A reason to kill, p.44
A Reason To Kill, page 44
Devlin attempted to piece together what happened in Raymond’s office that night. “From what I gathered by the old man’s end of the conversation, the judge was unaware of Andrea’s diaries when he called. And believe me Raymond Connors let him have it all. He used some foul terms and didn’t spare the guy. At the time I thought it was kind of over-reaction but of course then I didn’t know Andrea was Raymond’s biological daughter. I didn’t realize he’d paid the guy plenty to take care of his kid and it must have galled him to think Nelson had been molesting her.”
“You think the old man shot him?”
“Hardly.” Devlin gave a cold sharp laugh at O’Neill’s suggestion. “But that old bastard is no softy—he wouldn’t be above having someone else do it. Besides there were others listening with me. James Beechen was there. He was looking for a profitable way out of his marriage and might have killed Nelson, if he thought it would ingratiate him with the old man. John, but like his father, he’d never bloody his own hands and William, that wimpy little prick.” Devlin let out a snicker at that thought before he continued. “A couple of other guys who had a lot at stake.”
He tried to remember. “Fitzgerald and his son Mark where there. John’s oldest boy, RJ.” He shrugged. “The rest escape me right now.”
“You never mentioned this before?”
“No reason. Never thought much about it at the time.” Devlin admitted. “Don’t think I even fully realized who the old man was taking to right then. You know how listening to a phone conversation goes. You’re only privy to one side add that to the fact Raymond Connors rarely refers to anyone by their surname let alone their given name.” He shrugged. “Besides, this lad was there because that bunch was roasting my hide over Andrea’s murder. They weren’t playing nice with me and I wasn’t worried about anyone else. I just left content I wasn’t going to be a Connors sacrifice on the political altar.”
“You ever tell Terry about that conversation?” O’Neill sought the refrigerator at the end of the small bar from which he extracted two frosty Harps.
“Not on your life.” Devlin accepted one. “Sullivan’s your boy not mine. He’d step on me as easy as spit if he could get the glory for solving Andrea’s murder.”
And now, Devlin realized, he might be dancing around the Jersey police if it came out that Sheila was involved in an affair of several years duration with one Thomas Devlin. He glanced out at the garden area and saw Ann Ryan watching them. Poor Ann, he thought, this wasn’t exactly the atmosphere for an engagement. Now that Mike has officially put the ring on her finger, Devlin decided, I’m installing new locks. Better yet, I’ll move. Maybe out of state.
O’Neill narrowed his glance as his eyes followed Devlin’s and he seemed to notice Ann Ryan too. But he only said, “How do I collect my kid?”
“What?”
“The Old Lady’s time is up tomorrow. I want to take Gavin home with us today. This whole business has been rough on Ann—you know she worshiped Shelia. It will be easier on her if she has the boy to keep her busy. You know she really loves my kid.” At least that seemed to please O’Neill.
“I’ll give Mrs. Nelson a call,” Devlin offered. “I’ll explain and maybe she won’t hold you to the next—what is it fifteen hours?”
~~~
Gavin had been sulking exactly two hours. Candace Nelson calculated that he started about five minutes after Tanya Dexter drove away.
“There’s nothing ‘round here to do.” The small boy kicked at the beach ball he and Tanya had been playing with earlier. “Why did Tanya have to leave?”
“Now, Gavin, you know she had to and she promised to visit you the next time you come home with me.” His grandmother tried to hide the frustration in her voice.
“That’ll be in your other house.” Gavin thought only a second before he mumbled in a nasty tone. “She’ll bring that Hal guy, with her?”
“Hal has been very nice to you. While you haven’t exactly been to him.”
“He’s a creep. Mizharris? Why do you have creepy friends?”
Then her private line rang. She shooed the boy away when she recognized Devlin’s voice.
She listened to the man’s explanation while she watched her grandson moping along plucking at her prize rosebushes destroying several blooms in the process and contemplated, how many more hours?
