The helicopter banked to the right, keeping low. Through the window behind the Colonel, Cramer saw a small yacht carving through the waves. They were heading east. Cramer smiled to himself at the thought of the IRA hit team standing on the sea wall. All foreplay and no orgasm, armed to the teeth and nothing to shoot at.
He wondered if he’d done the right thing, agreeing so readily to go with the Colonel. He owed the Colonel nothing. It was now more than seven years since Cramer had left the regiment. He’d only worked for him once since, and that had almost ended in tears. Cramer closed his eyes and leaned back against the metal bulkhead. The Colonel had used him as bait then, too, sent him to the States on the trail of Mary Hennessy, the IRA terrorist who’d tortured and killed Cramer’s friend. At least this time Cramer knew what he was getting into. At least this time he knew the odds of surviving.
What had the Colonel said? A killer who loved to get up close. A killer who’d never been caught. A killer who was so successful that the only way to stop him was to use a Judas Goat. Maybe it really would be a better way to die. Cramer had seen a lot of men and women die and he knew that there were good ways and there were bad ways, and that most people didn’t get the chance to choose. He opened his eyes again. The Colonel was unscrewing the cap off a stainless steel Thermos flask. He poured black coffee into a plastic mug and offered it to Cramer. Cramer shook his head.
The Colonel had always been able to read him like a book. He’d known that Cramer would accept the mission and had made all the arrangements accordingly. Cramer wondered if the man had had a fallback position, someone else who would have accepted the job if Cramer had turned it down. He also wondered if anyone else had already refused the mission.
Once well away from land, the helicopter began to gain height and they were soon several thousand feet above the sea. At first Cramer had assumed that they would be landing on a ship, but he soon realised that the helicopter was going to fly all the way to the British mainland. He settled back. There was nothing to do but wait.
Dermott Lynch and Pat O’Riordan drove into Dublin along the Howth Road. Lynch was fuming as he stared out of the window, his lips set in a tight line. The original plan had been to drop the weapons off and drive back up to the North, but Cramer’s disappearance had changed all that.
They passed Trinity College, and Lynch scowled at the bright blue clock which topped the grey stone building. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning. ‘Forget about it, Dermott,’ said O’Riordan.
‘Why was he there?’ asked Lynch. ‘It was as if he was waiting for us. Then suddenly he’s whisked away. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It doesn’t have to make sense. He’s gone and that’s it.’
Lynch scratched his beard. ‘The Brits are up to something, Pat. They’re fucking with us and I want to know why. Maybe McCormack will know.’
‘Do you want me to stay?’
Lynch shook his head. ‘No need. You get back to your farm. I’ll speak to McCormack then catch the train back tonight.’
O’Riordan braked sharply to avoid a bus. Lynch wasn’t wearing his seatbelt and he lurched forward. ‘Sorry,’ said O’Riordan. ‘I’m not used to driving in the city.’
‘Just think of them as cows,’ said Lynch.
‘Aye, Dermott, I’ll do that,’ said O’Riordan with a grin. The traffic was crawling along Dame Street and O’Riordan was stamping on the brake as if he was at the wheel of a tractor. ‘The Quinn brothers did all right,’ he said.
‘They were okay,’ agreed Lynch. ‘Davie has potential, Paulie’s still a bit young.’
‘They’re both keen.’
‘Yeah, but that’s not always an advantage, Pat, you know that. I’m not sure that I’d ever want my life to depend on the likes of Paulie Quinn.’ Lynch ran a hand through his beard and glared at the traffic, as if he could make it vanish through sheer effort of will. ‘I’ll get out here,’ he said.
‘Yeah, might be best.’
Lynch twisted around and picked the holdall off the back seat. It contained the Kalashnikov and the handguns they’d handled at Howth. Lynch had no qualms about carrying the weapons through the streets of Dublin. He said goodbye to O’Riordan, climbed out of the car and walked along the pavement. A crocodile of French students carrying red and green backpacks blocked his way and he moved through them with a smile. A pretty young girl with long blonde hair banged into his holdall and yelped. She rubbed her leg and looked reproachfully at Lynch. He smiled sympathetically. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said.
The helicopter started to descend and Mike Cramer swallowed to clear the pressure in his ears. Directly below were blue grey waves, to the left was a wide beach and beyond the stretch of sand were woodland and ploughed fields. He looked at his watch and did a quick calculation: assuming they’d been flying at the Sea King’s normal cruising speed of 140 knots, they were probably somewhere over Wales. In the distance he saw three hills, wooded around the base but bare at the top, like balding men. There was a microwave radio station on the top of one, but Cramer didn’t know the country well enough to be able to identify it. The helicopter banked to the right and down below he saw a large peninsula sticking out towards Ireland. As the helicopter continued to descend Cramer picked out lush green fields dotted with sheep, isolated copses and a scattering of small farms, then they flew over the ruins of a castle towards what looked like a large country house set in its own grounds. The helicopter circled over the house before dropping down to land.
Cramer’s ears were aching from the constant roar of the Sea King’s turbines and the padded headphones were damp with sweat. He disliked helicopters, even though one had saved his life seven years earlier, rushing him to hospital in Belfast with his guts ripped open. He’d have died in an ambulance, no question about it; only the Lynx could have made it to Belfast City Hospital in time. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed travelling in the machines. He could never get over the feeling that the whole business depended on one nut keeping the whirling blades in place. If that went it was so long and good night. Still, there were worse ways of dying. Much worse.
Cramer’s stomach heaved as the helicopter flared and came in to land and he tasted acid bile at the back of his throat. He swallowed and coughed and swallowed again and then the helicopter was down, its rotors slowing. The crewman climbed out of his seat and opened the door. Cramer climbed out after the Colonel. Cramer kept his head low, even though he knew that the rotors had plenty of clearance. They jogged to the front of the Sea King, away from the whirling tail rotor, then the Colonel gave the pilot a thumbs-up and the helicopter climbed back into the sky, the downdraft flattening the grass all around them and ripping at their clothes like a thousand tiny hands.
Cramer watched the helicopter fly off to the west. ‘This way,’ said the Colonel, leading him towards the building Cramer had seen from the sky. It was built of red brick, three storeys high and topped with a slate roof. There were two wings either side of a main entrance, where a circular driveway curved around a stone fountain which didn’t appear to be working. There was an air of neglect about the place, as if it hadn’t been occupied for some time.
The helicopter had dropped them inside a stone wall which surrounded the house and several acres of lawn. Cramer saw two men standing either side of a large wrought-iron gate, big men wearing leather jackets, jeans and training shoes.
‘The building was a girls’ preparatory school until a few months ago,’ the Colonel explained. ‘It gets a little chilly at night but we won’t be disturbed.’
Another guard stood at the entrance. He greeted the Colonel with a curt nod and acknowledged Cramer with a slight smile. They walked into a huge entrance hall which rose to the top of the building. A wide stone staircase wound upwards, past a long, thin chandelier, coated with dust. Corridors led left and right and Cramer glimpsed a succession of white-painted doors, all closed. ‘Classrooms that way,’ said the Colonel, indicating the left. ‘We’ll be eating in the dining hall, to the right. I’m using an office over there. I’ve allocated you a staff bedroom on the second floor.’
‘How long will I be here?’ Cramer asked.
‘A week. Maybe longer. First I want you to read all the files, and there are some people I want you to meet.’
The Colonel headed up the stairs, his stick clicking on the stone steps. He took Cramer up to the second floor
