Exceptional Merit (11 page)

“Do you think you're up to one more mission tonight before you leave?” Quinn asked of his soldier, although he was sure of the answer before asking.

“Aye and I'd never refuse an assignment, Eamon Quinn.  You should know that by now.”  Flynn was eager to hear what the assignment entailed.

“Good.  I want you to come outside and try your hand at this weapon.  It's a Tech- 9 machine pistol.”

Flynn studied the gun for a moment.  It looked like it could do a lot of damage.  Flynn liked that idea.  “It's been altered so it can fire as fully automatic but you have to be careful, you only have thirty two rounds in the magazine. You don't want to empty the entire magazine out too quickly,” Quinn cautioned him.

Flynn familiarized himself with the weapon, studying the location of the safety and magazine release.  Once he was satisfied, he loaded the magazine full of nine millimeter ammunition.  “I think I'm going to like it, I do.”

Declan McKee grabbed a target and the men walked outside.  McKee set the target about twenty five feet away.  “Have you no faith in me Declan, I could shoot the center out of that target blindfolded from here.”

“Gerald, tonight's assignment doesn't require your marksmanship.  This is why we're giving you such a destructive weapon.  We will be sending out a message tonight.  A show of raw force if you will, and there will be no innocent people around, no matter how many there are.  Our informants have identified Owen's assailants.  We have information they will both be in a loyalist bar in Belfast tonight.”

A smile came across Flynn's face as he squeezed the trigger on the machine pistol in one second bursts.  After blowing out the middle of the target, he sprayed the top and then the bottom with prolonged sweeps until the weapon ran out of ammunition.  “I appreciate the assignment Eamon.  Who are the targets?”

Flynn’s tone was in a very eerie, yet businesslike manner.  “Both, we believe, are members of the Ulster Volunteer Force.  Both are in their early twenties and neither
is married,” Quinn would explain, although he knew Flynn considered them to be legitimate targets and therefore was uninterested in their marital status.

“Our informant tells us they will be at a pub on Shankill Road during the early evening tonight.  I'm sure I don't have to remind you to be extremely careful, you'll be in their neck of the woods.”

Quinn handed the hit man two photos.  “This is Noel Hughes and this is Martin Lynch.”

Quinn held the photos tightly as Flynn tried to take them, delaying the exchange momentarily to get Flynn’s full attention.  Their eyes met.  “And remember, Gerald, our goal is to only eliminate the two of them unless it becomes absolutely necessary.  If your safety is threatened, your escape is jeopardized or someone tries to interfere then you do what you have to.  If all goes well, just Hughes and Lynch.  Is that understood?”

Quinn wanted to drive this point home as Flynn could sometimes take matters into his own hands.

Flynn looked back down at the pictures and studied them without blinking an eye.  The photos were two men with the faces of young boys.  They were clean shaven with almost a hint of innocence to them.  Flynn did not see this.  All he saw were two soldiers from the enemy who had wounded one of his own.  The look in Flynn's eyes as he stared at his potential victims would instill fear in the hearts of anyone who would look in his direction.  “Gerald, Gerald…Gerald, are you listening?” barked Quinn.

“Aye, I'm listening; just Hughes and Lynch.”

“Good.  You need to listen to everything I’m telling you very carefully or may not make it back.  You are too important to us to get yourself killed or caught because you let your emotions get in the way of your job.  Declan will be waiting for you in the getaway car along with Owen.  They'll be waiting on the far side of the alleyway in the back of the bar.  You take care of your end and Owen will take care of his end.”

Flynn considered this for a moment.  Since Owen was in a cast up to his thigh, he was obviously a liability, but if Eamon wanted him to go along there would certainly be a bombing as well, deducted the assassin.  Flynn decided not to let his mind wander.  His job was the hit and that's all he was going to be concerned with.

He loaded the machine gun and then the extra magazine.  He put the extra clip in the left hand pocket of his field jacket.  He then checked to make sure his nine millimeter backup was fully loaded.  After assuring himself it was, he tucked it back into his waistband where over the years it was practically a fixture.  He then took an old shoelace from a boot that was lying around the barn.  He tied one end to the front of the Tech- 9 and the other to the back making a makeshift sling.

