ELEVEN

Forcing the Issue 

“How do you know we’re being followed?” I eventually asked, trusting that one or the other of my bodyguards would reply with something besides a dismissive wave – or, in Leonard’s case, a few choice expletives.

I’d tried to keep an eye on the traffic behind us, searching for likely candidates or, when that failed, any vehicle that might look suspicious. But I gave up quickly: too many cars, too many lorries, too many vans, too many motorcycles, many of them standing out because they were different from what we’re used to seeing on the roads back home, and every one of them seemingly indifferent to our passage through north Dublin – or at least as far as I could tell.

“Forget it, Blake,” Leonard said as he scanned the traffic ahead of us. “You won’t spot it – took me 10 minutes, and I was looking from the time we left the Courts place.”

“Dark Mercedes, dark windows,” Elmore said. “Five cars behind. Can’t make out the license plate – not yet.”

“Yeah,” Leonard said. “That’s the one.”

I craned my head again to look out the back through the tinted hatch and spotted three vehicles matching the general description that Elmore just provided.

Must be getting old – or tired, I thought.

“This’ll help, Blake,” Leonard said, and he gunned the SUV’s turbo-charged engine. The Range Rover lurched forward, and Leonard swerved to the outside lane, raced past a slow-moving lorry, and eventually tucked back into the middle lane again, effectively using the truck as a shield.

“He can’t see us now and will have to move to get us in his sights again,” Leonard said. “Keep an eye out the back, but don’t stick your head out the window and wave, for god’s sake. No sense letting him know we’re on to him – not yet.”

“Got it.”

Then, a moment later, I asked another obvious question – one that was apparent to me, anyway – and got an obvious answer from Elmore, had I thought it through.

“Why not just take an exit and lose him?”

“Because we want to find out who he is and what he knows.”

“And who he’s working for,” Leonard said. “And what the hell happened back at the Courts.”

“That most of all,” Elmore said.

It made perfect sense, and I was again impressed with the cool efficiency of my bodyguards. Despite Leonard’s biting hostility and overall sour disposition, and Elmore’s penchant for asking off-topic questions, they understood the expectations and knew their jobs well and performed them with an understated proficiency.

Both would have made good cops, I suspect, had life’s quirks not taken them down a far different path.

I could even give them a recommendation, I thought.

But I sure as hell didn’t say that aloud. I suspect that Leonard would’ve shoved me out of the SUV without bothering to hit the brakes.

Moments later, past the exit for Dublin Airport, a Mercedes finally crept past the lorry but then instantly slowed, using its blinker to duck back into the same lane that we were using, directly behind us.

“Any questions?” Leonard said.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

“We wait for the right time – someplace out of the way – and see what he’s got,” Leonard said. “How well do you know the road, Blake?”

“Not well enough to tell you that,” I said. “But if you want to play demolition derby without attracting attention, you’ll have to take an exit. Plenty enough places to do that, I guess.”

“Don’t want to alert him,” Leonard said.

“Make it look like something else,” I said. “How are we on fuel?”

He glanced down at the instrument panel.

“Half full – maybe a little more.”

“Call it five-eights,” Elmore said cheerily.

“Pull off at an exit that’s marked for petrol stations,” I said. “If nothing else, it’ll confirm that he’s actually following us. A full tank’s a good thing anyway. Armagh is a ways away.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Leonard said. “We ought to talk to Tommy, before we head north.”

“We can call him,” Elmore said.

“Ain’t the same.”

“Agreed – just saying.”

“First things first,” Leonard said. “Let’s take care of this bastard behind us – see what he knows. Then we talk to Tommy.”

“Sounds good,” Elmore said.

“All right. So look for a likely exit where we can gas up.”

“I’ll take a look at the map – see what’s up ahead,” I said.

“How do you want to play it?” Elmore asked a moment later. “I’m concerned about the guns over here. Guns are gonna get noticed.”

“Guns get noticed back home, too,” Leonard said.

“Not like here. Nobody’s got guns over here.”

“The IRA and the other the paramilitary groups, on both sides of the border, all have guns,” I said while scanning the map, trying to determine our precise location.

“My point exactly,” Elmore said.

“But if the boys in that Mercedes are IRA, and it’s possible that they are …”

I didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both got it, and whatever plan they came up with would have to involve the likelihood of gunplay.

“So here’s what we do when we pull up to a gas station,” Leonard said. “Blake, you head to the can and stay there ’til one of us comes and tells you it’s safe. That’ll keep you the hell out of the way when the shit hits the fan. I’ll stay with the car ’cause that’s where he’s gonna come for a look. And you” – he glanced for a second at Elmore – “can pay for the gas and circle around. You should get a good look at him – maybe even get the drop on him. If not, at least you can watch my back and back my play … see if we can pull something off.”