“This is highly irregular Mr. Devlin.” She spoke into the phone. “I had planned on several activities for my grandson and I to enjoy together before I had to return him in New York.”
She listened a while longer as she watched Gavin deliberately attempting to dislodge a large rock from the raised basin of her goldfish pond. Suddenly she conceded, “If Mr. O’Neill will agree to an extra visit during the holidays.” She paused noticing the rock was teetering. “Say several hours on Christmas eve…” It took all her willpower not to scream ‘No Gavin!’ as the rock tumbled into the pond.
“Shall we say? You pick him up in half an hour so I can pack his new toys?”
Chapter 82
Northern Ireland, 1984
The British sergeant only fresh five weeks on Irish soil had a strange premonition and shivered in the early morning dampness. His driver spotted the flaming vehicle in the same instant he did and pulled up. Skid marks showed prominently in the wet grass where the farm truck left the road and plowed into the field. Deep groves showed its path through the wet ground to end up hung on a bit of stone fence. Whatever was in the bed of the truck had caught fire and was thickly smoking, while crumbled on the ground beneath the open door of the wreck was its definitely female driver. Every instinct the sergeant possessed warned him to get out of the there. Still? The burning vehicle was not blocking the road. The girl’s clothing had become burned rags and ample signs were visible where she rolled in the mud to put out the flames. The British noncom instantly took all this in and realized, she was alive then. She could still be. The flames would reach the gas tank of the ancient truck soon. “Stay here!” he ordered and leaped down from the army lorry.
David Martin smiled grimly as he watched the British sergeant dash across the field. Along with four others he raised his rifle. It was hot behind the burning wreck and sweat dotted their flesh as they sighted. He on the running legs; their heavier weapons aimed at the lorry’s tires. “Now!”
The sergeant had nearly reached the girl when the stabbing pain hit his leg and he went down cursing to the sound of blowing rubber. His hand streaked for his side arm but froze—a thirty-eight, held in a slender grip, was pointed at him. The body on the ground had risen slightly and the girl was grinning healthily through a mask of mud.
With blown tires, the lorry became a death trap, so wisely the soldiers leaped out to hunt cover; discovering none close enough, they crouched beneath the body of the army truck while one squawked into his radio for help.
“Sergeant!” The voice yelled through the mouth opening of the ski-mask. “We’re not out for blood! You’ll save their lives if you order them to throw down their weapons.”
Fairly certain that if killing was the object, they would have done it right off, the sergeant decided to gamble that these choirboys were out for something else which gave him and his men a chance at survival. “Stack your arms and back away from them!” he called out the order. The soldiers hesitated and he was forced to repeat the command. Still the rebels didn’t fire so he knew he’d made the correct choice.
~~~
David Martin was sixty minutes and several miles away, having tea, when he heard the first news broadcast concerning missing soldiers.
“Sure, if they’re not up to no good again.” His aunt grumbled as she passed him the sweet bread. “How can soldiers just go missing?”
Eyeing him suspiciously, his uncle asked, “You notice anything on your way in from Newry?”
David Martin’s firm stare met the older man’s. “Didn’t see anything different—just lots of foreign troops,” he said. “Kinda resembles a war zone.” He gave a short laugh. “Came by the Davis place. Pity none of those lads ever came back. Lot of good land just sitting there.”
“Never much for the land; none of them Davis,” Ryan Martin answered. “Saw Henry few days passed, tells me that Davis boy, joined the Army, come home all right. He’s a sergeant stationed in Lisburn.”
“You remember Darren Davis?” His aunt smiled. “You lads were thick the summers you spent here.”
“Sure,” Martin grinned, “maybe I’ll look him up when next I’m home.”
“Wrong it is.” His aunt’s tone turned sad. “An Irish lad sent back here to kill other Irish lads.”
“Now, lass.” Her husband corrected. “Davis always thought himself British and raised his boys to think that way. Can’t be blaming the young fellow; he’s just doing a job. More tea, Davy?”