It was shortly after seven thirty that evening when the carefully laid plan began to unfold.  Flynn and Owen Dunn were in the Toyota while Declan McKee followed behind in the getaway auto.  They drove through the heart of Protestant Belfast in the town of Shankill.  Less than ten percent of the population in this area was Catholic and the I.R.A. men knew if they were to be caught by the wrong people they would be killed on the scene.

Flynn parked the Toyota in front of the bar, while McKee drove to the end of the block making a right turn.  Flynn adjusted the zipper on his jacket, making sure the machine pistol which hung from his shoulder was undetectable.  Dunn remained inside the auto while Flynn entered the bar.

Flynn walked straight to the bar and ordered a pint of Guinness.  He studied the bar.  It was smaller than most he’d been in.  There was a vestibule in the front of the bar used as a coatroom.  There were only about a dozen or so stools at the bar which was fully enclosed.  The back room had eight square tables and a dart board hanging on the wall.  The bar was dimly lit with about thirty patrons.  It took Flynn less than a minute to identify two men at the end of the bar as his targets.  As he drank his Guinness, he had even overheard them boasting about the job they had done.  Flynn's blood began to boil but he cautioned himself to remain calm.  The anger in his eyes was again visible as he stared coldly at his targets.  The bartender studied Flynn.  “Is everything all right, lad?”

The query broke Flynn's trance.

“Everything is just wonderful, it is,” Flynn replied in a very chilling manner.  “And getting better by the minute, I might add.”

Noel Hughes and Martin Lynch hadn't even noticed the man who was about to end their lives walk in the bar.  The men had been in the bar for over two hours now and had been drinking rather heavily.  They were talking about the way that Owen Dunn had squealed like a pig when they blew his kneecap apart.  They reflected on how he was begging for them not to kneecap him.  The laughter grew louder as they picked up their beers in a mock toast.  “Here's to the I.R.A.”

Lynch raised his glass above his head.  “You know what I.R.A. stands for don’t ya, Noel?  It stands for I Ran Away.”

In his inebriated state, he almost fell off his bar stool laughing.   “That fucker from the other night won’t be running for a long time, now will he?”

It was at this time that Lynch first felt Flynn's cold eyes meet his.  He elbowed Hughes and motioned to Flynn.  “Hey mate, can I help ya with something?” asked Lynch arrogantly.

Flynn calmly shook his head and raised his hands submissively.  “No.  No
problems pal.”  He put his unfinished stout down on the bar and made his way out the door.

“Who the fuck was that?” Hughes wondered out loud.

Shrugging his shoulders, Lynch replied, “I don't know. I've never seen him before.”  The two men watched Gerald Flynn walk out of the bar and got back to their conversation, never giving him another thought.

Owen Dunn was still seated in the passenger seat of the Toyota when he saw Flynn emerge from the pub.  He watched as Flynn gave him the thumbs up signal before disappearing back inside.  Dunn reached into the backseat of the auto and grabbed the black suitcase.  It took both of his hands to lift the heavy suitcase into the front seat.  He looked around before opening it and exposing the fifty pound gelignite bomb he had put together this afternoon.  Dunn set the timer to eight forty seven, which was exactly a half hour from now.  Dunn then zippered the suitcase closed and placed it on the driver’s side floor of the vehicle.  Dunn exited the vehicle and walked to the rendezvous point where Declan would be waiting.

The fifty pounds of gelignite would be plenty to totally disintegrate any clue that the Toyota had ever existed, figured Dunn.  Even the best detectives wouldn't be able to piece it back together and find out the vehicle had been stolen from New York City, especially since every VIN plate had been removed already.  Dunn figured that his end of the assignment was complete, as he got into the getaway car.  He only prayed Flynn's part would go as smoothly.

Flynn walked back into the bar's vestibule, giving Owen Dunn about five minutes to complete his task and walk back to the car.  Flynn took out a ski mask from the right pocket of his field jacket, and placed it on his head making sure to tuck his long hair under the mask.  He unzipped his jacket, exposing the Tech-9 machine pistol.  He took the gun in his hand and walked in to the doorway of the pub.  His entrance went unnoticed by the crowd until he let go a short burst of machine gun fire into the pub's ceiling.  Then another into the mirror behind the bar
, sending shards of glass from the mirror and assorted liquor bottles flying throughout the bar.

