assumed that he’d be using his Browning.
‘The man you’ll be standing in for doesn’t carry a gun,’ explained the Colonel. ‘There’s no way you’ll be able to keep a gun the size of a Browning on you without it being seen.’
‘And it’s not the sort of gun you’ll be able to draw quickly,’ added Allan.
Cramer sighed in exasperation. ‘So what was today all about? You’re saying I’ve been wasting my time?’
Allan shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. I wanted you to get used to rapid fire with the Browning, then when you use a smaller weapon you’ll find it that much easier. It’ll be like switching from a standard army issue parachute to a ramair canopy.’
The Colonel looked at Cramer, his head tilted slightly to one side as if he expected an argument. Cramer felt like complaining about the way information was being fed to him on a piecemeal basis, but he knew that that would appear unprofessional so he said nothing.
‘You’re only going to get one chance to take on this guy,’ said the Colonel. ‘I want you to be as prepared as possible.’
‘And that means using a smaller gun?’
The Colonel nodded. ‘The way this killer operates, he won’t pull out his weapon until he’s a few paces away from you. You can’t afford to react until he’s blown his cover.’
‘So when you see his gun, you’re going to have to move immediately,’ said Allan. ‘The type of gun isn’t going to matter, not at such close range. You’re just going to have to point and keep firing. What’s more important is that you get the gun out as quickly as possible. And the Hi-Power is just too big a weapon.’
Cramer drained his cup. Allan picked up the coffee pot to pour him a refill but Cramer shook his head. ‘What about bodyguards?’ he asked. ‘Does the target normally have protection?’
‘Yes, two, one of them doubling as a driver,’ said the Colonel. ‘We’re going to stick to that.’
‘And how do they feel about that?’ asked Cramer.
Allan smiled. ‘It should be fun,’ he said, raising his cup to Cramer.
Cramer’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You?’
‘Sure. The target’s usual bodyguards are good but they’re not SAS-trained. Plus, this operation requires special skills, it’s not a straightforward bodyguarding job.’
‘What do you mean?’
The Colonel cleared his throat. ‘What Allan means is that a bodyguard’s normal function is to protect the client at all cost, to throw himself in front of the bullet if necessary. But in this case the prime function is going to be to apprehend the assassin.’
‘Apprehend? Or kill?’
The Colonel smiled thinly. ‘Whatever.’
Cramer looked at Allan with renewed respect. In most of the files he’d read, the killer had taken out the target’s bodyguards first. Allan must have known what he was letting himself in for, but he appeared to be totally calm at the prospect. Allan smiled at the look on Cramer’s face. ‘It’s not as crazy as it sounds,’ he said. ‘We’ll be wearing Kevlar body armour, and we’ll be expecting the hit.’
Cramer nodded. Allan was right, most of the bodyguards had been shot in the chest. It was only the primary targets who’d taken bullets in the face. ‘Who’s the other bodyguard?’ he asked.
‘A guy called Martin,’ said Allan. ‘Former Irish Army. Ranger Wing. He’s been running his own security firm for the last few years, bodyguarding mostly. You’ll meet him tomorrow.’
Cramer stood up and stepped away from the bench seat that ran the full length of the table. The propane gas heater hissed, its bluish flames wavering in the draught that ran the full length of the massive dining room. ‘I’m away to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He left the Colonel and Allan sitting in silence as he made his way to his bedroom.
Paulie Quinn was lying on top of his bed, reading a comic and eating his way through a packet of digestive biscuits. His window was open a few inches to allow fresh air into the room and he could hear the sound of children kicking a football around in the streets below. He brushed crumbs off his chest and took another biscuit from the packet on his bedside table.
Downstairs the telephone rang. His mother called for Davie and a couple of minutes later there was a knock on Paulie’s door. He looked over the top of his comic. It was Davie. Davie closed the door and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘That was Pat O’Riordan,’ he said.
‘Yeah? What’s he want?’
‘We’re to lie low. He heard we were out last night and he’s not happy. We’re to stay at home until we hear from him.’
‘He’s mad at me, isn’t he? He heard I was pissed. Shit. I’m sorry about last night. I was out of order.’
‘Yeah. You’ve got to be careful what you say, Paulie. We’re not kids any more. Big boys’ rules, you know?’
‘Yeah, I know. It won’t happen again, that’s for sure. At least it wasn’t a complete loss, though. You got your hole, right?’
Davie grinned lecherously. ‘That’s for me to know and you to dream about,’ he teased. ‘Did you get Noreen’s number?’ he asked.
Paulie shook his head. ‘I wasn’t really interested,’ he said. ‘She wasn’t my type, you know?’
Davie smiled at his younger brother. Eighteen years old and still nervous with girls. ‘I’ve got her number,’ he said. ‘She wants you to give her a call.’
Paulie beamed. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Sure. She liked you. God knows why.’
Paulie put the comic down on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. Davie could see that he had something on his mind. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
Paulie wrinkled his nose. ‘What happened yesterday. With the American kid. And his dad.’
‘It wasn’t our fault, Paulie.’
‘Yeah, but we killed them. They’re dead and we did it.’
Davie rubbed his chin. He hadn’t shaved but his skin was still smooth, with only a hint of stubble. ‘We didn’t kill them, Paulie. They were driving on the wrong side of the road, for fuck’s sake. And if anyone’s to blame it was Pat for grabbing the steering wheel.’
‘I guess,’ said Paulie. He didn’t sound convinced.
Davie stood up and went over to the window. ‘Look, Pat did everything he could. He called an ambulance for the woman and she’s okay. The guy and the kid were dead, there was nothing anyone could have done for them. It was an accident, Paulie. If it hadn’t been us on the road it could have been anyone else. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Davie put his hands on either side of the window and craned his neck to look down.
‘What is it?’ Paulie asked.
‘Cops,’ said Davie.
Paulie went to stand by his brother. Down below he saw three grey armoured Landrovers. A couple of housewives in thick wool coats and headscarves watched them drive by. In the days before the ceasefire, the RUC Landrovers would have been accompanied by rifle-carrying troops and the air would have been filled with the sound of crashing metal as the women in the area banged dustbin lids on the pavement, sounding a warning to the Catholic community that the army were coming. Now the police passed through the area without incident.
‘The bastards are out in force,’ said Davie. ‘Wonder who they’re after today?’
‘It’s us, isn’t it?’ Paulie said anxiously. ‘It’s us they want.’
Davie leant on the windowsill and peered down. ‘Relax, there’s no reason they’d be looking for us. They could be after anyone.’ The first two Landrovers sped by the building, and Davie breathed a sigh of relief. But he caught his breath when all three screeched to a halt and RUC officers wearing bullet-proof vests fanned out, guns at the ready. They rushed across the strip of grass in front of the block of flats and towards the entrance. Paulie backed away from the window. The comic fell from his hands, forgotten. ‘It is us, Davie. I know it is.’
Davie smiled reassuringly. ‘Nah, there’s lots of flats. There’s no reason for them to be after us.’
‘Yeah, but. .’
Davie interrupted him. ‘There’s no reason for them to be after us,’ he repeated. ‘Remember that.’ He was
