Recovery

The entire village was agog at the sight of the helicopter landing on the beach and a couple running from it, across the sand, to meet with the skipper’s wife. What could she have to do with people who rode about in helicopters? Curiosity was buzzing like electricity in the air as the strangers made their way towards the hotel, the one owned by the Englishman.

“Where’s the child?” demanded Nick.

“What child? Our children are all down at the beach, looking at your machine.” Smith was brazen. If he had known who he was talking to it might have been another story.

Nick pulled out his gun and addressed Sylvia. “Get the child or he’s a dead man.”

“Don’t harm him,” Sylvia pleaded. “I’ll take you to him.” She led them to the boat house where Erin saw her son for the first time in months. It looked like they were too late as the young mother collapsed, grief-stricken.

Nick picked up the child from the makeshift cot. “He still has a pulse, Erin.” He shook Erin’s shoulder roughly. “Come on. No time for tears, we need to go.”

Erin stood up, wiping her tears away, and followed Nick, who was already racing towards the chopper. The nearest hospital was just ten minutes away. Perhaps there was a chance?

Seeing her son wired up to so many machines, battling to stay alive, was almost more than Erin could bear. Paddy, Bridget and she took turns keeping vigil at his side, day after day, with no change in his condition. On the fifth day the little boy opened his eyes and gave a lusty yell. He was back. He still had a long way to go, but he was back.

The nurse who had been caring for Ryan came in to check on her charge. “It was the priest who saved him,” she told Erin.

“Priest? What priest? And when? We’ve never left this room unattended.”

“He comes in from time to time, usually when you are asleep. He even administered the Last Rites.”

“What does this priest look like?” Paddy asked.

“He’s very old, black and has a strange accent,” she replied. “It was definitely him who saved your baby. As soon as he left last night, Ryan’s breathing improved. You should remember him in your prayers.”

It was fortunate the nurse couldn’t see Paddy Coyle’s expression, it was murderous.

By the end of the week the little boy was off the ventilator and breathing on his own.

“At no time is he to be left unattended,” Erin insisted. “I’ll get Nick to station one of his men outside.”

“Don’t you think Nick has done enough? We can’t keep depending on him to come to our rescue,” answered Paddy. There was that green-eyed monster again.

“He won’t mind, I’ll ring him and get it arranged.” Erin was quite confident that Nick would help her out.

“Paddy, its Nick. Meet me outside my office at ten tomorrow morning. I have some cargo you might be interested in.”

Christ, this was it, payback time. What the hell was he going to have to do for all the favours this man had bestowed on his family? There was no such thing as a free lunch. Whatever Nick wanted him to do, he would, without question; he was honour-bound.

The next morning he made his excuses to Bridget and set off for the meeting.

“What is this cargo?” Paddy asked.

“You’ll see for yourself in a minute,” the crime boss replied enigmatically.

Paddy kept quiet until the car pulled up alongside the berth. The two men got out and walked towards the loading bay. Paddy spied a container positioned away from the main stack.

“This is it,” said Nick, signalling to one of the stevedores to open the metal box.

At first glance Paddy thought the container was empty, but he could make something out, way at the back. The heat was overpowering and sweat was dripping into his eyes within seconds. He hoped this wasn’t some set up, but in the dark he could just make out the figure of a man, bound to a chair; his hands, feet and mouth taped.

“Do you know who this piece of trash is, Paddy?” With a vicious kick, Nick overturned the chair and sent it sprawling into a pool of urine and faeces.

“No, but I can guess.”

“This is the piece of garbage who let your grandson almost starve to death. All because he hadn’t been paid a measly thousand euros. It costs exactly the same amount to send this container to the Far East and takes almost the same length of time as the boy has spent in hospital. What do you say? Punishment enough?”

“An eye for an eye,” replied Paddy as he swung the heavy metal door shut and sealed it. No-one could hear the muffled cries.

Ryan was to be discharged from hospital the following day. The doctors had just finished their rounds, during which time the guard had nipped out to have a quick break. O’Farrell knew the hospital routine like the back of his hand; this was his only chance. He slipped into the room, pulled the blinds down; this usually indicated the doctors had not finished their examinations. He gathered the child, wrapped him in a hospital blanket, hid him under his voluminous cleric’s coat and headed for the lift.

“C’mon. C’mon,” he urged the lift to descend. He had only a couple of minutes to get away.

The lift reached the ground floor. The doors opened slowly and he came face to face with Bridget Coyle. He pushed past her, Ryan well hidden beneath his coat. She stood stock still. Who was he? She knew him. Then she heard a baby cry.

“Stop! Stop that man,” she yelled at the top of her voice, taking off after him. Fortunately the guard was on his way back when he heard the commotion. What the hell was going on? An old priest was tearing towards him, holding a baby, and chased by the woman whose grandchild he was supposed to be guarding.

He dived on the old man and grabbed the child, who had tumbled from the cleric’s grasp. O’Farrell managed to twist free in the melee and disappeared into a crowd alighting from a newly-arrived lift. He walked as fast as he could, head down, making no eye contact in order to avoid attention. He shook off his coat and discarded it in the nearest bin, revealing one of his wild Hawaiian shirts.

He couldn’t keep up this pace, he’d have a heart attack. He needed a safe hiding place until the situation calmed down. Turning into Accident & Emergency he spied a nurse walking towards him. Quick as a flash the old man clutched his chest and stumbled to the floor.

The nurse sprang into action and pressed the nearest panic button and within seconds the ex-priest was surrounded by the crash team. Fortuitously they blocked the entrance to the department, thus thwarting his pursuers who sped on in search of the elusive priest.

It was late afternoon before Canon O’Farrell ventured forth into the bright Marbella sunshine. That had been a close shave, but at least he knew his heart was in full working order, he smiled wryly.