The Killer II (21 page)

22

The Valley

and
the Wolves

Liam moved slightly and groaned.
The darkness kept coming and going.
Sometimes he was aware of pain in his legs and his head.
At others he thought he saw the face of an angel hovering over him.
Mostly he just felt the fireball follow him as he jumped through the window of a bus and hit a tree, the sound of
’
Allahu
Akbar’ ringing in his ears.

As the veil over his eyes lifted a little more the angel came into view and he thought she spoke to him, but he didn’t understand the words.
He tried to talk, but all that emerged was a hoarse croak.
The angel gently lifted his head and held a glass of water to his lips.
He sipped and coughed a little, but the water was good.
Then she spoke again in something that sounded a bit like Spanish but not quite.

‘
What?’ he finally managed in a whisper.
’
I don’t understand.’

‘
You are English?’ asked the angel and his mother tongue sounded beautiful and lilting on her lips.

‘
Irish,’ he managed.

‘
Oh good, I like Englishmen.’

‘
No, Irish.
Where am I?’

‘
Finish your water and then you must sleep.
I will return with some food shortly.’

As she laid his head back on the pillow his eyes closed instantly.
He was plagued by dreams, but the blackness had gone and when he awoke again the angel was in human form, a pretty girl with a beautiful smile and a bowl of soup.

‘
Where…’ he began again.

‘
Eat and then we will talk,’ she insisted and he did as ordered, hungrily devouring the broth she fed to him.

‘It is good to see you alive,’ she said as she laid the empty bowl to one side.
‘You have been here for three days and we thought you might die.’

‘
The bus.
The explosion.’

‘
Ah yes, you remember.
My brothers found you.
They were very scared.
They thought they had caused it, but now the news tells us it was a bomb on the bus.
Was it your bomb?’

‘
No.
Sweet Jesus no.
It was the Arabs and they – oh my God, is anyone else here?’

‘
No, no.
Everyone is dead.
It was a very big bomb.’

‘
Who knows I am here?’

‘
No one.
Just
me and my brothers.
They are scared as I told you.
I was going to call the police but my brothers...
Well, they are not bad boys you understand, but they have had some problems with the police.
I agreed it is best we stay quiet.’

Liam made an effort to sit up, but groaned as a pain shot through his legs.
‘How badly am I hurt?’

‘
It is nasty, but you will recover.
You have a lump on your head this big,’ she indicated the size of an egg, ‘and you have some cuts that I have stitched.
You have burns on your legs and I used my mama’s ointment.
Every day I have changed the dressing.
See?’

She pulled back the bedclothes and Liam looked down at a long linen nightgown and his bandaged legs.
‘Are you a nurse?’ he asked.
The dressings looked quite professional.

‘
No, but my mama was.
I learned many things from her.
Now, how is the pain?’

Liam shifted gingerly from side to side.
’
It’s not too bad,’ he said finally.
It hurts if I move, but I can’t feel much if I lie still.’

‘
That is good.
Now I have some medicine for you and then you must rest.
It will be many days before you are well.’

‘
Who are you?’ he asked after he swallowed the vile tasting liquid she offered.

‘
My name is Montserrat de la
Vall
dels
Llops
,’ she said shyly and he noticed her blush as she pushed a strand of long dark hair behind her ear.

‘
What?
That’s a hell of a name you’ve got there sweetheart,’ said Liam and a smile formed on his lips until the feeling of tight stitches at his mouth forestalled it.

‘I am named Montserrat for the mountains here.
It means Jagged Mountain,’
she explained.
‘And my family name means From the Valley of the Wolves, but you can call me
Montse
.’

‘
That’s a relief.
My name is Darren and don’t ask me what it means.
I’m Irish.
We just get our names given.’

‘
It is good to meet you Darren,’ said
Montse
sweetly.
‘Now you get some rest.’

‘
Thank you
Montse
.’

It was only as she left the room that he realised what he had said.
Oh Fuck.
Darren?

***

‘You look happy for once,’ Alex observed as he watched his sister in the kitchen, humming as she boiled up a huge vat of soup.

‘
I think she fancies him,’ said Esteban.

‘
Shut up the pair of you,’
Montse
scowled as she turned to her brothers, a large wooden ladle in her hand.
‘He is a very ill man and he’s lucky to be alive, but he manages to say thank you.
That’s more than you ever do.’

‘
Sorry sis,’ Alex muttered as he eyed the large spoon.
If she whacked him round the head with it, it wouldn’t be the first time.

***

Liam, Darren, Butch.
The names rolled through his head as he slept, each one representing a different part of his life.
When he woke, it was Darren that stuck with him.
His real name, the one he still heard his mother whisper in his dreams.

