Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (45 page)

“It’s better this way. If I do get stopped, you can still make the meeting. Tell my father—” The words felt strange on his lips, but it didn’t feel right using his name.“—what happened. We can sort it out later. Anyway, we’ve established it’s not me that fuck wants. It’s him.”

Father Murray nodded.

“If you get into trouble, I’ll be there to see you through. Surprise is a guerrilla fighter’s best asset. The Green Book says so.” Liam winked, trying to show more confidence than he felt.

“I thought you weren’t infantry.”

“Aye, well, maybe so. But I did go through the training just the same, Father. So, I’m not totally useless.”

Turning back onto the road with a sigh, Father Murray retraced the meandering path westward—back past Gran’s, avoiding Rossville Street and William Street and looping over to Creggan Road. Liam put the lighter back into his pocket with a trembling hand. Truth was, Liam had had a few close calls in the Shankill, but he was certain the risks were more acceptable than they would be running the checkpoint. Much as he’d been willing to die before, the idea of going back to prison was worse.
Far worse.
Father Murray was right. They would put him away for good. With his luck, he’d be sent to Long Kesh. Of course, the Brits had rebuilt and renamed it after the riots of 1976, but the Maze was still the Kesh, and the Kesh was one place he never wanted to see again—certainly not as a sentenced prisoner.

Father Murray stopped the car at the corner before turning onto Creggan Road. “You’re sure about this?”

“No. But there’s no other option,” Liam said, opening the Beetle’s door.

“Wait.” Father Murray held up his right hand and muttered a blessing, finishing it off by making a cross in the air. “God be with you.”

“Thanks, Father. Same to you.” Liam climbed out of the car and Father Murray handed over the black gym bag. It was heavy in Liam’s hands. He unzipped it and grabbed one of the pistols—a Browning semi-automatic—and loaded a clip into it. There was no holster for it. So, after he checked it and flipped the safety, he stuck it in the pocket of the anorak. Shouldering the bag, he slammed the door and watched the Beetle turn left onto Creggan Road. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the St. Sebastian medal and the crucifix. He kissed it for luck with his heart thudding in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he was overwhelmed with a bad feeling. There was a foul stench in the night air that he’d sensed before, but couldn’t place where. Shifting the straps digging into his shoulder, he started his walk down Creggan Road at a brisk pace. The stink grew stronger as he approached the barricade, and it gave him a shiver. He glanced at his wrist watch, turned so that he could see it on the inside of his left wrist. It was a trick he’d picked up from Oran, to prevent the light from reflecting off the face.

Three o’clock in the morning.

He heard someone cry out, and he looked over at the barricade. Some poor wee drunken shite had been pulled over and was being given the go-over by a couple of bored BAs.
Fucking bastards.
Liam shoved down an urge to give them a seeing to.
No time for this.
His Ma was in danger. He would save her, even if he hadn’t been able to save Mary Kate. The Redcap would not win. Liam would arrive in time and nothing and no one was going to stand in his way.
Not this time.

Father Murray stopped the Beetle in front of the wooden barricade. The Beetle’s engine idled while two BAs made their way to Father Murray. The third soldier stayed where he was with his gun pointed at the prone drunk’s head. Liam sniffed the air and shuddered. Something about the situation wasn’t right.
Something about the soldiers.
Two of them—the ones approaching the Beetle—were wearing large packs on their backs. The stench grew more powerful the closer he got until his nose was filled with decay and death. The familiar tingling started in Liam’s chest, and shot down both arms.

Enemy. Danger. Kill them.

No,
Liam thought back.
Not yet.
He wouldn’t trust the monster.
Couldn’t.
If it came to killing, he’d find another way.
Any other way but you.
There’d be no lines crossed this night—not by him.

His mouth was dry as he headed down the street at a brisk walk, praying himself into the background.
Nothing here, mate. Nothing worth noting.
The two BAs reached Father Murray’s Beetle. One stationed himself at the driver’s window and tapped the glass while the other directed his flashlight beam inside the Beetle through the passenger side windows, illuminating the floor and then the back seats. Father Murray rolled down his window and spoke to the big BA. Nodding, Father Murray handed over his driver’s license. The big BA glanced at it and then motioned for Father Murray to get out of the car.

