Fury bristled across Robert Mullen’s skin like an electrical charge. He sat, unblinking and motionless, on a rough hardwood chair. Wrists cuffed behind his back. He looked from face to face. The spitting and snarling had stopped. After two hours it had proved pointless. Now he sat in silence, his control of his temper on a knife-edge.
The sudden ambush had been unexpected and painful. But Mullen had regained his composure quickly. For the past hours he had concentrated on what would probably follow.
Stanton had warned him about Michael Devlin and his relationship to Liam Casey, so he knew why they were involved. It was this knowledge that made Mullen sure of how things would end. With the stakes as high as they were, Liam Casey could not leave him alive.
The only question was what would happen in the meantime. In this respect Mullen had an advantage. Long experience of both kidnap and aggressive interrogation left him with little to learn about either. Mullen was not surprised, then, that Liam Casey had so far left him isolated, with nothing to do but dwell upon what might follow. It was an old technique designed to weaken resolve. To encourage him to grasp any opportunity of survival that presented itself. Seeing it for the first time from the other side, Mullen recognised how effective it was.
The urge to offer information in the hope of securing his safety was overwhelming. For most it might even prove irresistible. But Mullen was made of different clay. The irrationality that had guided him to the top of his trade would not submit to inner torment.
Robert Mullen would not be beaten.
The same irrationality – the same streak of madness – had driven Mullen to react in the only way he knew how. To struggle. To scream. To shout. To threaten. It had proved ineffective. The few men left on guard had ignored him. So now Mullen sat in silence, his anger, his resentment and his anticipation of the end ever growing.
Just as Liam intended.
It would not be anticipation for much longer. Mullen heard the roar of an engine outside. It was exactly how Mullen would have played it. Big delay. Big arrival.
The sound of a ringtone caught Mullen’s attention.
‘I’ll be right there.’
They were Jack Thornton’s only words as he held the phone to his ear. An unconscious glance told Mullen that the call was about him.
Thornton moved to the garage’s main doors and unlocked the four deadbolts that secured them. He opened the small man-sized hatch that sat within the right-hand door. It was designed to allow individual access to the lock-up without opening the main doors. To keep the heat in and the world out.
Thornton stood aside to let the new arrivals enter. Liam. Michael. Paddy O’Neil. And Sarah Truman.
The time between Michael’s departure and his return had felt like hell to Sarah. An ordeal made worse by the helplessness of waiting. By the time Michael and Liam had returned, she had made up her mind. Michael would not leave without her again.
It had not been an easy discussion, but Sarah’s refusal to spend any more time knowing nothing and fearing the worst had won out. It was an argument strongly supported by Sarah’s reminder that her life was under threat just as much as Michael’s.
Michael had seemed willing to stand his ground. Sarah suspected – hoped – this was through fear for her safety. But it had been Liam who had cast the deciding vote, agreeing that Sarah had the right to play a part in securing her own future.
Now, as she looked around the lock-up and set eyes upon a bloody figure secured to a chair in the centre of the space, Sarah began to question her own decision.
Mullen looked directly past Liam and Michael towards Sarah. He seemed to recognise her uncertainty. His stare bored into her. The intensity in his gaze caused a shiver to run to the base of her spine.
It made him crack a sinister smile.
‘You took your time, Liam.’
Mullen’s grin did not fade as his eyes moved to Casey.
‘I thought you might have changed your mind about coming back.’
‘I was always coming back, Robert. I just thought I’d give you some time to yourself.’
‘Time to think about the things you might do to me, you mean? Well, I’ve had time. And you may as well get started with it, because I’m not telling you a thing.’
Liam did not seem surprised by the statement.
‘What makes you think I’m going to do anything to you?’ he asked. ‘No one’s touched you since you’ve been here, have they?’
‘Fucking right they haven’t.’ Mullen’s lack of respect for anything and everyone was absolute. ‘Your boys haven’t the balls to start without you. Maybe you need to show ‘em the way, eh?’
Sarah wanted to look away, yet she could not take her eyes away from Mullen. The man was almost hypnotic. He seemed unfazed at the prospect of torture. It was a mentality she could not understand.
‘They didn’t touch you because I told them not to.’
Liam’s voice was as calm as Mullen’s. Even more controlled.
‘And I won’t touch you either. Because I don’t need to.’
The first flicker of confusion crossed Mullen’s eyes. A moment of uncertainty. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived. When he spoke again his voice was still calm.
‘Don’t waste your time playing games. I’ve been doing this too long to fall for the shite. We both know how this works. You’ll offer to let me go if I tell you what you want. I refuse, you torture me and then you promise to stop if I talk. Then you kill me anyway. I end up dead whatever happens, Liam, so I’m not telling you shit.’
Mullen’s words were certain. But Liam had very different ideas.
‘What makes you think it goes that way, Robert? We’re not all unsophisticated psychopaths. There are alternatives to torture. To murder. You just never worked them out.’
‘Is that right?’
Mullen was trying his best to sound dismissive, but it was clear that the possibility of survival was impossible to ignore.
‘What are they, then?’
