The road to the McGale cabin was narrow. Tree-lined. It wound around the hill, so closely that in some places its edge was a sheer drop. Surrounded to the sides and above by the wild foliage, shafts of light occasionally broke through the overhanging canopy. In those spots the sun would temporarily blind any driver, a shift from darkness to daylight.
It was a risky enough route to chasten the most confident driver, with Paddy O’Neil no exception. His normally aggressive driving was tamed. Which had its upsides. Michael, at least, was comfortable in the backseat of O’Neil’s car for the first time.
The twists and turns seemed to be causing Liam some nausea. His face was unusually white as he turned his body from the seat beside O’Neil and looked back, first at Michael and then the men who flanked him. Michael followed his brother’s gaze and observed the determined looks that were etched upon their companions’ faces. They had come to play their part, well aware of what lay ahead. It was clear that neither of them was here to lose.
‘We’re coming up on the clearing now. Is everyone ready for this?’
Liam’s question was a simple one. And Michael’s simple answer, if he was being truthful, was ‘no’. He knew that they could be driving to their deaths.
‘We’re all ready,’ Michael lied. ‘Let’s just get it done, Liam.’
The view through the windscreen began to change as Michael spoke, revealing a clearing. The vehicle came to a halt, and all five men saw the same sight at the same time. Three white off-road vehicles, surrounded by a group of eleven armed men.
‘I don’t see Haversume.’ O’Neil was the first to speak. ‘Do you?’
‘No,’ Michael replied. ‘But it doesn’t mean he’s not here. He’s probably in the cabin with Sarah and Daniel’s family. Let’s go.’
All four doors of the Land Rover were opened on Michael’s word. Its five occupants stepped out and moved into the clearing, their guns on open display. Five more men immediately joined them. They had followed from Belfast in a separate car, just moments behind.
Michael strode purposefully ahead of Liam’s men, towards the group that awaited him. There was no sign of Haversume among them. Instead, in the centre, was a whippet-thin, middle-aged man. The thin man had a certain cockiness. The confidence of someone placed in charge. Michael glared at him.
‘Where’s Haversume? He’s supposed to be here.’
‘He’s here.’
Terry Barrett’s cockney accent stood out. Somehow alien in the Irish hills.
‘But you don’t talk to ’im ’til I know the recording’s real. You could be spoofing for all I know.’
‘Tony knows the deal. He shows his face or the recording goes to the press. He comes out here or we walk away.’
‘Deal?’ Barrett’s response was pure arrogance. ‘You ain’t in a position to talk about a deal, mate. We got your missus and your mate’s family and we’ll kill the lot of ’em if you don’t behave yourself. Now stop being a stupid bastard and show me the tape.’
Michael looked the thin man from head to toe as he spoke. Years of courtroom experience had given him an innate understanding of body language and bluffing.
Michael could smell the uncertainty.
‘You’ll be killing no one, mate.’ He placed a condescending emphasis on the last word. ‘I’ve got what Tony needs, which leaves you with a choice. Either you go and get that piece of shit and bring him out, or this place becomes a war zone. And, believe me, if we go down the second route you’re target number one for every gun behind me. So it’s your choice, mate.’
‘You’re threatening me?’
Barrett was as confrontational as he could manage. But Michael could see the fear in his eyes.
‘You really think you’re in a position to threaten me? I’ve got more men and more guns. Your little lot don’t stand a chance.’
‘Maybe we don’t. But what does it matter? We’re dead the second it starts, you and I. Only difference is I’m doing this for my family. I’ll die for them if I have to. I hope you’re being paid enough to say the same.’
Michael spoke with belief behind every word. And it seemed to have the desired effect. Barrett stood his ground for as long as he dared – a five-second show of bravado – before turning his back and walking towards the cabin.
Michael watched him go and, as he did, he considered what must happen next. Once Haversume was in the clearing Michael would have no choice but to hand over the recording in exchange for the hostages. But once that was done the intervention of Turner – if he was alive – would instantly follow.
Michael turned his head, looking for some reassurance from Liam. But Liam was not looking back. For just a moment he had glanced to the hills, fruitlessly searching for a reassuring glimpse of Dempsey. It was just an instant, but long enough for Michael to know what his brother was thinking. And to agree.
Dempsey had better be as good as he seems.
Joshua watched the encounter through his telescopic sight, read lips where he could see them. It gave him a limited understanding of the conversation. Interesting, but incomplete. That was inevitable when all he could see of Michael Devlin was the back of his head.
Restricted though his vision was, Joshua couldn’t miss the change in Haversume’s lead man. From his initial confidence – arrogance, even – the thin man had visibly wilted. His exposed jugular vein, clear in Joshua’s scope, had thumped with fear as Devlin spoke. Joshua had even suppressed a laugh, amused at how easily the man’s bullish command had been crushed.
It was a brief moment of humour. It would not last.
With his right eye peering through his lens, Joshua’s left eye remained open to scan the overall scene. It was a trusted technique that allowed him to remain aware of happenings outside the tunnel vision of his rifle sight. Things such as the small but vital detail that made his heart suddenly race.
Joshua had paid only fleeting attention to the men with Michael Devlin. Had only half-noted Liam’s occasional head movement. He instead concentrated on what he now saw through his lens. Haversume, walking into the clearing with a gun in hand, behind the stumbling cover of both Sarah Truman and Harry Lawrence.
Haversume was taking no chances with his own safety, Joshua could see that. Not content with hiding behind his captives, his eyes kept darting towards the hills; searching for some impossible confirmation that his protector was watching.
It was the eye movement that triggered Joshua’s mental alarm. The gaze that swept back and forth. Initially angered by the man’s obvious fear, Joshua’s heart rate jumped as his subconscious connected the dots. As he realised that Liam Casey – metres behind the action – was doing exactly the same thing as Haversume.
Joshua pulled his right eye away from the scope and looked directly into the clearing. Liam Casey was standing just metres from Michael and from Haversume. Their encounter should have held his undivided attention, but did not.
Liam – like Haversume had – glanced towards the hills.
Joshua returned to the scope. Moved it a twitch to the left. His enhanced vision settled on Liam’s head. The close-up view confirmed his instinct. Liam was looking for something. For someone. It was subtle, but to someone of Joshua’s experience it was now unmistakable.
And it meant one thing. Liam Casey knew that Joshua was there.
The panic and paranoia that came with the realisation overcame him. How could Casey know? Was it Haversume? Was the whole thing a set-up? And, if it was, who else was up here? Questions flooded his mind. Too many. In response he did what he had never done before.
He moved before taking his shot.
Joshua threw off the leaves and shrubs, grabbed his pistol and climbed to his feet. Then he turned to run. And came face to face with a man he had not seen in seven years.