“No thanks,” Martin yawned. “Been celebratin’ so much the last three days. Tired. Think I’ll take a nap. Got to be heading back tonight.”
“You’re not leaving already?”
“Have too. Got this meet in Dublin, noon tomorrow.”
“You still working for The O’Donnell, then?”
“Nah.” Martin grinned at his uncle. “The big bloke’s working for me. We’re gonna be sitting in Parliament soon.”
“Go on.” His aunt gave him an affectionate slap. “Get some rest and maybe you’ll make prime minister.”
Ryan Martin watched his nephew leave the room and felt cold. He got up and dropped a brick of peat in the stove then decided. “I’m taking a run into Derry. Taking Davy’s auto to have it serviced. Anybody comes askin’ after me.”
“Sure.” His wife asked through a smile. “And who might be askin’ after you?”
There was a troubled look on his rugged face as he stooped to pull on boots caked with farm soil. But he only said, “Be back ‘fore dark. Don’t wake the lad. He’s got a long drive tonight.”
~~~
They hovered in the sky for a time. She watched from a window and saw them whirl away towards the Davis farm. Only then did she quietly go to look in on her sleeping nephew.
The noise of the choppers woke him. Martin heard his aunt’s entrance but pretended sleep. She left without disturbing him.
Silently they came. She knew they were there. They surrounded the house before two officers walked cautiously up the front steps. She threw the door open wide to show she had nothing to hide. She stood on the porch displaying no sign of the fear she felt in knowing there were rifles pointed in her direction.
“You’re alone here?” The officer was polite.
“Just my husband and myself live here.” The words were coming hard through her dry throat. “Ryan’s been gone to Londonderry since breakfast; be home before dark. Something wrong?”
“Did you see or hear anything earlier? A loud noise?”
“Sure.” She admitted. “Heard some loud noise several hours back. Thought it was thunder. Surprised it didn’t rain.” She shook short grayish-black hair. “Saw no one. Not many folks come out this way since you soldiers settled in.”
They told her nothing more. She didn’t ask.
~~~
“Closest place to where they disappeared is a farm owned by a Ryan Martin.” The officer gave his report directly to Colonel Oliver Reed. “Talked with the wife. She was alone. Martin was in Derry since morning. Checked him out, Unionist, but quietly so. He’s in his sixties; had a brother killed in an IRA bombing few years back. Wife admitted she heard shots; thought it was thunder; probably lying there.”
A light sheen of sweat polished the Colonel’s face, even his governed patience was wearing thin. Now they had taken to kidnapping his men? For what purpose, he could only wondered. Symbolic maybe? To show the British that if they kept up the interment someone else could institute the same policy? “Nothing at all on Martin?”
“He’s a pretty quiet sort. No children. Hard worker, minds his own affairs. Got a bit of cash but he’s earned every pound.”
“What about the wife?”
“Didn’t bother to check on her. Sir, she’s got to be better’n fifty?”
“She had a name before she became a Martin. Don’t make it a priority; but find out who she was.”
~~~
The innocent looking sport van vibrated with noise from a portable stereo accompanied by amused teenage voices trying to compete with amused teenage voices raised in song. War cries exploded in the air.
“Shut the player off!” Brian Fitzgerald yelled to his passengers. Quickly the rebel hymn tapered off as the others caught sight of the army vehicles blocking the road. Slowly Brian eased the van onto the grass and called out the window, “What’s up?” to the semicircle of uniforms converging on them.
Then a sandy-haired fellow, whose civilian outfit seemed out of place among the uniforms, jerked the door open and yanked the startled youth out. A protest remained locked in Brian’s throat as he was shoved against the side of the van and a rifle nipped his spine.
“The rest of you, out!” came Sergeant Darren Davis’ command. The group remained surprisingly quiet as they jumped down. A cold rain was falling and they shivered noticeably in their thin summer wear as they waited for their vehicle to be searched.
