And Blue Skies From Pain (44 page)
Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
“What are you doing?” Frankie asked.
“Getting a screwdriver from the trunk.”
“Why?”
“See that car?” Liam pointed out the black Ford Escort. It was an RS1600 and rusted, but it’d do.
“And?”
“I’m going to change the plates on that car with this one.”
“Why?”
“Will make us harder to find later,” Liam said. “I’ll not tell Séamus. And don’t you either.”
“Why?”
“In case.”
“In case.”
Frankie frowned. “In case of what?”
“In case you’re wrong about him being a tout.”
Nodding, Frankie swallowed. His face had gone a little green. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.” Liam got out and went to the trunk. After retrieving a screw driver from the tool box, he removed the rear license plate on the RS2000 and then changed it out with the one on the RS1600. All the while, he thought himself unnoticeable—his skin tingling with the force of it.
Nothing to see here.
When he was done, he moved to the front and did the same. It was an easy enough job with Frankie for the lookout. Liam was quick about it, put away the screwdriver and climbed back in to the driver’s seat. He started the car, pausing to listen to the engine rumble. “Beautiful sound, that.”
Nothing to see here.
When he was done, he moved to the front and did the same. It was an easy enough job with Frankie for the lookout. Liam was quick about it, put away the screwdriver and climbed back in to the driver’s seat. He started the car, pausing to listen to the engine rumble. “Beautiful sound, that.”
“You’re wasting petrol,” Frankie said. “That shite doesn’t come cheap.”
“We’ll have enough. Stop your worrying.”
We could leave now but for Father Murray,
Liam thought. Gazing across the car park, he reconsidered.
We could leave now but for Father Murray,
Liam thought. Gazing across the car park, he reconsidered.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve a fucking angel or something looking after you, so you do.”
Liam hesitated before pulling away.
Not an angel. Bran. Maybe the Fianna.
“How do you feel about a wee visit to a cemetery?”
Not an angel. Bran. Maybe the Fianna.
“How do you feel about a wee visit to a cemetery?”
“Whatever for?”
“Help, that’s what for.”
“You’re mental.”
“Not at all,” Liam said. “Not yet.”
Chapter 23
Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland
23 December 1977
23 December 1977
F
ather Murray shifted on the thin mattress. It had been a long night already and seemed to be only continuing the theme. He was awake and uncomfortable. His back ached, his hands and arms were numb, and his wrists were chafed raw from the ropes. To make matters worse, his skin itched like mad under the plaster cast, and he needed to go to the toilet. With the blindfold on, he couldn’t be sure whether or not it was day or night, let alone of the time. His captors had been conscientious for the most part. Therefore, he hadn’t been able to get free—not yet, but the opportunity would come. He had faith that this would be so. Because while they had been careful to avoid giving him any opportunity to strike out at them, they hadn’t bothered to search him thoroughly—which meant he still had his dagger, among other things. Sleeping with the sheath digging into the small of his back hadn’t been the most comfortable thing he’d ever done, but as long as he had the dagger there was a chance of escape. It was an advantage, the persistent belief that a priest wasn’t likely to be armed, let alone dangerous, and was an assumption which had saved his life on a number of occasions. So he’d remained cooperative in order to avoid providing his captors an opportunity of discovering their mistake.
ather Murray shifted on the thin mattress. It had been a long night already and seemed to be only continuing the theme. He was awake and uncomfortable. His back ached, his hands and arms were numb, and his wrists were chafed raw from the ropes. To make matters worse, his skin itched like mad under the plaster cast, and he needed to go to the toilet. With the blindfold on, he couldn’t be sure whether or not it was day or night, let alone of the time. His captors had been conscientious for the most part. Therefore, he hadn’t been able to get free—not yet, but the opportunity would come. He had faith that this would be so. Because while they had been careful to avoid giving him any opportunity to strike out at them, they hadn’t bothered to search him thoroughly—which meant he still had his dagger, among other things. Sleeping with the sheath digging into the small of his back hadn’t been the most comfortable thing he’d ever done, but as long as he had the dagger there was a chance of escape. It was an advantage, the persistent belief that a priest wasn’t likely to be armed, let alone dangerous, and was an assumption which had saved his life on a number of occasions. So he’d remained cooperative in order to avoid providing his captors an opportunity of discovering their mistake.
He should go back to sleep, he knew. There wasn’t anything to do at this point but worry and worrying wouldn’t help anyone. He didn’t know for certain who had kidnapped them, but he had an idea given Liam’s initial reaction. However, if a Republican group was responsible, then it was a splinter group, and if that was the case, then Liam and he weren’t in the best situation—not that being kidnapped would ever be considered the best situation to begin with.
No one had bothered to explain why they had been taken, and this fact preyed upon Father Murray’s mind. Although, that probably wasn’t all that unusual. Unfortunately, he didn’t know where they were either. He had only gotten a glimpse of the warehouse when the bag had been removed and then replaced with a blindfold during the night. He’d taken care not to see anyone’s face. The fact that his captors had also been very careful to not reveal their identities was a good sign. Of course, it didn’t stop him from observing other important information, provided his captors didn’t take notice. The best thing to do, he felt, was to remain quiet, cooperative and alert for the time being. All in all, he was in fair shape, all things considered, and he wasn’t much worried for himself. He was worried for Liam.
