A reason to kill, p.68
A Reason To Kill, page 68
~~~
Shortly, the unhappy Jason, with his hide wrapped tightly in the woven fabric, plunked down on the cot in the cell complaining, “We’ll freeze our asses.”
“Not likely.” Martin said, “You’ll be watched. Nobody fetches you by dark; I’ll come take you out myself.”
Suddenly the anger left the boy and worry crept into his tone as he whispered, “Davy, it’s all working like we planned?”
“On target! Just hold your tongue. You two may be alone for a couple of hours so don’t give Sheppard any more than he already has. The real tough part is still ahead of you. You can’t fold on us now.”
“I won’t Davy. I’m a pretty good actor.” This drew a grin from Martin and earned a light cuff to Jason’s cheek. “What about you? Where will you hide?”
“Hide?” Was followed by a surprised laugh. Then Martin glanced over at Sheppard as if the man would confirm his statement. “I’ve no need to hide. Only thing that concerns me is a bullet and I’m fair at dodging them. My kind don’t rate an arrest or a trial.”
Shortly, in the gloom of a single electric bulb, sitting in the cell, Jason attempted to light a cigarette and his hands trembled. “Relax.” Stewart smiled as he flicked his own lighter for the boy. “Let’s work on your recital,” he offered. “Abnormal personalities.” He gave a sharp groan. “Sort of fits the mood.”
“Shit!” Jason flipped open a can of Harps ale.
“Have to pass the time some way.”
Jason didn’t answer. They sat listening to the commotion in the other rooms as the departing crew finished removing or destroying traceable items. The noise grew less and less until soon an eerie silence reigned. Then Stewart took a deep audible sigh as a final nervous shudder released him and he began, “Since normal is never perfect—”
And the grateful youth picked up the refrain, “Most humans experience anxiety, frustration, and conflict that they cannot always cope with in a successful manner. So normal means continuing to function more or less satisfactorily despite our problems…”
~~~
The message, given in flawless English hinting at foreign birth, left Inspector Dan Mitchell with an ugly realization. How many times had he driven past Stewart Sheppard’s prison? Had they been watching him? Laughing at him. A sunken cellar beneath Franco Baumont’s funeral pyre. The bastards! Was that explosion the meaning of the ‘fourth of July’ message? Was he chasing his tail for something that already happened? No, he couldn’t accept that.
The gas explosion could have been part of it but there was more. Now as the lead car headed the convoy into North East London a sudden concern filled his mind. If they could murder one of their own to build a safe house, what were they capable of doing to the offspring of their enemies? And he ordered, “Hit the sirens!”
They encircled a four block area, hesitated long enough to ascertain they were not approaching a carefully laid trap, then broke into the bunker in a wave of bodies and weapons.
Hearing them coming, Jason yelled out. “It’s okay! They’ve gone!”
“Need a locksmith,” someone bellowed.
“Let’s try these.” Mitchell jangled some keys he’d lifted from the floor. He inserted one and the cell door swung open.
“Take it easy now, lads.” The sight of the captives’ faces would remain with most of these rescuers to enhance their tales for years to come.
“You’ve had a rough time of it.”
But Dan Mitchell saw a different scene as he lifted a package of Players cigarettes from the bunk and kicked over a can of Harps beer. “You have some things to tell me?”
“Let the questions wait.” The American embassy official quickly threw a protective arm about the boy’s shoulders. “We’ll see to his physical condition first. You can talk to him later.”
Mitchell let a stare rest on the youth’s face and Jason suddenly found the floor interesting. “Your girlfriend lost fifty pounds,” he said. “Her face looks like a Halloween mask. Was it worth it?”
“Mr. Mitchell! It can keep…”
“Go on, take him out of here.” He turned on Sheppard. “You can talk to me?”
“Later, most assuredly.” The young man answered. “Perhaps when I’ve regained my britches and some semblance of dignity.”
