Read Games of the Hangman Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
Games of the Hangman (82 page)
"Sounds
like a rough detail," said Günther.
"What about Fitzduane?"
"I was
talking to him, too.
He remains
convinced something is going to happen on the basis of no proof at all.
He's organized that castle of his as if
Geronimo
were
on the prowl — and he now intends to go
over to Draker to give a hand.
With our
luck these days the guards on duty there will think some of Fitzduane's people
are terrorists and they'll all shoot each other."
"How many
people has he got?"
"Around a
dozen, including himself," said Kilmara, "
of
which no fewer than nine have some kind of military training.
I'm beginning to wonder if I did the right
thing giving him that weaponry."
"You think
it's a false alarm," said Günther.
Kilmara stared
grumpily at nothing in particular.
"That's the trouble.
I don't
— but that's pure instinct and faith in Fitzduane's vibes.
The evidence says that the action is going to
be here in
My guts tell me we've got our people watching
the wrong mouseholes."
"Despite the Japanese?
Or the seventy-two Middle Eastern travel agents — who the Irish Tourist
Board had never heard of until the agents approached them — flying in
tonight?"
"Despite
everything," said Kilmara.
"I've been thinking.
I don't
believe the Hangman gives a fuck about politics.
Why would he want to hit the U.S.
Embassy?
What's in it for him?
He's a bottom-line man."
"The
Hangman's dead," declared Günther.
"
Don't talk
like a bureaucrat."
Günther
grinned.
"The rescheduling is
finished."
"So what
have we got apart from an over-budget overtime bill?" said Kilmara.
"For
starters, we've got far too many people tied up on this embassy thing.
It's ridiculous."
"It's
politics, but don't tell me what I know already.
I want to know what kind of unit we can field
as a reserve now we've done our computer games."
"About a
dozen," said Günther, "and of course, there is you — and me."
"That's
not so crazy.
I'm fed up sitting behind
a desk."
"The
helicopter situation is not good," reported Günther.
"All the Air Corps machines are assigned
to cover the embassy, the ambassador's residence in
and the airport, and anyway, they're all going to be grounded at dusk.
I wish we had night-flying capability."
"Road
would take five to six hours," mused Kilmara.
"More
like six," said Günther, "if we're talking about Fitzduane's
The roads
are terrible once you get past
that point we'd be driving at night with heavily loaded vehicles."
"And that
bridge on to the island is all too easy to cut," said Kilmara.
"If we're going to do it, we'll have to
do it by air."
He sat in
thought for several minutes.
On the face
of it, his existing deployment was correct.
There had been clear evidence of a threat to the U.S. Embassy in
The arrival of the Japanese — two of whom had
already been identified as being associated with militant terrorist groups —
confirmed that threat.
Monitored
conversations indicated that the Japanese were the advance guard and would link
up with a substantial group that was flying in late that night under the cover
of a convention of travel agents from the
The Irish Tourist Board, which would normally
have been actively involved in such a visit, had merely been informed at the
last minute — an irregular procedure — so it really did look as if the
terrorist threat were about to become a reality.
He could pick up the Japanese now, but he had
no line on the weaponry involved, and it made much more sense to wait until
that, too, could be identified.
All very fine,
but an all-too-predictable response.
His
instincts screamed ‘setup,’ but even if it was a diversion, he knew that the
Hangman — if it was indeed him — was sufficiently ruthless to make the
diversion a reality in its own right.
Even with the
Hangman out of the picture, there were other possible threats to be
considered.
At all times the Rangers
should have a reserve ready to deploy.
The root problem at the moment was the way in which the Rangers were
being used.
Instead of being deployed as
a reaction force in the specific antiterrorist role for which they were
trained, they had been pushed to the front to handle something that should have
been given to the police and the regular army.
Reluctantly he
came to a decision.
"Günther, there
is nothing more we can do for Fitzduane right now except monitor the situation
and put the reserve on standby at Baldonnel.
Sending them across by road is out.
The facts
that
the
Hangman is obsessed with flowers and that Fitzduane has funny
feelings are not good enough reasons for me to lose my reserve."
Günther rose
to his feet.
"Fair
enough."
"Hold
it," said Kilmara.
"I haven't
finished.
If we do have to move, we'll
have to do it very fucking fast — and we may be up against heavier firepower
than we're used to.
I want the Optica
armed and the unit to be in heavy battle order."
"The
too?"
"The whole thing.
And I'll command from the Optica."
"And what about me?"
"You like
jumping out of airplanes.
Why miss a
good opportunity?"
"This is
a fun job," said Günther as he left the room.
"It
changes as you get older," said Kilmara to himself.
"Your friends get killed."
*
*
*
*
*
Fitzduane's Castle — 1715 hours
The heat haze
had increased.
Murrough handed Fitzduane
the binoculars.
