Shots sounded a short distance away and he looked realizing there was a shooter in the brush firing at the house. Boyle and Meaghan had to be on their way out. He charged towards the scrub brush. The gunman was lying prone in the grass and scurried for better cover as Declan jumped over a rocky dune that was concealing his approach. Shooting the man in the back as he fled, Declan slid onto his side to use the dune for cover. He peered over the edge and saw Boyle descend a set of steps on the deck and disappear. Where was Meaghan? Hopefully she was ahead of him. He hadn't come to save the likes of Paul Boyle. Everything had grown quiet. Had there only been six assaulters?
Movement jarred his attention and automatic gunfire sounded again. Declan rolled onto his side to see another gunman standing on the edge of the cliff firing an AR-15 into the bay. He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. The gunman's chest exploded in a flash of red and the man's body fell backwards off of the cliff and out of sight. After reloading, Declan jumped to his feet, aiming the weapons around in search of anyone else as he rushed towards the edge of the cliff. The gunman had fired at least twenty rounds into the bay. Had Meaghan and Boyle made it to the boat only to be mowed down from above? Fighting the urge to close his eyes so he wouldn't see Meaghan McCraven's wrecked body on the white sand, Declan looked over into the Caribbean Sea.
A red and white speedboat shot towards the setting sun leaving a white wave behind it. Declan took a deep breath as he saw the driver's long brown hair flowing in the wind. Meaghan had made it and behind her, another figure sat. Declan turned back and looked at the bullet-riddled house. From the looks of it, the battle was over. For today.
An hour later, Declan watched as the speedboat slowly approached the darkened, half-moon beach of Conto Bay. Meaghan killed the motor and let the slender craft grind to a halt in the sand as she moved out from around the steering wheel towards the front of the boat.
"Where's Boyle?" Declan asked.
Meaghan grimaced. "He was hit, didn't make it."
Declan saw bullet holes near the back of the boat and dark stains on the carpet. "Sorry."
"I threw his body and the guns overboard," she said. Declan opened his arms and held her for a moment. He didn't know much about Paul Boyle or any of the other men that had died today but he didn't have to. Despite being his fellow Irishmen, they weren't good men. They were killers who were willing to take their fight to people who more than likely had never set foot in Ireland and probably never would. They were the kind of men that he used to be. Or were they? He'd killed today, too. What kind of person did that make him?
"Let's go," Meaghan said as she reached down and pulled off the white shoes she was wearing. Declan noted the red stains as she turned and tossed them back into the boat.
"You're going to regret that," he said as they walked north. "The road to the airport's gravel."
Chapter Four
11:29am Local Time – Sunday June 10th, 1990
Aldergrove Airport
Belfast, Northern Ireland
Declan knew that landing in Northern Ireland as opposed to the Irish Republic came with a great risk but McGuire had assured him the passports he had provided, which identified Declan and Meaghan as French and American respectively with no connection to each other, were foolproof and that each of them would make it through the required security without incident.
Having gone through the humiliating process successfully, Declan bent down and scooped up his backpack from the conveyor of an x-ray machine as he searched the incoming crowd for Meaghan. Spotting her as she neared the entrance, he moved away and waited outside of the security area.
He watched as she went through the same process as he had and approached, placing the American passport in the travel bag she had brought from Anguilla.
"I guess that's it then," he said. "No more overseas excursions planned, right?"
She gave him a cold stare. "Looks like the Ulster boys won this round."
Declan shook his head. "The people who won yesterday are the Anguillans since they won't be dying in mass numbers from either an IRA or a UFF bomb tomorrow."
"So it's true what they're saying about you, that you've become some kind of conchie or something?"
"That's not you talking. That's me. Three years ago-"
"Meaghan McCraven?" a loud voice called.
Declan looked over Meaghan's shoulder. Two men in civilian clothes approached followed by four uniformed officers of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.
"Meaghan McCraven, you're under arrest for-"
"I don't know who you're talk-"
"Save it. You're Meaghan McCraven," an officer said holding up a picture, "Take her away."
Declan stepped forward as the constables grabbed Meaghan by the shoulders and began to pull her away. One of the plainclothes officers stopped him with a hand to the chest. "Get lost stud, if you know what's good for you. This one's not worth the lay."
Declan felt a set of hands grab him from behind. "It'll be grand, old son."
"Take your friend's advice," the officer said as he turned and walked away, following the constables as they led Meaghan around a corner and out of sight.
Declan relaxed in the grip of the man standing behind him as he noticed a lock of blonde hair that had spilled over his shoulder. He knew the man was one of the few around that could match him move for move. "Let me go, Torrie." He turned and looked into the face of Torrance Sands as the man released him.
"There's nothing we can do, Declan," Eamon McGuire said as he stepped up next to Sands. "The RUC had every member of the unit identified and pictures at every entrance. She didn't have a chance of getting through."
Declan regarded both men coldly for a moment before walking away.
"Do you think he has any idea it was you who told the screws where to find her?" Sands asked.
McGuire shook his head as he watched Declan leave the airport. "How could he? We've done more in the last four days to bring Declan McIver back into the armed struggle than the Brits have in the last six months."
Bio:
Ian Graham was born in New Hampshire on July 4th, the third generation of his family to share a birthday with the United States of America. His three main interests have always been politics, religion and history. The stories and characters he writes about are centered on the explosive conflicts created when the three intersect. His writing has previously appeared in Action Pulse Pounding Tales alongside best selling thriller authors Matt Hilton, Stephen Leather, Adrian Magson, Zoe Sharpe and Joe McCoubrey.
He lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of the eastern United States with his wife and two daughters. Veil Of Civility, the first full length novel in the Black Shuck / Declan McIver thriller series, was published on April 2nd, 2013.
SEE SAW by James Oliver Hilton
Manchester. England. Mid-September. 10.35 pm.
The last dregs of the pint of Boddington's beer went down easy. It seemed like years since he'd enjoyed a proper pint, although he'd only been away from the UK for less than twelve months. The beer in the states was okay but it was the same everywhere you went. Bud or Bud Light. Miller or Miller Light. Coors if you were lucky, Coors Light if you weren't. America was great for many things but a proper pint wasn't one of them. They just didn't seem to get the whole beer – lager thing. Also they seemed to think having two pints equated to being drunk.