Undercover (6 page)

"Nobody's going to get killed."

"Wise up. Maybe there's a chance that I'll get out of this, but you're definitely fucked."

Cormac didn't know whether to hug or strangle him.

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T
hey'll name an airport after me some day.

Rory Cullen,
CULLEN: The Autobiography

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T
he hired Merc swept into the M3 fast lane. A long distance lorry flashed its lights in protest as it was forced to shift down a gear. Just a couple of yards later, the driver slotted the Merc back into the inside lane, this time upsetting a Fon-A-Cab driver who laid on his horn for a good five seconds. The sideward momentum from the lane-hopping rocked Lydia and Rory in the back seat. Lydia welcomed the distraction but Rory looked a little green around the gills as he clenched the door handle for support and assurance. She thought about asking the driver to slow down but didn't want to risk missing the flight back to London.

"I still don't understand what the big panic is." Rory's voice croaked from the punishment of the previous night's debauchery.

"You can't keep these people waiting, Rory. When a slot comes up in their schedule, you have to jump at it. Your book's in everybody's mind this week. Next week they'll have wrung it out."

"But I have commitments here."

"Nothing that can't be postponed. You've done the important ones, anyway. It's forgetting where you came from that's the cardinal sin. After the school visits the corporate events don't really matter."

"They were paying gigs, though."

"Oh, please, Rory. Peanuts compared to what this crowd can bring in for you."

"But you've always handled my sponsorship deals. Won't you be out of pocket if this thing goes through?"

"I still get a cut of what they make for you, and believe me; it'll be a lot more than I could ever pull in. No, unless you want to end up doing ads for crisps, this is the agency you want on your side. They've the contacts to land you your own clothing line."

Rory opened his window, hawked and spat a gob that got whipped away in the slipstream. "Fashion shows, though? Wouldn't that be a bit gay?"

Typical footballer bullshit. Lydia never met a client she didn't want to strangle at some point in their dealings.

"You'll not be expected to sit by the catwalk. It's just your name, Rory. Come on, is it fair that it's always the United boys that get these gigs? Think of the pride you'll bring to the City of Manchester when you top the biggest transfer deal in Premiership history with the biggest sponsorship deal. The fans will think the sun shines out your arse."

"They don't care about that shite. It's how many goals I score that'll matter."

"Football's not that simple anymore. Everything matters. And the more popular you get, on and off the pitch, the bigger the bargaining chip you arm me with next time your contract is up for renewal."

"I've only just signed this one."

"And you pay me to think of the next one."

Rory fiddled with the rear passenger air vent in the car's door pillar. To Lydia's relief, he'd asked enough questions and his interest was spent. He fished a can of Red Bull out of his hand luggage and cracked it open. His face crimped as he took his first sip.

"Ah, Jesus. This tastes like there's vodka in it."

"Must have been a heavy night."

"Ugh. I don't want to talk about it yet."

They made it to George Best Belfast City Airport in record time. The driver jumped out and snagged a luggage trolley. He trundled it back to them, his face blank and joyless as he went through the motions of a well polished routine. Rory stood at the side of the car with a wheelie case and a rucksack. Lydia had a light overnight bag slung over her shoulder. The driver offered them the trolley.

"I think we've got it covered," Lydia said. "Thanks anyway."

The driver grunted and left the trolley at the kerbside. Rory intercepted him on his way to the car.

"Hold up, mate." He rummaged in his hip pocket and pulled out a twenty pound note. "Here you go."

"Cheers."

"No worries, but put that trolley back where you got it, will you? I hate to see them lying about."

The driver made a face, looked at the crisp note in his hand and then shrugged. "Certainly, sir."

Rory snapped up his shirt cuff and checked the time on his chunky blinged-out timepiece. Mid-morning light glinted off platinum and ice. "We've twenty minutes to get checked in. Fancy a bit of breakfast?"

"After we get through security. It'll be more relaxing."

He crossed his eyes and smirked. "You're such a geek."

"No. I'm organised."

