The Storm Protocol (40 page)

The attack, when it came, was simple and direct. Two of them came
straight for me. They were holding short clubs or coshes. I managed to parry one, but the other blow glanced off the side of my head. It still connected fairly heftily, and my vision blurred for a second. I felt myself going down and they followed up their advantage; I felt the boots thudding viciously into my side. I blinked the tears out of my eyes, and curled into a foetal position to try and protect myself as best I could.

As my vision cleared, I saw Dale divert an attack and then follow up with a swinging kick to the groin. It was simple
, but effective. The next thing I heard a crack, and one of my assailants fell over me. He was out cold, possibly even dead.

‘S
treet, watch out!’ yelled Dale.

I jerked my head backwards to evade the steel toed construction boot. As it whistled past in midair, I caught it and even though I was still prone on the ground, I swung my right leg around through the back of his calf; the one he was still standing on. He hit the deck with a crash and I heard the whoosh as the air was compressed out of his body. Dale followed up with the pick axe handle, as though he was swinging a golf club, catching him squarely in the groin; seemed it was his speciality. Either way,
the attacker wouldn’t be getting up for a while. I sprang to my feet with Dale beside me and we turned to Roussel.

His attacker had dropped his weapon; both men were of a size
, and seemed to be fairly well matched. They were grappling for grip, but as we watched, Roussel managed to get a chokehold; probably a legacy of his uniform days. He tightened his arm around his assailants airway until the scrabbles got weaker and the kicks got lighter, and he eventually slumped in Roussel’s arms.

I could fee
l the bruises beginning to form; my body was already stiffening as Roussel opened his arms and let his opponent drop to the floor.

I grabbed the guy Roussel had taken out
earlier; the one I believed was the leader. I popped the boot on the rental car. Roussel guessed my intention and the two of us transpired to stuff the unwieldy and awkward body into the back, cramming the uncooperative limbs in any old way.

Once he was in, I did a cursory sweep of the boot around him. The holdall and its precious contents were under the front seat, so I didn’t have to worry about that, but I threw out the Jack and the tire iron. I didn’t want him getting access to any potential weapons.

I slid into the driver's seat, feeling stiffer with every stride. The rear doors closed together as my two colleagues got back in again.

‘Everyone okay?’
I asked.

Like me, they were grinning like idiots. There was nothing like a bit of combat to get the blood circulating.

‘Couple of cuts, couple of bruises, nothing that won't heal,’ said Roussel.

‘Same here,’ said Dale.

‘There’s been a change of plan,’ I said, slipping the car into reverse, and burying the throttle.

As we shot backwards out of the space, I braked, engaged drive, hauled on the steering and gave it everything she had. I turned to the others.

‘I think it’s time we got some answers.’

21
st
May 2011 – Eleven days after the Storm.

The avarice of mankind is insatiable. – Aristotle.

Black Swan sat at his desk. It was probably the location where he spent most of his time when he was in the house. The study was his favourite room. He had never been afraid of hard work; in fact, the engagement of his brain had always been his antidote to the problems in his personal life. Sometimes, he would raise his head from his books, only to realise it was three o’clock in the morning. He got lost in facts and figures; they were his friends.

All you could hear at that moment was the feverish scratching of pencil on paper. Black Swan hated pens. They were permanent. If you made a mistake with a pen
, it was glaringly obvious for all to see. A mistake with a pencil was different. It could be discreetly and easily eliminated; like a lot of his competition.

As usual, the blackout curtains were down, but the warm glow from the green banker’s lamp illuminated the pad full of figures that he was working on. Eoin always did his maths by hand. He didn't even own a calculator. Yes, he would verify the figures in his spreadsheets later on, but the majority of the calculation was done by him. He was the solitary architect of his business success. He didn’t rely on machines to do it for him.

Eoin had always loved maths. It was governed by absolute rules; there was no ambiguity. It was not open to interpretation, it was either right or it was wrong. It really was that simple. If only life mirrored it.

His cell phone rang, which was unusual in itself. Very few people had his phone number. He picked it up, noticing with interest the
unknown number
flashing. It was even more unusual for him not to know who was calling him.

Ordinarily
, he would terminate the call immediately, but this time, on impulse, he answered it.

‘Hello,’ he said
softly.

‘Is that Eoin Morrison? Or should I call you
Black Swan
like everyone else does?’

It was a self assured and confident voice.

‘Who is this?’ asked Eoin in irritation.

