CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

On a hilltop overlooking the Irish Sea, Gabriel Carter stopped the buggy he shared with James McFadden and carefully selected a club from his golf bag. McFadden had been whinging in his ear for the last three holes and Gabriel had just about had enough of it. He needed silence to think, and strode up to the edge of the rugged clifftop beyond the closely cropped grass of Cairndhu Golf Course to let the cold autumnal wind blow away some of his pent up anger, in the hope it might clear his head.

In the distance, sailing slowly through the choppy waters between the County Antrim Coast and Rathlin Island, he could just make out the long dark hull of a cargo ship heading for the Scottish port of Stranraer. Piled up on its deck where long metal containers of red, blue and green; scraped and battered from hard years of service on the seas and on the backs of lorries streaming out of ports across mainland Britain and Ireland. Inside those containers would be the very items that were now feeding James McFadden's surge in greed and causing Gabriel some considerable grief. Gabriel knew the ships manifest would read differently to its actual cargo, but he also knew that its captain would be well paid to ignore such detail. Even so, things were beginning to become complicated and he didn't like it.

Once again, his main warehouse had been hastily cleared by his Chinese employees. Lei Wu was contacted and informed of about the developments; his plan to rectify the situation was predictably blunt and brutal. Although Gabriel would have no direct part in it, and he did not agree with the triad's violent ways, drastic action did need to be taken – his business and future retirement were at stake.

Behind him, he heard the familiar thwack of a golf ball being struck. It was swiftly followed by the now all too familiar sound of James McFadden, warning the following golfers to mind their heads.

"Fore!"

Gabriel shivered as the breeze picked up, blowing cold salt water onto his lips and chilling his ageing bones. He didn't need worries such as these with retirement not far away. So what was he to do about the pictures?

When he received the call that morning from James, he had been in high spirits and gratefully accepted the offer of golf at the Cairndhu Course later in the day. During the call, James had eluded that it was more than just a game of golf he wanted with Gabriel, and more of a private conversation out of earshot that was required. He also let him know, on a more official level, that potential evidence had surfaced from the Wildlife Investigation Agency in London - crimes of poaching and smuggling. Images had been sent to the WIA showing endangered wildlife products, allegedly located inside Carters warehouse at Belfast. The dogged former soldier, Daniel Harpur had sent them and the WIA had been in contact to verify Harpur's credentials. This information had then been passed, as per procedure, along with the photographs, to Her Majesties Customs and Excise.

McFadden was well placed as a secretary to a senior Customs and Excise Official, making him privy to all sorts of information useful to Carter. He had certainly earned his money on this occasion.

Gabriel walked back to the buggy and teed up his ball. McFadden was watching him closely, and Gabriel knew the man was just bursting to speak.

"Go ahead then, out with it."

"I just can't believe you have nothing to say about the pictures I mentioned. Once again I have stuck my neck out for you and averted a potential disaster for your company."

Gabriel dragged his eyes away from the beautiful view down the fairway and turned to face him. Not often in his life did he lose his temper, and right now it took a great deal of effort to contain himself as he replied. He knew what James wanted, even though James himself had not the balls to ask for it. But he suddenly felt the need to bait the man and push him a little further.

"We are alone together on a hilltop. Just speak plainly man. What is it you want from me?"

McFadden's face screwed up and he looked shocked, like he'd just been slapped. But he soon recovered, and after a quick glance around to ensure no others were within earshot, he took a few paces forward and spoke in a hushed conspiratorial tone, his eyes flicking around in their sockets searching for non-existent danger.

"I've been thinking...and I believe we could reach a mutually beneficial arrangement. I mean, I'm sure you could do with a security advisor at Carter International Logistics, could you not?"

Gabriel gripped tightly to the club he was holding. Squeezing and twisting it in his hands, he imagined it to be the neck of the rat that stood before him. He continued the charade, forcing James to complete his threat.

"Why would I need a security adviser?"

"Because you are involved in the shipment of illegal and endangered wildlife. You have connections to the Chinese triads, and Daniel Harpur would give eye witness evidence to support that theory. He also has photographic evidence which, supported by a thorough investigation, could put you and Carter International Logistics on a very sticky wicket."

Gabriel turned away from McFadden to address his ball. He took a deep breath to calm himself, allowing McFadden to continue.

"As part of our new arrangement I am willing to handle this developing and very dangerous situation, but I will expect to be suitably rewarded. Financial compensation of £250,000 and, eventually, a full-time position as a security adviser in your company on a salary of...shall we say £200,000 per annum?"

For now, he would humour McFadden. But Gabriel knew what he must do. Harpur and McFadden would always be a problem. Lei Wu could deal with them both.

# # #

Dan rose from the sofa, feeling groggy from an impromptu nap. The TV was still playing in the background and he checked his watch for the time. It was eight in the evening. He had never been one for day time sleeping, but he had not returned from the docks until the early hours of the morning and foolishly decided to stay up; thinking he would make it through the day without the need for sleep, like he had done many times before in the days of his youth. It didn't work out that way, and late in the afternoon, still waiting for a reply from Heather Walsh, he could resist the urge no longer and fell asleep. For once though, he felt pleased with himself and walked with a smile to the bathroom to splash water on his face.

His venture inside the Carter International Logistics warehouse had been a complete success. He had chosen a small area at the rear of the huge building, hidden amongst crates and boxes piled almost to the roof, where the forklift and its driver seemed never to visit.