Fucking hell,
Liam thought.
We’re not done for yet. A quick search. Then it’s through.

He watched as Father Murray was thrown against a brick wall by the big BA. The second, shorter blond BA patted Father Murray down, pausing over the small of his back. It was obvious he’d found something. The big BA shoved Father Murray and then yanked the coat off him.

He was wearing some sort of sheath for a long knife at the small of his back.

The damned fool didn’t give me all the fucking weapons,
Liam thought with an internal groan.
We’re fucked.
Liam put a hand inside the anorak’s pocket and wrapped his right hand around the pistol’s grip. The BAs were shouting.

The monster raged in the back of Liam’s head to the point of distraction, and the hairs on the backs of both arms stood on end.
Drop the gun,
the monster snarled.
Rip them apart. Drop it. Do it. NOW.

Liam shoved his hand deeper into his coat pockets and gripped the gun tighter in response.
Fuck you. No!

It seemed the BAs still hadn’t noticed him. Time slowed. The BAs roughly forced Father Murray to the ground. The shorter blond BA started in on Father Murray while the big BA looked on. Liam pointed his Browning at the big BA and pulled the trigger. The shock of the discharge went through both arms up to Liam’s shoulders. The big BA went down at once.

What kind of ammunition does Father Murray pack for this fucking thing?

The smell of the spent round filled his nose, temporarily blocking out the rotting stink. For an instant, Liam’s gaze locked onto the black lumpy splash painting the bricks. The dead BA twitched. Liam heard gunfire to his right as one of the soldiers recovered from the surprise. Liam turned to acquire his second target—the blond BA kicking Father Murray—and blinked.

He was gone.

“Looking for me?”

Liam whirled and was instantly punched in the face.

Chapter 27

Londonderry/Derry, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland

September 1977

“You still with me, Father?” Liam asked in a whisper. Either he hadn’t recovered from the car bomb as thoroughly as thought or the blond soldier who’d jumped him was more powerful and faster than your average BA had any right to be. Liam had hit the ground before he had time to register what had happened. He’d been given a proper hiding before they’d tossed him into the back of the van. He could feel it. Only the drive had already lasted long enough that the pain had subsided into a dull ache. He could think clearly again. Blinking, he saw that someone had scratched “KAT” in big letters a few inches from his face.

He would’ve bet money the van wasn’t a government-owned vehicle. “Father?” he asked, taking a risk by speaking a little louder.

“Yes. I’m here.” Father Murray’s whisper was unsteady.

“That’s good. I think.” Liam stared at the wall of the van and debated flipping onto his back so he wouldn’t have to see it.

“Are you hurt?”

“A wee bruise here and there, Father. Nothing to worry about.” He gazed at the letters carved into the van’s paint and swallowed.
Well, not yet, anyway.

Something was wrong. The BAs weren’t acting… well, normal, and that disturbed him. To begin with, the blond BA had gone to the trouble of slipping on a glove and then gunning down both the third BA and the drunk with Father Murray’s Browning. Then the blond bastard had dropped the pistol on the pavement. It was meant to be a fucking frame-up, of course. Although the gun was registered to Father Murray, Liam would be the one facing the interrogation at Castlereagh once the fingerprints were lifted. In addition, the Church’s assassins would be on his neck as well because Liam had no doubt he’d be set up for Father Murray’s death too when it came to it—provided he survived whatever the blond BA had in mind. On the other hand, Liam doubted his survival was all that important a factor. Nonetheless, the whole thing seemed a wee bit elaborate for something that could be resolved with a few lies. It wasn’t as if the Peelers were that thorough with an IRA man handy to blame.

As if that weren’t unusual enough, the corpse of the big BA Liam had topped had been arranged on the van’s only bench seat in the front. That made no sense at all. Why the front? Why not dump it in the back of the van where it’d be less likely to be noticed? Better yet, why not leave the body behind? What was one more corpse in the frame-up?

Fucking false checkpoint,
Liam thought.
Dammit! Why did this have to happen now of all times? Late. I’ll be too fucking late again.

