Rough Justice Part 11

A second policeman appeared, also wearing riot gear. 'What's the hold-up?' he asked.

'What's going on?' asked Duncan. 'I ain't going nowhere.'

'We've received intel that this safe-house has been compromised,' said the second policeman. 'There's a contract out on you and the killer has this address.' He gestured at the window. 'That's what's going on outside, we think.'

Duncan jumped off the sofa. 'Why didn't you say so?' he said. 'What do we do? Where do we go? You've got guns, haven't you?'

'We just need to get you out of here,' said the first officer, putting a gloved hand on Duncan's shoulder. 'We've got another safe-house ready for you and we'll have your pa.s.sport this evening. You're on the first flight to Toronto tomorrow morning.'

'Business cla.s.s, right?' said Duncan. 'My lawyer said I had to go business cla.s.s or first.'

'We can talk about that later,' said the policeman, as he guided Duncan into the hallway and towards the kitchen. A third, also in riot gear, was holding the door open. 'Let's get moving the guy after you means business.'

The three policemen kept close to Duncan as they took him across the paved backyard that led to an alley behind the row of terraced houses. A grey van was parked there with protective mesh over the windows. A fourth policeman had the side door open. 'Where are we going?' asked Duncan.

'Need to know, Mr Duncan,' said one of the officers. 'And you don't need to know.'

'Come on, come on,' said the officer holding the door open. 'We haven't got all day.'

They bundled Duncan into the van. One of them pulled a blanket over his head. 'Hey, what's going on?' Duncan protested.

'We don't want anyone to see you, Mr Duncan. Just sit quietly, and everything will be all right.'

Duncan relaxed. The van moved as the policemen climbed in, then the doors slammed.

'You can get me a pizza, right?' asked Duncan. 'At the new safe-house? Domino's pizza?'

'Whatever you want, Mr Duncan,' said an officer. The van lurched forward.

The Major picked up his pint and raised it in salute. 'Thanks for coming, lads,' he said. They were sitting in a pub in the High Street, a short walk from the cemetery. Shepherd and O'Brien had walked there with the Major, and the Bradford brothers had joined them soon afterwards. The men raised their gla.s.ses. Shepherd was drinking coffee because he had a long drive ahead of him. He wanted to spend the rest of the weekend with Liam in Hereford, and he had agreed to drop O'Brien off at Gatwick Airport on the way back.

'It was a good turnout,' said O'Brien.

'Yeah, Tommy was well liked,' said the Major.

'He was a first-cla.s.s soldier,' said Shepherd. 'Could have walked through Selection, if he'd wanted.'

'Said he enjoyed real soldiering.' The Major grinned. 'That's what he called it. Real soldiering. Two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. He couldn't wait to get back.' He shook his head. 'Three tours in war zones and not a scratch. Then he gets gunned down in a Chinese restaurant in Downpatrick. b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'

'Do they know who did it?' asked Jack Bradford.

The Major nodded. 'A pal in Five's tipped me the wink.' He drank some beer.

'So what happens now?' asked Billy Bradford.

The Major shrugged. 'That remains to be seen.'

'Have Five got a case?' asked Shepherd.

'What they've got is an informer in Newry, owns a pub in the Republican heartland. A couple of brothers were in the bar and they were boasting to the barmaid about what they'd done. She's the wife of the landlord.'

'So it's just intel?' said Shepherd.

'It's intel from the horse's mouth,' said the Major, 'and with these guys it's all we're going to get. There's no CCTV, no forensics, and no one's going to stand up in court and give evidence against them.'

'So what's their plan?' asked O'Brien.

'The spooks? They're going to watch and wait,' said the Major. 'Softly softly, catchee monkey.'

'That's b.o.l.l.o.c.ks,' said Jack Bradford.

'Took the words right out of my mouth,' said his brother.

'It's the way the world works now,' said the Major. 'They'll gather evidence and they'll file reports and if and when they make a case they'll pa.s.s it to the CPS, and if they think they can win it then they'll go to court.'

'And then there'll be another Peace Process and the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds will be set free,' said Jack. 'They'll end up like Martin and Gerry, collecting their MP salary and pocketing half a million quid in second-home allowance.'

