Undercover (21 page)

"Ask him to stop," Cormac said.

Donna threw a withering glance their way.

Mattie tugged on Cormac's sleeve. "I think we should call my mum now."

Cormac nodded. "Lend us your phone?"

Canavan huffed air but lumbered off to fetch his handset.

"You know your ma's number, kid?"

Mattie's eyes widened. He shook his head.

John mumbled something. Cormac moved closer to the bed, asked him to repeat himself.

"There's a business card in my wallet." John croaked the words. "Back pocket."

Cormac looked to Donna for permission.

She nodded slowly. "Just be gentle with him."

Cormac slid his hand underneath John without jolting him and drew out the wallet. He flipped it open and went through the cards. John didn't clean his wallet out very often and it took half a minute to find the faded business card.

"Pass me a phone, please."

He said it to nobody in particular but Donna was the first one to hand him a mobile. Cormac tapped in the number and handed it to Mattie.

"Don't spend too long chatting, mate. I need to get stuff sorted out with her."

Mattie held the phone to his ear and paced the patch of carpet at the foot of the bed. One of the floorboards creaked with metronomic regularity.

"Mum?"

Mattie squished up one side of his face and held the handset a few inches from his head. Cormac could hear the excited shriek of Lydia Gallagher's voice. It tapered off after a few seconds and Mattie got his chance to speak.

"We're in a safe place now but dad's pretty hurt... Yeah, I'm fine." He looked at his taped-up fingers and shrugged, decided not to worry his mother with the horror tale. "We'll see you soon. There's a policeman here who wants to talk to you, sort out how we're going to get home. Chat later, yeah?"

Cormac took the phone from the kid. His mother was still gabbling and Cormac had to interrupt her.

"Missus Gallagher, my name is Detective Cormac Kelly. It's good to get in touch with you at last."

She sniffed back a sob. "Whatever you've done to save my family, thank you."

"We need to figure out how to get you guys back together now. Are you still in London?"

"Yes, I'm about to fly back to Belfast, though. I can be there in a few hours."

"I think we'd be better off getting your family back to England." He didn't want to go into his concerns about PSNI involvement in the kidnapping unless she needed further convincing. "I'm happy to accompany them, though it'll probably take more than a few hours to figure out the safest route."

"I might be able to help you with that."

###

L
ydia scanned the night sky for McGoldrick's helicopter. It'd taken them a few hours to organise the pick-up and a dropdown point. The old Scot had decided that they'd be best avoiding the heliports in London to bypass air traffic control and awkward questions from security. Time bandits. He'd directed them to the London Golf Club, just south of the city in Kent, where he was a long-term member with benefits. Lydia, McGoldrick, Stephen Black and Rory stood a few paces away from the helipad, silent in the eerie calm of the otherwise deserted course.

The helipad, basically a raised patch of land on the edge of the course, looked smaller than Lydia would have imagined. Marked out in white paint, the H in the centre of the circle looked like it would serve as parking bays for a pair of Land Rovers. The surrounding circle seemed too small for safety. She shuddered at the thought of a rotor-blade severing stray limbs.

"Shouldn't we ask somebody to turn on the lights?" Lydia asked.

"We'll wait until the helicopter's in view," McGoldrick said.

"What, you're worried about the electricity bill?"

"No, hen. It's just the way they do it here."

McGoldrick seemed distant; his voice didn't reach its usual booming level and he hadn't made eye contact with Lydia since they'd got to the golf club. It made her uncomfortable. They were at the end of this nightmare, at last, but now that they were standing still, she couldn't quiet the nagging voice at the back of her mind.

Can you really trust McGoldrick?

She had to trust him, though. Without McGoldrick, his money and his contacts, she would probably still be online booking flights for John and Mattie. Who knows what could have gone wrong in that time?

Lydia tried to ignore her doubts. Her boys were on their way home. As soon as she saw them – hugged them, kissed them – she would call the police and report the kidnapping. Between her story and Detective Kelly's they'd be able to arrest O'Neill and his men. And all would be right with the world again.

"Maybe I should call Detective Kelly?" Lydia directed the question at McGoldrick.

"No point. The pilot will have asked him to turn off his phone. Relax. They'll be here soon."