The early morning commute rush was over and the hangar-sized terminal building exuded an eerie calm. A handful of tardy business types rustled newspapers and periodically glanced at the flight schedule monitors dotted about the waiting areas. Lydia was overly aware of the echoed clip-clop from her heels as they marched to the check-in desk. The orange-faced Ryanair rep beckoned them forward from the red line on the floor they'd obediently stopped behind despite there being no queue. The rep rattled through her list of security questions in a robotic voice and was satisfied with Rory's equally robotic answers. Then she weighed and sent Rory's case down the conveyor belt.

As the case disappeared behind a rubber flap curtain Rory came to a realisation. He pointed at Lydia's hand luggage.

"Is that all you're bringing with you?"

"Em, yeah? You realise that I haven't got John and Mattie with me either, don't you?" Her insides knotted at the thought of her family but she kept herself in check. Maintained a mask of calm.

Rory's face reddened. He coughed into his fist. "Aye, right enough. Sorry, I've only just woke up to be honest." He drained the dregs of his Red Bull can and shuddered with displeasure. "So what's the story? They taking a later flight?"

"No, I'm going to come back in a few days and finish up the week with them. No point cutting their holiday short when it's only a quick flight back over. It wouldn't have been fair on Mattie."

"Thought you said he was bored."

Lydia picked at an imaginary thread on the sleeve of her coat. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. "Well, yeah, but you know kids. They'd get bored on a rollercoaster then moan when the ride ends."

Rory shrugged. He hadn't a clue about kids and didn't pretend otherwise.

Airport veterans both, Lydia and Rory breezed through the security process. They had all their toiletries in clear plastic bags, wore slip-on shoes and didn't bother with belts. When they got to the departure lounge, Rory led them straight to the coffee shop. Lydia's mouth watered at the smell of fresh scones, bagels and fried bacon but when Rory offered to buy her breakfast she passed.

"That's the second time you've knocked me back in two days. One more KB and you might just hurt my feelings."

She forced a smile. "It's not you, it's me."

"You'll waste away."

"Chance would be a fine thing."

"Ach, wise up, you eejit. I could pick you up and stick you in my pocket."

A devilish look crossed his face and he stepped towards her with his arms outstretched. "Come here and I'll show you."

Lydia reeled backwards. "Stop it. Don't touch me." She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and shuddered.

Rory's face dropped as if she'd just slapped him. "Fuck's sake, Lydia. I was only joking." He slipped his hands into his hip pockets and bunched his shoulders. His expression went from angry to bewildered.

Her skin crawled at the memory of the previous night's humiliation. She could still feel the bastard's sticky fingerprints on her face. Organising the flight to London and trailing Rory out of his bed had allowed her to push her disgust to the back of her mind, but one little joke was all it took to bring the horror back with a vengeance. She couldn't act like this around Rory, though. For the sake of John and Mattie, she tried to shake it off. She forced a laugh that had as much humour about it as a death rattle.

"Ignore me. You just caught me off guard. Didn't mean anything by it. I'm dead tired and, you know, it's that time of the month and all..."

Rory's face scrunched up for a second then ironed back out to expressionless cool. He nodded meaningfully and then turned to study the chalkboard menu behind the coffee shop counter. She knew it was a cheap trick to play the "time of the month" card but it had done the business.

Without turning to face her Rory asked, "Will you have a coffee, even?"

"How about a bottle of water?"

"No sweat."

She dropped her overnight bag at his feet. "Will you watch this while I nip to the ladies?"

He waved her away, a little too eagerly. She hadn't the time to worry about it. On the way to the toilets she dug her phone out of her pocket and called the office. Gloria, her PA, picked up.

"Benson and Gallagher. Can I help you?"

"I hope so."

"Oh, hi, boss. How's bonny Ireland?"

Bonny? Jesus.
"It's lovely, Gloria. I'm tripping over leprechauns every ten minutes. Look. I need you to get me a meeting with Jeremy at PHQ. Pretend that you're tipping him off for sending you that bottle of bubbly at Christmas."

Gloria immediately lost the office girl ditz and went into shark mode. "Will do. What's the tip?"

"Rory Cullen wants to outsource his sponsorship business to a heavy-hitting marketing agency. And he's got my blessing."

