The journey from London to Belfast City Airport had been uneventful. The cash Michael had taken from Daniel’s safe had been more than enough to cover both the forty-mile black cab ride from London to the misnamed ‘London’ Stansted Airport, and the cost of the two airline tickets. Neither Michael nor Sarah carried a passport but, as Michael had explained, photo-identity cards were sufficient for what was technically a domestic flight. Michael had also assured Sarah that the three-hour window between buying their ticket and landing in Ulster was not enough time for them to be tracked and intercepted. So far, those assurances had been correct.
Their safe arrival and Michael’s confidence had served to quell some of Sarah’s fears over the past four hours. Not all of them, but she now had at least a faint hope that they could survive what lay ahead.
That hope had grown upon their arrival at an unremarkable Express Hotel in the heart of Belfast’s University Quarter, where Michael’s quick thinking had impressed her.
As they had checked in and paid their bill in cash, Sarah had heard Michael’s accent become both broad and slightly slurred. Sarah had understood his intention; a few lewd comments to the night porter, designed for the impression that Michael was a local who had got lucky on a night out. It was the only scenario that could explain their late arrival and cash payment without raising suspicion.
Sarah had played along when, to complete the picture, Michael had grabbed her lustfully and made a show of escorting her to their waiting room. Conscious of the feel of Michael’s hand on her lower back and aware of how easily she could have bought into the illusion, Sarah had broken away as soon as they were behind the door.
‘Now what?’
It was their first moment alone since leaving Daniel’s office. The first time they could not be overheard by a cab driver or other plane passengers. Michael could finally share the plan that had been developing in his mind.
‘We go to McGale’s office. See what we can find.’
‘When?’
Sarah had not wanted to rest. Momentum had brought them this far and she had not wanted to lose it now. Michael, it seemed, had the same idea.
‘Tonight,’ he had replied. ‘It’s the only chance we’ll get. They’ll know we’re in Belfast soon enough. Once they do, the office will be the first place they look for us.’
‘Have you checked where his office is?’
‘Not yet.’
Michael had been sliding his phone from his front trouser pocket as he replied. Thanks to the earlier attack, there was now a crack running across its screen. Battered the phone might be, but it had come out of tonight’s violence in better shape than Michael himself.
Michael had spent the next few minutes online looking up McGale.
‘The guy was a professor of Political Science at Queen’s University. That’s about five minutes from here. He’s sure to have an office in the faculty building. We just need to find out which building that is, which will be on the university website.’
Sarah had responded with a nod.
‘Let’s go then.’
It was almost an hour later that they found themselves on the aptly named University Street. Michael had jotted down the directions before taking apart first his handset and then Sarah’s. Decades of criminal trials had taught him that mobile telephones are homing beacons for anyone with the right technology. Too much of a risk. He would settle for the old-fashioned way: a scrap of paper, covered in his hasty scrawl.
Located at the heart of the campus among the greenery of University Square, Queen’s University was just as Michael had described. Or at least from what Sarah could see of it in the darkness. The expensively maintained grass expanse was almost entirely unlit and so they crossed the square with no fear of detection.
The faculty building was just ahead. A short stone staircase led from the pedestrianised square to the building’s stately entrance.
Michael reached the foot of the stairs first. Once there he turned and whispered to Sarah, telling her to step into the shadows as he climbed to the top. Sarah was unused to doing as she was told without explanation, but now was no time to argue. She moved into the darkness and watched as Michael went to work on the secured door.
Sarah could not see what Michael did in the minutes between first shaking the door to confirm that it was locked, and then somehow opening it. Whatever it was, she was surprised. Somehow Michael had bypassed the building’s security system and had gained entry to its interior.
How the hell does he know how to do that?
‘Wait there.’
She looked back up when she heard the words, just in time to see Michael disappear into the darkened doorway. He reappeared just a minute or two later and beckoned Sarah inside.
Graham Arnold was a well-respected non-uniformed sergeant in the police service of Northern Ireland, but he would always regard himself as being a loyal member of its infamous predecessor, the Royal Ulster Constabulary. It was as a representative of neither that he now sat in an unmarked police vehicle and watched Michael disappear into the building for a second time.
‘That was quick,’ he said with a smile. ‘Looks like they teach some shady stuff in English law schools, eh?’
‘Explains how he got away from Stanton’s other lads, I suppose.’
The response came from Noel Best, Arnold’s friend, colleague and co-conspirator. Best was no doubt as surprised as Arnold to see a lawyer bypass the building’s security entry system so easily. It did not seem to affect his confidence.
‘Let’s see him get away from us. Phone him.’
Arnold nodded, the phone already at his ear. The call was answered on the first ring.
‘You were right, they’re here. The two of them just went inside.’
There was silence as Arnold listened to the reply.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said in turn, ‘we won’t be underestimating anyone. Should I call you when it’s done?’
There was another brief pause in which Stanton gave his reply. Arnold did not respond, just hung up and turned to his companion.
‘Looks like you’ll get yer wish. Stanton wants us in there now.’