Grogan cursed angrily and got unsteadily to his feet. He tossed the remote control onto the chair and crossed the room to the door. “Who is it?” he demanded, his words slurred.
“Frank, Frank Roche,” came the reply.
“God, Frank, what do you want at this hour?”
“Open the door, Martin!”
Grogan fumbled with the latch and unlocked the door. The moment he opened the door it was kicked hard from the outside, sending him sprawling to the carpet. Kerrigan burst into the room and hauled him to his feet, punching him savagely in the stomach and forcing him to his knees. Grogan was retching convulsively, his hands clasped over his belly, his eyes unfocused and his expression bewildered. Kerrigan grabbed him by the hair, jerked back his head, and was aiming a punch at his exposed face when Fiona appeared in the doorway.
“That’s enough!” She looked the length of the deserted corridor then entered the flat and closed the door behind her.
“He’s pissed out of his mind,” Kerrigan said angrily, letting go of Grogan’s hair.
“Get him up.”
Kerrigan yanked Grogan to his feet.
“Where’s Gerry McGuire?” she snapped without looking around at Grogan.
“Gone,” Grogan muttered. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear his thoughts.
“Where?” Fiona asked.
“Far away from you,” Grogan replied with a sneer.
Kerrigan grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table and smashed it across the side of Grogan’s head. Grogan cried out in agony and clasped his hand over his ear. The blood seeped out between his fingers.
“Where?” she repeated calmly.
“I don’t know,” he whimpered. “Jesus, I don’t know.”
The two-way radio on Fiona’s belt crackled into life. She unhooked it and put it to her lips. “What is it, Hugh?”
“We’ve got company,” Mullen announced. “It could be the cops.”
“OK, we’re on our way. Drive round the back and wait for us there.” She clipped the radio back onto her belt. “McGuire must have said something about where he was going.”
“He didn’t,” Grogan replied in desperation. “All I did was bring him two hundred pounds and a change of clothes. He left straight away.”
“Describe the clothes,” Kerrigan snapped.
“Jeans. A white shirt. Leather jacket.”
“Color?” Kerrigan prompted.
“Brown.”
Kerrigan glanced at Fiona. She nodded. He hit Grogan in the stomach again and shoved him backward into the chair. Then, taking a Walther P88 from his pocket, he attached a silencer to the barrel and shot Grogan once through the heart.
“Let’s go,” she snapped, opening the door and peering out into the corridor. It was still deserted. Kerrigan pocketed the automatic and hurried after her.
The bell for the lift sounded at the end of the corridor just as Kerrigan closed the door behind him.
“Masks,” Fiona snapped, already pulling the balaclava from her pocket. She tugged it over her head then took a Heckler & Koch automatic from her pocket and hurried toward the fire exit. Donning his balaclava, Kerrigan followed her.
Sabrina was the first to emerge from the lift. Kerrigan fired then ducked through the doorway after Fiona. The bullet chipped the wall several feet wide of Sabrina. Pulling the Beretta from her pocket, she gave chase, Graham and Eastman running after her. Reaching the fire exit, she took up a position beside the door, then, slowly reaching out a hand, pulled the door open and swiveled around to fan the stairs with the Beretta. They were deserted. She ran through the doorway.
“You check the apartment,” Graham called to Eastman as he followed Sabrina down the stairs.
They reached the third-floor landing and Sabrina paused at the emergency door which was still closing slowly. They exchanged glances. Had the two masked figures fled along the third-floor corridor? Or was it a trick just to make Graham and Sabrina think they had gone that way? Graham pointed to the door. He would check it out.
Sabrina continued down the stairs. She heard the footsteps as she neared the first-floor landing. They were coming from the stairs below her. Then she heard the sound of a door being slammed back against a wall. She bounded down the stairs just as Kerrigan was about to disappear through the doorway.
“Freeze!” she ordered, levelling the Beretta at Kerrigan’s back.
Kerrigan stopped in his tracks and the door slowly closed in front of him.
“Drop the gun, now!” Sabrina ordered, slowly descending the stairs. “And get up against the wall, hands outstretched.”
Kerrigan made a show of releasing the Walther and it clattered noisily to the floor.
Fiona Gallagher, who seconds earlier had ducked through the door leading onto the first floor, appeared on the landing behind Sabrina. “Now you drop your gun,” she commanded, levelling her Heckler & Koch at Sabrina’s back. “And don’t try anything stupid. I wouldn’t miss from this range.”
Sabrina cursed angrily under her breath. She reluctantly let the Beretta fall from her fingers. Kerrigan quickly retrieved his Walther and pushed the Beretta into his belt. Fiona eased past Sabrina, the Heckler & Koch still trained on her. She reached the foot of the stairs and levelled the handgun at Sabrina. Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs was kicked open and Graham dived low onto the landing, the Beretta gripped in both hands. But he couldn’t get in a clear shot for fear of hitting Sabrina. Kerrigan got off two shots at Graham before Fiona grabbed his arm and bundled him through the doorway behind them. They clambered into the getaway car and the tires shrieked in protest as Mullen pulled away from the building. By the time Graham had got to the door the car was already out of range. He cursed furiously and holstered his Beretta again.
“You OK?” Graham asked, turning back to Sabrina.
“Sure.”
“Did they get your gun?”
She nodded grimly. “I can’t believe I allowed myself to be drawn into their trap so easily. Dammit!”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Graham said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We have to take those kinds of risks. It’s all part of the job. You know that. Come on, we can’t do anything more here.”
They made for Grogan’s flat. Sabrina’s mind was racing. Why hadn’t Fiona Gallagher put a bullet in her when she had the chance? Had she intended to use her as a hostage? Or would she have killed her if Graham hadn’t showed when he did? There was a third possibility. One which seemed quite bizarre. Had she purposely let her live? The authorities have always been legitimate targets for the IRA. No, it didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t shrug off the lingering doubts in her mind but she decided against voicing her thoughts. They were best kept to herself.
Eastman was on the phone when they entered the flat. A blanket had been draped over Grogan’s body. Graham crouched beside the body and lifted the edge of the blanket. It had been a professional hit. He let the blanket drop back over Grogan’s face and stood up again.
Moments later Eastman replaced the handset. “Well, what happened?”
They told him.
Eastman moved to the window and looked down onto the courtyard below. “I’ll have to wait here and straighten things out with the local CID. I’ll arrange to have you taken back to your hotel.”
“Who else knew we were coming here tonight?” Graham asked.
Eastman frowned. “Just the three of us.”
“You didn’t mention it to any of your surveillance team?” Graham asked.
“What was the point? I had no way of knowing whether you’d find out about this place when you went into the pub tonight. It was a long shot that paid off. Unfortunately we got here just too late.”
“Exactly,” Graham agreed. “Only McGuire, Roche and Grogan knew about this flat. That much Roche told me. So don’t you think it a little strange that the IRA arrived on the scene only minutes before we did?”