‘It’s not
who
you need to worry about, rather you need to ask yourself why?’

Black Swan hated riddles and games, but he also had the feeling that this was neither. He was intrigued to see where it would go, so he suppressed his rising annoyance.

‘Ok, I'll bite,’ said Eoin. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I think we can help each other out,’ said the stranger. ‘Do you know the Eastern Tandoori in town?’

‘The one at the end of Patrick Street?’ asked Eoin.

‘If you say so,’ said the stranger. ‘Anyway, meet me there tonight, at seven o’clock. Bring your cheque-book and an open mind.
I don’t like paying for dinner, and I have some information I think you may be very interested in. Oh, and come alone.’

‘Ain’t gonna happen,’ said Eoin.

‘Well then, just make sure I can't see the watchers,’ said the stranger. ‘If I see them, I'm gone.’

Eoin smiled.

‘If they see you, you’re gone,’ he responded, to the empty line.

#

Eoin liked to be unfashionably early for any appointment. As he sat in the booth, he could see why the Eastern Tandoori had been chosen. Most of the tables were set for two, and they were all situated for maximum privacy. He hated those restaurants where the tables for two were all in a single line, and you could hear the conversations either side of you more clearly than those of your companion.

The inside
of the restaurant was dark and gloomy, almost oppressive, but again the ideal interior for discretion. Eoin sipped his iced tap water, smiling at the laminated simplicity of the menu. Most of the establishments that he normally frequented would not have had a plethora of helpful colour photographs for the un-initiated. That was normally reserved for Spanish seaside holidays. An indication on how multi-cultural Cork had become, maybe?

Eoin was still chuckling, when he realised the bench in front of him was no longer empty.

‘Your people are good,’ acknowledged the stranger. ‘I couldn’t spot a single one of them as I made my way in.’

‘You were hardly expecting carnations were you?’ answered Eoin sarcastically. ‘All my guys are ex-special forces; hardened professionals. A lot of people in my line of business tend to use just hired muscle. I prefer to pay a bit extra. It always pays off in the long run.’

‘What makes you think I’m interested in what your profession is?’ stated the stranger.

‘Let's not play
stupid and childish games,’ said Eoin. ‘We both know that you are well aware of what it is that I do, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting across the table from me. I can also tell you that the only reason you're still alive, and sitting across the table from me, is because I'm intrigued by what it is that you want; no other reason.’

The stranger raised an eyebrow.

‘Are you always so direct? I must say it is nice and refreshing to immediately know where you stand. It seems we understand each other, Mr Morrison? May I call you Eoin, or should I call you Black Swan.’

‘What’s in a name,’ he said. ‘You can call me Eoin for now.’

They were interrupted by the fast talking and almost unintelligible waiter. They delayed any further conversation until their orders had been taken, and the garish menu’s had been cleared away. Both were secretly amused that they had chosen exactly the same starters and main courses, each wondering if the other were playing mind games.

‘Can I be frank, Eoin?’ asked
the stranger.

‘Knock
yourself out,’ said Black Swan.

‘Essentially, I have
some information for you. It's not a normal information exchange, because it is not normal information, even given the boundaries you would usually attach to the word normal. It is going to require you to suspend your disbelief and take a huge amount on trust.’

Black Swan sat back and regarded the stranger carefully, but did not interrupt.

‘It will also require you to make a couple of large leaps of faith. There is little proof, evidence or corroboration of this information and you need to accept that up front.’

Black Swan arched an eyebrow, but still said nothing.

‘However, if you choose to accept that hypothesis, I can share with you the reasons why you should be interested.’

‘Can you be more specific?’ asked
Eoin sarcastically.

‘All in good time,’ said the stranger, ignoring the comment. ‘Oh yes, and by the way
, I forgot the most important thing. This
could,
and I stress the word advisedly. This
could
allow you to make the jump from half control to full control of the drugs market in Cork. Hell, it could make you the biggest player in the country. You should think about that for a second, before we go on.’

Black Swan was about to respond, when the starters arrived. By mutual consent, they picked up their knives
and forks and dispatched their Onion Bhajis with practised ease. Only when both sets of cutlery were neatly brought together at the bottom of their plates, did the discourse continue.

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Eoin slowly. ‘You want me to
suspend my disbelief in something that I may or may not believe.’

The stranger nodded.

‘And you can provide me with no corroboration, no evidence, nothing substantive to prove that this information is worthy of anything other than contempt.’

