in computer controlled assembly. But I didn't see it costing anywhere near £2.75 billion.