Danny Dempsey and the Unlikely Alliance (9 page)

Harrington nodded solemnly. ‘I won't wait until tomorrow so,' he said, ‘I'll go back there tonight instead. From what you've already told me, sir, Harry's always there.'

‘It's his second home. But be careful. That pool hall attracts all sorts of lowlifes after dark. If they find out who you really are, you could be in trouble.'

‘Don't worry, sir, they won't,' Harrington said confidently. ‘I'll make sure of that.'

The Superintendent turned his attention to Danny. ‘Nice dog,' he observed dryly. ‘It' a pity you didn't opt for a bloodhound instead.'

‘No problem, Super,' Danny replied. ‘Charlie will oblige just as soon as we need one.'

‘Which might be any time now by the looks of things,' the Superintendent said, ‘because I can't see the Government coming up with that sort of ransom, even for the Governor of the Central Bank and his granddaughter. They'll follow the usual hard-line official policy where situations like this are concerned. Under no circumstances can they be seen to be soft on issues of kidnapping or terrorism. Giving in to demands like that would only encourage other criminals to follow the same route. That'll be their line for public consumption, anyway. Privately, they'll try and strike a deal for the return of the Governor and the little girl.' He sighed and bit the inside of his bottom lip as he stared into the depths of the pool Charlie had been larking about in earlier. ‘But five hundred million would be out of the question. And the Chief has already informed me the kidnappers have insisted they won't settle for a euro less.' He paused for several seconds, then turned to gaze first at Harrington, then Danny, ‘So it looks like it's up to us before the deadline runs out,' he told them. ‘Anything from your end, Danny?' he then asked. ‘Or is it a bit too early for him to show his hand yet?'

The Superintendent was referring to Gerald Casey.

G
erald Casey's statement had been examined minutely by the Superintendent immediately after he'd received a copy of it. It made harrowing reading. As soon as he'd driven the kidnappers and their victim about three miles into the countryside, the bigger of the two Russians had ordered him to pull over to the side of the road with a prod of the business end of his Glock 9mm. into the ribs.

He was told to get out, then followed on to the stretch of grass verge which led into woodland. Casey had almost broken down at this point in his statement, declaring that he was never more certain of anything in his life than that he was going to be ordered to start walking into the woods, and that the kidnapper was going shoot him now that he'd served his purpose.

But all the Russian wanted was to exchange seats with him to take over the driving himself. Then the other kidnapper blindfolded both Gerald and Matthew Dawson while the other one trained his gun on them to ensure their full cooperation. After that, Casey told the detectives interviewing him, he was taken back out of the car again and locked in the boot, then driven around for what seemed like three or four hours. He knew that the car was reversed and turned back in the direction it had come from, but just as soon as he was thinking they were returning to town, the same procedure followed, and was repeated several more times, all done deliberately, in Casey's opinion, to totally disorientate him just in case he was trying to keep track of where they might possibly be going.

When the car finally stopped, he was hauled from the boot and dragged stumbling into what he later discovered was more dense woodland. He began pleading for his life, but all he received in return was heavy breathing, and the occasional bout of mocking laughter. Then he was pinned against a tree, told to put his arms backwards around the trunk, and his wrists were bound together behind it. He waited for the sound of the gunshot that would eventually put an end to his nightmare. But nothing happened. He wasn't even aware of being left alone, didn't even hear a departing body snapping through the bushes he'd been dragged through as he was led to what he thought was going to be his place of execution.

It was dark before he managed to free himself, having spent he didn't know how many hours inching his aching arms behind him up and down the bark of the tree. The pain was excruciating. His wrists were on fire with the constant endeavour, his shoulders almost being torn from their sockets and, when he finally managed to shred the last rope fibre, he sank down at the base of the tree in sheer exhaustion, every muscle in his body aching from his efforts.

It took another half hour before the blood began to circulate normally in his veins again. When he removed the blindfold, it was as though it was still covering his eyes. Everything was pitch-black around him. The sudden hoot of an owl made his heart leap in terror before he realised what it was. It took a long time for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, but eventually he was able to discern the shapes of trees and bushes surrounding him. Then he fell asleep. It was morning when he woke up. His head was pounding, his bones felt as though they were about to snap as he got to his feet, but he knew he had to find his way out to the roadway to raise the alarm.

Casey told the detectives he'd spend the best part of two hours going around in circles before he finally found his way out of the woods. His chauffeur's uniform was torn and dirt-encrusted when he at last managed to flag down a motorist willing to stop for the crazed-looking person in the centre of the road frantically waving his hands like a windmill. Several others had swerved around him and sped upon their way, too frightened by his appearance to stop.