Chapter 123
London, 1985
Although forced to admit that the Connors boy had been well treated by their captors, Sheppard quickly added, “But then neither was I cruelly mistreated.” His several small scars were explained away with, “You should see the other bloke; it was a fair fight. Yes, of course, we saw several faces. But thickly bearded and mostly masked…” And together with Jason Connors he’d watched modems, flipped through endless photographs, until everyone grew bored to the point no one noticed when Jason hesitated briefly over an old picture of Rory Hanlon. Stewart Sheppard held his own silence as Jason turned the photo into the discard pile.
He’d been mistaken—someone had noticed.
~~~
In an effort to shock the young man out of his unusual alliance, Dan Mitchell forced him to view the wretched films. Instead of the angry reaction the inspector expected, Stewart burst into a ridiculing laughter as he said, “I’ll never make it as an actor, will I? Lousy business, Mother’s petty war.” The naked drugged creature abusing himself on the screen bore little resemblance to the young man leaping up for the light switch. “Have to give the bastards their due, at least they had the decency not to make us sit through a viewing.”
Dan Mitchell blinked in the sudden flare of light as he yelled. “You ass! You were only the icing on the cake. It was the fool kid they needed. But for some reason they couldn’t bring themselves to fuck around with him like they did you.”
“I knew that. Scotch in order?” Sheppard lifted the decanter. With a nod from Mitchell, he took up the task of serving. Then he tipped his glass toward the screen and said, “You realize, of course, all those fun and games, were accomplished in a relatively short span of time. Drugged, I was unaware of what was taking place.” He downed a healthy swig and groaned. “What I remember most was trying to piss in that dirty bucket! Filthy thing still haunts me. Naturally, you’re right, I shouldn’t be grateful that they let me live. Do you have any idea what it’s like to suffer daily the fear of dying?”
“Let you live? You’ve got it a bit off center. What they did was manufacture a weapon. Now you can safely assume that not only will the bastards do what they threaten but what they promise.”
“Perhaps? But you see how easily they can accomplish what they threaten. I’m not a coward nor am I stupidly brave. I refuse to be a casualty of this insane nonsense.” The glass trembled slightly in his hand as he recalled. “How simply they lifted me right out of a hotel in the heart of London. Two armed guards? You say they poisoned them—how?”
“They took a calculated risk that worked. The poison was in the tea; the drugs were in the ice cubes. They obviously knew your habits rather well. You never drink tea and given a choice you like your whiskey iced. I suppose Jason pushed for an early drink?”
Sheppard eyed the glass in his hand. Suddenly he set it down as he admitted. “It’s been made rather obvious to me, it is not the strangers in the world I need to concern myself with. I can’t be safeguarded from all the people I know.”
Switching roles, Dan Mitchell took on an older brother-like concern as he touched the younger man’s shoulder. “It was lousy the way they grabbed you,” he said.
“A bit of sweat and groan.” Sheppard’s nervous laugh betrayed his raw nerves as he answered. “A lad’s downfall. I could have tarred and feathered the bitch. Now to discover all that hate wasted. Poor Colleen wasn’t in the country let alone that suite.”
“There were two American girls there. The passports in the room were legitimate. So the Connors kid was traveling with two young women who resembled those photos. His story that he was taken at school and kept drugged doesn’t ring true. Any ideas? Did he slip up on any names?”
“Names?” Sheppard said, “Names are as deadly as faces, Inspector. Perhaps, if one day you succeed in dragging the culprits before a tribunal, I will leap in and add my condemnation with the rest of the howling masses. But to put my neck alone on the chopping block,” was followed by a sharp laugh. “I’ll pass.”
“What about next time? You proved such a cooperative victim. There could be a next time; then will you play dumb again?”
“Don’t be nasty, Dan, Theses hundreds of years of pick and peck—has to end.” He reclaimed his glass and sucked deeply. “As you said, they proved they will keep their promises.”
“Until it suits them not to!”
“Rather like it suits us? Such a wretchedly small piece of real-estate one would think it had some monumental strategic value. We should pack up our soldiers and weapons and come home and let Dublin worry about the consequences.”
“Seems they’ve done a grand job of brain washing you. You ready to become another Robert Emmet?”