Then, at a signal from Deirdre O’Neill, her cousin Amy commenced sobbing. The sandy-haired man barked at the girl to, “Shut the hell up!” which only served to increase her output.
As the man made a move towards the American girl, Kevin Henry yelped in his too noticeable accent. “Leave the lass be.” And instead of grabbing Amy the man used his rifle butt to jam into Kevin’s chest staggering the boy. When he spun around for self-protection, the tip of the man’s heavy boot lifted into Kevin’s buttocks sending him crouching on all fours then into a fetal curve as the pain shot down his legs.
Deirdre immediately pounced on the man pounding his back as he reached for Kevin. A soldier pulled the raging young female off as another physically restrained Kevin’s attacker.
“Hold yourself in check Mason?” Sergeant Davis barked at the sandy-haired fellow. “Or get the hell out of here.” Turning to Deirdre he asked, “Are you all right?”
“As if you care.”
His features hardened but still, the sergeant removed his own slicker and draped it over the still sobbing Amy. Another soldier foolishly offered his to Deirdre who slapped it from his hand to land in the mud.
The unexpected violence had shocked the American boys temporally silencing them.
Jason Connors asked, “What’s with you people. What have we done?” His eyes moved back and forth over their faces as they ignored him.
A soldier jumped from the van announcing, “Nothing but food, camping gear, and a whole lot of booze. And this.” He handed over the stereo player.
Sergeant Davis flipped the on switch and after a few seconds he snapped it off accompanied with a sharp snicker. “You Yanks got lousy taste in music.” He grinned at Deirdre.
“Tough!” She answered then barked at Amy, “Cool it!” While their captors watched in amazement the tiny female dried up on cue.
And the Sergeant thought, this didn’t add up. Eleven at night…sober American teenagers with an ample supply of booze. Campers? It didn’t ring true. Sensing the leadership of the attractive ginger-haired female, he demanded of Deirdre O’Neill. “Where are you kids headed?”
“No place special.” She shrugged as if bored with the situation.
“Then it shouldn’t inconvenience you to return to Newry.”
“No way!”
“Like hell,” Jason joined in. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We’re not even high.”
The outburst decided Davis that there was more to the group’s antics than a simple campout. He ordered, “Take the lads behind the van and do a thorough search.”
Deirdre’s quick accusation, “You wouldn’t be tempted to plant something on them.”
Caused Davis to grin as he said, “Girl, you watch too much telly.”
The man without a uniform reached for Kevin and the youth instinctively cowered. Jason Connors shoved between them with the yelled, “Keep your hands off him!” only to meet with the man’s powerful fist. Shock stunned Jason as his jaw exploded with pain. This time the soldiers were quick. One grabbed Jason about the waist, actually clearing his feet from the ground before the battle could go further.
“You’re a king size prick!” Deirdre informed the man called Mason who was glowering as Sergeant Davis confronted him.
“Stay right where you’re at Mason. My men will attend to the search.” Davis motioned and the boys were ushered off. “What are you kids up too?” He turned back to Deirdre.
He was only wondering aloud but Deirdre answered him, “Nothing.”
And Amy giggled, as hidden from view, Jason yelped, “You get a charge out of this. Ever try a female.”
Shortly a soldier returned and handed over wallets and passports as he said, “Seem to be clean—except for Connors’ mouth.”
“Are we next?” was whimpered and Deirdre found Amy’s question hysterically funny, she burst into laughter and started to actually unbutton her jeans.
“Hold on.” Davis stopped her and thrust out his hand as he growled.
“Passports.” He’d been reading the boys’ passports and was concerned with what he saw. A quick glance at the girls’ identity and he headed for the armored car and a private radio conversation.
With the return of the boys the five drenched mercenaries huddled pathetically in the falling rain. The young soldier, who’d earlier lost his own slicker to Deirdre’s anger, offered. “No cause for you girls to stand in the rain-jump back inside the van.”