A door slammed.
“Good morning to you, Father.”
It was a comfort, knowing the time of day. However, the speaker wasn’t Liam, nor was he the man with the nasal voice who had sat with him the night before—the man whose nose he’d broken. This voice belonged to a younger man.
“Good morning,” Father Murray said, returning the mundane courtesy. It was possible it was a lie, and they were attempting to confuse him about the time of day. However, he didn’t see the point.
If everything is as it appears.
If everything is as it appears.
“Would you care for breakfast?” the youthful voice asked. The tone was respectful, easy and happy. Which Father Murray took to mean that whatever they were up to was going well. “Are you hungry? I’ve brought you a couple of gravy rings. Didn’t know what you’d want in your coffee. So, I’ve left it black with no sugar.”
“No need to trouble yourself,” Father Murray said. He was unable to avoid the irony in the statement and paused. “Ah, that will be fine.”
“I’ll be helping you sit up. Then I must untie your hands if you’re to feed yourself,” the voice said. “You’ll not be for bashing my brains out, will you? Because the moment you try, my friend will have to put a bullet in you. I’m a good Catholic, Father. Such a thing would be a great sin, so it would—topping a priest. But my friend here says he’s an atheist and doesn’t mind pulling the trigger. Me? I don’t much care for this situation—”
Someone cleared his throat.
“I… I’d rather we didn’t risk angering the Lord Almighty. So, do us both a favor, will you, Father? Don’t be for making any sudden moves.”
“I won’t,” Father Murray said.
Not yet.
Not yet.
“That’s a relief to hear, so it is.”
The man with the friendly voice helped him into a sitting position and then worked at the ropes. His hands were cold against Father Murray’s skin.
He’s been outside,
he thought.
he thought.
“After the breakfast I’ll take you to use the bog,” the friendly voice said. “You’ll be wanting it soon, if you aren’t already.”
“Thank you,” Father Murray said, working the blood back into his tingling fingers.
“Got everything working?” the friendly voice asked.
Father Murray nodded, and a hot cup of coffee was carefully placed in his hand. He took a wary sip. The coffee tasted strong and bitter, but it did its job. He hoped the gravy rings would come soon. He was quite hungry in spite of everything. There’d been no tea the night before. “How long will I be forced to stay here?”
“Not much longer,” the friendly voice said. “You should be back to your flock tonight, if all goes well.”
“Oh.” Father Murray hesitated and then took a second drink. He swallowed and asked, “And Liam? Will he be freed?”
There was a long pause. Listening to the men breathing, he got the impression they were communicating to one another in gestures. The second man spoke, the atheist with the gun, Father Murray assumed.
“Liam is free.” The atheist’s voice was deeper, cold, and carried the hint of an accent. He also lisped. Father Murray tried to think of where he’d heard it before.
“You’ve released him already?” Father Murray asked, confused. A jolt of fear set his heart to racing.
Did Liam misunderstand the situation? Is this about me or the Order and not him? Are these men not paramilitaries at all?
Did Liam misunderstand the situation? Is this about me or the Order and not him? Are these men not paramilitaries at all?
“He’s safe, Father,” the friendly voice said. “That’s what Comrade—I mean, my friend means. You should not worry for him. He’s among friends.”
“Is he?” Father Murray asked. “Which friends?” He heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.
“Enough questions, priest,” the man with the lisp said.
Father Murray took a deep breath to slow the sudden jumping of his heart. The coffee cup was taken away and a gravy ring replaced it.
“Why don’t you eat something, Father?” the friendly voice asked. “You’ll feel better for being outside of some breakfast.”
“And it’ll stop your yammering,” the lisping voice said, and once again Father Murray was certain he’d heard it before.
Not recently, though,
he thought.
Not at the Belfast facility.
Of that he was certain.
Where?
he thought.
Not at the Belfast facility.
Of that he was certain.
Where?
Muffled sounds of camaraderie and laughter filtered through the window glass to his right. Father Murray focused on the taste of pleasantly greasy, sugary dough and listened for some hint of what was going on. He couldn’t hear well enough to discern what was being said, nor who the speakers were—let alone if Liam was among them. He finished the first gravy ring in short order. As he’d not been offered a paper napkin, he indulged himself and licked his fingers clean.
“More coffee for you, Father?”
Father Murray nodded. The cup was handed to him again, and he drank. The coffee tasted better after the heavy sweetness of the gravy ring.
“Must be hard getting by with only the one good arm, Father.”
Urging the conversation along, he said, “It has been somewhat difficult, I admit. But I’ve been adjusting.” In truth, he wasn’t right-handed, but the nuns at his primary school hadn’t approved of left-handed children, and so, he’d trained over the years to compensate. When he’d become a Guardian being able to use both hands was a distinct advantage in combat—one he almost never allowed his opponents to note until it was too late.
“How did you come to break it?”
