The Storm Protocol (51 page)

‘So David McCabe is the Mancini’s local contact?’ prompted Dale.

‘He is, but they needed something more. Guido Mancini knows one of the top board members in ADXR personally. The man is an idiot and easily led; a typical high ranking executive who perceives himself a lord of the universe. It was simple for a man like Guido, a master manipulator, to plant the seed of the idea. A joint venture was formed between ADXR and one of the Mancini companies, G&E Chemicals, ostensibly to produce an Alzheimer's cure. It is truly brilliant really, as the compound elements are very similar. McCabe and his business associate Ben Collins have even managed to get backing from the Irish Industrial Development Authority.’

‘So
, the Irish Government have put money into this?’ asked Dale incredulously.

‘They have indeed. But here is where I need your help. The plant is in Clonakilty on the IDA campus. The Mancini's are meeting McCabe there in person for t
he first time tonight, and the rogue agent will be there too. It is the perfect opportunity to snatch the folders back.’

‘Are we involving local law enforcement?’ asked Roussel.

‘We can't,’ said Agent Bruce. ‘There’s too much of a chance that the folders would fall into Irish Government hands. We cannot afford leaks of any kind.’

‘So
, why do you need us?’ I asked.

‘Sheer weight of numbers, and certain professional abilities,’ he said. ‘Believe me, if I could do this myself I would, but I can’t. And let’s be clear; we will be heavily outnumbered, they will be ruthless and they will be armed. From what I’ve been told, you guys are all handy with a gun and bring other skills to bear.’

He didn’t elaborate on what he thought those skills might be.

‘So, are you with me?’

We glanced at each other. Dale had been right; all of the pieces really had come together. I held up my pint.

‘Let’s do it,’ I said.

Roussel and Dale held up their drinks.

‘Agreed,’ they echoed.

Agent Bruce smiled.

‘Welcome to the team,’ he said.

We all drained our glasses.

‘Tonight is going to be pretty hectic,’ he said
. ‘There’s a lot of planning we still need to do. All the detail stuff needs to be worked out. That’s where this is going to succeed or fail.’

We jointly agreed.

Leaving Agent Bruce to settle his tab, we milled about on the pavement outside, waiting for him to join us.

‘What do you think?’ asked Dale.

‘I think he's absolutely genuine,’ I said. ‘He really meant it when he said he would rather do it by himself. And he’s right; these drug dealing lads would have plenty of firepower. They may not necessarily be the best marksmen in the world, but they love their guns.’

I was about to continue when the door opened and he limped slowly out.

‘There’s a storm coming,’ he said. ‘My foot always gets worse when it’s about to rain.’

We all realised the significance of what he’d said about ten seconds later.

He smiled and nodded.

‘I know, spooky isn’t it?’

No one said anything more; we didn’t have to.

‘I’ll be over to your hotel in an hour; we can rendezvous there.’

I didn’t ask him how he knew where we were staying.

He stepped out across the street and we turned to walk back to our hotel. We had not gone more than twenty five yards when I saw a man seemingly asleep behind the wheel of his car. As we drew level, he miraculously woke up
. Milliseconds later, the engine fired into life, as he gunned it out of the space towards the pub we had just vacated.

Agent Bruce had just breached the midline of the road on his slow traverse towards the other side. The car w
as showing no signs of stopping; in fact it was accelerating all the time. I tried to shout a warning to Agent Bruce, but it was too late. Mercifully, he didn't see the car. The unknown assailant planted his foot on the throttle. I winced as I felt the bang and scrape as Agent Bruce thudded across the roof of the car. I watched in horror as he landed in a heap of implausibly twisted limbs; like a marionette with all the strings severed.

I knew instinctively that he was dead.

23
rd
May 2011 – Thirteen days after the Storm.

I have hated the congregation of evil doers; and will not sit with the wicked. – Psalm 26:5.

I started sprinting after the speeding vehicle. The twenty year reflex kicked in as I reached for the gun, my scrabbling fingers finding nothing but damp cotton. Old habits die hard.

I
heard the sound of tearing and rending metal as the car smashed into a line of parked cars, before it screeched around the corner and accelerated away. I had to stop and put my hands on my hips to catch my breath. I hadn't realised until then how unfit I was, and had to recover for a couple of minutes before I could jog slowly back.

A crowd had started to gather and with
it came the whispered questions. Who was he? Who saw what? How did it happen?

Dale was working furiously on Agent Bruce. I caught his eye. He was obviously experienced in CPR
, and he shook his head imperceptibly. As far as he was concerned, Agent Bruce was gone, but once he’d started the CPR, he couldn’t stop; not until the patient was pronounced by a doctor or a paramedic. We watched as the crowd built, the whispers of the onlookers drowning out Dale’s chanted numbers.