There was an instant outburst of panicked screams as the patrons in the bar scattered for cover.  The bartender immediately hit the floor, avoiding any confrontation with the masked gunman.  Flynn fixed his eyes in on Noel Hughes and Martin Lynch.  The men sat frozen in their bar stools.

“Noel Hughes, Martin Lynch, I assassinate you in the name of the Irish Republican Army!” announced Flynn as he leveled the machine pistol in their direction.

The spray of bullets ripped through Noel Hughes' upper torso striking him four times.  He had been killed instantly, tumbling backwards to the ground.  Martin Lynch ran from the bar area, dropping the pint of beer he had been drinking.  Lynch frantically reached for the nine millimeter handgun which was in his waistband when the first shots hit him.  He had been struck numerous times in the legs.  The pain was too much for him, as his attention was drawn from the gun in his waistband.  Lynch lay incapacitated on the floor, looking up at the masked gunman.

The wounded man shook his head vehemently and put his hands out in front of his face.  “Please.  No.  I'll do anything you want.”  Flynn walked menacingly toward the helpless man, being careful to step over Hughes' motionless body.

“So who's the squealing pig now Martin?  Stop beggin’ and die like a soldier.”

Flynn quickly scanned the bar making sure there were no heroes among the crowd.  Then he squeezed off another short burst of machine gun fire right into Lynch's head, blowing off part of his skull.  Flynn enjoyed killing but this particular assignment had been uncommonly enjoyable for him.  Hearing the men laugh and mock Owen and the rest of the I.R.A., as a whole, had incensed him.

Flynn knew he should have killed
Lynch straight away instead of wasting time by torturing him first.  The truth is he didn’t care.  He savored every moment of watching Lynch suffer and plead for his life.  Flynn knew there was no way Eamon would find out.  And even if he did, the look on Lynch's face as he was pleading for his life would be well worth the chastising Eamon would give him.

Flynn dropped to one knee and surveyed the rest of the pub.  Not seeing any problems, he let one last long burst of fire into the ceiling, deterring anyone from following him.  Flynn quickly got to his feet and made a right hand turn as he left the pub.  He ran to the end of the block and around to the alleyway behind the pub.  He ran across the alley to the other end where McKee had started the getaway car as soon as he heard the gunfire erupt.  Flynn got in the backseat of the car and removed the ski mask from his face.  They headed toward Westlink Road, driving at an even pace
; making sure not to draw any attention to themselves.

“How'd it go Gerald?” a concerned Declan McKee inquired.

“No problems Dec.”

Owen Dunn, who had suffered a great deal of pain at the men’s hands needed to be sure.  “So you got them both then
, did you Gerry?  Dead that is?”

Flynn shot his friend a smile.  “Aye, Owen.  I did.”

It took less than fifteen minutes for the Northern Irish police to arrive on the scene, evacuate the occupants of the bar to the parking lot where they could be interviewed, and set up the bar as a crime scene.  The two dead bodies remained undisturbed where they fell.  The handgun lying next to Lynch’s body was covered in blood.

Inspector Ian Walsh examined the scene.  Walsh was a thirty one year veteran of the police department and was no stranger to crime scenes in Northern Ireland.  He was careful to not to step on what appeared to be dozens of shell casings.  He could see brain matter and parts of a skull sprayed about.  It was one of the more brutal scenes he had witnessed in a while.  He ordered everyone, including his own men to stay out of the bar.  He wanted the scene to remain intact until the forensic team could conduct their investigation.

He exited the bar into the parking lot where dozens of witnesses were being detained.  Most of whom, were young men and women in their twenties and thirties who had been patrons of the bar.  Some were being treated by medical units on the scene for minor injuries sustained from flying glass or hitting their heads as the ducked for cover. 
Thankfully, nobody else had been struck by gunfire
, thought Walsh.  Others were from the restaurant next store or another bar up the block.