As if unintentional a smile that could melt granite slowly softened Deirdre’s features. The purple eyes sought depth in the blue eyes of the young English soldier as she purred, “I’m sorry, you’re as uncomfortable as we are. But?” She motioned towards where Kevin huddled against the side of the van and asked softly, “would it destroy some image to let Kev lay down?”
“You think the old man shot him?”
“Hardly.” Devlin gave a cold sharp laugh at O’Neill’s suggestion. “But that old bastard is no softy—he wouldn’t be above having someone else do it. Besides there were others listening with me. James Beechen was there. He was looking for a profitable way out of his marriage and might have killed Nelson, if he thought it would ingratiate him with the old man. John, but like his father, he’d never bloody his own hands and William, that wimpy little prick.” Devlin let out a snicker at that thought before he continued. “A couple of other guys who had a lot at stake.”
He tried to remember. “Fitzgerald and his son Mark where there. John’s oldest boy, RJ.” He shrugged. “The rest escape me right now.”
“You never mentioned this before?”
“No reason. Never thought much about it at the time.” Devlin admitted. “Don’t think I even fully realized who the old man was taking to right then. You know how listening to a phone conversation goes. You’re only privy to one side add that to the fact Raymond Connors rarely refers to anyone by their surname let alone their given name.” He shrugged. “Besides, this lad was there because that bunch was roasting my hide over Andrea’s murder. They weren’t playing nice with me and I wasn’t worried about anyone else. I just left content I wasn’t going to be a Connors sacrifice on the political altar.”
“You ever tell Terry about that conversation?” O’Neill sought the refrigerator at the end of the small bar from which he extracted two frosty Harps.
“Not on your life.” Devlin accepted one. “Sullivan’s your boy not mine. He’d step on me as easy as spit if he could get the glory for solving Andrea’s murder.”
And now, Devlin realized, he might be dancing around the Jersey police if it came out that Sheila was involved in an affair of several years duration with one Thomas Devlin. He glanced out at the garden area and saw Ann Ryan watching them. Poor Ann, he thought, this wasn’t exactly the atmosphere for an engagement. Now that Mike has officially put the ring on her finger, Devlin decided, I’m installing new locks. Better yet, I’ll move. Maybe out of state.
O’Neill narrowed his glance as his eyes followed Devlin’s and he seemed to notice Ann Ryan too. But he only said, “How do I collect my kid?”
“What?”
“The Old Lady’s time is up tomorrow. I want to take Gavin home with us today. This whole business has been rough on Ann—you know she worshiped Shelia. It will be easier on her if she has the boy to keep her busy. You know she really loves my kid.” At least that seemed to please O’Neill.
“I’ll give Mrs. Nelson a call,” Devlin offered. “I’ll explain and maybe she won’t hold you to the next—what is it fifteen hours?”
~~~
Gavin had been sulking exactly two hours. Candace Nelson calculated that he started about five minutes after Tanya Dexter drove away.
“There’s nothing ‘round here to do.” The small boy kicked at the beach ball he and Tanya had been playing with earlier. “Why did Tanya have to leave?”
“Now, Gavin, you know she had to and she promised to visit you the next time you come home with me.” His grandmother tried to hide the frustration in her voice.
“That’ll be in your other house.” Gavin thought only a second before he mumbled in a nasty tone. “She’ll bring that Hal guy, with her?”
“Hal has been very nice to you. While you haven’t exactly been to him.”
“He’s a creep. Mizharris? Why do you have creepy friends?”
Then her private line rang. She shooed the boy away when she recognized Devlin’s voice.
She listened to the man’s explanation while she watched her grandson moping along plucking at her prize rosebushes destroying several blooms in the process and contemplated, how many more hours?
“This is highly irregular Mr. Devlin.” She spoke into the phone. “I had planned on several activities for my grandson and I to enjoy together before I had to return him in New York.”
