The Storm Protocol (14 page)

He looked around with a slightly amused smile for a few seconds, almost daring a response.

‘Thank you, Secretary Lynch,’ said Inspector Ryan, inviting Lynch to sit down.

He looked steadily at each of the assembled men before continuing.

‘I think that has put things nicely into perspective for us,’ he finished evenly, and with no trace of humour.

James smiled inwardly; Inspector Ryan was no mug. He knew exactly what the secretary had been saying.

‘Get results, or I'll get somebody who can,’ would have been a much less subtle way to put it.

The silence was deafening.

12
th
May 2011 – Two days after the Storm.

I embrace my rival, but only to strangle him. – Jean-Baptiste Racine.

The inspector allowed the tension to ratchet up a couple of degrees, before cutting through the silence.

‘Let’s crack on,’
he said. ‘As Secretary Lynch alluded to, I don't need to tell anybody here in this room what a problem drugs are in Irish society. Unfortunately, we live it and we live with it every day.’

He indicated the man sitting to his right,
who nodded an acknowledgement.

‘
When Chief Inspector Brown was appointed, he decided almost immediately that the best way to tackle the issue was by setting up regional taskforces.’

He glanced at his own men then.

‘And that is why you are all here. There are a lot of reasons why drugs are so prevalent; there are yet more reasons why they are so prevalent in urban areas. A significant number of state agencies are focused currently on the
demand
side of the drugs problem. What do I mean by that? Well....’

He paused.

‘....there is an inordinate amount of time and money put into things like social services, education, drop-in centres and addiction clinics. All these are absolutely required; don’t for a second think that I’m saying they are
not
worth the money and resources put into them,
but
....’

He heavily emphasised the word.

‘....they could easily be seen as
after the fact
; cures if you will.’

He stopped to let that sink in.

‘I have always been an advocate of
do what you can do, not what you would like to do
. That is why I am in complete agreement with Chief Inspector Brown. In his first public speech after his appointment, he stated that we are in the business of prevention, not cure.’

The Chief Inspector nodded unconsciously at another name check.

‘This task force is going to target the supply,’ said Inspector Ryan. ‘Our aim is to coordinate everything into a single country-wide operation. To do that, we need an enormous amount of intelligence. We need to coordinate and cooperate in a way that we've never done before.’

He stopped briefly, picked up the bottle of sparkling water, twisted the top and drank deeply.

‘Anything you’d like to add, Chief Inspector Brown?’ he asked.

‘Only that I am fully behind this operation, and will provide
all the resources that are necessary to get the job done,’ said the chief inspector.

James was amused and secretly pleased to discover that he spoke with a broad inner city Dublin
accent; a huge contrast to the secretary who had gone before him. He didn’t like the secretary; didn’t trust him at all. Conversely, he immediately liked the chief inspector; a man of the people? Go figure.

‘At this point,’ Inspector Ryan said, ‘
and especially for the benefit of the Dublin contingent, I’d like to handover to Detective James Murray, to give us a briefing on one half of the Cork supply line. James?’ he asked.

James blinked; he had not been expecting to be personally targeted to speak. He had nothing prepared. Not that it mattered; after three years
, he was bordering on obsessive. He lived and breathed his subject; he didn't need a presentation.

James stood up. Unlike the i
nspector, he couldn't talk sitting down. He started pacing slowly around the room, assembling his thoughts as he went.

‘You can basically divide the supply and sale of drugs in Cork the same way as the city itself is divided; with the River Lee. One side is controlled by one organisation and one side is controlled by another. There are no other smaller groups or bit players; they have all been ruthlessly and systematically stamped out.’

He paused for emphasis.

‘There are only two gangs, but as in most hotly contested and profitable markets, they are bitter rivals and interestingly for us, intense enemies.’

He paused again.

‘Persona
lly, I’m going to focus on the north side of the city, because that's the one I know,’ said James. ‘The man at the top is a guy called Eoin Morrison, but everybody knows him as
Black Swan
.’

‘Why Black Swan?’ asked one of the Dublin detectives
, before James could continue.

‘There are
a lot of rumours,’ said James. ‘I personally believe it's because of his educational background and his fashion sense.’

There was a chuckle around the room. James held up his hand with a smile.

‘Let me explain,’ he said. ‘Eoin came from a very well-to-do family. His father Michael was a successful solicitor; managing partner of one of the biggest firms in Cork. Young Eoin was an only child; he never wanted for anything, except maybe attention from his parents. Dad was always working and Mum was a society girl; more likely to be seen in the social diary pages than on the school run. Eoin was sent away to Clongowes boarding school after he finished his private prep, and that’s where he completed his secondary education. He then did accountancy and business at UCD. When he graduated with a first class honours degree, he headed straight back to Cork.’

‘So
, how did a qualified accountant become a drug lord?’ asked one of the other Dublin detectives. ‘Or more importantly, why would he want to?

‘That's two very good questions,’ said James, ‘and no one is really sure. What we do know
, is that he initially went to work for Pat
The Bull
McCabe. Pat ran a string of bookies shops on the north side, and used them as a very effective cover for the distribution and supply of drugs. Eoin was employed initially as the accountant for the legitimate bookmakers businesses, but he had a keen forensic auditor’s eye, and it soon became apparent to him that
out-of-the-ordinary
activities were taking place.’

He st
opped to select a Coke from the trolley in the corner, before resuming his slow measured pace. The small explosion of the escaping gases as he lifted the ring pull, made the room jump. He smiled to himself; at least he had their full attention anyway.