Frustrated and panicked, he struggled with an urge to kick the side of the van in, but the bad feeling and the rotting stench coming off the corpse in the front seat was strong enough to stop him. His gaze traveled back to what had been scratched into the van’s wall, while a cold knot solidified in his belly.

He knew what “KAT” stood for. Every Catholic in Northern Ireland did. It meant “Kill All Taigs.” Combine the acronym with the fact that no one had bothered with blindfolds or bags and that was bad.
Very bad.
It meant the BA wasn’t worried about being identified. It meant that someone had decided to get drunk and kidnap them a pair of taigs for some fun—fun that was intended to, no doubt, end in blood and screaming.

Well, then,
Liam thought, his fury heating enough to melt the fear in the pit of his stomach.
The fucking arsehole has grabbed the wrong fucking taigs, now hasn’t he?
Liam started tugging at the sleeve of his anorak, pushing it between himself and the steel cuffs.
We’ll fucking see who’ll be screaming soon enough.

“Don’t worry, Father,” he said, forgetting to whisper in his rage. “I’ll fucking get us out of this.”

Something hard thumped Liam on the head and rolled away.

“Shut it, you!”

Liam tensed up against the sharp pain until it faded into the background with the rest.

When the van took a turn to the left he allowed gravity to help him onto his back. His body protested, but he could now see Father Murray as well as the rest of the van’s interior. It was unfinished—the floor nothing but a piece of stained and splintered plywood. A vehicle used regularly for construction.

Or murder, by the gagging stink.

Should’ve dropped the gun. Should’ve let me go,
the monster fumed in his head.
If you had, we wouldn’t be here.

Shut your fucking gob. If I have it my way, you’ll never see the fucking light of day again. It’s a monster, you are.

You need me,
it thought back.
You’ll always need me.

Fuck you. I’d kill you if I could.

The monster laughed.

The cuffs dug deep into Liam’s wrists and back with every bump in the road, and his hands were going numb. His arms were at a bad angle. He shifted to ease them into a better position. Then, bracing one work boot against the reinforcing bar riveted in the van’s wall for leverage, he sat up. He awkwardly maneuvered himself onto his knees. There were no windows in the back of the van, but now he could see out the wind-screen. It was too dark to make out details—even for him. However, he got the impression that they were headed west.
Out of Derry.

He started when he saw the dead BA turn his head to gaze out the passenger window.

The big bastard is still alive?
Liam was certain he’d shot him in the middle of the back, not the leg or the arm.
He should’ve bled out by now.
The fuck didn’t even appear uncomfortable, let alone injured.
Maybe he was wearing body armor, and I didn’t notice?
Liam remembered the lumpy stain on the brick wall.
It can’t be.

Disconcerted, he faced Father Murray and attempted a reassuring smile. The BAs had been less hard on him, handling him as if they’d been reluctant to touch a priest. Still, Father Murray looked rumpled and terrified.

It wasn’t fair, but Liam couldn’t stop thinking,
Not used to being on this side of the operation, are you?

He heard Father Murray gasp. When Liam looked for the source of his reaction it became apparent that Father Murray had spotted the three scratchy letters at last.
Ah, well. Best you know what the stakes are, I suppose.

Liam returned to stuffing his sleeve under the steel cuff on his right wrist. He was less capable with his left hand, but he’d need the strength in his right if he were to do anything useful.

The van skidded to a stop, and Liam lost his balance, sliding across the floor and smashing his head into the steel bracket at the bottom of the bench seat. He squeezed watering eyes shut against the short burst of pain. The doors at the front of the van opened and closed with a thump that sent a shudder through the whole vehicle. Two sets of boots crunched on gravel outside. Liam was almost ready. He’d gotten half of his sleeve into position and as a result, the feeling was coming back into his right hand. A minute more and it’d be done. He only needed a part of the monster—not all of it.
Enough to break the cuffs. Get a gun off one of the BAs. That’s all. One wee chance.
The doors at the rear of the van opened. The blond soldier grabbed Liam by the ankle and dragged him out. Liam was then lifted to his feet by