She listened a while longer as she watched Gavin deliberately attempting to dislodge a large rock from the raised basin of her goldfish pond. Suddenly she conceded, “If Mr. O’Neill will agree to an extra visit during the holidays.” She paused noticing the rock was teetering. “Say several hours on Christmas eve…” It took all her willpower not to scream ‘No Gavin!’ as the rock tumbled into the pond.
“Shall we say? You pick him up in half an hour so I can pack his new toys?”
Chapter 82
Northern Ireland, 1984
The British sergeant only fresh five weeks on Irish soil had a strange premonition and shivered in the early morning dampness. His driver spotted the flaming vehicle in the same instant he did and pulled up. Skid marks showed prominently in the wet grass where the farm truck left the road and plowed into the field. Deep groves showed its path through the wet ground to end up hung on a bit of stone fence. Whatever was in the bed of the truck had caught fire and was thickly smoking, while crumbled on the ground beneath the open door of the wreck was its definitely female driver. Every instinct the sergeant possessed warned him to get out of the there. Still? The burning vehicle was not blocking the road. The girl’s clothing had become burned rags and ample signs were visible where she rolled in the mud to put out the flames. The British noncom instantly took all this in and realized, she was alive then. She could still be. The flames would reach the gas tank of the ancient truck soon. “Stay here!” he ordered and leaped down from the army lorry.
David Martin smiled grimly as he watched the British sergeant dash across the field. Along with four others he raised his rifle. It was hot behind the burning wreck and sweat dotted their flesh as they sighted. He on the running legs; their heavier weapons aimed at the lorry’s tires. “Now!”
The sergeant had nearly reached the girl when the stabbing pain hit his leg and he went down cursing to the sound of blowing rubber. His hand streaked for his side arm but froze—a thirty-eight, held in a slender grip, was pointed at him. The body on the ground had risen slightly and the girl was grinning healthily through a mask of mud.
With blown tires, the lorry became a death trap, so wisely the soldiers leaped out to hunt cover; discovering none close enough, they crouched beneath the body of the army truck while one squawked into his radio for help.
“Sergeant!” The voice yelled through the mouth opening of the ski-mask. “We’re not out for blood! You’ll save their lives if you order them to throw down their weapons.”
Fairly certain that if killing was the object, they would have done it right off, the sergeant decided to gamble that these choirboys were out for something else which gave him and his men a chance at survival. “Stack your arms and back away from them!” he called out the order. The soldiers hesitated and he was forced to repeat the command. Still the rebels didn’t fire so he knew he’d made the correct choice.
~~~
David Martin was sixty minutes and several miles away, having tea, when he heard the first news broadcast concerning missing soldiers.
“Sure, if they’re not up to no good again.” His aunt grumbled as she passed him the sweet bread. “How can soldiers just go missing?”
Eyeing him suspiciously, his uncle asked, “You notice anything on your way in from Newry?”
David Martin’s firm stare met the older man’s. “Didn’t see anything different—just lots of foreign troops,” he said. “Kinda resembles a war zone.” He gave a short laugh. “Came by the Davis place. Pity none of those lads ever came back. Lot of good land just sitting there.”
“Never much for the land; none of them Davis,” Ryan Martin answered. “Saw Henry few days passed, tells me that Davis boy, joined the Army, come home all right. He’s a sergeant stationed in Lisburn.”
“You remember Darren Davis?” His aunt smiled. “You lads were thick the summers you spent here.”
“Sure,” Martin grinned, “maybe I’ll look him up when next I’m home.”
“Wrong it is.” His aunt’s tone turned sad. “An Irish lad sent back here to kill other Irish lads.”
“Now, lass.” Her husband corrected. “Davis always thought himself British and raised his boys to think that way. Can’t be blaming the young fellow; he’s just doing a job. More tea, Davy?”
“No thanks,” Martin yawned. “Been celebratin’ so much the last three days. Tired. Think I’ll take a nap. Got to be heading back tonight.”
“You’re not leaving already?”
“Have too. Got this meet in Dublin, noon tomorrow.”
