Blood For Blood Part VI

[Silktie]

WARNING: LANGUAGE

PART VI

Sunday 21 November, Late afternoon
Belfast

Harry finds the Land Rover in an underground car park near the hotel without any problem. Malcolm has done well; it looks well-used and is splattered with mud, in all aspects a non-descript vehicle that will blend in perfectly on the country roads. He finds the key hidden behind the nearest fire hydrant, and gets in. On the passenger seat lies a parcel, a flashlight, and binoculars. He shakes out the contents of the parcel: maps, compass and GPS, and Bill’s ring.

Harry scrutinises the ring carefully before putting it on his finger. He stares at it, remembering how he used to tease Bill about the signet ring with the unsightly black stone, and how Bill used to laugh and tell him that he was behind the times, that it was all the fashion rage.
“I still think it’s bloody ugly, Bill.”
He reaches into the glove compartment, and withdraws the gun and extra ammunition clips hidden there. Expertly, he disassembles and reassembles it, making sure that everything is in order. It is in perfect working condition. He expects nothing less of Malcolm. Taking a deep breath, he starts the engine and drives out into the streets of Belfast.

* * *

Same day, Late afternoon
Hotel Operations Centre

Ruth sits, unmoving, paralysed by an intense fear, after Harry has left. She knows him so well, that it is obvious to her that he fears he may not survive whatever he is about to do. That is the only explanation for him coming to see her before he left. It also means, she knows, that he is probably not taking back-up. The thought of Harry all alone, facing his demons, finally galvanises her into action. Totally against regulation, she digs out the untraceable mobile on which she communicates with Malcolm, and calls him.

“Hi Ruth. You want to do another test run on the infrared pulse detector?”
“No, Malcolm. I need something else from you. Have you done any off the books surveillance for Harry?”
“Er…” Malcolm hesitates, caught between not wanting to betray Harry’s confidence and the note of panic in Ruth’s voice.
“Malcolm, please. Harry is about to go into a dangerous situation with no back-up, I need all the information you have in order to help him.” As she finishes speaking, she realises that Beth is standing behind her, an alarmed look spreading across her face. Her focus is brought back to the phone by Malcolm’s voice.
“That explains the ring…”
“What ring?”
“He gave me this ring, with a big black stone, and told me to put a tracking device into it.”

Ruth’s heart leaps. “You mean you can track where he is?”
“Er, no. He has to activate it by pressing on the stone first.”
This information is met by anguished silence. Malcolm knows Ruth does not panic unnecessarily, and decides that he’ll risk Harry’s wrath to help.
“I’m sending all the information right now. I have a list of telephone numbers picked up from surveillance done on the house Harry visited last night. Get onto GCHQ to send you the recordings of calls made on these numbers from late last night to today. In the meantime, I’ll hack into the CCTV feeds and see if I can pick up the car.”
As Ruth gets on the phone to GCHQ, Beth settles into the chair next to her and picks up a pair of earphones. Ruth gives her a questioning look.
“I’ll help. Two of us will get through the recordings much faster.”

* * *

The Sunday afternoon traffic is light, and Harry soon leaves the city behind. As he turns from the M1 onto the A3 and heads south towards Armagh, mist starts to creep up the valleys. By the time he turns onto a dirt road halfway between Belfast and Armagh, it has thickened to a fog that blankets everything and reduces visibility to a few metres only. Harry swears; this means he’ll not be able to observe the farmhouse for a time before going in. He’ll have no way of knowing if he is walking into a trap.

* * *

After half an hour of listening to other people’s inane conversations about shopping and the weather, Ruth has begun to think Harry may not be in danger after all. However, her illusion of safety is shattered by the next call she listens to:
“You remember that hard bastard from MI5? The one whose buddy we killed?”
“Aye.”
“He’s back, looking for trouble. I can lure him to the old farm where we did the other one, tomorrow night. You and Paddy want to have some fun?”
“Oh yes…”
Ruth pulls off her headphones, her hands shaking. Just then Malcolm calls.
“I picked him up on the CCTV. He went south on the M1.”

She calls Lucas.
“I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?!” Lucas is alarmed by the urgency in Ruth’s voice. She is one of the calmest people under pressure he knows, but he can hear that she is barely keeping herself together.
“It’s Harry. He’s gone off to take revenge on some of the men that was involved in Bill Crombie’s murder thirty-odd years ago. But they know he’s coming, Lucas. It’s a set-up, and he left his phone here so that we can’t trace him. Please, I’m begging you…”
She can hear Lucas running as he talks to her.
“Where do I go?”
“We’re still working on that, but he headed out of town south on the M1.”
“Right, let me know as soon as you have more.”
Lucas, who has just been meeting with the PSNI, runs back into the building.
“I need a car, NOW!”

