30
Seamus McKee looked at the rotten wood doors covering the hole in the ground and felt a twinge of remorse. This place was decidedly less comfortable than the last, but there was nothing he could do about it. The connection made to his grandfather was too big to ignore, and he needed a clean break. Collecting favors from ancient men who still considered the fight a virtue, moving to the old country was the answer. Which meant a broken-down, abandoned farmhouse in the Irish countryside, complete with a root cellar.
A very nasty root cellar.
He leaned over and pulled up the door, a split-wood affair lying on the ground, vines creeping over to reclaim the land it housed. He splashed the light of a torch onto the stairwell leading down and heard a scraping. He walked halfway down and shone the torch into the cellar, the beam hitting the woman. She flinched from the blade of light, still groggy from the drugs used to get her here. There was a smear of crusted blood on the outside of the hood where he’d struck her, the rough cloth stuck to the skin. He watched to make sure the sack puffed out from breath. His eyes tracked to her partner, his hood also stained, but the spot much larger. He saw breathing, but it looked labored, which scared him. Nick was the prize. If he died, the whole enterprise might fall apart.
He went to the third captive, the only one not drugged or hooded, and was sickened at the cowardice. Like a roach looking for food, the man started crawling toward him, his bound legs and hands scraping the dirt. Reminding Seamus of the groveling men who’d sold out their progress in the peace talks. Reminding him of those he hated.
In a hoarse voice, the man said, “You promised me I’d get treated better. I told you what was planned, just like you asked. I’m trying to help this negotiation.”
Seamus said, “Have you checked on your mates yet? Made sure they’re okay?”
The man paused, clearly unsure how to respond. He said, “I thought I’d be punished for that.”
Seamus said, “You disgust me. Make no mistake, if either of them die, I will punish you.”
He tossed down four liter-size bottles of water and a satchel full of medical supplies. He said, “I come here again, they’d better look improved.”
He walked back up the stairs and returned the cellar to darkness. He closed his eyes, breathing the clean farm air, smelling the dew and hearing the birds chirp. Reminding him of what he was fighting for.
He heard a vehicle approach and looked past the farmhouse, across a field bounded by a large creek, seeing a lorry bouncing down the tiny lane a hundred meters away, the ribbon of asphalt paralleling the far side of the water.
The house was as dilapidated as the root cellar door, slowly falling into chaos as the forest began to reclaim what it had lost decades ago. It had no running water or electricity, but with a little help from a generator, it provided enough protection from the elements. More important, the farm was deep inside Ireland, just outside the small village of Macroom and thirty minutes away from Cork City. The nearest structure was an old water mill a half mile upstream, now defunct. With the creek at their back, and the only access a gravel road to their front two hundred meters away, across an open field, a vehicle couldn’t approach without early warning. The house was a clean break from anything his grandfather would know and the perfect place to run the endgame.
Nobody would find them here.
He pushed through the brush from the cellar to the side of the house, stamping down harder than necessary to break a path. Squeaking open the faded wood door, the hinges threatening to fail, he found Colin eating a microwave dinner on a dilapidated table. Next to him, using a desk made of scrounged lumber, Kevin worked to establish an Internet connection using an Inmarsat BGAN satellite system. Overhead, a single lightbulb dangled from an extension cord.
Speaking over the rumble of a generator in the next room, Seamus said, “How’re we looking?”
Colin said, “Got the space heaters hooked up. If you still want to run one to the cellar, we’ll need a longer extension cord.”
“I’ll get one. That place is frigid.”
“How long we going to stay here?”
“Till we’re done. This is it. Kevin, what’s up with the Internet? Are we going to need to go to Cork to do this?”
“No. I’m up. Just don’t have the bandwidth I want, but I will.”
Colin interrupted. “Hey, you sure this place is secure? I mean, you got it from the drug dealer.”
Annoyed, Seamus said, “The church owns the land. Not Clynne. And yeah, he deals drugs, but he’s with the cause. He doesn’t know why we want it and simply thinks we need a place to cool out for a while. That’s all. He won’t talk.”
“You got the knockout drugs from him, didn’t you?”
“So what?”
“So he’s not stupid. He doesn’t think you’re out here sedating cattle.”
Seamus started to retort, then reconsidered, thinking about the risk Clynne represented. He said, “Okay, Colin, I hear you. I still need to get the replacement drugs for the hand-off. I’ll have a word with him. Feel him out.”
He grabbed the keys for the Range Rover off a nail and said, “I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll buy an extension cord while I’m out. Check on the hostages in the meantime. Especially that coward—”
One of the four phones on the windowsill began vibrating, echoing against the concrete ledge. Seamus said, “Christ. What now?” He snatched it off the sill, looking at the number.
Kevin saw his expression and said, “Who is it?”
Seamus held up a finger, bringing the phone to his ear. “Aiden. How’s Washington treating you?”
“Better than that crap town of Fayetteville. At least until yesterday.”
“What’s up?”
“Your instinct was right. I’ve kept my ear to the ground like you asked, and found a bogger from The Washington Post that’s onto our game.”
Seamus listened as Aiden recounted what he knew, the implications growing worse with each passing sentence. When he was done, Seamus asked, “So he doesn’t have the full story?”
“No. But he’s going to get it. He’s checking everyone with any connection. Eventually, he’ll get to our five, and the story will break.”
Seamus began pacing.
Colin said, “What is it?”
Seamus ignored him, thinking. He heard Aiden say, “What do you want to do?”
“How much time do we have?”
“Not enough. Two days. Maybe less.”
“Shit. They’ll never pay if it breaks. It’ll put their backs against the wall.”
Colin stood up, and Seamus waved him back down. He took a deep breath and said, “Take him out.”
This time Aiden said nothing.
Seamus repeated, “Take him out, understand? Make it look like a robbery, car wreck, I don’t care, but cut him down.”
Aiden said, “You want me to kill an American reporter working for one of the premier newspapers in the United States?”
“Yes. Kill him. We’re too close.”
After a pause, Aiden said, “Okay. But you might be opening up a hornets’ nest.”
Seamus said, “We opened that up when you killed the man in Fayetteville.”