Those bastards down there might call themselves an IRA active service unit, but we know better, don’t we? They’re psychopathic thugs with guns, that’s all. Sure, you’ll die with a gun in your hand and the blood coursing through your veins, but there’s no honour in being gunned down like a rabid dog. Sheer weight of numbers, that’s the only advantage they’ll have. They’ll just keep firing until you’re dead. You’ll get a couple of them, maybe more, but look at the company you’ll be dying in. Hell’s fucking bells, Joker, you wouldn’t give those bastards the time of day and yet you want to die with them?’
Paulie Quinn swung the binoculars from side to side, scanning for Fitzpatrick and McVeigh. They flashed across his vision and he panned back slowly until he had them dead centre. They’d stopped on the beach and were watching Cramer and the new arrival. McVeigh scratched his head and Fitzpatrick shrugged. McVeigh said something and Fitzpatrick nodded, then they started to walk, pulling their guns from beneath their bomber jackets. Paulie turned the binoculars onto Lynch and O’Riordan, who were striding towards the sea wall. O’Riordan turned as he walked and motioned with his hand for Davie to follow them.
Paulie searched for his brother and found him walking quickly along the road, clutching a newspaper. Paulie smiled. His brother looked tense, but he was doing exactly as he’d been told, following behind Lynch and O’Riordan, ready to cut off Cramer’s escape if he should try to get around them. Paulie wondered if Davie would get to shoot the Sass-man. God, he hoped so. He wondered who the man in the Barbour jacket was and why he was so earnestly talking to Cramer. Whoever he was, he was as good as dead. Lynch had obviously decided to take him out as well.
Cramer said nothing. He stared out to the horizon and took several deep breaths. The Colonel waited for him to speak. ‘Why does he take risks?’ Cramer asked eventually. ‘Why does he always do it close up? There are easier ways to kill. Safer ways.’
The Colonel nodded. ‘The FBI reckon it’s because he enjoys it. He wants to see his victims as they die. He’s a serial killer, but a serial killer who gets paid for his work. It’s not a question of whether or not he’ll kill again, it’s when. He’ll keep on killing until we stop him, because he’s not doing it for the money. He’s doing it for the thrill.’
‘And you want this guy to try to kill me?’
The Colonel turned to look at Cramer. He shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he said softly, his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves crashing against the sea wall. ‘We’re pretty sure that he’ll succeed.’
Cramer didn’t say anything.
‘The man has never left any physical evidence behind,’ the Colonel continued. ‘No fingerprints, no blood or tissue samples, nothing. If we catch him close to you with a gun in his hand, it’s not enough. It’s not even attempted murder, it’s just possession of a weapon and for all we know he might have a licence for it. Even if he points the gun at you, what have we got? Threatening behaviour? Maybe attempted murder. If we’re lucky he’ll go away for five years. No, he has to pull the trigger. Once he’s done that, we’ve got him.’
Cramer nodded, finally understanding. ‘And if he pulls the trigger, I’m dead?’
The Colonel nodded. ‘But you’ll have a chance. You’ll be armed; if you see him coming for you you’ll be able to shoot first. It’s a better chance than the Judas Goat gets.’
‘He’ll kill me,’ said Cramer flatly.
‘But you’ll die with honour. In battle. Against a real professional. Isn’t that a better way to die? Better than being shot by these thugs?’
Cramer stared out to sea. ‘Is that how you’d like to go, Colonel?’
‘If I had the choice, yes.’ The Colonel’s voice was flat and level. ‘It’s your call, Joker.’ If you want it to happen now, I’ll just walk away.’
The Colonel looked towards the men on the beach. They were about a quarter of a mile away, still walking in their direction. The other two men had reached the end of the sea wall and the youngster was walking down the road behind them, the newspaper held in both hands. ‘You don’t have much time,’ said the Colonel. He tapped his stick on the concrete and the cracks sounded like gunshots.
Cramer chuckled coldly. ‘That’s the truth,’ he said. He paused. ‘How do you know he’ll come for me?’
‘We know who one of his intended victims is going to be. I’ll explain later, but we’re looking for someone to take his place.’ He paused. ‘Well?’
Cramer rubbed his chin and then sighed. ‘Okay.’
‘You’re sure?’
Cramer narrowed his eyes and studied the Colonel. ‘What? Now you’re trying to talk me out of it? I said I’ll do it. I’ll do it.’
The Colonel put his hand on Cramer’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Thank you.’
Cramer shook his head. ‘I’m not doing it for you, Colonel. I’m doing it for me. But first we’ve got to take care of them.’ He nodded down the sea wall where the two IRA men were walking quickly towards them. The one in the raincoat was holding both hands to his sides, clutching something. A weapon, probably an assault rifle. The men on the beach had broken into a run, guns at the ready.
The Colonel took a small transceiver out of his coat pocket, pressed the transmit button and spoke rapidly into it. Cramer couldn’t make out what the man had said, but seconds later he heard the roar of two massive turbines and a huge red, white and blue Westland Sea King helicopter appeared from behind Ireland’s Eye. Its main rotor dipped forward and it sped through the air towards them. ‘Damn you, Colonel,’ Cramer shouted above the noise of the engines. ‘You knew I’d accept, didn’t you?’
The Colonel said nothing as the helicopter circled and then dropped so that it was hovering only feet above the harbour wall, the rotor wash flattening the water below. He motioned with his stick for Cramer to get in first. Cramer took one last look over his shoulder, deafened by the turbines. The bearded man had pulled a Kalashnikov out from under his raincoat and was holding it, seemingly unsure whether or not to fire. For one moment they made eye contact and Cramer could feel the hatred pouring out of the man, then a hand reached out of the belly of the Sea King and half pulled, half dragged him inside.
Lynch upended the Kalashnikov and slipped it back under his raincoat as the huge helicopter lifted away and banked hard to the left.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ asked O’Riordan.
‘Fucked if I know,’ said Lynch. He stared after the Sea King as it flew off across the waves, his curly black hair blowing behind him. Fitzpatrick and McVeigh ran up, panting for breath.
‘Put your guns away, boys,’ said Lynch. ‘We’re not here to shoot helicopters.’
The two men thrust their handguns into the pockets of their jackets. ‘What’s going on, Dermott?’ asked McVeigh.
Lynch ignored him. He whirled around and peered at the harbour road, half expecting to see a convoy of armed soldiers heading their way. The street was empty. It wasn’t a trap. That was something to be grateful for, but it made the Sass-man’s sudden departure all the more bemusing.
Fitzpatrick’s walkie-talkie crackled and they heard Paulie Quinn’s anxious voice. ‘What’s happening? Where’s he gone?’
‘Shut that thing off,’ barked Lynch, heading towards the car.
Mike Cramer sat with his arms folded across his chest as the massive helicopter flew low and fast across the waves. One of the Sea King crewmen handed him a set of padded headphones and Cramer put them on, grateful for relief from the deafening roar of the engines. Cramer’s head was full of questions, but he said nothing. The Colonel sat down on the seat in front of the emergency exit window and held out his hand. Cramer handed over his Browning Hi-Power.
Cramer looked around the cabin. This Sea King was like no other he’d ever been in. It was packed with electrical equipment, some of which he recognised. There was an extensive array of radar screens, far more than he’d expect to see in a search and rescue helicopter, and a Marconi LAPADS data processing station. The crewman who’d hauled him into the helicopter and given him the headset was seated in the sonar operator’s seat in front of the sonar/radar instrumentation racks. In addition there was a lot of equipment Cramer had never seen before, equipment without brand names or labels of any kind.
