THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR (18 page)

“Why did you leave?”

“Got too close to an IED. Blast injuries, PTSD the usual thing. The Doc helped me rehabilitate and we've been friends ever since.” She stopped, observing my unspoken question, and cut it off before I asked. "We were never lovers. Just friends. Anyway I bought this ranch with some money I had saved up and the pension from the Agency." She sat with a slight smile on her face seemingly content. There was nothing I could say. My own wounds, both physical and mental were too fresh, the images too vivid.

“What do you do now?”

“I am an investigative journalist.”

“Investigating anything in particular?”

“Banks and financial institutions mostly. The sub-prime mortgage scam, offshore money laundering, that sort of thing.”

"Why here?"

"It's my retreat from work. An escape. This was my grandfather's house. I decided to keep it after my parents passed away. I'm part Mexican, part American."

"Julie liked horses," I said watching Morgan's Arabians canter across the paddock, my voice a whisper as I remembered her taking Prince over the jumps at the Hall. How long ago that seemed. “Who did the plastic surgery?”

“A specialist the Doc knows.”

“Danny's idea?”

“Yes.” She paused searching my face with her quiet eyes. “He knows you well.”

“Meaning?”

“He knows what you're going to do next. He told me a little about Julie.”

I talked about Julie then. Told Morgan everything of our life together. Told it in a matter of fact way, as if it was a dream that had no substance in reality. She listened quietly and by the time I had finished, I felt a sense of relief, as if I had just explained to Julie herself the depth of my feeling. Something had died in me that day and been replaced by a steel hardness, a consuming sense of revenge. A cold, cruel sense of purpose, and I knew that I was going to kill De Costas but not until I had destroyed his empire.

But first I had to talk to Julie's father. The thought of explaining to him that I had survived and his only daughter hadn’t, filled me with dread. It was a conversation I had to have, and the sooner I did the better.

“Thomas, you're alive,” he said his voice cracking.

“I'm sorry Professor. I should have saved Julie. I couldn't I'm sorry,” I stuttered knowing exactly how he felt.

“I don’t know how to feel about you, Thomas. She was your responsibility. You should never have put her in that position.”

“You are right, Professor. I cared more about my own agenda than I did for her safety. That is something I have to live with.”

“I know you didn’t kill her, Thomas, but I want you to promise me you'll get the bastard who did. Promise me, otherwise she will have died for nothing. It won’t bring her back but her death should mean something. Her life should mean something. Do it for me. Do it for Julie. You owe us both.”

“I promise.”

“If you need my help tracking down the bastard who did this, call me.”

Oldfield hung up before I had the chance to say anymore, which was perhaps just as well because there was little I could add. He was right. Julie’s life was my responsibility and I failed her and her father. If my own father’s death wasn’t enough incentive to uncover the truth, Julie’s had directed my focus. Nothing else existed. Every waking moment was concentrated to healing and preparing myself for war. I was going to start with De Costas and see where the trail of breadcrumbs led.

T
he next few weeks
after the cast came off my leg, were spent getting back into shape. I followed a strict routine of exercise, each day doing a little more, each night, collapsing exhausted on my bed. Morgan tried to get me to slow down, the Doc threatened all sorts of relapses, but something inside drove me. My will combated the pain and forced my reluctant body to become fit and strong.

During this time, I tried to forget about De Costas and let Danny and his friends do the digging for me. To take my mind off everything I concentrated on the leg that had been badly broken.

The Doc told me that I would find walking difficult and would probably not run again. I was going to prove him wrong. The bone had been smashed and a chunk of muscle was missing but gradually, through many hours of pain, I began to take control of it once more. The rest of me healed rapidly, the sun quickly tanned my pale skin and from all the weight lifting, my arms and chest strengthened. I had just finished a bout of training when Morgan came with the first piece of news.

"One of our friends tells me that Coltrane Engineering and Construction Company has really ramped up their production of high pressure pumps and valves." She waited to see the effect the news had on me. “They are the main supplier for a company in the UK.”