“Never, Dan, I’m too cowardly for that. Mother, I’m certain, would see me hung, drawn, and quartered too.”
~~~
Jason’s clenched fist hung in the air as he nervously paused outside the door reluctant to knock. “Post on over here!” Matthew Reed had in fact ordered him to come. Now he was angry with himself for complying. What right had the asshole to order him, who the hell does Reed think he is! He struggled with the desire to retrace his steps. But his older cousin, Mark Fitzgerald, had said, “Go see what he wants. You’re not afraid of him?” So now Jason stood outside Reed’s door, said ‘screw it’ under his breath and rapped. The door came open too quickly, as if the young man on the other side had been anticipating his arrival.
“Inside Connors!” Reed barked, “and park it.”
Suddenly at a loss for a clear thought Jason rushed for the only chair in the room and dropped ramrod straight into it. Matthew grinned. “Relax man, I didn’t tell you to brace.”
Anger fed his embarrassment and Jason blushed as he attempted to strike a careless pose; but his mind kept spinning with, NOSIR, YESSIR, NOEXCUSESIR, SIR, SIR.
“You’ve had yourself a long vacation, Connors.” Officially the boy was still a cadet but would he remain one was up in the air. “You’re strung pretty tight. They have you all that scared?”
“No Sir.”
“Drop the ‘Sir’, Jas, we’ll just rap.”
“Yes Si—”
“You talk to your dad?”
“First thing.” Jason seemed to melt with relief. Pride added strength to his voice. “I’ll be flying home on the ‘Big Old One’”
Moving quickly Matthew took the boy by surprise as he dropped his palms on the arms of the chair and leaning into his face hissed, “You rotten piece of shit! You nearly killed your mother!”
“No…” Jason stammered.
“Shut the fuck up! You gutless wonder! Don’t try your fucking lies on me.”
“But—”
“I SAID SHUT YOUR LYING MOUTH!” As the officer’s voice tore into him, Jason froze stiff and formal. “SCREW THE INNOCENT ACT. YOU CAN’T CON ME. Cute game you played. You and your asshole friends must have some connections.” And he screamed, “SHEPPARD! He part of it too?”
“No, Stew had nothing—” Jason caught himself as he realized he almost admitted to a crime. Sweat beaded his forehead but he didn’t dare raise his hand to wipe it away.
A soft sneer replaced the violence. “You pitiful ass. We were right. You were in on the game. Can’t you see they used you? They needed your pretty ass more than Sheppard’s. You willingly star in that movie?” This brought a negative nod. “I didn’t think so. You recognized a face in those mug shots—the Inspector caught that. You owe the guy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Sheppard recognized him too?”
“I don’t know—sir.”
“This Hanlon, Sheppard owe him too?”
“No sir. They use to talk a lot. Especially after Dede went on trial. Everybody was upset over that. Even Stew, he kinda changed.”
“So? He developed his kidnappers’ attitudes. It can happen when you’ve been a hostage long enough.”
“It wasn’t like that. Stew and Rory would argue like crazy over the stupidest stuff. They’d end up laughing at each other. It was weird. I think they got to liking each other.”
“This Hanlon the one that marked him up?”
“Na,” Jason grinned with the memory. “Rory’s old, maybe forty or better. Stew tangled with a guy his own age—it was a fair match.”
Then Jason stiffened again as Reed barked. “WHAT IN HELL ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW?”
Shocked by the question, the youth muttered, “I don’t get you?”
“I’m concerned, others are very concerned on what you plan on doing with your future. You got out of this mess intact. You going to go looking for more trouble?” As the violent air assaulted his face, Jason shivered then gagged as Reed said, “You ready to go back to the academy? This time make a decent start.”
“You want me to go back?” He whistled through clenched teeth. “Caine will stake me out!”
“Not with me there.”
“You?”