* * *

Harry stops the Land Rover on a little hill at the back of the farm. The elevation is not high enough to lift him above the bank of fog, and he has no visual on the farm house. He sits in the car for a few minutes, his breath crystallising in the cold air, staring at the whiteness around him, watching the fog blur and soften the outlines of the nearest trees. His mind wanders, involuntarily, to Ruth. He thinks about the expression on her face below – or above - him when they make love, the lilt of her voice when she says his name, before he reigns in his thoughts savagely. These memories have no place here, where he is about to commit this brutal act. His eyes are drawn to the ring on his finger once again, strengthening his resolve.
“Blood for blood.” He says the words softly to himself. The gun is a reassuring weight in his hand as he takes it from the glove compartment, before stepping out of the car.

* * *

Lucas finally hits the open road on the outskirts of the city, and puts his foot down. As soon as he’d explained that Harry has been led into a trap by one of their Republican sources, the PSNI almost drowned him with offers of fast cars and, more alarmingly, unregistered firearms. He tries not to think too much about what that may mean for their methods of keeping law and order. About ten of them offered to come along, but Lucas doesn’t want to end up in a stand-off between the Republicans and the PSNI, with Harry as the pawn in the middle, so he declined, took one gun and a car, and sped off. Unfortunately, he still doesn’t know where he’s going, but he’s hoping that Ruth will figure it out in time.

Beth studies the Northern Ireland map on the wall, trying to figure out where Harry could have gone. Ruth stormed out a little earlier; Beth doesn’t know where to and didn’t get a chance to ask. Just then Ruth runs back in, waving a USB stick in the air. Beth points at the map.
“If he’s going south, I think a good bet would be somewhere near Armagh. That area has always been a hotbed for the Republicans.”
Ruth nods. “Good. Tell Lucas.”

Beth calls Lucas. “We think you need to head towards Armagh, so take the A3, all right?”
She looks over Ruth’s shoulder as Ruth opens the contents of the USB stick. “What’s that?”
“It’s all the files relating to Harry’s agent network when he was stationed here in ’78.” Ruth doesn’t add that she’d scanned the hard copies onto the USB quite illegally.
“I think they’ll be somewhere that is connected to the death of another officer during that time.” She opens the file on Bill’s kidnap and death, and frantically scans through it.
“There.” Beth, who is still reading over her shoulder, points to a paragraph. According to the file, Bill was constantly moved between two farms in the Armagh area. “It’s got to be one of those.” She calls Lucas again.
“We’ve narrowed it down to two farms in the Armagh area. Ruth is sending you the coordinates now. Hurry, Lucas!”

Now, all they can do is wait.

* * *

Harry carefully picks his way over the uneven terrain, the fog thick around him. He has to rely solely on the GPS and compass to be sure he is going in the right direction. It is eerily quiet, the fog damping down all sound, making his breathing sound unnaturally hard in his own ears. Finally he reaches a low dry stone wall, and pauses, gun at the ready. He is approaching the farmhouse from the same direction he did thirty years ago, and he remembers that the wall is no more than 200 yards from the back of the house. He wipes the moisture from his face, a futile gesture as new droplets form immediately and cling to his hair and eyebrows.

After standing very still for a few minutes, and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he cautiously scales the wall and drops into a crouch on the other side, almost expecting a hail of bullets to greet him.
Nothing happens.
Harry has a moment to think about the absurdity of a fifty-six year old man creeping around the Northern Ireland countryside in the fog, before his focus snaps back to the task in hand and he advances towards the house. It looms out of the fog suddenly, and he freezes, not aware that it was that close. He peers at it, but can make out very little detail in the gloom of fog and falling dusk. The house sits in darkness, waiting. Realising that he is clutching the gun with undue force, he consciously relaxes his grip, and edges towards the window next to the back door.

Once he reaches the house, he presses his back against the wall, feeling the cold seep through his clothes. Taking a deep breath, he risks a glance through the window, but the interior is even darker than the gloom outside, and he can’t make out anything. Harry closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. He knows that this is monumentally stupid, that he should turn around and go back to Ruth, or call Lucas for back-up at the very least. But he seems to have left all reason behind in that dingy sitting room with Steak Knife, whom he was forced to leave breathing and alive, while his friend is dead and buried in the cold, hard ground.

He ducks beneath the window and takes in a position next to the back door. Ever so carefully, staying behind the protection of the wall, he tries the handle. The door is unlocked. He eases it open as quietly as possible, still hugging the wall, and waits.
Once again, nothing happens.
He lets out a breath, and looks down at his hands holding the gun. They are steady, and he knows that he is ready. He darts inside, careful not to provide a silhouette in the open door for longer than a fraction of a second, and presses himself against the inside wall, gun up, ready to fire.
Still nothing happens.
Harry stays still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, straining to pick up any sound that is out of place. Hearing and seeing nothing, he moves through the kitchen towards the hallway. As soon as he steps into it, the cold barrel of a gun is pressed behind his right ear.