She sat down at the computer and typed rapidly, then turned the screen for me to see. It was the front page a San Francisco newspaper. The front page was devoted to De Costas. A large photograph of him stared at me underneath the headline:

SAMUEL De COSTAS OPENS NEW FACTORY IN NORTHERN IRELAND

Samuel De Costas, well-known San Francisco businessman, today announced the completion of his new factory, Venus Automotive, in Northern Ireland. The factory, which has been partly subsidised by the British Government, will manufacture the new De Costas Venus GT, a revolutionary sports car. Plans are under way to build the car in the province for export to the USA, thereby helping the already dire unemployment problem in Northern Ireland. Mr De Costas says that the new car has advanced on-board computer technology, details of which are still under wraps.

"He's using the factory that was built for Rathborne. I can see now why the place is so big. It was designed especially for the car business."

"Doesn’t that mean that your father had something to do with it right from the very beginning?" she said slowly. It was a fact that I had refused to acknowledge. Now it was staring me in the face.

"No. In his last message he was insistent that there is something else going on."

“So what can you do?”

"I'm going to Northern Ireland. The answer is there and I'll find it," I said. “I need to get in touch with Danny.”

Morgan didn’t say anything straight away. Just stared out of the window. Finally she spoke. "Shouldn't you think it through a little more? I mean, it's a big step and a dangerous one. It needs some planning."

"I'm going back," I said again, my mind already made up. “The answer is there.”

Morgan walked out onto the veranda, watching a Jeep drive toward the house trailing a loud of dust. “The Doc's here to check your leg.” The Jeep slid to a halt and the Doc climbed out dragging his medical bag with him.

"He's leaving us. Going to Northern Ireland," Morgan said as he walked up the steps onto the veranda.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you’re up to it?" He studied me carefully. Sizing me up like an Army doctor being asked to approve a wounded soldier for combat duty.

"Yes."

"Then I’d better make sure." He followed me in. "Men can be a pretty dumb animals at times," he said as I lay on the bed whilst he checked my leg.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he gets ideas into his head and fails to see what's going on around him."

"I still don't see what you’re trying to tell me," I said irritably.

He stopped his examination and peered into my face. "You have to be one of the dumbest people I know. You have an idea for revenge and it clouds your judgement."

"Listen doc. I’ve just had all that from Morgan. What I do is my own affair."

"Is it? Don't you think she has a stake in it too? I mean, she gave up all her time to nurse you back to health. Isn't that worth something?" He packed up his bag and glanced at me. “The leg still isn't completely healed. It'll hold up, but you still need to be careful. No jumping out of airplanes.” Then he left.

"You've upset the doc."

"Can't think why."

"No, I guess you can’t," she said and studied me for a moment. "I guess you can't," she said again, turned and left the room. I got off the bed and followed her into the living room.

"Just what is all this stuff about? First I get you going on at me, then the doc, then you again. All cryptic remarks, and still I don’t know what the hell is happening."

"It doesn't matter, Thomas. It really doesn't matter. When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible," I replied.

She shook her head slowly. "OK.”

"Listen, if I’ve upset you, then tell me why?"

"If you don't know, then there is no point discussing it any more." She walked out and left me. I still didn't know why, and what was worse, I really didn't give a crap. Julie's death had uncovered the miserable bastard killer and De Costas was my target.

Alone in my room
that night, I started to plan my return.

The only way to destroy the man was to get close to him and that would be difficult. It was no good trying to beat him on his own ground in America. Besides, I wouldn't be able to find out what was really behind my father's death. I was convinced the answer lay in Belfast. That being the case, I had to get out of this country into Northern Ireland with a new identity.

To the rest of the world, Thomas Gunn was dead, just another victim of a road traffic accident.

“Danny, it's Thomas.”

“Who else would be calling in the middle of the night?”

“I need cross border access from the Republic. I'll be flying into Dublin on Friday.”