“CLOSE IT UP! You don’t go back strutting ‘round like some fucking hero or I’ll ram my foot up your ass.” Spinning away he head for the bar and uncorked two bottles of beer. Returning he handed one to the troubled youth as he promised. “If you go back to the academy I’ll be with you all the way. But remember you’ll follow the rules; you’ll jump, crawl, squirm just like any regular bean-head. You won’t be special, the president’s baby boy, you’ll be nothing. But it will beat hell out of an English brig.” He gave a soft laugh.
“And I’ll see you have a haven. My room, a safety zone, whenever it gets too much or you just feel like crying.” Taking only a small swing of his own beer, Matthew Reed stalked the length of the room and back several times as he watched the boy struggle with indecision. Suddenly he drew up close, tossed the unfinished can in the sink and bellowed, “PICK A PIECE OF WALL!”
Jason leaped to his feet; the beer in his hand went splashing to the rug, as he slammed against the wall. His chin crammed into his throat. Discomfort spread across his shoulders as he forced them flat into the painted surface. His spine protested as the light was removed between it and the wall. Reed paced in front of the youth for several seconds then he barked, “BRACE!” and watched as the boy accomplished the feat of drawing his body even closer to the hard surface.
Compelled by a promise to Dan Mitchell he began, “I’m going to put a few question to you. Answer or not,” he allowed, “do whatever you feel is right. Can you give a hint as to what Independence Day has to do with this business? POPOFF!”
“SIR?”
“You don’t know or won’t say?”
“SIR?”
“Weapons and ammo shipped as machine parts. Detonators on boots—plastics disguised as silica? They figure a lot of pounds of plastics. You have any idea what those plastics can do. People die horribly in explosions.”
“SIR?”
“FUCK IT! YOU HEARIN’ ME?”
“YESSIR!”
He waited while Connors continued to brace. He watched as sweat turned the young face shiny; a muscle quivered in the boy’s neck; a glob of saliva slid down from the side of his trembling mouth; the frozen blue stare grew bright with pain.
And Matthew Reed realized he didn’t expect the young cadet to answer. He would be disappointed if he did. Finally he shrugged and said, “It was your call—post on out of here.” Then he grinned and reminded, “Don’t come back to the academy wearing tailored made jock shorts.”
~~~
Twenty-six, and the eldest son of John Connors, Raymond John Connors the Third, known to family and friends as RJ, he leaped up from the bed to confront the ginning face of his cousin. “Damn! You ever learn to knock?”
“Door was ajar.” Mark Fitzgerald laughed. “Figured I’d catch you engaged in something nasty. What in hell you doing lazing ‘round in your BVD’s at this hour?”
“Ain’t military, lad, and I’m just out of the shower.” RJ pulled on his robe. “Didn’t expect you until a normal time—it’s barely five.” He led the way into a private lounge. “Park your butt. Get you something?”
“Pop a cork on anything handy.”
“Ale?”
“Sounds good.”
Coming back with two frosty mugs, RJ asked, “You still puffing?” as he indicated the humidor.
“Drag one now and then.” Mark admitted as he helped himself to a Havana.
“Talk to my dad yet?” This brought a positive nod. “You know Mark, your hanging in here has been a hell of a relief for the old man. With Gramps almost a vegetable since the stroke and, Will, suddenly falling apart, Devlin giving his all for O’Neill, Dad’s had to depend on me. Thank heavens you were here so I could stay home.”
“Will’s hitting the bottle pretty good?”
“Crazy fool can’t stay sober for an hour. Guess their finding Shelia’s body like that, and then Gramp’s stroke, and Jas missing was just too much for him. William has always been a weak sister. Big brain but with the guts of a jellyfish. Suppose every family has to have a few in their line. At least with him locked away and Devlin out of the picture, Dad’s coming around to our way of thinking on the Middle East issue.
“With Devlin, pulling in all those contributions for the campaigns and Will backing him, my Dad never paid much heed to my input. Things are different now we discuss everything. I’m a little concerned though that the end of this mess will bring Devlin back into the equation.”
“You can’t really believe Tom had anything to do with the kidnappings?”
RJ raised his shoulders in an uncertain shrug apparently not willing to comment on that suggestion.
