‘It has to be some kind of splinter group. Continuity IRA. The Real IRA.’
‘INLA?’ Doyle murmured. ‘UVF? You’re spoilt for choice, aren’t you?’
There’d be no reason for a Protestant organisation to start planting bombs in the middle of the city,’ offered one of the plain clothes men.
There’s been no reason behind most of what’s happened here for the last thirty fucking years,’ Doyle said dismissively.
‘It looks like Continuity IRA,’ Robinson said. That would make the most sense.’
Doyle wandered towards the wreckage of the bus and Robinson joined him.
‘How close are you, Doyle?’ the policeman asked.
To finding who did this? Ask me in a couple of days.’
‘I’m asking you now! Robinson stepped in front of Doyle and stood motionless.
The counter terrorist regarded the policeman evenly for a second then shrugged. Two names keep cropping up,’ he said. ‘Matthew Finan and Declan Leary. They’re not in your files. I checked with the guarda and with my lot.
No trace of them there either. If they’re active, they’re new to this game.
Never been arrested. Never done time.’
‘Fresh skins, like you said.’
Doyle nodded. ‘It’s difficult getting descriptions,’ he continued.‘People aren’t exactly falling over themselves to talk about the Continuity IRA. You know that. But I’ll get them. Finan’s got family in Turf Lodge. Word gets around. It’s just a matter of time.’
That’s something we’re a little short of, Doyle.’
The counter terrorist looked around at the remains of the bomb-blasted bus and drew hard on his cigarette.
Tell me about it,’ he murmured.
A BLESSING
Sometimes it just happened. He didn’t know why but sometimes Ward regained his concentration and his drive and he wrote.
The words and ideas flowed with ease. The way they used to.
He glanced at the plastic carriage clock. 12.16 p.m.
He could go inside the house now and make a sandwich. Lose his train of thought. Lose what he had. What it had taken him so long to find.
He re-read the last two pages he’d written, gazing at them on the screen.
The words began to flow once more.
COUNTY DONEGALJHE REPUBLIC OF IRELAND:
Gravel crunched beneath the Renault’s tyres as it turned into the small car park.
The driver glanced around as he brought the vehicle to a halt. His companion also scanned the area behind the Tinker’s Dog, squinting into the gloom in an effort to pick out shapes.
There were only half a dozen cars so the pub was obviously quiet.
Declan Leary switched off the engine and sat back in his seat. ‘It looks like we’re early,’ he said, running a hand through his short, brown hair.
‘Maybe they’re inside,’ Matthew Finan speculated.
Both men were in their mid-twenties. Both dressed in jeans. Finan had a thick, black fleece on. Leary sported a denim jacket and sweatshirt.
Leary looked in the direction of the pub. ‘Maybe,’ he murmured.
Finan checked the dashboard clock then pushed open the passenger door and clambered out. He paused for a moment and looked around him.
The pub was surrounded on three sides by trees that grew thickly from gently sloping ground.The darkness made them appear impenetrable.
Finan moved quickly to the boot of the Renault and opened it. There was a long, slender, black leather bag inside. He took it out, tucked it under his arm and wandered past Leary, nodding as he did.
‘Only if you have to, Matty,’ said Leary quietly.
Finan nodded again and disappeared towards the trees.
Leary remained behind the wheel, closing his eyes for a moment. The drive had taken longer than he’d thought. He dug in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a packet of aspirin. He swallowed one dry, wincing at the bitter taste it left in his mouth. He pulled open the glove compartment and found a half-empty bottle of Lucozade. He gulped it down gratefully then stuffed the empty bottle back where he’d found it.
Again he scrutinised the pub. He could go in. See if they were there.
Fuck it Let them come to him.
He peered at the wooded area surrounding the car park but Finan had been swallowed by the darkness.
Leary stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette. As he moved he felt the Glock 9mm automatic in the shoulder holster beneath his left arm.
He could hear the sound of running water nearby and realised that it was the river. The pub in Lifford was built very close to where the dark water of the Foyle divided in two, the fork of the Finn turning away into the Republic while the Mourne cut a-path into the valleys below the Sperrin mountains. The river divided just like the country, thought Leary, smiling at
his philosophical musings. Perhaps that was why they had chosen to call the meeting here. He sucked on his cigarette and waited.
Matthew Finan found a suitable spot about halfway up the slope. He turned and looked back into the dimly lit car park and found that he was able to pick out the shape of the Renault easily.
Moving quickly, he unzipped the black bag and removed the contents.
The Heckler and Koch HK8I rifle felt reassuringly heavy in his hands. He swung it up to his shoulder and peered through the nightscope, easily picking out Leary in its green hue.
Finan slammed in a twenty-round magazine and chambered one of the 7.62mm rounds, then he moved the weapon slowly and evenly until the cross-threads settled on Leary’s head.
Finan lowered it again and released the bipod on the front of the barrel. He propped the twin metal legs against a tree stump and settled himself into position on the damp grass.
He unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and pushed it into his mouth.
He waited.
Leary took a final drag on the cigarette then dropped it and ground it out beneath his foot. He rubbed his hands together and decided that due to the chill in the air he might be better off in the car. After all, he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to wait. Leary closed the door and turned the key in the
ignition. He allowed the heater to blow hot air for a few minutes, warming his hands at the vents, then he switched it off again.
‘Come on,’ he muttered, gazing first at his watch then at the dashboard clock.
He leant forward to switch on the radio.
There was a light tapping on the passenger-side window.
Leary turned quickly. He saw a figure outside the car. Almost unconsciously he allowed one hand to touch the butt of the Glock as he reached to unlock the door.
‘It’s open,’ he called.
The figure outside didn’t move.
‘I said, it’s open,’ Leary repeated. ‘Get in the front.’
The door opened and a thin-faced man with thick, black hair slid into the seat.
For long seconds he and Leary regarded each other indifferently.
It was the older man who spoke first.
‘You’re late,’ said James Mulvey.
‘It was a long drive,’ Leary told him.‘Perhaps if you’d picked somewhere nearer, I’d have got here sooner.’
Mulvey wasn’t slow to pick up the edge in Leary’s words. His eyes narrowed slightly.
‘Where’s Finan?’ he wanted to know.
‘He’s around.’
‘Why isn’t he with you? He needs to hear what we’ve got to say too.’
‘So, where’s Donnelly?’ Leary wanted to know.
Mulvey hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Inside.’
‘Go and tell him to come out here.’
‘It’s warmer inside. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. The both of yous.’ Mulvey prepared to open the Renault’s door.
‘I’m fine here,’ Leary told him.‘Whatever you’ve got to say, say it.’
Mulvey drew in a deep breath. There’s no need for this, you know,’ he said gently. ‘We’re not the enemy.’