* * *

Lucas checks the coordinates again that Ruth has sent. He is nearing the turnoff to the first farm, having driven dangerously fast in the foggy conditions. He has decided to check out the nearest farm first, for lack of a better plan. The fog makes spotting the signposts hard, and he has to slow down to make sure he doesn’t miss the turn-off. He hopes to God that he isn’t too late.

Beth glances at Ruth worriedly; the analyst hasn’t said a word since they’ve identified the two farms. She is obsessively rechecking everything in the 1978 files, chewing on a pen as she concentrates. Beth wants to tell her that everything will be all right, but she knows it is an empty promise, so she says nothing, and stares at the phone, willing it to ring.

* * *

Harry is pushed down the hallway, the gun still pressing into the tender flesh behind his ear. His own has been taken from him, so he has nothing left with which to defend himself. He knows now that he has walked into a trap; that Steak Knife has set him up. His thoughts go to Ruth, and to Catherine, and regret burns bright in his mind.

They enter the sitting room, and a light is turned on. The first thing he sees is Steak Knife standing in the corner of the room. As he is frisked, his glare stays on the man who betrayed him. They remove everything, including his watch and the ring, checking them for tracing or listening devices. Harry is forced onto a wooden chair, and his hands bound tightly behind him. Paddy Williams holds up the ring.
“Now this looks awfully familiar.”
Harry watches as he twists, turns and pushes at the stone.

* * *

The tracking software beeps loudly, and begins to flash Harry’s position on the monitor before Malcolm. He nearly falls off his chair; he has been staring at the screen willing it to come to life for what feels like eons. He scrambles for the phone. As soon as Ruth answers, he bellows down the line.
“I’ve got him!”
To spare time, Ruth patches him straight through to Lucas, who barely has time to acknowledge the call before Malcolm rushes on.
“He’s turned on the tracker – he’s on the second farm!”

Lucas, who is about to take the turn-off to the first farm, yanks the wheel and cuts in front of another vehicle back onto the main road. The other driver blares his horn furiously, but Lucas ignores him, momentarily disoriented by hearing Malcolm’s voice.
“Malcolm?!”
“Yes. I’ll explain later. I think you’re a little busy right now.”
“Right.” Lucas disconnects and presses the accelerator down. The turn-off to the second farm is five kilometres on, and he reaches it in record time.

As soon as he turns off the main road, he turns off all the lights except for the fog lamps, and slowly noses the car forward over the dirt road. He knows from the GPS that it is about a kilometre and a half from the turn-off to the house, and watches the odometer carefully. As soon as he has less than half a kilometre to go, he stops the car and gets out to walk the rest of the way.

* * *

Paddy and Chris Burton circle Harry like hungry wolves, whilst Steak Knife stays in the corner and watches mutely. Chris positions himself in front of Harry.
“Harry fuckin’ Pearce. Didn’t think we’d ever see ye again round these parts, seein’ as ye ran away wit’ yer tail between yer legs as soon as we took care of yer friend, ye fuckin’ piece of shite.”
“I did not run.” Harry struggles against the ropes, the taunting note in the man’s voice getting under his skin. Chris steps closer, enjoying the helpless position of his victim. Harry mutters something under his breath. Chris steps even closer and leans over Harry.
“What was that?”
Harry kicks him viciously between the legs, and the man falls to the floor, howling in agony and clutching his balls.

“I said – there was no need to run from cowards like y…” His voice is cut off when Paddy’s fist crashes into his face, knocking him over and causing him to land hard on his right shoulder. He stifles the yelp of pain; he doesn’t want to give them any satisfaction by showing he is hurt. If he is to join Bill in the ground tonight, he’ll do so with honour, not begging for his life. Paddy kicks him hard in the ribs for good measure, and he has to grit his teeth not to whimper in agony.

* * *

Lucas advances up the dirt road, pointing the weak beam of his flashlight straight down. As soon as he sees the house take shape in the fog, he kills the flashlight, and tries to determine the best approach. He can see a light on in one of the front rooms, but the rest of the house is in darkness. Just then the silence is splintered by an agonised howl, making Lucas jump nearly out of his skin. Hoping desperately that the sound hadn’t come from Harry, he moves forward swiftly, deciding that there was no more time for a stealthy approach.

* * *

Paddy yanks Harry and the chair upright, and disappears from view for a few moments. Harry tastes blood, but he’s not sure whether his nose is bleeding or whether he bit his own tongue when Paddy hit him. He watches with satisfaction as Chris slowly and painfully picks himself up from the floor. Just as he is about to make a sarcastic comment, Paddy comes back into view, and Harry swallows his words. Terror rises up in him at the sight of the apparatus in Paddy’s hand.

Paddy grins at him.
“Let’s see how long ye hold up compared to yer friend. He was begging for his life within the first minute…And then, after about two minutes, he was begging fer us to kill ‘im.” He gleefully lights the blowtorch, and Harry watches helplessly as the blue flame comes ever closer.

TBC