‘It is only conjecture at this point,’ he said, ‘but it does give us a glimpse into the type of character he is. Anyone I have interviewed
, who has been on either side of Eoin, will tell you that he is completely amoral. He seems to have no scruples whatsoever, but yet he lives by a rigid code of behaviour. He surrounds himself with very faithful lieutenants, whom he rewards handsomely for advising and protecting him. They reciprocate with fierce and undivided loyalty.’

He paused briefly.

‘Make no mistake, gentleman,’ he said. ‘Eoin is not a common street thug. He is cold when he needs to be, he is brutal when he needs to be, but he is always calculating. He will do whatever he needs to do to stay where he is; top of the pile.’

‘Is he married?’ asked the same Dublin detective.

‘Never married, no children,’ said James. ‘He is completely self-centred and I don't say that in a blithe way either. His only focus is on himself and his ambitions.’

‘Does he have any weaknesses?’ asked another detective.

‘None that we have been able to ascertain,’ said James. ‘Financially, he is rock solid, as you would expect from an accountant. Physically, he is fit and healthy, goes to the gym and believes his body is his temple. Emotionally; as I said, no wife, no kids, both his parents are dead. No brothers or sisters, no significant other. His house in Montenotte is a fortress, his lieutenants loyal and virtually incorruptible.’

James nodded at Inspector Ryan, who pressed a button on the laptop in front of him. A blurry black-and-white photograph
replaced the welcome on the screen.

‘Why are all surveillance photos so blurry?’ asked James.

Inspector Ryan guiltily adjusted the lens on the projector, and the image snapped into sharp focus. James waited for the chuckles to die down, before resuming a more serious tone.

‘So
, this is our man,’ he said. ‘As you can see, he is dressed head to toe in black; always Armani. I know you can't see his eyes properly in a photograph, but that's what makes him so dangerous. They are cold and dead; like most of his opponents. Thank you.’

He stopped his pacing and sat back down at the table, finishing his can in one gulp.

‘Thank you, Detective Murray,’ said Inspector Ryan.

He signalled with his head at another guy across from James, sat in the middle of the ranks of Cork detectives.

‘Detective Fitzsimons, would you mind continuing?’ he asked.

James's ears pricked up. As well as being one of his best mates, Sean Fitzsimons was also one of his rivals for the upcoming sergeant’s position. It would be interesting to see how the two pitches compared.

‘Thank you, Inspector Ryan,’ said Detective Fitzsimons.

He pushed his chair back a little from the table, and relaxed. His style was much more laid back, but he always needed a bit of room
, as he tended to use his arms a lot when speaking.

‘Detective Murray mentioned a man called McCabe in his presentation,’ said
Detective Fitzsimons. ‘Well that is where the other side of the story picks up.’

He took a sip of his cranberry juice; a bit of a health nut was our Sean.

‘McCabe senior was a successful businessman; self-made and ruthless. But within a year of hiring a young ambitious accountant, he had been forced out of all of his businesses. Not only that, but within a year of being deposed from his position of power, he was shot dead while sitting at the bar of his local pub. No one has ever managed to pin it on Black Swan; no one ever could, but even the dogs in the street knew who ordered it.’

‘McCabe left behind two teenage sons; identical twins in fact, David and John McCabe,’ he continued. ‘Their mother had passed away years previously of ovarian cancer. They were seventeen when their father died, and both struggled to come to terms with their changed situation. David was the stronger of the two, but John really went off the rails by all accounts. David had a hard time reining him in.’

‘One night, about four months after their father’s death, John and David were standing outside a nightclub. They had gone to Limerick for some reason, instead of staying where they were known and feted, and John got into an argument in the line outside the club. Because of his family background, he was used to getting his own way; used to being able to push people around. The problem for him was that in Limerick, he was essentially a
nobody
. He ended up with a switchblade in the chest, which transected his aorta; he was dead before the ambulance made it to the hospital.’

‘All this made David intensely angry and all the more determined to get revenge,’ he continued. ‘You can understand how he blamed Black Swan for his father’s death; in all likelihood he
was
responsible for his father’s death, but in David’s head, Black Swan had killed both of them, and that is what makes it personal for David.’

‘Don’t get me wrong. Revenge is a very powerful emotion in itself, but young David was also intensely greedy
and
ambitious. He wanted a slice of what his father had, only much more so. He wanted the whole of Cork united under his rule, with Black Swan dead into the bargain.’

‘
So, he targeted the other side of the city; the weaker side; the side where Black Swan had much less of an influence. Through ruthlessness, bloody mindedness and sheer hard work, he built his business up from virtually nothing. He didn't do it by facts and figures; by calculation and accountancy.’

He stopped briefly
, to let his next words sink in.

‘
Make no mistake, gentlemen,’ he stated distinctly. ‘Black Swan may be ruthless, but David McCabe makes him look like Snow White. He uses threats and intimidation; stabbings, beatings and punishment shootings. That’s how David McCabe rules his Kingdom; absolutely. Thank you for listening.’

James looked across at his colleague admiringly. It had been a confident and assured presentation.

‘Oh, and by the way,’ said Detective Fitzsimons, as he settled himself back at the table. ‘McCabe also has a nickname. He is known as
the Bullock
.’

Across the table, there was a single guffaw of laughter.
Detective Fitzsimons held up his hand for silence.

‘I know it sounds faintly comedic,’ he
added, ‘but his nickname is based on the character
the Bull
McCabe.

He paused.

‘Which is also incidentally where his father’s nickname originated too,’ he finished.

One of the Dublin detectives clicked his fingers in recall.

‘That film
the Field
; Richard Harris played him, if I’m not mistaken. Set in the west; Galway somewhere, John B Keane wrote it.’