Father Murray considered what to say. He didn’t want them to suspect him of being anything other than a harmless parish priest with a small talent for bar brawling. So, he kept his answer vague. “I fell. Slipped.”
That’s close enough to the truth.
That’s close enough to the truth.
“Ah. Well, you have to watch yourself in the snow and ice, Father.”
“That you do.” He wanted the second man to speak. He was sure to remember where he knew the man from, given time, but Father Murray wasn’t certain that was possible without risking being killed. Whatever they needed him for would be done soon. When that happened would they free him? Or would they kill him for fear of being caught?
On the other hand, Monsignor Paul would be searching for them—of that, Father Murray was certain. Normally, he wouldn’t have been comforted by such a thought, and he couldn’t help feeling chagrined by the irony. Monsignor Paul was ruthless and notoriously persistent, resourceful and thorough when it came to achieving his goals. It was one of the many reasons he’d been appointed to the position of Grand Inquisitor.
But is he a match for paramilitaries?
Father Murray paused.
Probably. At least when it comes to ruthlessness and organization.
Faced with the prospect of murdering priests, most Catholics hesitated—certainly even regular Republicans did. Monsignor Paul and his men wouldn’t feel any such qualms about shooting parishioners—particularly if they got in the way of the greater good.
But is he a match for paramilitaries?
Father Murray paused.
Probably. At least when it comes to ruthlessness and organization.
Faced with the prospect of murdering priests, most Catholics hesitated—certainly even regular Republicans did. Monsignor Paul and his men wouldn’t feel any such qualms about shooting parishioners—particularly if they got in the way of the greater good.
Or what Monsignor Paul deems the greater good,
Father Murray thought. As far as he understood, Monsignor Paul didn’t suffer the same conflicts of faith that plagued other members of the Order from time to time. It had long been one of Father Murray’s issues with the man.
He’s so bloody certain of everything.
Father Murray thought. As far as he understood, Monsignor Paul didn’t suffer the same conflicts of faith that plagued other members of the Order from time to time. It had long been one of Father Murray’s issues with the man.
He’s so bloody certain of everything.
A loud car engine rattled the windows. He heard someone let out an exuberant shout.
Liam. Has to be.
Father Murray had heard that exclamation before.
Once. And it’d been about a car then too, yes?
While he was relieved to know that Liam was in fact alive, at the same time Father Murray became more concerned.
What have they pulled you into? What do they need you for so badly that they’d resort to kidnapping?
He wished he knew which group had them. He knew he should’ve taken more interest in which Republican group Liam had been involved with, but Father Murray hadn’t because there had been more important matters at the time—or so he’d thought.
Liam. Has to be.
Father Murray had heard that exclamation before.
Once. And it’d been about a car then too, yes?
While he was relieved to know that Liam was in fact alive, at the same time Father Murray became more concerned.
What have they pulled you into? What do they need you for so badly that they’d resort to kidnapping?
He wished he knew which group had them. He knew he should’ve taken more interest in which Republican group Liam had been involved with, but Father Murray hadn’t because there had been more important matters at the time—or so he’d thought.
He finished the coffee with a twinge of guilt and set the empty cup on the concrete floor.
“Here, I’ll take that. Would you like another cup, Father?” The man with the friendly voice stooped to take the empty away.
A deep rumbling sent a shudder through the concrete floor.
“What’s that?” Father Murray asked.
“Nothing to worry yourself over. The boys are off for a wee drive is all.” He heard a small thump and a grunt of pain.
“Ah, will you have another gravy ring while I get the coffee, Father?”
“If you don’t mind.”
A drive,
Father Murray thought.
Liam had enjoyed rally racing, hadn’t he? Hadn’t Mary Kate said so? He’d driven a taxi too. Maybe that wasn’t a coincidence after all, the driving.
Previous to the move to Belfast Liam hadn’t displayed much interest in automobiles.
What if the fondness was less by choice and more because he’d been ordered into it?
Father Murray considered that last bit.
So, they needed him to drive. Why? What for?
When given a second gravy ring Father Murray took a bite and remembered what he could of Liam’s life before Mary Kate had died.
A drive,
Father Murray thought.
Liam had enjoyed rally racing, hadn’t he? Hadn’t Mary Kate said so? He’d driven a taxi too. Maybe that wasn’t a coincidence after all, the driving.
Previous to the move to Belfast Liam hadn’t displayed much interest in automobiles.
What if the fondness was less by choice and more because he’d been ordered into it?
Father Murray considered that last bit.
So, they needed him to drive. Why? What for?
When given a second gravy ring Father Murray took a bite and remembered what he could of Liam’s life before Mary Kate had died.
Other books
Masters 01 Master of the Mountain by Cherise Sinclair
Deadly Charm by Claudia Mair Burney
The Terminals by Michael F. Stewart
El asno de oro by Apuleyo
Bella's Gift by Rick Santorum
Serpent's Kiss: A Dragonfire Novel by Deborah Cooke
The Girl from Cobb Street by Merryn Allingham
Aristocrats by Stella Tillyard
Tooth and Claw by Jo Walton