Undercover (23 page)

"We'll be fine, my friend." Stephen Black dropped down on one knee and ejected the spent clip from his gun. He produced a fresh one from somewhere underneath his tracksuit top and slid it home. Then he jacked the slide. "I'm not fond of getting shot. Stay close to me."

"Did you get them?" Lydia asked.

"Afraid not. They're a slippery duo."

"Do you think there are more of them out there?"

"No, they'd have engaged by now. That's not to say reinforcements aren't on their way, though. We got wise to Mr McGoldrick's move sooner than he would have liked."

"The little bastard."

"Indeed."

"I don't get it." Rory said. "What's McGoldrick after? The guy's already richer than an oil sheik."

"I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it soon enough, old chap."

Stephen Black broke the wing mirror off the Mercedes and held it above his head. He angled it to get a sweeping view of the car park.

"Can you see them?" Lydia asked.

He shook his head. "They're probably trying to close in on us."

"We better get moving again, then." Rory said. "Stay ahead of them."

"Unfortunately, there's not a lot of cover between here and the helicopter."

"Then we attack." Rory said. "Do you have a spare gun, Stevie?"

"Have you ever shot one?"

"No."

Stephen Black smiled and shook his head. "Then, no."

"What
can
we do?" Lydia asked.

"Either we wait for the biker boys to slip up and give away their position, or we sit tight then shoot when they make their move."

"That doesn't seem like a very good plan."

"I'll happily accept suggestions, Mrs Gallagher."

Lydia's phone blasted its Lady Gaga ringtone. She snatched it from her jacket pocket with the speed of a quick-draw gunslinger and silenced the music.

"Fuck's sake," Rory said. "Who the fuck is that?"

Lydia looked at the number on her screen. "It might just be the cavalry."

––––––––

T
here's no ‘I' in team. There's an ‘M' and an ‘E' though. In fact, it's an anagram of ‘ta me' as in who you should pass it to if you want to win.

Rory Cullen,
CULLEN: The Autobiography

––––––––

C
ormac had to pitch his voice louder than he'd have liked to compete with the noise from the helicopter. He pressed the phone tight against his left ear and covered his right with the palm of his hand. His gun was holstered. The sooner he got off the phone, the better.

"Mrs Gallagher. Your husband and son are in the helicopter. I saw gunfire before we landed. Are you injured?"

"No. Not yet."

Not yet.
"Is somebody trying to hurt you?"

"Yes. We've taken cover behind a silver Mercedes. Look for a black BMW jeep-type thing with its back window blown out. We're close to that."

"How many gunmen have you seen?"

"Two..." He heard another voice at the end of the line but couldn't make out what was being said. "But there may well be more on the way."

"Stay where you are. I'll find you."

"Okay. There are three of us, just so you know. One has a gun. You don't need to shoot him. He's on our side."

"Good to know."

Cormac hung up and tucked his phone away. He was relieved to have the Glock back in his hand. If the two gunmen were out there, they were playing it safe and keeping their heads down. And no wonder. Whoever Lydia Gallagher had hooked up with had been a sharp enough shot to hit a speeding motorbike.

Cormac hunched down to allow a painless dive for cover if the bullets started flying but not so low as to restrict his movements too drastically. He sought out the BMW four-by-four with the missing window as he hurried down a line of parked cars. Unfortunately, the rich man's playground was densely populated with a rash of expensive diesel-drinkers. He felt like he was wasting precious time on a fool's errand. Time that John Gallagher simply didn't have.

Just keep moving.

Then he saw it. A black BMW X5 with no back window. About ten cars down and one row to the right. And behind it, a silver Mercedes. Cormac inched further down the line, conscious that he'd have gotten closer to the gunmen as well. Moments later he drew level with the silver Mercedes and could see three people huddled against the side of it. Lydia Gallagher, Rory Cullen and a little grey-haired man in a tracksuit brandishing a silenced automatic pistol. The stranger was the first one to spot Cormac. He used Close Range Engagement hand signals to ask Cormac to help him cover Lydia and Rory.

Not a civilian, then.