"Why the hell would you do that, boss? You've been massaging L'Oreal for weeks to get him that shampoo ad."

Like she needed the reminder. "I don't have time to go into it."

"You know best. Shall I set up a meeting, then?"

"Yeah, get him a spot at three o'clock today."

Gloria choked a little. "I'm not sure I can make that work."

"You can if you tell him we're meeting with McGoldrick at four."

"And are you?"

"That's up to you. Phone McGoldrick after you set things up with Jeremy. Tell him we're in talks with PHQ but we're willing to throw him a bone."

"But if they phone each other to check for bullshit they'll know we're playing them."

"For Rory Cullen they won't risk the call."

"If you say so..." Gloria cleared her throat. "I better get... Oh, wait. You and Rory are in Ireland. How's this going to work?"

"We're at the airport now. Just a few hours away."

"God, whatever you're planning must be massive."

"You've no idea."

Lydia cut the call and dropped her phone back into her bag. Her spine tingled as she sensed somebody behind her. She turned on her heel expecting to find Rory. A small lady in a blue smock gave her a nervous smile. Her hands were wrapped around the shaft of a mop. The head was dunked into a huge bucket on wheels filled to the brim with grey water.

"Can I get past you, love?"

Lydia realised she was stood in front of the door to the ladies.

"Yes, sorry. Work away."

On her way back to the coffee shop Lydia considered the day ahead. It was destined to go tits up but as long as she thought of a decent cover story to sell to Rory when it did, she just might get through it and get to work on the kidnappers' list of demands.

She was within backstabbing distance of Rory when she realised she really did need to go to the toilet. And if she didn't go fast, she'd end up puking in the middle of the departure lounge.

###

C
ormac chewed through the final thread holding the two halves of his bootlace together. He re-laced his boot, skipping the hooks at the top, and tied a short-looped knot. Then he repeated the process with his other boot.

"What are you doing?" Mattie asked.

Cormac looked up and winked at the kid. "I'm making a rope so we can climb out the window."

"Have you a hole in your skull?"

Cormac patted the blood-crusted hair at the back of his head. "Not for want of trying." He held a hand out to Mattie. "Come over here a wee second."

"Why?"

"Just come here and sit in the chair, please."

Mattie grunted as he raised himself off the mattress. The damage he'd taken off Paddy had stiffened and slowed him visibly. He moved like an eighty-year-old arthritic. A fresh blast of fury heated Cormac's skin, much of it directed at himself for failing to protect the boy.

Mattie took his seat and tilted his head as Cormac knelt in front of him.

"Let's see your hand, Mattie."

Mattie twisted slightly in his seat and drew his left hand away from Cormac. "What for?"

"I'm going to strap it up for you. It'll ease the pain a bit, I think."

"You
think
?"

"I know, I know." Cormac held the laces up. "I'm going to buddy them with your index finger and pinkie to keep them straight. It'll lessen the chances of jarring them by mistake."

"How do you know?"

"I used to hurl for Antrim. I've had my fair share of broken fingers."

"Hurl?" Mattie's face brightened. "You mean like puking?"

"No, you eejit. Hurling. The game with a stick and a ball. Fastest sport in the world?"

"Oh, is it that hockey-type thing?"

"Hockey! Where are you from, the moon? They're a world apart. I thought your da came from Belfast..."

"Yeah, he did, but he only ever told me about that weird football you guys play. You know the one that's a bit like rugby?"

"Ach, you're winding me up now, aren't you?
Rugby
. You may as well compare Gaelic to golf."

Mattie shook his head. "Whatever. You're still not qualified to fix my fingers with manky laces."

"They're clean enough." Cormac held them up to the low wattage light bulb. "At least I hope they are. I've had them in my mouth."

"Gross."

"Look, quit your stalling and give me your hand."

Mattie looked at Cormac sideways then blew air through his teeth and slowly extended his arm. The fingers were swollen to more than twice their original size. He'd suffered a very bad break. Surgery bad, Cormac reckoned. And the young fellah hadn't bitched about the pain once. Tough little bastard.