Montse
appeared later with more food and then he slept again.
He had lost track of time, but it seemed to be the following morning when she told him her brothers would be looking after him for the next two days and he was immediately disappointed.
Still, there was nothing he could say and, when one of them helped him to the bathroom, it was a lot less embarrassing than when
Montse
had provided a bedpan.

Communication with the brothers was difficult.
They had very little English and their Spanish was strange as they spoke mostly in a language he now knew as
Català
, but they got by.
When
Montse
reappeared after her short absence she found him sitting in a chair and beamed at the improvement in him.

For the next five days he became stronger and stronger under her ministrations, though he still could not walk unaided.
She sat and talked to him for hours at a time and he learned that he was on yet another farm that wasn’t really a farm.

‘
My brothers are too lazy to work the fields,’
Montse
informed him.
‘They buy cigarettes and tobacco in Andorra where it is cheap and they sell them where it is not cheap.’

‘
So they are smugglers then?’

‘
Yes,
contrabandistas
.
You are shocked?’

‘
No, not at all.
I have often considered that line of work for myself.’

‘
So what is your work?’ she asked, the question he had dreaded.

‘
It is difficult to explain,’ he began.
‘There are a lot of problems in the world and I work for some people in England who are trying to stop those problems.’

‘
You kill people, no?’

He stared at her then and couldn’t deny it.
‘How did you know?’

‘
I found your knife when I undressed you the first day.
Matador.
I am sure you know what that means.’

‘
The Killer,’ he admitted.
‘And now I guess you would like me to leave.’

‘
You are going to kill me?’ she asked with a small smile.’

‘
No, of course not.
I only kill people who deserve to die,’ he said hurriedly and realised how ludicrous that statement actually sounded.

‘
Then you can stay and we will not talk about it again.
So we shall speak of other things.’

The conversation never returned to his work.
Instead he talked of his childhood in Ireland and she told him of her family and her country.
He loved to listen to her soft, sweet voice.
It brought him a peace that had seemed lost, but when he was alone his mood became dark.
He had nearly died and what would it have been for?
A few
fuckin
’ Arabs on a bus?
They were blown to Hell and gone now so he supposed his trip had been successful, but he couldn’t help the resentment growing inside him.
The Arabs
meant nothing to him.
It was Peter Moore that he wanted and this mission had nearly robbed him of the chance to get him.
He was no use to anyone dead and he certainly couldn’t avenge his Ma’s death from the grave.
He had to get strong and he had to get the bastard.

As the days of inactivity rolled on his mind went into overdrive.
He hadn’t contacted Turner because he couldn’t.
He hadn’t contacted anyone.
News of the bus explosion would have reached England.
Would Turner have known he was on it?
Yes, he thought he would.
Even if he didn’t know for sure, that had to be the obvious conclusion.
The only people who knew he was alive were
Montse
and her two brothers and they weren’t about to say anything.
The Butcher of Belfast had died almost two years ago and now, to all intents and purposes, so had Liam O’Neil.

As Darren McCann rose again from the ashes of his mind, the plan began to form.
No more waiting for orders.
No more bowing to the commands of the British, or anyone come to that.
He would do this alone.
He would find Moore and confront him – for he had to know why.
Why had he been so important?
Why had his Mam had to die?
Why?
What was any of it for?
Only Moore could tell him and, when he had his answers, the man’s life would end – slowly, agonisingly at his hands.

***

When
Montse
announced she would be gone again for two days he asked her why, but she just smiled sweetly and told him she would be back.
At her return she removed the stitches from his mouth and declared his new scar ‘not too bad’.
Then she attended, as always, to his dressings and they agreed that his legs were recovering well as he took his first few steps alone.
The next day the brothers helped him outside and he breathed in the fresh mountain air.
That night he said he could put himself to bed and
Montse
left him to it.

As sleep was just about to take over, a small sound made him stir and then he heard the softly spoken words.
‘Are you awake?’

‘
Yes,’ he answered the darkness.

‘
It is uncomfortable to sleep on the sofa downstairs any longer,’ said
Montse
as her silhouette came into view.

‘
I have taken your bed?’
He jumped up at the sudden realisation.
‘Oh God,
Montse
, I’m so
fuckin
’ sorry.’

She giggled as he felt her pull back the bedclothes.
‘You Englishmen like the word fucking, no?’

It sounded so strange on her lips that he laughed out loud, but the laugh died as he felt her climb into bed next to him, her slender body covered in a heavy nightgown.

‘
Good night
Mr.
Darren,’ she said as she snuggled down, her back to him.