“You still working for The O’Donnell, then?”
“Nah.” Martin grinned at his uncle. “The big bloke’s working for me. We’re gonna be sitting in Parliament soon.”
“Go on.” His aunt gave him an affectionate slap. “Get some rest and maybe you’ll make prime minister.”
Ryan Martin watched his nephew leave the room and felt cold. He got up and dropped a brick of peat in the stove then decided. “I’m taking a run into Derry. Taking Davy’s auto to have it serviced. Anybody comes askin’ after me.”
“Sure.” His wife asked through a smile. “And who might be askin’ after you?”
There was a troubled look on his rugged face as he stooped to pull on boots caked with farm soil. But he only said, “Be back ‘fore dark. Don’t wake the lad. He’s got a long drive tonight.”
~~~
They hovered in the sky for a time. She watched from a window and saw them whirl away towards the Davis farm. Only then did she quietly go to look in on her sleeping nephew.
The noise of the choppers woke him. Martin heard his aunt’s entrance but pretended sleep. She left without disturbing him.
Silently they came. She knew they were there. They surrounded the house before two officers walked cautiously up the front steps. She threw the door open wide to show she had nothing to hide. She stood on the porch displaying no sign of the fear she felt in knowing there were rifles pointed in her direction.
“You’re alone here?” The officer was polite.
“Just my husband and myself live here.” The words were coming hard through her dry throat. “Ryan’s been gone to Londonderry since breakfast; be home before dark. Something wrong?”
“Did you see or hear anything earlier? A loud noise?”
“Sure.” She admitted. “Heard some loud noise several hours back. Thought it was thunder. Surprised it didn’t rain.” She shook short grayish-black hair. “Saw no one. Not many folks come out this way since you soldiers settled in.”
They told her nothing more. She didn’t ask.
~~~
“Closest place to where they disappeared is a farm owned by a Ryan Martin.” The officer gave his report directly to Colonel Oliver Reed. “Talked with the wife. She was alone. Martin was in Derry since morning. Checked him out, Unionist, but quietly so. He’s in his sixties; had a brother killed in an IRA bombing few years back. Wife admitted she heard shots; thought it was thunder; probably lying there.”
A light sheen of sweat polished the Colonel’s face, even his governed patience was wearing thin. Now they had taken to kidnapping his men? For what purpose, he could only wondered. Symbolic maybe? To show the British that if they kept up the interment someone else could institute the same policy? “Nothing at all on Martin?”
“He’s a pretty quiet sort. No children. Hard worker, minds his own affairs. Got a bit of cash but he’s earned every pound.”
“What about the wife?”
“Didn’t bother to check on her. Sir, she’s got to be better’n fifty?”
“She had a name before she became a Martin. Don’t make it a priority; but find out who she was.”
~~~
The innocent looking sport van vibrated with noise from a portable stereo accompanied by amused teenage voices trying to compete with amused teenage voices raised in song. War cries exploded in the air.
“Shut the player off!” Brian Fitzgerald yelled to his passengers. Quickly the rebel hymn tapered off as the others caught sight of the army vehicles blocking the road. Slowly Brian eased the van onto the grass and called out the window, “What’s up?” to the semicircle of uniforms converging on them.
Then a sandy-haired fellow, whose civilian outfit seemed out of place among the uniforms, jerked the door open and yanked the startled youth out. A protest remained locked in Brian’s throat as he was shoved against the side of the van and a rifle nipped his spine.
“The rest of you, out!” came Sergeant Darren Davis’ command. The group remained surprisingly quiet as they jumped down. A cold rain was falling and they shivered noticeably in their thin summer wear as they waited for their vehicle to be searched.
Then, at a signal from Deirdre O’Neill, her cousin Amy commenced sobbing. The sandy-haired man barked at the girl to, “Shut the hell up!” which only served to increase her output.