Cormac nodded and counted off three seconds with his fingers. They both stood and fired a controlled burst of fire over the roofs of the parked cars. Lydia and Rory moved fast, not even taking the time to acknowledge Cormac's arrival.

The stranger beckoned Cormac to his side. Cormac looked into the shadows of the car park. He couldn't see anybody, but then, they were hardly likely to pop up and start waving at him. Stalling would do nothing except increase the risk of him getting tagged, though. He swept his gun in a wide arc as he momentarily left cover to get to the other man.

A flash of survival instinct urged him to duck.

Bullets whizzed over his head.

Cormac dived for cover behind the silver Mercedes. The stranger returned fire.

"I think I may have winged one of the scoundrels, Detective Kelly."

Cormac was taken aback by the man's weirdly formal English accent. It took him a few seconds to speak.

"Um, good job. You know my name, then. So what do they call you?"

"Hah, I love the cadence you Belfast boys adopt. What do they call me? Indeed. My name is Stephen Black. I'm currently under Mr Cullen's employ as a security consultant."

"Yeah? Considering recent events, he might be asking you for his money back."

"Oh, I've only just started working for him. Before that, I was hired by Mr McGoldrick."

"Who the fuck is this McGoldrick character?"

"I don't think this is the best time to catch you up, Detective. There's a good chance we've made those two fellows even angrier, and we need to be mindful of Mr Cullen and Mrs Gallagher's retreat."

With that Stephen Black loosed another burst of fire over the roof of the Mercedes. Then he hunkered down and ejected his spent clip. Seconds later he snapped home a fresh one he had produced from inside his cheap tracksuit jacket.

"Any luck that time?"

Bullets peppered the higher-sided motors behind them.

"Not enough luck, no."

"So, you're not a cop. Is this gun-for-hire business of yours legal?"

"
Gun-for-hire
, indeed. I'm a security consultant. And I think you'll find I'm very well informed of my legal limitations."

"That's not exactly the same as being legit, is it?"

"Again, I must remind you that we're supposed to be covering these civilians. Could you pull some of the weight, please?"

Cormac frowned but he raised himself slowly to a shooting position. The still unseen gunmen took pot-shots at him. They missed by quite a distance. Their muzzle flashes also gave Cormac something to shoot at. His trigger finger pumped and he sent bullets in two directions. He didn't think he'd scored a hit but the bastards would have something to think about. Cormac hunkered down again.

Stephen Black gave him an encouraging nod. Cormac wanted to hit him a dig in the jaw. There was an unmistakable air of condescension about him. Little prick.

"Let's fall back a little," Stephen Black said. "I'm quite sure that there are only two of them out there so far, but who knows what other forms of scum are skulking about. Reinforcements must be very close by now."

"I don't suppose you have any reinforcements, Mr Black?"

"Didn't think I would need them today. But you're here now so everything is rosy, my good man."

Cormac shook his head. The weird little English guy was a fruitcake. He did seem to know how to handle himself, though. Cormac had no choice but to work with him. They moved into the space between the two rows of parked cars and moved towards the helicopter. Stephen Black led the way, his progress steady. Cormac moved backwards, not easy when hunched down and moving at speed. He kept an eye out for possible threats.

"How are our friends doing?" Cormac asked, directing his voice over his shoulder.

"They seem to have stopped moving. I think they might be hesitant to break from cover and run that final stretch."

"Okay. Listen. There are seven seats in that helicopter. Counting the pilot, there are eight of us. Either you or I should stay behind and cover the ground while it takes off."

"That doesn't add up. The Gallaghers make three, plus the pilot, Mr Cullen and us. Seven."

"I have a doctor with me."

"Oh." Black paused for a second. "Who got hurt?"

"John Gallagher. Gunshot wound."

"Bad?"

"Very. He should be in a hospital bed right now."

"I see."

Cormac expected a bunch of other questions about the situation but the so-called security consultant seemed to be satisfied with the information he had. They moved another few paces before Black spoke again.

"I'll ask you to stay behind, then, Detective."

"Because...?"

"It's my job to protect Mr Cullen and, by extension, Mrs Gallagher. I'll not be able to do that remotely."