He thought about it for a moment.

Elmore remained silent, no doubt thinking it through as well, looking for flaws or holes in the logic.

“Don’t shoot ’less there’s no other choice,” Leonard finally said. “But don’t hesitate to shoot if you need to. We can always ditch the rig and get something else.”

“Unlikely they’d send out one man alone,” I said. “I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

“Depends on what the task is,” Elmore said. “If he’s just keeping an eye on us, he may not even get out of the car. He might just wait in the weeds ’til we hit the road again.”

“No,” Leonard said. “He needs to watch us. He can’t take the chance we’ll bolt –head back to town, whatever.”

“I’ve found a good spot to make this happen,” I said a moment later. “Look for the signs to Route 125, on the left, heading toward Swords.” I spelled it out. “Looks big enough for a petrol station. And if you really want to open up some possibilities, loop around on the 132 and head for either the Forrest Little Golf Club or straight toward the airport. There’s a back road that services both.”

“That’ll work – all of it,” Leonard said. “How far?”

“Three kilometers ahead. You should see the signs for the 125 or Swords any minute now.”

Leonard soon spotted the exit and wheeled the Range Rover off the motorway, spilling us into a suburb for folks who no doubt work in the city but don’t want to live there.

“Too many houses and people who won’t like hearing gunshots, and I don’t see a gas station close,” he said. “Let’s head back to the airport. Tell me where to go.”

I repeated the directions as the Mercedes followed us off the exit – no surprise there – but kept a discreet distance, which we’d all noticed but didn’t bother mentioning.

Leonard at least kept his eye on the road, doing a better job now, I thought, of staying in the correct lane.

Elmore pulled out his Beretta and checked the action.

I kept a wary watch on the Mercedes in case it decided to take a run at us, hurtling past in a hail of gunfire and screeching tires. I could picture it all in my head – just like in the movies again – and was actually waiting for the damned thing to power up when Leonard turned left onto the R132 and headed back toward the airport, directly east.

“What do you think?” he asked Elmore.

“Pretty empty out here,” Elmore said. “Why not right now?”

“I was thinking the same.”

Leonard glanced sideways at me and said, his voice flat, emotionless, “Buckle up and hold on, Blake. Ride’s about to get bumpy.”

I already was locked into the Range Roger’s seat belt. But I grabbed the Oh Jesus handle and held on tight as Leonard slammed on the brakes while spinning the wheel hard to the right, executing a nifty 180-degree turn with help from the emergency brake. Then he lined up the Mercedes and headed straight for it, playing a game of for-keeps chicken.

Elmore’s pistol was in his right hand.

I figured that was a good idea, given what we suspected from the occupant in the Mercedes, and pulled the P99, bracing my feet hard to the floor.

What if this guy isn’t a bad guy at all? I wondered as the Range Rover closed the distance and the driver in the Mercedes hit his brakes.

What if this is just some innocent schmuck heading home for a bite?

Then an even worse thought hit me.

What if it’s the national police in an unmarked car?

I was tempted to tuck the P99 back into its holster but didn’t have time.

The Mercedes had slowed to a crawl and crept off to the shoulder as we closed in.

At this point, we could plainly see the faces of two men inside the Mercedes. They didn’t seem in any way perturbed or concerned or put out. I took it as a good sign, an indication that these were no weary tourists heading to the airport for a quick flight to France or local office workers playing hooky and heading to the nearby golf course.

That snap assessment was confirmed when the windows on the Mercedes powered down and handguns emerged from either side.

Leonard didn’t so much as blink. He briefly angled right, then left again, and powered the Range Rover into the front bumper of the Mercedes, hitting the brakes hard at the last instant, using the vehicle’s forward momentum to dislodge the weapons from the hands of our unwelcome party-crashers and shove the Mercedes sideways into the roadside ditch.

The Range Rover remained anchored on the shoulder, inches from the ditch’s incline.

As far as I could determine, the bastards didn’t fire a single shot.

Leonard and Elmore were out of the rig and had the two battered and startled Mercedes occupants covered in seconds, before they could recover their wits or their weapons – in all, a nifty piece of driving.

Good stuff – just like they draw it up, I thought.

Leonard and Elmore pulled the startled pair roughly from their vehicle and produced zip-ties from their pockets, locking the duo in ’cuffs, face-up on the ground seconds later, their bodies hidden from potential passing motorists by the crumpled Mercedes.

Fortunately, the road was empty.

I climbed out of the SUV just as the fun started.

“Talk,” Leonard snarled.