As the man made a move towards the American girl, Kevin Henry yelped in his too noticeable accent. “Leave the lass be.” And instead of grabbing Amy the man used his rifle butt to jam into Kevin’s chest staggering the boy. When he spun around for self-protection, the tip of the man’s heavy boot lifted into Kevin’s buttocks sending him crouching on all fours then into a fetal curve as the pain shot down his legs.
Deirdre immediately pounced on the man pounding his back as he reached for Kevin. A soldier pulled the raging young female off as another physically restrained Kevin’s attacker.
“Hold yourself in check Mason?” Sergeant Davis barked at the sandy-haired fellow. “Or get the hell out of here.” Turning to Deirdre he asked, “Are you all right?”
“As if you care.”
His features hardened but still, the sergeant removed his own slicker and draped it over the still sobbing Amy. Another soldier foolishly offered his to Deirdre who slapped it from his hand to land in the mud.
The unexpected violence had shocked the American boys temporally silencing them.
Jason Connors asked, “What’s with you people. What have we done?” His eyes moved back and forth over their faces as they ignored him.
A soldier jumped from the van announcing, “Nothing but food, camping gear, and a whole lot of booze. And this.” He handed over the stereo player.
Sergeant Davis flipped the on switch and after a few seconds he snapped it off accompanied with a sharp snicker. “You Yanks got lousy taste in music.” He grinned at Deirdre.
“Tough!” She answered then barked at Amy, “Cool it!” While their captors watched in amazement the tiny female dried up on cue.
And the Sergeant thought, this didn’t add up. Eleven at night…sober American teenagers with an ample supply of booze. Campers? It didn’t ring true. Sensing the leadership of the attractive ginger-haired female, he demanded of Deirdre O’Neill. “Where are you kids headed?”
“No place special.” She shrugged as if bored with the situation.
“Then it shouldn’t inconvenience you to return to Newry.”
“No way!”
“Like hell,” Jason joined in. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We’re not even high.”
The outburst decided Davis that there was more to the group’s antics than a simple campout. He ordered, “Take the lads behind the van and do a thorough search.”
Deirdre’s quick accusation, “You wouldn’t be tempted to plant something on them.”
Caused Davis to grin as he said, “Girl, you watch too much telly.”
The man without a uniform reached for Kevin and the youth instinctively cowered. Jason Connors shoved between them with the yelled, “Keep your hands off him!” only to meet with the man’s powerful fist. Shock stunned Jason as his jaw exploded with pain. This time the soldiers were quick. One grabbed Jason about the waist, actually clearing his feet from the ground before the battle could go further.
“You’re a king size prick!” Deirdre informed the man called Mason who was glowering as Sergeant Davis confronted him.
“Stay right where you’re at Mason. My men will attend to the search.” Davis motioned and the boys were ushered off. “What are you kids up too?” He turned back to Deirdre.
He was only wondering aloud but Deirdre answered him, “Nothing.”
And Amy giggled, as hidden from view, Jason yelped, “You get a charge out of this. Ever try a female.”
Shortly a soldier returned and handed over wallets and passports as he said, “Seem to be clean—except for Connors’ mouth.”
“Are we next?” was whimpered and Deirdre found Amy’s question hysterically funny, she burst into laughter and started to actually unbutton her jeans.
“Hold on.” Davis stopped her and thrust out his hand as he growled.
“Passports.” He’d been reading the boys’ passports and was concerned with what he saw. A quick glance at the girls’ identity and he headed for the armored car and a private radio conversation.
With the return of the boys the five drenched mercenaries huddled pathetically in the falling rain. The young soldier, who’d earlier lost his own slicker to Deirdre’s anger, offered. “No cause for you girls to stand in the rain-jump back inside the van.”
As if unintentional a smile that could melt granite slowly softened Deirdre’s features. The purple eyes sought depth in the blue eyes of the young English soldier as she purred, “I’m sorry, you’re as uncomfortable as we are. But?” She motioned towards where Kevin huddled against the side of the van and asked softly, “would it destroy some image to let Kev lay down?”