"Fair point."

Cormac thought of arguing the fact that his ex-girlfriend was in the helicopter along with the thirteen-year-old boy who'd come to trust him despite the fact that Cormac had shot his father. It didn't seem like a particularly strong argument and so he decided to let it go.

"All right. Stay in touch with me and let me know what hospital you end up in. I'll meet you there. Mrs Gallagher has my number."

"Good man. Here, take this."

Cormac looked over his shoulder to see Black's left hand extended, a car key hung from his index finger.

"The car's a Vauxhall Vectra, not far from where you found us. Just push the fob and let the lights guide you. Take it to the hospital when you're done here."

"Thanks." Cormac took the key and slipped it into his coat pocket.

They continued moving, Lydia Gallagher and Rory Cullen just yards away now.

"Something you should know about my car..." Black loosed a little chuckle, punctuated it with a snort. "There's a small Scottish man in the boot. My previous employer, Mr McGoldrick. I think you'll find him quite interesting. Get what you need from him but don't let him go. I need to spend some time with him myself."

"You've kidnapped a small Scottish man? Again, I have to question your relationship with UK law."

"Think of it as a citizen's arrest, Detective."

Cormac didn't push the issue. His own behaviour had been less than aboveboard since the start of the kidnapping shit-storm. He no longer had the moral superiority of an agent of the justice system. His position in the PSNI had to be in serious jeopardy by now. All he could do, to satisfy his own code of ethics, was see Mattie and his family to safety then concentrate on surviving whatever came at him next.

They got to Lydia Gallagher and Rory Cullen's position.

Black's voice was cheerful. "Nearly at the end of this dreadful business now, Mrs Gallagher. We just need to get you on that whirlybird."

Lydia turned to Black, her face pretty despite the deeply worried expression. She took a deep breath and nodded. "Rory and I figured the walk from here to the helicopter would make us sitting ducks. No point getting this far only to be shot in the back."

"Very sensible. But we can't sit here all night."

"Wait," Lydia looked past Black to make eye contact with Cormac. "Thank you for looking after my family, Detective."

Cormac nodded but couldn't bring himself to speak. He wasn't sure how much gratitude she'd feel she owed him after she saw the state of her husband.

Black ushered them out into the open. He stood up straight now, a greying prairie dog on lookout duty. Cormac followed. Even hunched over he stood taller than the other three. He felt like a moving bullet shield. There was nothing he could do about that, except watch for movement in the shadows. He slipped his finger inside the Glock's trigger guard and tried to control his breathing.

The chugga-chugga splutter of a motorcycle engine kick-starting managed to cut through the noise from the helicopter. Cormac looked out into the car park and a solitary headlight burst into existence. The bike's engine snarled and the light jerked to the left. Cormac sent three bullets after it but knew he was too far away to hope for any sort of accuracy from a handgun. The bike wouldn't be long closing the distance, however.

"Hurry the fuck up," Cormac pushed Rory and the footballer picked up the pace. "Get on the helicopter now."

Lydia and Black had to run to catch up with Rory. They climbed on board. Cormac watched them long enough to see Black give him the thumbs up. He turned to face the gunmen on the motorcycle. Behind him, the helicopter engine racket increased. The motorcycle's headlight zig-zagged its way towards him, determined to create a hard target.

Cormac took a deep breath, went down on one knee and held out his gun, his left hand encircling his right wrist. He aimed, loosed a slow breath and squeezed the trigger.

###

"M
um!"

Lydia stepped onto the helicopter and straight into her son's constrictor hug. She squeezed back, running her hand from the top of his head to the nape of his neck. His silky hair teased through her fingers. She felt Rory and Stephen Black squeeze past her. Heard an unknown woman gasp.

"My God. It's Rory Cullen."

Lydia looked over the top of Mattie's head to the source of the voice. An attractive woman with springy hair and stylish glasses sat in one of the passenger seats. She had a stethoscope draped across the back of her neck. A doctor. Lydia's stomach fluttered. She looked to the other passenger. John. Dressed in a bathrobe over a flimsy hospital gown, deathly pale and slick with sweat. He seemed to be unconscious.