be burned by now and he'd reneged on one of his resolutions. Kathleen would be worried. As he paced the room, he recalled the blades beating the air as he bent to walk to the cockpit of the helicopter. Rust-coloured blood on Allen's face and shirt, but not Allen's blood. He stopped and sat on the desktop.
'He has nothing to lose now, you see,' Minogue murmured.
Inspector Colm Quigley arrived at a run from the car which had raced through Dun Laoghaire. Even before he stepped from the car, he had been breathing heavily. The drizzle came as a relief to him. Somehow the smell of the sea calmed him. He reminded himself to be more regular with his exercise as he approached the van.
Other policemen were jealous of what they thought was glamorous stuff that Quigky's Emergency Response Team did: hostages, shoot-outs, surveillance. Often arriving unannounced, Quigley walked heavily on many toes. His teams were called cowboys. At meetings, Quigley spent a lot of time returning the gazes of senior uniformed Gardai whose looks indicted his forty-three years as well as the paramilitary operations he reported on.
Three other cars stood next to the van, their engines running. He tapped on the window of the van. A face behind the drops widened in recognition.
'They're ninety percent sure,' the driver of the van said, rolling down the window. 'Come in outa the rain, sir,' Sergeant O'Rourke added.
Quigley declined.
'He was in the crowd getting on,' O'Rourke said.
'And how did it get this far?'
'Came out on the train, sir. We don't have anyone actually on the train.'
'Are the two detectives down there armed?' O'Rourke asked quickly, nodding toward the ferry lights, half hidden in the trees which lay below the carpark on Marine Road.
'No, sir. A fair crowd on the boat tonight,' O'Rourke said.
Quigley recognised the tact and he privately admonished himself.
'Right. How many are we?' Quigley said.
'Gibbons, Maher and meself here, sir. There's eight more in the cars outside. All the stuff is here.'
Quigley thought for a minute. This could be buggered up very easily. If it was the fella, then there might be shooting. There were a lot of confined spaces on the boat. Too many places to cover as well. The drizzle was soaking down his hair now, settling, cool.
'Anybody told the Gardai yet?' Quigley asked.
O'Rourke shook his head.
More trouble, thought Quigley. He'd have to tell them sooner or later. Maybe this fella was standing up on a deck looking around for police. Imagine a crowd of yahoos tearing down here with the lights flashing…
The ferry was due to leave at a quarter to nine. They had twenty minutes before having to ask for a delay and arouse the man's suspicions. Now: if they could coax the fella out on a deck alone. No one would be out in this weather.
Quigley could see the beginnings of the pier's lights below. The rest of it hid behind the trees, curling around to meet the East Pier at the mouth of the harbour. Behind him he could hear music coming from the lounges in the seafront hotels. The idling engines reminded him that time was running out fast.
'O'Rourke, listen. This fella may have the same gun on him. It's a 45 Calibre, an automatic, so it'll put out a lot in a hurry. Under no circumstances are you or any of these lads to challenge him if there is another party present. Bystanders and it's out, completely. That doesn't leave us much leverage. No one is to take submachine guns on board.'
O'Rourke raised his eyebrows, then he nodded twice, slowly. 'Moloney, you get a call through to the bridge for the captain or first officer only. TeR, them we're coming on board. Don't tell them why. Tell him I'll go directly to him so have someone meet me and tell any crew at the entrance.'
O'Rourke paused. He was aware of a slight tremor in his voice.
'Then you'll wait for ten minutes and you'll radio in for Garda assistance. If there's any questions asked of you later, you'll refer them to me, and me only. Gibbons, I want a vest. You and O'Rourke and myself are going to go ahead, one by one at a half minute apiece. I'll go first. The two lads at the gangplank say he might be with a crowd of navvies, but I don't get it. He has a red outdoor jacket, like an anorak, like something for climbing mountains. One bag. When you get on, just disperse, move around. We don't have much time. He'll be suspicious if the boat is late. If you spot him and there's none of us near, then use the radio. If he's clearly on his own and you've got the space, well and good. Assume he is armed so follow procedures. I repeat: assume he is armed.' ^
Quigley paused before continuing. He looked from face to face and worried lest the men see his own fear.
'Have you some kind of duffle bags to carry? Something casual…?'
'What about the other lads, sir?' Gibbons said.
'Too much. We can't take that chance. Moloney: tell'em to scatter around the dock and maintain radio silence. We'll be wired up, but we can't use an earpiece. We'll only use it if we have to. Just be ready to get on board in a hurry if you hear anything on your set.'
O'Rourke was looking down at the gauges on the dashboard. He's not happy, thought Quigley, but he won't say anything. This was the worst kind of operation. A not-so-hot description, a boat half full of people, a million cubby-holes to get lost in. They hadn't even got a plan of the decks. The suspect wouldn't hesitate to use a gun. In a small space the jacket wouldn't mean much. He could even go for a head shot. There'd be ricochets.
Quigley hunkered into the back of the van and slipped off his anorak. He undid the strap and elbowed out of the harness. Where the leather had warmed, now felt exposed. He banged his head off the panel as he got into the Kevlar vest. Before he put on his anorak, he undipped the Browning and checked the magazine. He remembered O'Rourke looking at it one day.
'They let you have one of those things? That's a very all-or-nothing yoke if it's the one I'm thinking of, sir. Bit of a whack to it for a nine millimetre.'
Quigley hadn't had to use the standard automatic off the firing range, but the double action had never jammed yet. He took a deep breath. He zippered his anorak right to the neck to cover the vest beneath.
He closed the van door behind him. Men were getting out of the parked cars. Two he recognised, Lacey and Doyle, strolled over to take over the van when Gibbons and O'Rourke left. As O'Rourke stepped lightly onto the tarmacadam, Quigley noticed the sergeant was blowing air around his tightly closed lips, running bulges around his gums. Nervous. Quigley touched O'Rourke on the shoulder.
'All right Donal, give me a half minute. No radio contact until we need to, all right?'
O'Rourke nodded. He shifted from foot to foot as if winding up for a race. Quigley felt a slippery warmth like pins and needles at his knees as he descended the glistening steps toward Marine Road. As he got under the trees, more of the ferry came into view. Its gaping maw, beak upturned, seemed to draw the cars into its yellowed belly. He looked up at the decks and railings but could see no one there. The floodlights floated above triangles of light, misted by the drizzle.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Minogue's eyes roved around the room. The worn green and white lino tiles stretched to a wall painted yellow. The wall gleamed dully with the oil paint. The room contained two chairs and a desk. Innumerable hieroglyphics were etched onto the desktop. They had been done with some care though, Minogue realised. Probably the work of a civil servant, one of many who had occupied the desk. Funny the things you do and you don't notice, like dancing around the place when you're talking on the phone. Minogue glanced at Loftus. Loftus was looking straight ahead, but Minogue knew that he was alert.
Minogue thought of Iseult on the phone at home, twirling the wire, poking at a picture on the wall, pulling on strands of her hair. Sometimes she scribbled things on the phone book, strange signs left behind after a conversation. Nerves? Daithi fiddling with something when he was talking to him: irritation, concealment? As if Minogue had something terribly important to say and that he should sit up and listen? But it wasn't that, ever. It was merely a furious desire to see these strangers' faces, grown people. Genes my arse, Minogue thought. He was different from the children. A whisper would have woken him in the night and Kathleen awake beside him too; to