‘One one thousand, two one thousand,’ he muttered under his breath
, as he tried to affect a miracle.

Eventually
, we heard the wail of a siren in the distance. The streets were very narrow, and the paramedics reached us on foot long before the ambulance did. They skidded to a halt beside us. One counted down with Dale, deliberately coordinating the moment he took over the compressions, so as not to break the rhythm. The other readied the defibrillator.

They worked feverishly for another fifteen minutes, shocking him three or four times in the process. He was pronounced dead precisely twenty minutes after they first arrived.

At that stage, the three of us had been asked to wait. We were to be questioned by a member of the Gardai. A number of witnesses had come forward from the pub and had pointed us out as Agent Bruce’s last companions.

‘So
, what do we do now?’ I asked quietly.

‘We answer their questions, we answer them truthfully
, and we’ll be sent on our way,’ said Roussel.

‘Are you sure about that?’ I asked.

‘Absolutely,’ said Roussel. ‘We have to tell the truth, especially because of my situation. I have the most to lose here. If James finds out about this and I wasn’t the one to tell him, who knows what could happen?’

‘Just remember what's at stake here,’ I said. ‘You’d better be right.’

‘I'm right,’ he said. ‘I don't like it, but I’m right.’

Eventually
, a young Garda came over to take our statements. The ambulance had long since left and the crowd had all but dispersed.

‘So
, which one of you gentlemen wants to go first?’ he asked with a smile.

Dale and I both looked at Roussel.

‘Hi there,’ said Roussel, extracting his ID from his pocket. ‘Detective Charles Roussel; over here following up some leads from a case I’m working on back home in Louisiana.’

‘Would that
be in Kinsale?’ asked the Garda, showing a remarkable lack of surprise. ‘Those leads that you’re chasing, that is?’

‘No, Cork City,’ answered Roussel.

‘So, do you mind me asking what you're doing here?’ asked the Garda.

The smile was slightly more fixed and wooden.

‘Just taking a few days off with a couple of friends,’ said Roussel.

‘Can you tell me who your liaison is then?’ asked the Garda.

‘Yeah, no problem,’ said Roussel. ‘It’s Detective James Murray of the Cork drug squad.’

‘Just a second,’ said the Garda, and walked off.

We heard the static as his radio bristled. He then extracted his phone. We heard the digital tones of the dialled number and then the brief conversation that followed. We all strained our hearing, but we couldn't tell who he was talking to and all his answers were fairly monosyllabic. The discourse was brief and he returned with a very different look on his face.

‘Detective Murray would like you all very much to wait at the station for him.’

The way he said it left us in no doubt that our options were limited.

Dale was the first to put the theory to the test.

‘So, do we have a choice?’ he asked.

‘It would be in your beneficial interest, sir, to accompany me.’

‘Is that a no, then?’ asked Dale.

‘Please follow me.’

Dale shrugged and we followed the young officer in single file back to the Garda Station in Church Square. He escorted us to the main interview room, and in fairness to him, he made us all a cup of tea while we waited, after taking note of our names.

It was funny, but given my background, it was odd to think that this was the first time I had been in a police interview room. I k
new Roussel and Dale would be veterans, but I was sure their experiences were always from the other side of the desk.

We waited another forty minutes, n
one of us in much of a mood for talking. We were all reaching the point where we were starting to slip into boredom induced naps, when the door suddenly flew open.

The g
arda who’d escorted us to the station entered the room first. Then another gentleman, this time in plain clothes, came in behind him; obviously Detective James Murray.

The young officer
pressed the record button on the voice recorder; the one that we had all failed to spot before.

‘Garda Pat Spillane and Detective James Murray have just entered the room. For the tape, already present are Detective Charles Roussel, Dale Foster and John O'
Reilly.’

He looked at his watch.

‘Interview started at four forty six.’

We had already decided it would be best not to use my real name.

Roussel started the ball rolling.

‘So
, is this an interview?’ he asked.

Detective Murray looked up with a measured stare, his eyes narrowing.

‘I’ll tell you something Charlie,’ he said. ‘I don't know what the hell it is, but I promise you something. We are not leaving this room till I get some answers.’

We were sitting in a line opposite Detective Murray
, and I noticed that Dale was keeping his head down. I also knew why.

‘You guys are
going to an awful lot of bother for an accident,’ I said, slipping back into what I hoped was my natural brogue.

‘And who the hell are you?’ he asked.

‘Just a friend,’ I said. ‘I got talking to the boys in a pub. We seemed to share the same kind of interests.’

‘You lived in America.’

It was a statement, not a question.

‘I did,’ I acknowledged, ‘along with half the other guys of my generation. I didn't realise it was a crime until now.’

‘When did you get back here?’ he asked, not taking the bait.

‘About a year ago,’ I said.

‘Anyone who can verify that?’ he asked.