‘It just takes a little thought, Robert. But then that’s something you’ve never been that good at.’
Liam’s tone was becoming intentionally patronising. He continued.
‘I only need to kill you if you don’t tell me what I want. Because if you do, you’re finished anyway, and then you’re no threat at all. So you get to live. It’s simple when you think about it. You’ve just never been smart enough to see it.’
‘Fuck you, Casey!’
Mullen responded with renewed ferocity. And Sarah could see what had caused it.
It was the illusion of choice. Liam seemed to have given Mullen two options, but human nature dictated that only one path would ever be taken, and that made it no choice at all.
Whatever the cost, survival wins every time.
‘Fuck you!’ Mullen seemed to be fighting his natural will to live. A pointless battle. ‘You’re all so fucking civilised with your big cars and your posh restaurants and your trendy bars. So what? At the end of the day, you’re still in a lock-up with a fella tied to a chair and you’re still gonna kill him. We’re not fucking different, Liam. We’re both murderers. I just don’t hide it from myself.’
‘Neither do I,’ Liam replied. ‘I know what I am. But there is a difference, Robert. I’ve killed when I had to. But you? You never see any other choice. You think I have to kill you because you’re too simple to realise that I don’t.’
‘What are you talking about?’
The carrot of survival was dangling. For some reason Mullen still struggled to understand the consequences of taking it.
Or maybe he knows, Sarah thought, but just can’t believe it.
When Mullen spoke again he was ranting.
‘We both know what you have to do, Liam. Killing me is the only way to stop a war. If I leave here alive I’ll hunt every one of you bastards down. My boys will be on your back day and night. We both know it, Liam. Don’t try telling me I’m wrong.’
‘But you are wrong.’ Liam was as calm as he had been throughout. ‘You’re only a threat to me with your organisation behind you. But once I know about the True IRA and every other dirty little secret you have, you won’t have an organisation. No back-up for me to worry about. You’ll be what you were a few years ago, Robert. A nobody with a bad temper.’
Mullen did not move an inch as Liam’s words trailed off. His unblinking eyes stared blankly at Liam’s face, the truth seeming finally to sink in.
‘You expect me to believe you’ll let me walk out of here?’
Mullen’s words remained defiant, but his faltering voice betrayed them.
‘I don’t care what you believe,’ Liam replied. ‘You’ll talk. If you’re so stupid that I have to break every bone in your skinny little body to make that happen? Well, that’s up to you.’
Mullen did not respond. Instead he glared at Liam. He gave every indication that he would erupt again. A final act of violence before death.
Sarah stepped back. She began to tense, preparing for the fury they all seemed to expect.
It never came.
The phone was not answered on the second ring. Not even on the third. Only on the eighth did the line come to life.
Joshua was met by Stanton’s usual empty greeting.
‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Joshua’s annoyance tripped off his tongue. ‘I’ve been trying to contact you for three hours. Why didn’t you answer?’
‘That’s my business. Not yours.’ Stanton offered no apology. ‘You might be surprised to hear this, Sergeant, but I have responsibilities other than to be at your beck and call.’
‘Really? In that case you won’t be interested in what Devlin and Casey are doing right now then? Or to know who they’ve got tied to a chair?’
‘Someone else? Already?’
‘Yes, someone else. They don’t dawdle. They had this guy within hours of the last one. What do you want done about it?’
‘Do you know who it is?’
‘I didn’t catch the name tag, no.’
It was Joshua’s turn to enjoy some sarcasm.
‘Then tell me what he looks like.’
‘He’s small. Five foot six. Wiry build, sandy hair. Mean anything to you?’
Stanton’s momentary silence was answer enough, but he confirmed it with his next words.
‘Yes, it does. His name is Robert Mullen. Where was he taken from?’
‘They grabbed him from outside a snooker club in the north of the city. There were men with him but Casey and his boys dealt with them. Pretty brutal stuff. I’ll tell you something for nothing, Stanton. These guys are good at what they do.’
There was another pause before Stanton spoke again.
‘How good?’
‘That’s hard to say,’ replied Joshua. ‘I don’t really know what you’re asking.’
‘What I’m asking is are they too good for you? Or can you deal with them now? Inside the building?’
Joshua had already surmised that the man in the lock-up was important. Now he knew for sure. The answer Stanton wanted to hear was obvious. But realism was safer than bravado.
‘Maybe. But maybe not. It’ll be messy, and I can’t guarantee it’ll go our way.’
‘OK. Then we can’t take that risk. Not now.’
‘So?’
‘Stay where you are for now. Mullen won’t break easily. Which means there’s a good chance they’ll leave him there to stew a while. If that happens – if Devlin and Casey leave – how confident are you that you can take what’s left?’
‘They left three last time. And three would not be a problem.’
‘Good. Then we wait for now. And if they leave you go in there and you mop up what’s left. Starting with Mullen.’
Joshua did not answer.
‘I’ll take your silence as agreement,’ Stanton continued. ‘And one more thing: I want the brothers alive if possible. At least for now.’
The line went dead before Joshua could question the last order. It made no difference. He had his instructions.