“Okay. I'll arrange it, but not Dublin, fly to Shannon. Morgan has a new passport for you and will arrange the flights.”

“She didn't tell me.”

“She doesn't want you to leave.”

“I know, but I don't know why?”

“Maybe she thinks all her hard work will go to waste when you get killed.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“I'll have a contact meet you at Shannon airport.”

“I have an American passport. I can travel on that.”

“Keep it clean. It maybe your 'get-out-of-jail-free' card.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't thank me yet,” he said brusquely. “What do you plan to do when you get to Belfast?”

“Get employed by the Venus Automotive Company.”

“I have a better idea. I'll tell you when you get to Shannon. And Thomas…. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back. Somebody talked.”

“Morgan told me. Any idea who?”

“No, but when I find out you'll be the first to know.”

“Good enough.”

I hung up and lay back on the bed. I had no idea what Danny was thinking, but I knew him, and it would a way for me to get into the factory without arousing suspicion. I got off the bed, switched on the light and looked at myself in the mirror. The face that coolly stared back at me from the glass confirmed my thoughts. Only someone who was very close to me would ever recognise me now. The shaved head and broken nose, all helped to change my physical appearance, but it was the eyes that completed the transformation. There was no softness there. No humour, just a dangerous directness that seemed to belong to somebody else.

There was unfinished business before I left Baja, so I went in search of Morgan. I found her sitting on the beach, reading an eBook on her Kindle with a small briefcase and a tray that held a cocktail shaker and two glasses, one of which was full. She reached down picked up the glass and sipped.

“May I join you?” I asked awkwardly.

“Of course. Gibson?”

“Thanks, I will.”

She poured the ice cold vodka from the cocktail shaker into the second glass, skewered two cocktail onions and dropped them into the glass.

“Your passport is in the briefcase and some papers Danny wanted you to have,” she said matter-of-factly and continued reading.

“Why didn't you tell me you had talked to Danny?”

“The time wasn't right.” She put down the Kindle and looked at me. “And I still don't know if you are ready. Revenge is not a good motive.”

“It's all I have.”

“You don't have to carry the weight alone, Thomas. You have friends.”

“It's dangerous to be a friend of mine. I don't want that responsibility.”

“Danny is your friend.”

“Danny knows the risks.”

“You are a hard man to know Thomas.”

“I don't know who I am, so how can anyone else.” I didn't mean to sound so harsh, it just came out that way, so I raised my glass and smiled quickly at Morgan. “I appreciate everything you have done for me. I just don't seem to be able to show it. Not yet anyway. Maybe never.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.”

TWELVE

Eire - February 2013

M
y first view of Eire
in nearly three years, was through the intermittent breaks in the cloud on final approach, and naturally it was raining. The trip from Baja was long, and had taken days. Driving to San Diego, flying to Newark New Jersey, and then the flight to Shannon.

It wasn't until I stepped out of the aircraft that I remembered it was winter. Cold Atlantic wind blew stinging rain like tiny icicles, and reminded me why I liked warm climates, sandy beaches and late night barbecues. The first thing I had to do was get myself a good anorak or freeze to death. Despite the discomfort, it was refreshing to smell the rain, see the green grass and listen to the growling wind blowing in from the cold grey ocean.

True to his word, Danny's contact was waiting for me at the airport. A young woman dressed as a working nun carrying a white sign with my alias printed carefully on it. She spotted me immediately and waved as I walked toward her.

“Father Grissom, welcome, I'm Sister Angelica. We are thrilled you agreed to help us with the renovations,” she gushed, taking my suitcase and wheeling it toward the exit, talking non-stop until we were outside and away from prying eyes and inquisitive ears. She led me to a white mini-van in which another nun waited in the driver's seat. Within moments we were driving away from the airport and on the road toward the small town of Shannon.

Sister Angelica turned to me, the smile gone and her gushing excitement turned to business. “We'll stay the night at Saint Theresa's House and travel to the border crossing, tomorrow.”