Fitzduane stared at the
distant spot indicated by Murrough for about thirty seconds, then lowered the
glasses.
"Hard to
tell," he said.
"Visibility at
that distance isn't so good.
All I can
make out is a blur; most of it is cut off by the headland.
Some kind of freighter, I suppose."
He turned toward Murrough.
"There have been boats passing in the
distance every hour or so all day.
What's unusual about this one?"
Murrough took
back the binoculars and had another brief look.
"The haze has got worse all right.
I should have called you earlier.
It's hard to be absolutely sure, but I think our friend over there has
been stopped for a while."
"How long?"
"About
twenty minutes.
I can't be
certain."
"Which
way did it come?
Did you get a look at
it earlier?"
"From the
south," said Murrough.
"It was
far out and moving slowly.
It's a cattle
boat, one of those new jobs with the high superstructure and lots of ventilators
like mushrooms on the top."
"How big
are those things?"
"I don't
know exactly.
But big
enough to hold over a thousand cattle and all their feed.
Maybe the boat's stopped to feed the
cattle."
Fitzduane
lifted the binoculars to his eyes again and commenced a 360-degree sweep.
It was the same boat he'd seen earlier in the
afternoon.
He continued sweeping and
stopped with the glasses pointing at the bridge.
A station wagon crossed over it onto the
island and pulled to the side of the road.
Two men got out and looked around.
He passed the binoculars to Murrough.
"Fishermen,"
said Murrough.
"I can see fishing
rod cases, and they're wearing fishing gear."
"But what
do fishermen use ropes for?" said Fitzduane.
Retrieving the binoculars, he watched one of
the men lower the other below the bridge supports.
The man then lowered a bulky package.
He opened his fishing rod case and extracted
something.
When he clipped it into place
a bulky banana-shaped object, there was no longer any doubt as to what he was
holding.
"Christ!"
shouted Fitzduane.
"He's got an
AK-47.
I'll bet even money the fuckers
are going to blow the bridge."
Murrough
brought up his sniper's rifle to his shoulder and took aim.
The man under the bridge scrambled up the
rope, and both men ran for cover.
There
was a dull explosion and a small puff of dust, and smoke and debris flew into
the air.
The bridge didn't appear to
move.
"They
made
a balls
of it," said Murrough.
He choked on his words when the bridge
suddenly collapsed at the island end and the whole structure slid down into the
sea.
The two saboteurs rose from cover
and went to review their handiwork.
They
stood by the cliff edge and looked down.
Then one of them turned and began examining the castle through
binoculars.
Seconds later he
gesticulated and brought his AK-47 up to the point of aim.
The muzzle faced the keep and winked
flame.
A burst of automatic fire gouged
the ancient stonework.
Fitzduane and
Murrough fired at the same time.
There
was little kick from the SA-80; the weapon was as accurate as promised.
Both terrorists died before they hit the
submerged debris of the bridge.
The
spume of the sea turned momentarily pink.
"Show
time," said Fitzduane.
"Stay
here.
I'll send someone to relieve you
in a couple of minutes; then I want you down in the bawn.
We're going to retrieve that station wagon
and go calling."
His
walkie-talkie crackled.
"Get down
to the study," said a voice strained with tension.
Fitzduane
slung the SA-80 and headed down the circular stairs.
The study door was open.
Etan was slumped in a chair looking dazed, a
bloody cloth pressed to the side of her head.
The radio given to him by Kilmara had been smashed to pieces.
It was irreparable.
Ambassador Noble stood just inside the door
with a Browning automatic in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other.
He was ashen gray with shock.
He was staring at a figure that lay sprawled
on the ground facedown.
A knife of an
unusual design lay by the dead body's hand.
Fitzduane
turned the body onto its back.
A
grotesque wolf mask stared up at him.
The
shirt below was matted with blood where several rounds had struck.
Ambassador
Noble spoke dully.
"I heard Etan
scream and saw this dreadful figure strike her and then turn to attack me.
He had a knife, so I fired
instinctively."
As Fitzduane pulled
off the mask, Noble fell to his knees.
"Oh, my God," he said.
"What have I done?"
He
took his son's body in his arms, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
There was
silence in the room.
Then Fitzduane
spoke.
"It's not your fault.
There was nothing else you could do."
Harry Noble
stared at him blankly.
"Dick
belonged to this cult you spoke about," he said, his voice flat.
"So it
seems."
This is the way the Hangman
operates.
He corrupts and manipulates,
and young people are always the easiest to manipulate.
I'm sorry."
There was nothing else he could say.
Noble bent
down and by his son again and kissed him, then picked up his Browning and
looked at Fitzduane.
"I shouldn't
have doubted you.
Whatever has to be
done, let's do it."
Etan sobbed
without tears, and Fitzduane held her in his arms.
Soon she was quiet.
"So it's really going to happen,"
she said.