‘That’s about the size of it,’ replied
the stranger. ‘Maybe there is one thing that will persuade you, but there is also a huge amount of trust involved.’

‘I was just checking,’ said Eoin.

He glanced at the stranger across the gloom.

‘Making sure I hadn't missed something fundamental,’ he added sarcastically.

The sarcasm seemed lost on his companion. He was just about to ask another question, when the main courses arrived. Eoin was glad in a way; it gave him time to think.

As he watched his dinner
companion slowly dispatch a Chicken Tikka Masala, he tried to work the angle, but his brain just couldn't do it. This person was either totally genuine or a complete and utter bluffer, and aside from assassination, he couldn't think of any other reason for someone to use subterfuge to get close to him. Even though he knew Dave and his team were close, he still shivered involuntarily. He had never considered assassination before, but he knew it was a real possibility.

He shook his head; no, somehow this person did not give off the right signals. Eoin was a good judge of character, he could dispassionately analyse. His dinner companion was ruthless, ambitious, maybe even a killer, but they were not there tonight to kill him, he was sure of that.

It was a natural assumption though. If the stranger felt the same way as David did about Eoin, it was the perfect scenario; a dimly lit, sparsely populated restaurant with easy escape routes. Eoin didn't know anyone else who would make the investment in time and effort. Someone who knew his organisation; who he was, where he could be found, how he could be contacted?

‘I know what you're thinking,’ said the stranger, echoing his thoughts. ‘So don’t be so naive. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be sitting here now. I’m not stupid; I know
what goes on in this town. I know where it happens and I know who the main players are. As one of those
main players
, I’m giving you a rare opportunity. If you don’t want it, don’t waste my time.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ asked Eoin.

‘Merely stating a fact,’ said the stranger. ‘Maybe this will help you decide.’

He threw a fat brown envelope across the table. He clicked his fingers and the ever attentive waiter was at his side in seconds.

‘Bring me a coffee and a cognac. I’m in the mood for a comfortable wait,’ he said, glancing at Black Swan with a smile.

At first Black Swan had thought it was money. This idiot obviously doesn’t know me at all, he’d thought to himself. He was surprised therefore to extract a carefully bundled and annotated document.

An hour later, Black Swan sat back in his chair. He had read the file from cover to cover, not once but twice and had then re-read certain paragraphs for a third time. He waved unseeingly for attention, and before the waiter had even got to the table, he motioned towards the mug and glass that sat in front of the stranger and mouthed
same again
. The waiter nodded his understanding, even though Black Swan wasn’t even looking at him.

As the cognac was placed in front of him, Black Swan took a sip, relishing the
impact of the fiery liquid.

‘That’s quite a story,’ he said, tapping the letter sized pages. It was the
first thing he’d noticed. Little details always nagged at him. The document; the whole folder in fact, had been printed in America. It wasn't A4, it was letter size.

‘It’s no story,’
responded the stranger.

‘Come on,’ answered Black Swan. ‘It’s very well-written I’ll grant you that, but I’d recognise a story anywhere.’

The stranger smiled.

‘I was like you; I was unbelievably sceptical. That was
, until I saw a demonstration of it in the flesh.’

Eoin’s eyes narrowed.

‘You've seen it in action.’

‘Whatever reason you think I'm here,’ said the stranger. ‘You need to purge it from your mind right now. The reason I am here is because Ireland is struggling economically. The reason I am here is because they have one of the best state agencies in the world for attracting foreign direct inward investment. They are desperate to
create jobs and they have more pharma companies per head of population than any other country on earth. In other words, ideal breeding conditions for a drug like this.’

He indicated the folder.

‘A breeding ground where the manufacturing can be camouflaged as a legitimate operation, and where the choice of supply chain is huge. I think they call it hiding in plain sight. Make no mistake; the efficacy of this product cannot be questioned. This drug works and it will be huge.’

‘Why
are you talking to me?’ asked Eoin.

‘
Have you heard of the Mancini’s?’

The change in the conversation took Eoin by surprise.

‘Hasn’t everyone? If it’s illegal in America, they’re involved in it.’

The stranger inclined his head.

‘You are correct. So, would it surprise you to discover that they were setting up the same type of operation as I have just described, right under your very nose?

The stranger paused.

‘Ask yourself this? You are independently wealthy, you already have the supply lines and the distribution network setup, and you know this part of the country intimately, so why did they not approach you about a joint venture? Think about it; there are not that many others out there who would be willing to invest in such a scheme.’