'Not this time,' said the Major, quietly.

'What are you thinking?' asked Shepherd.

'We'll see,' the Major said.

O'Brien picked up Jack's pack of cigarettes. 'I need a smoke,' he said.

'Yeah, I'll second that.' Jack raised an eyebrow at his brother. 'Smoke?'

The three men headed for the door.

'Alone at last,' said Shepherd.

'Did you plan it that way, Spider?' asked the Major.

Shepherd grinned. 'I'm not that devious, boss.'

'You've changed since you left the Regiment.'

'That's to be expected,' said Shepherd. 'SOCA isn't the SAS.'

'You don't wear balaclavas for one thing.'

'And we don't solve our problems with guns, either.'

The Major's eyes hardened. 'They killed Tommy, Spider. They riddled him with twenty rounds while he was eating chicken fried rice with his mates. He wasn't in uniform, he didn't have a weapon, he was just getting some chow before heading off to Afghanistan to put his life on the line again.'

'I'm not arguing, boss,' said Shepherd.

'And you're not going to talk me out of doing what I have to do.'

'It's your call,' said Shepherd. 'Whatever you decide, I'll back you one hundred per cent, and whatever you need, I'm there for you.'

'Thanks.'

'No thanks necessary, boss, I'm just stating a fact. But it's also a fact that if you go charging in now you're going to bring down a whole load of trouble on your shoulders.'

'And if I don't, how can I look my brother in the eye again?' He leaned close to Shepherd. 'I owe it to my brother, and I owe it to Tommy. I will do what I have to do, Spider. End of story. And nothing you can do or say is going to change that.'

Shepherd sipped his coffee. 'These brothers, what intel do you have?'

'Padraig and Sean Fox. Padraig's forty-seven, his brother's a couple of years younger. They live just outside Newry. They're terrorists and gangsters they made a small fortune running fuel over the border, then turned it into a big fortune investing in property in Dublin and Belfast. Lately they've been running cigarettes in from Panama through Miami. They joined the IRA in their teens and both spent time in Long Kesh. They fell out with the Provos in the nineties and joined the Real IRA. My contact at Five says that the Foxes were both involved in the Omagh bombing.'

'Involved how?'

'They're supposed to have stored the explosives and provided the detonators. They came very close to being sued in a civil case but there wasn't enough evidence.'

'How good's that intel?'

'From an informer. Too sensitive to be used in court.'

'Not the landlord?'

The Major shook his head. 'No, someone very high up in Sinn Fein. The Foxes are as guilty as sin, Spider. They were complicit in the deaths of twenty-nine civilians in Omagh and they killed Tommy and his mates.'

'They were the triggermen?'

'From the horse's mouth,' said the Major.

Shepherd nodded slowly. He drained his coffee and put down the cup. 'Okay,' he said. 'Do what has to be done. But not now. You have to choose your moment.'

'Revenge is a dish best served cold? That's c.r.a.p, Spider.'

'It's not about revenge, it's about what will happen after the Foxes are dead,' said Shepherd. 'And now I am talking as a law-enforcement official. The way the world is now, the murder of the Foxes will be investigated with exactly the same vigour as the PSNI investigates the killings of the soldiers. I'm sorry, but that's a fact. And it's going to be a lot easier for the cops to nail you than it would be for them to nail the Foxes. The Foxes covered their tracks and made sure there were no forensics. They'll have alibis fixed up, they'll have long since got rid of the guns, and I'm d.a.m.n sure there'll be nothing that ties them to Downpatrick.'

'And your point is?'

'My point, boss, is that if you fly over to the north, everyone will know. If anything happens to the Foxes while you're there, it won't take an Einstein to add one and one and make two. Motive and opportunity are there for everyone to see. And even if you make sure the weapon is never found, the cops will keep after you. You make one mistake, one small bit of forensic, and you'll be done for.'

'I plan to be careful, Spider. Trust me on that.'

'I do, boss. But what I'm saying, you should stay on the mainland, leave it a while, and then go over under the radar.'

The Major considered what he'd said. 'You talk a lot of sense.'

'And I'll go with you.'

'You don't have to. It's not your fight.'