She tried to. It wasn't easy. Stephen Black looked as distracted as McGoldrick and Rory was obviously feeling very sorry for himself. His head hung low and his hands were behind his back, still bound by the plastic ties Stephen Black had trussed him up with. Lydia actually felt for the spoilt prick.

"Could somebody cut Rory loose? I doubt he's going to attack me now."

Stephen Black raised an eyebrow and McGoldrick shrugged.

Rory looked up, his eyes wide. "Yeah, guys. Come on. I'm busting for a slash here."

"I don't want you going into the club," McGoldrick said. "You'll draw too much attention."

"Fuck's sake, aul' fella. Nobody's going to notice me."

"You're not going in there."

"I'll piss by those trees, then." Rory pointed to a cluster of oaks in the rough. "Come on."

McGoldrick turned to Stephen Black:

"Will you take him?"

"I most certainly will not. Need I remind you that I'm not a wet nurse?"

"And your job isn't exactly unionised. You do what I tell you."

"No, I agree to certain tasks and you pay—"

"Shut up. Shut up now." The words were out before Lydia had even formed them in her mind. She felt like an overwhelmed mother at the supermarket. Embraced it. "I've had enough. Just cut the ties and let the man go into the trees. What's he going to do? Climb one and start flinging shit? He knows you're armed and that he's safer with you. Stop treating us like morons."

McGoldrick and Stephen Black looked at each other for a couple of seconds. The ex-spook was the first to smile.

"You make a fair and wonderfully animated point, my dear. I'll get to it directly."

Stephen Black reached into the sleeve of his awful tracksuit top and pulled out a knife. The blade was short, serrated and more chilling than a shark tooth. He slipped his index finger into a steel ring and spun the mini dagger like a gunslinger playing with his revolver.

"Picked up this lovely souvenir in the Philippines. A cheeky little chap tried to take my finger off with it."

"Come on, man. My back teeth are floating now."

Rory turned and started walking backwards. Stephen Black met him halfway and the knife cut through the plastic ties like they were spider webs. Rory gave his wrists a quick rub then jogged towards the rough.

"You're welcome," Stephen Black called after the football star. He slipped the knife back up his sleeve.

Rory turned once to give the ex-spook a quick wave of his middle finger then vanished behind a thick tree trunk.

"He's got quite an amusing attitude that one," Stephen Black said to Lydia. "I'm sure he's an absolute joy to work with."

"I've met worse."

"And he brings in a pretty penny, I suppose."

"He's doing okay."

"Well, when you've paid off your husband's debts, I think I'd quite like to work with you."

Lydia looked him up and down. He'd managed to scare, insult and impress her all at once.

"You don't know anything about my family, whatever your ‘research' tells you. And I highly doubt that I'd need your skill-set at any point in my future."

"Don't be too hasty, Mrs Gallagher. It would have been very useful to have me on your payroll
before
your family got kidnapped."

"Oh, fuck off."

McGoldrick snorted. His toothy grin hid behind his tight lips when Lydia wheeled on him.

"And you can fuck off as well. Did you tell this prick about John's gambling?"

"Don't get uppity with me, hen. I'm helping you out here. You know I'm not the gossiping type."

"I don't really know what you are, Mr McGoldrick. And the longer I stand here the dumber I feel. We're acting like the law doesn't apply to us. We should have phoned the cops hours ago."

"You want your family dead, do you? Whether or not you think the law applies is irrelevant. I'm getting things done. Things ordinary people can't do. So how about you show some fucking gratitude you stupid wee lassie?"

"Steady on, old bean." Stephen Black stepped in front of the red-faced Scot. "You'll do yourself an injury. Think of your blood pressure."

Stephen Black's head jerked backwards and McGoldrick's fist moved through the space it had occupied.

"If you ever try to hit me again, Mr McGoldrick, I will kill you. Fair warning. I'll take your money but I won't take your shit."

McGoldrick unclenched his fists and lowered his arms to his sides. He looked old and confused, like he'd been told off by a nursing home employee. Lydia wondered how many more years the guy would live, collecting money all the way. He'd afford the best care for himself in his final years, no doubt, but in the end he would die too. And it looked as if the thought was working its way through the old bastard. He forced a cough and his Adam's apple bobbed. Lydia could almost see the pride go down his throat.