The Good Samaritan, a bored business executive on his way to another boring meeting in a hotel thirty miles away, listened in awe to Gerald Casey's saga as he reversed his car on the narrow country road and sped back towards town. If the so-called chauffeur to the Governor of the Central Bank wasn't some lunatic who'd slipped out the side gate of the nearest asylum, he'd certainly made the business executive's day.

This was really something, far more interesting than sitting for two or three hours listening to the Chairman twittering on about one hundredth of a percentage point see-sawing up and down, as though it were the end of the world whichever way it went. His only fear was that Gerald
was
crazy.

But he needn't have worried. Gerald Casey was the genuine article all right. As soon as Matthew Dawson's name was mentioned, the executive knew Casey couldn't have possibly known that had he been a nutcase. Well, maybe he could, but it was extremely doubtful. He drove Gerard to the nearest police station, accompanying him inside. He had to remain in the station himself to give a statement, plus details of his own address, etc, should he be required as a witness in the future. But before he left, he had it confirmed by one of the officers that Casey was indeed who he claimed to be.

The executive set out for his meeting with a light heart, with far more knowledge than he should have had about the kidnappings. He
was
sorry to learn about Matthew Dawson's abduction, but this was far outweighed by the horrified reaction he knew his news would evoke in his Chairman, something he thought he'd never have the chance to do in repayment for all the boring business jargon he'd had to listen to down the years.

It wasn't long afterwards that the kidnappings were front page news.

*

But the Superintendent wasn't happy with Gerald's distressing statement. Initially, he wasn't sure why, but his years of experience, allied to his own peculiar intuition, was telling him it just didn't add up. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that the mere fact that Gerald was still alive to even make a statement didn't appear any way plausible.

Had he claimed he'd somehow managed to escape from where his captors were holding all three hostages, the Superintendent mightn't have been so sceptical about everything he'd read. That would have been feasible enough. Kidnappers, even high-class operators like these ones apparently were, did make the odd mistake now and then the same as everyone else, and it would have sounded a lot more credible if Casey had said he'd taken his chance when one of them had made an error and had forgotten to lock a door or something.

And the statement was far too detailed for the Superintendent's liking. It sounded as though it had all been rehearsed beforehand, then doled out to the detectives like the concocted story the Superintendent suspected it was.

And why on earth would the kidnappers take the chance that he'd either free himself, or be found by someone walking through the woods? If they wanted to get rid of him, a bullet behind the ear would have been much more likely to fit in with their plans. Members of the Russian Mafia wouldn't have had the slightest hesitation about finishing him off. They weren't going to be so sloppy as to leave a key witness to their operation where Casey claimed they had. It just didn't make sense. But it was the medical report on Casey's condition immediately after his
ordeal
that clinched it for the Superintendent.

No rope burns on his wrists. The doctor who examined him had written that there
was
some minor chaffing of the skin in the wrist area, but nothing to compare to the claim Casey had made regarding the hours of struggle he'd forced himself to go through to free himself. This looked more like it had been inflicted with something resembling the teeth of a comb.

His shoulders gave no indication of having been almost wrenched from their sockets either and, all in all, Gerald Casey appeared to be in pretty decent physical condition. Whether or not the doctor was being deliberately mischievous or not, the Superintendent couldn't say for certain, but he'd appended a note to his report stating that Mr. Casey's uniform had certainly suffered greatly in the not too distant past. No amount of dry-cleaning or surgery was likely to restore it to its former glory.

*

On the day of the kidnapping, Dapper had taken the Mercedes off the road and driven for another two miles down what was no more than a rutted dirt-track. The track was so narrow, outgrowing leaves from the hedges on either side brushed against the windows, giving Needles a feeling of claustrophobia. He felt as though he was in a carwash or something. And not that it was his place to question the Boss's orders, but he couldn't help thinking whether or not it had been a good idea to stop the car about five miles back, so Casey could follow the rest of the plan in making a statement to throw the police off the scent.

Dapper had taken the blindfold off him and yelled at him to get out, telling him to make sure to let the authorities know exactly what had happened to the Governor. Needles knew that this was sound enough policy, that Dapper was shouting that way to convince Matthew Dawson that Casey wasn't really part of the operation, but he still thought it was a bit early to send him on his way.