The very first crate he prised open had been like a treasure chest. Although the skins and bones had been well hidden, it was the smell that alerted him to their presence; a rancid and pungent mix of rotten flesh and strong chemicals. Timing his activities with the comings and goings of the forklift, Dan was able to remove, photograph and then roughly replace them before slipping out of the warehouse the same way he had entered. It had taken him most of the night.

When someone examined the crates, they would know they had been tampered with, but Dan hoped by that stage it would be too late and enforcement officers of some description, whether police, Customs or the Wildlife Investigation Agency themselves would be swarming all over Carter International Logistics. He had sent the images direct to Heather Walsh and was still waiting for her call. She should be suitably impressed and ready to fulfil her end of the bargain. The thought of hurting the triads and perhaps taking one step closer to the men who killed Michael brightened his day.

As he examined his face in the mirror above the sink, Dan traced a finger along the scar leading towards his eye. It was a depressing sight to be greeted with, even when his mood had lightened. The stubble on his chin had grown now to the best part of a full beard, and combined with the scars, it seemed to age him in body and mind. So he searched the drawers beneath the sink for a razor, and set to removing it.

Once he had finished he felt better and packed the razor away from where it had come. As he did so, his hand brushed against cloth at the back of the drawer, this made him curious and he reached down to examine the item. It was an eye patch; black and simple, like something you would have seen on a pirate. Dan bought it not long after he had returned from the hospital but discarded it immediately, thinking he looked stupid wearing it.

He raised it now to his eye and held it there briefly. It wasn't as bad as he remembered and it covered the worst of the scarring to the socket. Dan placed it onto the edge of the sink, then he brushed his teeth, combed his thick unruly hair into place and took a long deep breath. He pulled the thin elastic strap over his head and settled the patch into his empty eye socket. Out of sight, out of mind seemed better.

He walked to the bedroom, fiddling with the patch as it tickled at the skin on his face and decided to leave his apartment for something to eat; braving the public with a patch over his eye like Long John Silver. For a moment he contemplated buying a parrot to complete the transformation and chuckled at the thought it.

"Oh arrgh!"

It was the first time he had laughed in months.

The sound of the door to the apartment crashing in, jolted Dan back into reality. He quickly looked down the hall and caught a glimpse of two men rushing through and into the living room. Both were hooded, with their faces covered. The first carried a sledgehammer and the second a shotgun. On finding the living room empty, they called out to each other in Chinese.

Dan ran to the bedside and reached down beneath it to retrieve a baseball bat. It was his only form of defence - the SIG Saur he desperately needed being under the cushion in the sofa where he had been sleeping. Weighing the bat in his hands, waiting for the intruders, it felt wholly inadequate.

He darted around the bed and stood behind the door, pressing his body tight against the wall. The sound of heavy footsteps and the excited voices of the two men grew louder as they neared the last room in their search.

Dan knew they would kill him. He had an idea the triads might return for him, guessing he was involved in the second burglary of the Carter Logistics warehouse, and he had every intention of moving out just in case. But how could they be here so soon? Had Heather Walsh organised a raid on the building within hours of receiving his photographs? Not likely.

Had the triads found the opened crates already? Then suspected his involvement and returned to finish what they had started, and what they probably should have finished on that fateful night six months ago?

Dan wasn't about to die. Revenge was still fresh in his mind. He hated his life, his looks, the emptiness he felt every morning when he woke, but now Dan Harpur had a mission. He was no pushover either, and the first man through the door would find that out to his cost.

The door burst open and the two men entered. Dan stepped out from behind them and swung the bat at the nearest. It connected with his head with a sickening crunch and he crumpled to the floor. Dan had no time to swing the bat again and dropped it. He rushed towards the second man who had turned to face him. The shotgun he carried already in his shoulder and the barrel swinging wildly past Dan as he took aim. He corrected it, just as Dan stepped in and took a firm grip of the long black barrel. He pushed it up and away from his body as the trigger was pulled. The explosion next to Dan's ear was deafening. He felt the instant warmth of the barrel against his skin and a strong smell of cordite filled the room. But instead of cutting him to pieces, the lead shot passed close by his face and punched a hole in the roof. As he wrestled for control of the weapon, the second barrel fired off, smashing the bedroom window to pieces.

Knowing the weapon was now useless, Dan released it and grabbed the man's head in his hands. He pulled it in towards him and cocked his own head back. With all the power he could muster, he drove the top of his head into the man's face. He felt the breaking of bone as the man's nose smashed. Blood streamed down his face, and for an instant, the armed intruder stopped his struggle; releasing his grip on the shotgun and Dan.

Dan seized his chance, drew his fist back, and punched him repeatedly. He lost track of time as he rained down blow after blow.

Moving backwards, the pair tripped on the redundant shotgun and fell to the floor. Eventually, under a torrent of punches, the intruder struggled no longer. But Dan continued. His fist and arm slick with blood and the carpeted floor wet and sticky by the time he had finished; exhaustion the only thing stopping him.

Dan rolled off the body and sat up on the floor of his bedroom. He stared at the two men lying dead on his floor. What a mess! How on earth was he going to explain this one? On impulse he searched the bodies of both men for identification or some sort of clue. He found nothing other than a huge roll of cash in the pocket of one of them. Dan transferred it to his own.

A chill wind blew in through the shattered window carrying with it the sound of approaching sirens as they echoed through the streets of Belfast. He rose to his feet, gathering together a few items of clothing and personal belongings from his wardrobe. He stuffed them into a bag, along with his Sig, as he made his way to the door.

He couldn't face the police again. Dan would finish this himself, once and for all.

After one last glance around his apartment, he kicked aside the remnants of his broken front door and made off into the night.