"What's going on, lads?"

Rory was back. He looked worried.

"Oh, just a little bit of admin," Stephen Black said. "Everything has returned to the status quo."

"That's good, Stevie. Because you might want to do a wee bit of security work down by those trees I just watered. Pretty sure I saw somebody lurking about."

"Ach, it was probably just a fox, lad," McGoldrick said.

"Aye? And do foxes smoke around these parts? Because I could smell cigarettes down there too."

"Kids, then. Sneaking off for a wee smoke's not a crime yet."

"Maybe you should check it out," Lydia said. "We could have been followed."

Stephen Black looked at McGoldrick and rubbed his jaw. "We weren't followed. Did you arrange for anybody to meet us here?"

"Apart from my helicopter pilot? Who else would need to know?"

"Indeed." He drew his silenced gun from the inside of his nylon jacket. "I think I'd be better served right here, Mrs Gallagher. Wouldn't want to perforate a fox unnecessarily. And we have the higher ground, after all."

Lydia nodded at his gun which he held pointed to the ground. "So you think somebody's out there?"

"Just playing it safe, my dear. Try not to fret."

"I can hear something," Rory said. He pointed to the sky. "Is that a star or a helicopter?"

###

I
n a private helicopter over the Irish Sea, Cormac did the unthinkable. He slept. Donna and Mattie were sat opposite him in a pair of seats facing the cockpit, and John was to his right. A slim gap between the two rear-facing seats provided access to the cockpit. The rhythmic
chooka-chooka-chooka
beat of rotor blades and the constant drone of the engine soothed Cormac. The bird's eye view of nothingness and hours of constant activity teamed up to sap him of all energy.

There was nothing constructive to be done in the helicopter cabin. Nothing to react to. Donna's attention was on John. The injured man sat bolt upright in his seat, barely conscious and in obvious pain. Cormac didn't want to distract Donna from her watch of the patient. She seemed to be keeping him alive with an intense stare. And Mattie was busy burning every detail of the experience into his memory. The kid's head moved constantly; his eyes flitting from the seats, to the windows, to the back of the pilot's head and every point in between. He looked a few years younger, obviously confident that with Cormac and Donna looking out for him and his father, nothing could go wrong.

The occasional lurch of the vessel as it steered its course failed to unsettle Cormac. He closed his eyes. Vague dreams, disjointed images, the half-conscious jolts as his head lolled, ceased only when the engine dropped a note. His stomach flip-flopped with the helicopter's descent. He tried to focus but his brain wasn't ready to cooperate. His lids drooped. Eyes stung.

Donna nudged him. "I can't believe you slept through that."

"Ugh."

"It was so awesome," Mattie said.

"We're here?" Cormac asked, his brain still flagging.

Donna leaned forward in her seat to check on John's pulse; concern etched deep in her face. "The pilot says we're just about to land."

Cormac looked to his left. There wasn't much to see in the night sky; some lights below them but nothing that looked like a helipad. Cormac leaned to his right and looked over his shoulder, into the cockpit.

"Can you see your landing spot, mate?"

The pilot pulled one of his ear cans back and asked Cormac to repeat himself.

"I can't see a helipad. Is it safe to land?"

"Don't worry, officer. I've landed at this club hundreds of times. Mr McGoldrick comes here regularly. I barely need the co-ordinates, never mind bull's-eye lighting."

"Who is this McGoldrick guy?"

"My boss."

The pilot slipped his headphones back in place and flipped some switches. Cormac had no idea what they were for. It felt wrong to be so dependent on somebody he didn't know at such a great height. But a helicopter licence wasn't exactly criterion for his job. Neither was his instinct for mistrust and suspicion, but that certainly helped him out more than once. He checked his shoulder holster and stroked the cold comfort of his Glock. His mind started to shake the muzzy feeling of recent sleep. The power nap had sharpened him a little.

The helicopter descended.

Cormac rolled his shoulders. His sweat-dampened shirt peeled away from his back. He tapped his feet to get the blood flowing in his legs again. Cormac didn't like how the pilot had cut short their conversation. He wanted to know more about McGoldrick and his connection to Lydia Gallagher. And he wanted to know why the whole situation had gotten so complicated. Surely a man with his own helicopter could have paid the family's ransom and then some?