“Fook off, boyo,” one of them said. “It’s a pretty penny you’ll be after owin’ me for the car’s repair – I kin tell ya that.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Meself,” the driver said. He seemed to be the leader of the pair and spoke with a thick north-Dublin accent. He also didn’t seem to be especially troubled by his current predicament, which was bothersome for additional reasons.

His partner, his head turned sideways, kept his eyes on Leonard, for the most part, but he also tried to sneak occasional surreptitious peeks down the road, in the direction that we’d just traveled.

At first I figured that he was searching hopefully for a passing motorist to take interest in the situation and provide him and his partner a chance to escape.

Then I wasn’t so sure, though the road remained empty, which likely should’ve provided some comfort. At that moment, in that setting, it didn’t.

“Why’d you kill our friends in the van, back at the Courts?” Leonard asked.

“Don’t know what yer talkin’ ’bout, Yank,” the driver said. “Haven’t killed nobody – not today, leastwise. Early, though. Take off these clips and I’ll show ya.”

He snorted, as though making a joke of the situation, and I could see Leonard’s anger rising. He moved in closer, the Beretta aimed at the driver’s head, and it was damn tough not to take the man seriously. I sure as hell did.

“Tell me who you work for – last chance.”

He cocked the pistol’s hammer for emphasis, adding a bit of drama.

“Shoot me, head or arse, and you’ll never know,” the driver said. “Then again, boyo, you’ll never know anyways – won’t get a bloody thing from me.”

Elmore kicked the passenger’s boot, getting his attention.

“How ’bout you?” he said. “Anything to say?”

“Yeah. I got somethin’ fer ya, all right. Fook off, Yank. How’s that? Clear enough, is it?”

I figured that we could entertain ourselves for hours without getting anywhere, beyond expanding our knowledge of inventive insults and Irish invective. But we didn’t have hours.

We barely had seconds.

I heard the throaty roar of a car’s engine winding up on the highway and spotted a dark sedan – another Volvo, maybe – maybe even the Merrion Row Volvo? – hurtling toward us.

Do they see this? I wondered, thinking of Elmore and Leonard.

At least somebody did. The Mercedes’ shotgun rider saw it, too, and his eyes widened appreciably.

He’s not looking for a friendly motorist, I thought.

“Cover,” I yelled. “Take cover.”

I was already positioned behind the armor-plated SUV, and I ducked down at the same instant that Elmore and Leonard raced a few hurried steps and planted themselves behind the Range Rover, just as the passing sedan whizzed by, leaving a pipe bomb in its wake.

The bomb struck the pavement hard, clattered off the Range Rover’s protected grille, and shot down the steep embankment toward the toppled Mercedes, lodging at its base.

It blew an instant later, and the concussion was terrific.

The Mercedes jumped off the ground – 5 feet, perhaps; maybe higher – and slammed down again, this time at an angle, bending the car sideways and crushing its two former occupants beneath the rubble.

My ears were ringing, my head was pounding, and I kept thinking, for whatever reason, that I should hide the P99 – just in case the Guards showed up and started asking questions.

Yeah. Crazy stuff, all right.

“Gotta go. Right now,” Leonard yelled, getting to his feet with some effort. He reached down and clutched at Elmore’s arm, helping him up. I was inclined to stay down for a minute or two, just to catch my breath and process what had taken place.

But it turned out that there was no time for that, either.

“Blake,” Leonard called out, hollering loudly because our ears were still ringing. “Move, dammit – before they try it again.”

That got me going.

The day had started cool, with a light drizzle falling off and on and gray clouds hanging low in the sky. But a steady rain began falling as we scrambled back into the SUV, and Leonard spun the wheel once more and changed directions so that we headed east, toward the airport again.

We didn’t say anything for a good minute, maybe longer, giving our ears a chance to clear.

Elmore finally broke the silence.

“You OK back there, Professor B?” he asked, still speaking overly loud.

“I’m good,” I called out, and I started looking at my extremities, searching for blood or holes or missing fingers or toes. “I think I’m good, anyway. How about you two?”

Leonard mumbled something that didn’t register. My ears and my brain were having difficulty processing sounds, and my bodyguards were experiencing the same phenomenon.

It was damned unsettling.

“Second time today you saved my ass,” Elmore yelled. “This time you saved Leonard’s, too.”

He grinned at me, turning his head to the side, and poked Leonard’s arm to ensure that his partner hadn’t missed the point.

Leonard scowled but remained mute.

“You think they were aiming at us or at the two we’d collared?” Elmore shouted a moment later.

“We need to see Tommy – find out what the hell he knows, what this is all about,” Leonard hollered back, ignoring the question.

He gripped the wheel and concentrated on the road ahead.

I did the same, again latching onto the Range Rover’s Oh, Jesus handle while desperately watching for approaching vehicles that never came.