I promise you. Since the car bomb that took her parents four years ago, pain has been her constant companion. She’s stressed about it, and now this. I’ll take care of it.’
‘Such sentimentality comes rather late in the day from a man who has been responsible for as many deaths as you have. But it’s understandable, considering there are those who think the bomb which killed her parents and crippled her was meant for you.’
Tod said gravely, ‘There was always that possibility.’
‘Not in this case, Mr Flynn. In fact, I know the names of the two men who set that bomb.’
Tod was very still. ‘And what must I do for those names?’
‘Dillon told you he’d be coming within the next few days. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Gideon woman and possibly even Ferguson himself came with him. Those people have been a running sore in Al Qaeda’s side for long enough. I’m sure a man of your expertise, and Kelly’s, can find a way to dispose of them one way or another.’
Kelly shook his head. ‘The man’s crazed, Tod.’
‘Not at all,’ the Master said. ‘I happen to know that at the back of Drumgoole Place, at the foot of the mountain, is a bog – the Bog of Salam, isn’t that what they call it? According to legend, it could swallow a regiment.’
‘And it could swallow you,’ Kelly told him.
‘Or Hannah Flynn. I trust we’re clear on that. Now, Ferguson and company, can I tempt you?’
Tod’s face was bone white, eyes dark. ‘Not in a million years. But I’ll tell you what I will do. Never leave Hannah’s side for a moment, as long as you walk this earth. And I’m keeping your money. So to hell with you, Master-whoever-you-are, and bring it on as soon as you like.’
He switched off, slipped the phone into his pocket, turned and found Hannah, standing outside Fancy’s stall, face tear-stained. He walked toward her, passing Kelly, who simply smiled grimly and nodded.
She managed a smile. ‘That was telling him.’
He put an arm round her. ‘You know what I’ve been, girl, the terrible things I did. My excuse was that I was fighting for a cause. True or not, it made a bad man out of me, but as far as this bastard is concerned, I’ll be his worst nightmare.’
She nodded, then hugged him suddenly so that she dropped her stick. ‘Dammit to hell,’ she moaned, and tried to bend.
He picked it up and gave it to her. ‘A nice Catholic girl and such language. Come on, child, we’ll find Aunt Meg and see you both to bed. Things will look better in the morning.’
Not that he believed it, not for a single moment.
On the Belfast waterfront the following day, it had rained early and the fog came later, rolling across the docks into Cagney Street, the Orange Drum at one end. The pub was long past its prime, a leftover from the great days of the Victorian era. It would be a haven for hard drinkers and drug users later that day, but it was empty at that moment except for Fergus Tully, drinking scalding-hot tea laced with Irish whiskey at the end of the bar. He was reading the Belfast Telegraph, while Frank Bell, the publican, worked his way through the sports pages.
They had served time together in the Maze Prison for multiple murders, men of a Protestant persuasion, the PIRA’s bitterest enemies, Tully of such fearsome reputation that newspapers nicknamed him the Shankhill Butcher. The peace process had unleashed them into the world again.
Tully emptied his glass and pushed it across the bar. ‘I’ll have another, Frank,’ and his mobile phone sounded.
‘Is that Mr Frank Tully?’
‘Who the hell wants to know?’ Tully said, immediately offended by the English accent.
‘I’ve just credited your bank account with one hundred thousand dollars. Check for yourself. I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.’
Tully banged his fist down on the bar. ‘Stupid bastard.’
‘What was all that about?’ Bell asked, and when Tully told him, said, ‘Well, all you have to do is call the bank. They opened at nine.’
Which Tully did, and was staggered to be told that such a sum had only just been deposited from a bank in Geneva. He barely had time to inform Bell, when his phone rang again.
‘Who are you?’ Tully demanded.
‘The people I serve had dealings with you some years ago. If I say AQ, do you understand me?’
‘I certainly do,’ Tully said. ‘Al Qaeda. I dealt with the Master then, four years ago, but he wasn’t you from the sound of it.’
‘He has passed on, I have replaced him. You were given the task of disposing of a man named Tod Flynn. Instead, you car-bombed his elder brother Peter, killing him and his wife and injuring the daughter.’
Tully was immediately indignant. ‘I don’t know who told you that, because it’s completely wrong. I’d have loved to have stiffed Tod Flynn. He gave us hell during the Troubles, but my orders from the other Master were quite clear. Peter Flynn was trying to take over the drug scene in Belfast and was seriously displeasing a lot of people. Al Qaeda wanted it sorted, and me and my friend Frank Bell took care of it as ordered.’
‘I get the impression that the family and those around them have always believed Tod Flynn to have been the intended target, especially as his brother had borrowed his car for the trip to Belfast.’
‘Are you saying it left Tod feeling guilty? If that’s true, you’ve made my day.’
‘Did your orders include the girl?’
‘No, and they didn’t include her mother either,’ Tully said. ‘Fortunes of war. They’re always going on about collateral damage these days, aren’t they? Anyway, what’s this all about?’
‘You’ve already got one hundred thousand dollars in your account, and it’s yours if you and your friend get yourselves down to Drumgoole Place and take out Tod Flynn and Tim Kelly.’
The look on Tully’s face was pure delight. ‘You’ve no idea how much of a pleasure that would be.’
‘And another hundred thousand if you dispose of the girl.’
Tully stopped smiling. ‘Is that necessary?’
‘She could be a serious threat to us. If there is a difficulty here, I must go elsewhere.’
Bell was looking grim, ran a finger across his throat and nodded slightly. Tully said, ‘No problem, we can see to the girl, too.’
‘I’ll place the second hundred thousand in your account and on hold for three days. After that, all bets are off. In the glove compartment of your Jeep at the pub, you will find a package containing a mobile linked only to me. It also contains photos of everyone who could be linked in any way to Tod Flynn.’
‘What a bastard,’ Tully said when the call ended. ‘He sounded just like one of those Brit