'I don't have to. I want to.'

'You're sure?'

'You need someone who knows investigative procedure so that you can cover your tracks,' said Shepherd. 'And I can do that better than anyone.'

The van came to a stop. 'Guys, I can hardly breathe under this blanket,' said Ronnie Duncan. 'Where are we?'

'Almost there.'

'Why've I got to keep this b.l.o.o.d.y blanket over my head?'

'Because we don't want anyone to see you,' said the same voice. 'If word gets out where you are the press will be here, and if they find out you're going to Canada then that'll be the end of that.'

Duncan cursed under his breath. His lawyer had already explained that his relocation to Canada had to remain a secret. The Canadians had agreed to take him but only if the British government covered all the costs and the relocation wasn't publicised. 'I'm b.l.o.o.d.y suffocating here,' he muttered.

A hand clapped on his shoulder. 'Soon be over, mate,' said a different voice.

Duncan frowned, not sure what the policeman meant. He heard a gate rattle open and then the van moved forward slowly. It stopped again and the front pa.s.senger door opened, then slammed shut. Duncan heard footsteps, then the sound of a metal door being pulled open. 'Where are we?' he asked. 'What's going on?' The van moved forward again for a few seconds and stopped. The side door opened and Duncan was bundled out. 'What's happening?'

The blanket was pulled off his head and he shook his head, blinking. The policemen stepped away from him. Duncan saw they had lowered their visors. And for the first time he noticed that they didn't have any identification numbers.

He looked around, his heart pounding. Something was wrong something was very wrong. He was in a warehouse with metal walls and a roof high overhead that was criss-crossed with metal girders. 'Where are we?' he said. 'This isn't a b.l.o.o.d.y safe-house.' There were four men standing at the far end. They were wearing overalls and holding crowbars. He recognised one. He had seen him at each of his court appearances. He was little Timmy's father.

The four men began to walk towards him, swinging their crowbars. Duncan turned and ran but the five police officers had formed a wall between him and the exit and they pushed him back. 'You can't do this!' he screamed. 'You're cops!' One policeman was grinning behind his visor. 'What are you doing? What's this about?'

'It's about justice. Justice for what you did.'

Duncan ran at them but they pushed him back again. He stumbled and fell to the floor. The officers moved back as the men with crowbars rushed towards him.

The father took the first swing, slamming his crowbar against Duncan's leg. The kneecap cracked and Duncan screamed. The father's brothers took turns in hitting him, battering his legs and arms.

The policemen stood and watched as the beating continued. After a while Duncan stopped screaming. He curled up into a foetal ball with his hands covering his face as the blows continued to rain down. Eventually the brothers stopped. They stood looking down at Duncan's broken body. They were all breathing heavily, their overalls flecked with blood. They looked at the father and, one by one, they nodded at him.

He held his crowbar with both hands, his eyes wide and staring, his lips drawn back in a savage snarl. He looked at the policemen. They were standing with their arms folded, watching to see what he would do next. He could see his reflection in their visors. He looked down at Duncan, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who had killed his son. He raised the crowbar above his head and brought it crashing down on Duncan's skull. Blood and brain matter splattered across the concrete floor.

Shepherd drove Martin O'Brien back to Gatwick to catch his flight to Dublin. They arrived at the airport a good two hours before the Aer Lingus flight was due to leave so Shepherd parked his BMW X3 in the short-term car park and they went for a coffee in the departures area. O'Brien commandeered a table while Shepherd went to the self-service counter.

'Thanks for leaving me alone with the Major when you did,' said Shepherd, carrying over two coffees. 'Back there at the pub.'

'I figured someone had to find out what he was going to do, and you're the best man for the job, being a cop and all.'

'I'm a civil servant now, remember,' said Shepherd. 'SOCA employees aren't cops. We're not even agents. In fact, no one's sure what we are. When we introduce ourselves we normally say we work for the Home Office.'

'I thought you were supposed to be the British FBI.'

'Yeah, well, it's not worked out that way,' said Shepherd. 'Most of the time we're treated like CSOs.'

'CSO?'

'Community Support Officers. The wannabe cops who tell you not to drop litter.'