‘Why should /want him dead?’ Robinson asked,swallowing hard.
‘Four years ago your daughter was killed in a bomb blast. Responsibility for that bomb was claimed by the Real IRA. A cell known to contain Declan Leary.
You tipped off Kane, didn’t you?’
There was a long silence.
‘How did you know about my daughter?’ Robinson said finally, his voice cracking.
1 did some checking. It’s part of the job. Did you really think that Kane was going to get past me?’
Robinson didn’t answer.
‘Don’t try to find us until this is over,’ Doyle said. He hurried off down the stairs.
Robinson continued to gaze down at the bullet-riddled body of Daniel Kane. He was still staring at it when he heard the car engine roar into life outside
the house.
It was another fifteen minutes before he walked slowly downstairs, crossed to the phone and dialled.
Joe Hendry eased his foot off the accelerator of the Astra and flicked the headlights on to full beam.The twin rays of white light cut through the darkness and the fine mist of drizzle but illuminated only hedges, trees and fields.
‘Are you sure we’re in the right place, Doyle?’ he asked.
There’s a left coming up,’ the counter terrorist told him. ‘About fifty yards ahead. Take it.’
‘Maybe you’re lost,’ Declan Leary offered from his position in the back seat next to Doyle.
‘Shut it, Leary,’ Doyle snapped without looking at him.
Hendry slowed down, found the turn and guided the car on to a bumpy road that was pitted and holed. The Astra lurched alarmingly as the driver struggled to keep control.
‘It’s like driving over the bloody Somme,’ he remarked, using the back of his hand to wipe some condensation from the windscreen.
There, just up ahead,’ Doyle said, pointing in the direction they were travelling.
There was a high wire fence stretching away on both sides of a heavily reinforced gate. Razor wire had been laid in rolls across the top of the fence, some of the wickedly sharp blades now rusted. Beyond the gate there were a dozen or more buildings. Grey, monolithic structures with gently sloping roofs.
‘What is it?’ Mel wanted to know.
‘An old army base,’ Doyle informed her. ‘It overlooks Lough Egish. It’s perfect for us.’
Leary looked ahead then back at Doyle.
The counter terrorist patted Hendry on the shoulder and the driver brought the car to a halt. Doyle clambered out and walked up to the gate. He pulled and, to his delight, found it unlocked. He waved Hendry through, the strong wind whipping his long, brown hair around his face. Doyle pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and strode in behind the car. The vehicle had stopped in front of the nearest Nissen hut.
Doyle pulled open the rear door and dragged Leary out.
‘I was expecting more luxurious surroundings,’ the Irishman smirked.
Doyle shoved him hard in the back, pushing him towards the hut, watching as he struggled to stay on his feet. He was finding it hard to keep his balance with the handcuffs pinning his arms behind his back.
The hut was also unlocked.
There’s a generator in that building, Joe,’ Doyle told Hendry.‘See if you can get it started. We’ll at least have some light.’
Hendry nodded and moved off in the direction indicated.
‘Won’t that attract attention?’ Mel wondered.
‘You can’t see this place from the road,’ Doyle assured her.‘You could have a firework display on the drill square and no one would notice.’
Mel led the way into the hut, recoiling immediately from the cloud of dust that enveloped her. ‘How long has it been empty?’ she coughed.
‘Eighteen months,’ Doyle said.
As he spoke one of the bare bulbs in the ceiling flickered orange then died.
It flared again, more brightly this time then gradually swelled into a purer white luminescence.
‘Well done, Joe,’ Doyle murmured. He crossed to the bank of switches on one wall and flicked them all on. Then he looked around the room.
Apart from a couple of broken plastic chairs it was empty. A carpet of dust covered everything.
‘Looks like we’re sleeping on the floor,’ the counter terrorist said.
‘I don’t know how long that generator’s going to run,’ said Hendry, walking into the hut. There’s not much fuel left. The army must have taken everything
with them when they left.’
‘We can always get extra,’ Mel interjected.‘And food as well.’
‘Hopefully we won’t have to worry about that for too long,’ Doyle said, turning his gaze towards Leary. ‘We’re only here until shithead gives us the locations of those ten graves. After that he’s not our responsibility any more.’
‘I said I’d tell you where they were and I will,’ Leary protested. That was the deal.’
‘You didn’t make any fucking deals with me.’
‘I’ll tell you where the graves are. I said I would.’
‘No, fuck that,’ Doyle hissed. ‘We’re not running around like headless chickens on your fucking say so. You’re not going to tell us where they are, you’re going to show us. Every one of them. And when we get to the locations, you’re going to dig up the bodies. Got it? You show me ten corpses and your part of the deal is fulfilled. You try to piss me about and I’ll put you in the fucking ground myself.’
Leary eyed the counter terrorist angrily.
There’s a shovel in the boot of the car,’ Doyle said. ‘You start digging tomorrow. And you’d better hope you can remember where all those poor bastards are planted.’
The stench was appalling. Mel put a hand to her nose and stepped back from the edge of the shallow grave.
Doyle merely stood impassively, hands dug deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. There was a cigarette screwed into one corner of his mouth.
The grave was less than three feet deep and the counter terrorist could only guess at how long its contents had been there.
The skeleton still wore its clothes. A sweatshirt. A thick anorak. Jeans. All rotting, just as their owner had done.
There were bullet holes in the coat. In the skull. Pieces of jawbone had come loose.
Leary looked up from the grave and tossed the shovel to one side.
‘Right?’ he said, sucking in lungfuls of the rancid air.
‘One down, nine to go,’ said the counter terrorist. He reached for his mobile phone and jabbed a number. He wandered back and forth waiting for it to be answered. When it finally was he spoke immediately. ‘Robinson? It’s Doyle.’
The RUC man wanted to know where they were.
‘Just listen to me,’ Doyle said. ‘You wanted bodies? You’ve got them. First one’s in a field off the A31, about two miles south of Milford. There’s woods on either side of the road. Send your forensics boys about fifty yards in.
They’ll find it. I’ll call the others in as we find them.’
Robinson wanted to know if Leary was co-operating.
‘All the way to a nice cosy five stretch,’ Doyle said. He drew on his cigarette one final time then tossed the butt at Leary. ‘We’re moving on.’
He switched the phone off.
They found two more bodies that first day.
Doyle lit a cigarette, drew on it then passed it to Mel. She accepted it gratefully and sank lower in the passenger seat of the Astra.
‘So this was your world, Doyle,’ she said, staring out of the windscreen.
About fifty feet from where the car was parked, Declan Leary, his clothes spattered with mud, was digging again. Ten or twelve yards away, leaning against an old barn, Joe Hendry stood with his arms crossed. He gazed at the grey sky, at Leary working away with his shovel and at the hills that rose steeply all around. Most of them were heavily wooded and the trees seemed to be clinging to the precipitous slopes with difficulty.