He'd have liked to have a chat with him in private himself to ensure Gerald didn't forget to mention the fact that his abductors looked like a couple of former members of the KGB when he was giving his statement. Needles rather fancied the idea of being described as big, tough and lantern-jawed for once in his life. As they drove off, Needles glanced back through the rear window. The last he saw of Gerald was him flinging his peaked cap into a ditch before commencing to smear dirt and mud all over his uniform.

When they eventually came to the end of the dirt-track, there didn't appear to be anywhere else to go. Confronting them was a mass of tangled vegetation growing to a height of about eight feet. It looked as though a rabbit would have difficulty getting through it, much less a top-of-the range Mercedes. But they'd been here several times before and knew the drill.

Needles got out and walked towards the seemingly impenetrable barrier, put his hand through a narrow gap between the interwoven branches. He unhooked the padlock which had already been unlocked prior to their arrival, found the bolt securing the steel gateway hidden behind the vegetation. He pushed and the gate swung inwards. Had Matthew Dawson not been blindfolded, he'd have seen a sizeable entrance appear where previously there'd been nothing but a towering barricade of greenery growing in disarray.

Dapper took the car through the entrance, waited while Needles closed the gate, bolted it and snapped the padlock back into place. He was tempted to drive off through the field fronting the house, just to see how Needles would react to another of Dapper's jokes at his expense. But he decided against it, knowing it was possible the Boss could be already there, and mightn't think it was as funny as Dapper did. The helipad was situated behind the building, so Dapper had no way of knowing if Myles Moran had arrived yet.

They were both surprised to see Anna Conway's BMW parked in front of the house. Neither had any idea she was involved in the operation. Moran was a great believer in being sparse with information where his employees were concerned. Each were allotted their parts in any given operation, tutored in exactly how they should carry out their roles, but never, ever supplied with the total overall workings of the plan. That way, should one of them chance to wind up in the loving arms of the law, they'd only be able to
assist the authorities with their enquires
to a limited degree. That's if they were persuaded to squeal in the first place. Which was rarely. They were all aware of the Boss's special methods of dealing with those who divulged anything whatsoever to the police.

Dapper swung the wheel and parked beside Anna's car. He envied her the BMW. She was the Boss's right-hand woman, smart as a tack, and still only in her twenties. When Myles wasn't around, Anna gave the orders. Dapper didn't like that. A young woman telling him what to do went against the grain. And she'd only been recruited in the last two years. Dapper was with Moran Enterprises much longer than that. Five years at least. He considered himself every bit as capable as Anna. But he hid his jealousy well. The Boss caught wind of any animosity from him towards Anna, Dapper knew he'd be out on his ear. Back on his own without the Boss looking after his welfare. The thought of it was enough to make Dapper pretend whatever he had to where Anna Conway was concerned.

‘I presume we've finally arrived,' Matthew Dawson said in a surprisingly firm voice, as he was eased out of the car by strong hands. ‘Don't you think it's time you removed this blindfold? It's making me feel quite dizzy, you know.'

These were the first words he'd spoken since informing Needles about his need for medication, and they were issued in the tones of a man who was accustomed to being instantly obeyed. Needles felt instinctively compelled to comply, though the hand that was reaching towards the blindfold was roughly brushed aside by Dapper, who gave him a look, conveying to him exactly what he thought of such foolishness.

‘Not yet, Pops,' Dapper said. ‘First things first.'

Dapper took him by the elbow and led his towards the house, which was a remarkably designed square building set in the centre of the surrounding wilderness. Its flat roof extended outwards in four directions, supported by concrete columns which were camouflaged to look like trees, complete with fakes leaves and branches. The roof itself was covered in bushes and brambles in an untidy entanglement to fit in with the environment in which the house was situated. It was under the front roof extension Dapper had parked the Mercedes beside Anna's BMW.

From the air, nothing could be seen but a mad jumble of nature's growth, and only those knowing the exact location of the house would have any notion that beneath the green wilderness lay a large modern residence boasting its own swimming pool and gym amongst its many luxurious features. Electricity and water were supplied by underground generators and wells. The house was lived in all the year round. It was looked after by members of Moran Enterprises, all fugitives from justice, who preferred the seclusion of their present accommodation to the imprisonment awaiting them in the outside world. Myles Moran picked his employees carefully and, once taken under his wing, he ensured they received the benefits to secure their continuing loyalty. Only one had ever chosen to make known his dissatisfaction of Moran's generosity. He disappeared one dark night when the wind howled and the rain was a driving downpour, never to be seen or heard of again.