‘That’s something you’ll never know.’ Ramm twisted and the spearing leg missed him by inches. His move knocked aside the leg and The Bishop splayed over him, his stance ungainly with one limb shorter than the other. Ramm grunted as he thrust forward with both daggers and buried them deep in The Bishop’s groin. ‘I warned you I’d rip you a new asshole.’
The Bishop howled out in horror as Ramm withdrew the blades with a twist of his wrists.
‘You should’ve stayed in that chair of yours,’ Ramm told him. ‘I’d have allowed you to live out the rest of your miserable life. But you brought the fight to me.’ Ramm crossed his arms, and then whipped them outwards. The tips of the daggers ploughed twin furrows across the big man’s throat.
After…
All that was left to do was to carry Shelly Cannon from the tunnel. She was still half-naked, still half-doped, but her father was pleased to see her safe and sound when he met them at the compound’s front gate. Ramm handed the young woman over to her father, then returned to the tunnel. The tattooed knifeman wasn’t anywhere to be found, but Ramm didn’t care about him, or about the pile of corpses topped off by The Bishop. He went down to the bomb shelter and unlocked the door behind which the other sex slaves were held. There’d be many more parents who’d be pleased to see their children returned home to them. Adrian Cannon had promised him half a million dollars to rescue Shelly: Ramm would have taken the job for nothing, but the rich man could afford his bill. From the other parents he’d accept only their gratitude.
Ramm headed home. He was hungry. He thought about ordering one of Joey’s special twelve-inch pizzas to be delivered on his arrival. Then he had second thoughts. He called in at Bitsy Horton’s house: after the other night she owed him dinner at her place.
BIO:
Matt Hilton quit his career as a police officer with Cumbria Constabulary to pursue his love of writing tight, cinematic American-style thrillers. He is the author of the high-octane Joe Hunter thriller series, including his most recent novel ‘Rules of Honour’, published in February 2013 by Hodder and Stoughton. His first book, Dead Men’s Dust, was shortlisted for the International Thriller Writers’ Debut Book of 2009 Award, and was a Sunday Times bestseller.
Matt is a high-ranking martial artist and has been a detective and private security specialist, all of which lend an authenticity to the action scenes in his books.
www.matthiltonbooks.com
SINS OF OMISSION By Ian Graham
Chapter One
10:52pm Local Time – Thursday June 7th, 1990
Glenshesk Road
Armoy, Northern Ireland
The ancient church loomed on the crag overhead as Declan McIver revved the Honda motorcycle and leaned into the turn that would bring him up the hill and around into the twelfth century churchyard. Bringing the bike to a stop next to the rock wall surrounding the property, he could see a man waiting at the base of the church's round tower, the moonlight cutting between the many gravestones to illuminate him as he lingered, alone.
Declan reached into a saddlebag and withdrew a Beretta pistol, tucking it into his black rain jacket as he stood from the bike and removed his helmet, his shortish trimmed blonde hair undisturbed by the headgear. While he had once trusted the man he was meeting with his life, a lot had changed in the past six months. At the edge of the wall, he stepped up the overgrown hill and into the graveyard surrounding the church, his eyes moving about as he zigzagged between the tombs to the base of the tower.
"Has it really gone that bad?" the man said with a frown on his pallid face. "Never thought we'd need guns to come and talk to each other."
"You always need a gun in this country. Why did you call?"
"Oh for fuck's sake, Dec, we've been friends for eight years. What do you mean why did I call?"
Shane O'Reilly was right. They had been friends for eight years and in that time they'd formed the kind of bond that only soldiers fighting a war side by side could know. Declan considered the moppy, red headed youth for a moment and then relaxed. "Aye, get over here you. How ya been?"
The two embraced, their hands slapping over each other's backs.
"Grand, just grand." Shane said as they separated.
"How're things at home?"
Shane shrugged. "Not been there much really. Kinda busy and all."
"Aye. So why did you call?"
"Because there's a lot to talk about," another voice said loudly from the covered doorway of the church. Declan turned fast and drew the Beretta.
"Easy!" a dark haired man with a lined face said raising his hands as he stepped out of the darkened entrance. "I'm just here to talk."
Declan kept the pistol aimed but flashed a hateful glance at Shane.
"I'm sorry, Dec," Shane said shaking his head. "He just wants to talk, and it's important."
Declan turned his eyes back toward Eamon McGuire who still stood with his hands raised to shoulder level. "I told you I didn't want to talk to ya, that I didn't want anything to do with ya, didn't I? Leave me alone." He flipped the safety on the Beretta and lowered it. He didn't trust McGuire as far as he could throw him, but the man wasn't a threat. At least not to him, not now. He walked briskly back towards the motorcycle.
"It's Meaghan, Dec!" Shane called. "It's Meaghan McCraven!"
Declan stopped at the name of his former girlfriend.
"That's why he's here. That's why I brought him!"
Slowly, Declan turned back and looked at the two men. Shane had a pleading look. "I wouldn't have broke your confidence if I didn't think what he had to say was important."
"It's a gesture of good will, between you and me," McGuire said as he lowered his hands. "Your bird's in trouble, or at least she's going to be."
"She's not mine. Not anymore."
McGuire nodded. "But you still care for her. I know you do. You never stopped. She's going to get herself killed and possibly a lot of others, too."
Declan took a deep breath and walked back to the base of the tower.
"First off," McGuire said, "I don't bear you any ill-will. I never have. You're like a son to me. You're all like sons to me. I know times have been hard, but we're a family and I'm here because I want us all to get through this, alive and well."
Declan nodded. He couldn't argue with McGuire's claim. The McGuire family had been good to him and somewhere deep inside he knew he wasn't being fair by turning his back on them, but he felt like he had to if he was ever going to get away from the violent life he had been leading for the last seven years. "So what about Meaghan?"
"After you left for Afghanistan one of the lads said she'd started in with a group of Provos out of Belfast. Ciaran Donovan's in charge of that lot now. They've been planning some dicey operations. They've sent the unit she's with to Anguilla."
"Anguilla?"
"Aye. It's a British territory in the Caribbean. They're planning to put a bomb along the route of a parade honoring the Queen's birthday. It's just like the botched attack in Gibraltar. The Brits are all over it. The unit's gonna be slaughtered."
"The SAS?"
McGuire shook his head. "No. This'll be even worse. The Brits learned from the bad press after they shot down the ASU in Gibraltar. This time they've sent a group of Defence Regiment boys linked to the Ulster Freedom Fighters."
"They're going to blame a rival paramilitary?"
McGuire nodded. "Aye, and there's talk they've been given orders to go ahead with the bombing so the IRA can be blamed."
"So why do you care about stopping this? Sounds like it's right up your alley to me."