I looked him straight in the eye.

‘About half of Cork,’ I lied with bravado.

‘So who was this guy?’ Roussel asked. ‘The one who died
, I mean.’

‘You tell me, you were with him,’ he said.

‘We met him,’ I corrected, ‘we weren’t with him. He heard Charles’s American accent; he was American himself, so asked if he could join us. We said, yeah, no problem, had a little chat, I gave him a few tips on places to visit and then we left. Two minutes later, bang, he’s dead by the roadside.’

‘Did you know his name?’ asked D
etective Murray.

‘We didn't,’ I answered, this time untruthfully.

It could have caused us complications.

‘He didn't
even tell you his name,’ said Detective Murray incredulously.

‘Look, we had a pint with him. We chatted to him for twenty minutes. He left, we left. He walked with a limp, and then he was hit by a car. What more can I say.’

Detective Murray regarded me impassively for a few minutes.

‘He had no ID on him, you see. Nothing in his wallet, no driving licence, no passport, no travel documents, nothing. That in itself, let me tell you, is very rare.’

‘But it does happen,’ said Dale, looking up.

I watched D
etective Murray's face as it went through the various stages; surprise, shock, incredulity and then anger.

‘You!’ he exclaimed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Dale froze and it fell to Roussel to answer.

‘We met outside the police station,’ said Roussel. ‘The afternoon after you gave me that tour, remember? As two Americans in a strange country, and fellow law enforcement professionals to boot, we decided to hook up and do some sightseeing together.’

I secretly applauded Roussel. It was thin, mighty thin, but it was plausible, just. Detective Murray was having none of it.

‘And you exp
ect me to believe that?’ he asked, laughing bitterly.

‘I don't expect you to do anything,’ said Roussel. ‘That’s the truth, end of story.’

‘I don't think so Charlie boy,’ responded James. ‘I have an instinct for these things. You guys are up to something and you are also hiding something, two traits that I just cannot stand.’

‘At the end of the day,’ said Roussel
without pausing, ‘there is no case to answer here. You know as well as I do that there are five or ten witnesses who can put us on the other side of the road when that guy was hit. It was a hit-and-run for god’s sake. I don’t know what you want from us? So either charge us or let us go.’

Roussel finished the sentence in exasperation and stared at Detective Murray defiantly.

‘I like you James,’ he said, ‘but at the end of the day this is about the law. We’re not doing anything wrong, we didn’t do anything wrong. We casually hooked up with a guy for a pint; he ends up dead, a hit-and-run. I'm sorry about that, but that's as far as it goes.’

Detective Murray regarded Roussel balefully for a few moments.

‘I work in the drug squad as you well know,’ he said. ‘Because of that, I'm used to dealing with people who are dishonest. There is no one more underhand and untruthful than a junkie looking for his next fix, so I have an instinct for when something smells bad. There is a stink coming off this situation like you wouldn't believe, and I’m going to promise you now that I will find out what you're up to. But you're right, at the moment I can't charge you with anything, much as I’d like to.’

He nodded to the young g
arda, who leaned across and hit the button on the voice recorder.

‘Interview suspended at five o’clock precisely.’

‘So that’s it, we’re free to go?’ asked Roussel.

‘You’re free to go, Charlie,’ said James. ‘But let me tell you this.’

He looked at each of us in turn as he spoke.

‘If I find out that any of you are mixed up in
anything that you shouldn't be, then I will have the book thrown at you, do you understand? In fact, I won’t have it thrown; I’ll take the greatest of pleasure in throwing it myself.’

We all nodded meekly.

‘Now get out of my sight.’

We didn't need asking twice. We leapt up from our chairs and virtually ran out of the office, walking briskly and not stopping until we were in the re
lative safety of Church Square.

I scowled at Roussel.

‘This is entirely your fault,’ I stated with venom. ‘I told you that we shouldn’t have gone to the police.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Roussel with a broad smile. ‘It’s had precisely the effect I hoped it would.’

Dale and I looked at him in puzzlement.

‘I knew James would not be happy, especially when he found out about Dale. I got to know him pretty well over the last few days. He’s a very good police officer and he’s not going to let this go. I think that will work in our favour.’

‘What you mean?’ I asked.

‘Well, he is more convinced than ever that something is amiss. I don’t think there is any harm in having someone like James on our side, even
if all he is going to do is re-examine some of the facts.’

I shrugged.

‘I'll take your word for it,’ I said. ‘Law enforcement is a sweet mystery to me. But one thing I do know; we need to plan tonight very carefully. Let’s head back to the hotel. I have a feeling that it's all coming to a head.’

#

‘So what do you make of that, Garda Spillane?’ asked James.

‘I don’t think they’r
e on the level, sir,’ said the garda.

‘Damn
right they’re not,’ said James.