Safe House (11 page)

The Mole had committed a double murder. A boy had seen him do it. The boy also knew he was a member of the Ulster Constabulary. He had to silence that boy. The only way to silence that boy was to kill him. It was as simple as that.

As the Mole moved, so did Liam, keeping a distance between them. The Mole began to move more aggressively, shouldering people aside. Voices were raised. A woman screamed. Somebody fell to the marble floor. A man yelled. Another woman screamed. The Mole had seen him and was struggling to reach him, knocking to the floor an old woman with a cane. “Hold that boy!” yelled the Mole.

Liam fled the group before anyone could hold him and ran two steps at a time up wide marble staircases: one flight, two flights, three flights, four flights. He stopped and leaned on the banister to look down at the flights below. The Mole, not as quick as Liam, was several flights down. Liam could see the top of his head as he grasped the banister and pushed himself to catch up, dragging his injured leg up the steps. Considering that he was wounded, the Mole was moving remarkably fast.

Liam continued moving up the steps. Where did they lead? Was he running into a dead end where the Mole could catch him? Maybe he would have been better off staying out on the open streets and making a run for it. Or maybe he should have stayed with the tourists. Would someone have protected him? Probably not. Who would interfere in a police chase, except to aid the police? Besides, how could any of them have stood up against such a big angry man in a police uniform?

…sound of the circus…

Angry man.

Liam is eight. He kicks his soccer ball—a homemade wrap of used car tire and rags—through the window of the house next door, breaking several panes of glass. The ball bounces onto the kitchen table and upsets Mr. Tiernan's mug of freshly brewed tea. The tea spills onto Mr. Tiernan's hand and scalds him.

Neighbor Jack Tiernan, new on the street, is “not quite right in the head,” according to local gossip. His reputation for strange and unorthodox behavior is tested. He comes roaring over the backyard wall like a demented lion (Liam's da tells Fiona Fogarty later), grabs Liam by the shoulders, and shakes him until teeth and tonsils rattle.

Liam's da sees what is going on and rushes out to rescue his son. Tiernan will not let Liam go. He is like a bulldog with his teeth clenched on enemy flesh. Dan Fogarty bops Tiernan lightly on the nose. Tiernan stops shaking Liam and clasps his nose. Surprised, he whirls about to face his attacker. Liam's da smiles, puts his arm round Tiernan's shoulders and talks to the man in a gentle voice, at the same time leading him back through the yard door to his own place.

“I didn't enjoy causing the poor man pain,” Dan Fogarty tells Liam and his mother afterward, “but I had to act fast before he shook the life out of the lad. The man lost his temper. Maybe it's a good thing it happened; now we're the best of friends.”

“The guy's crazy,” says Liam. “I thought he'd kill me.”

“‘The soft answer turns away wrath,' says the Irish poet.”

“Thumping the man on the nose was hardly a soft answer,” says Liam's mum. “Was it bleeding?”

“Not a bit,” says Dan Fogarty indignantly. “It was a soft answer of a blow.”

His da had protected him then. He needed his da, now, to protect him from the Mole. Perhaps he was protecting Liam from his new place up in Heaven, lending strength to his legs, helping him think of ways to escape.

Liam looked back. The Mole was coming after him. He was unstoppable. Liam plunged up a final staircase to the top and then ran to the end of a gallery, to a tight corridor that ended with a door in front and doors to the sides. He pushed through the door in front of him and hurried inside. The door had a lock. He clicked it on; the lock gave back a reassuring sound of temporary safety. He turned and leaned his back against the door while he recovered his breath. The door was thick and solid. To get through it the Mole would have to get security to open it with a key.

Time to think.

The Mole was on the other side of the door. Liam could hear him try the lock and push at the door with his shoulder. Then he tried to kick the door open but both door and lock were too strong for him.

Silence.

He had gone away. How long would it take him to find someone with a key?

He had to get out of the room.

But where to run?

At the far end of the room, there was a short flight of metal steps with handrails leading up to narrow metal doors that opened outward like shutters on the outside of the dome. The doors were open. He climbed the steps and found himself looking through the open doors at a cloudy sky. He leaned out the doors cautiously and looked down at a narrow granite parapet, no wider than a foot, that ran around the bottom of the city hall's dome like the very narrow brim of a bishop's hat. From where Liam stood, it was a sheer drop to the ground of two trapeze heights, or eighty feet. There were ropes. Slung twenty or twenty-five feet below the parapet were two window cleaners' platforms with a man on each platform washing windows. This explained why the metal doors were open.

He could not go back. The Mole was right behind him and soon would be bursting into the room. Either Liam could swarm down one of the window cleaners' ropes, ending up on one of their platforms, or he could move forward onto the granite parapet and attempt an escape by climbing down a drainpipe to the ground. Then he saw another possible way. About ten yards up ahead, on the outside of the dome, was another opening, similar to the one where he now stood, its double metal doors opened out onto the side of the dome like a pair of shutters. He rejected the idea of swarming down the rope to what would certainly be an easy place for the Mole to shoot him. Instead he could walk along the parapet to the next opening and dodge back into the building and hide somewhere or get back down to the street. That is, if he could walk, one foot in front of the other in circus wire-walking fashion, along the parapet without falling to what would be a certain death below.

He could hear someone at the door behind him. The lock clicked and tumbled as a key released the bolt. He was seconds away from being caught, dragged away and executed.

He had no choice. He stepped out onto the parapet and stood, finding his balance. He took a deep breath and began moving slowly, away from the opening, balancing himself, hands at waist level, shoulders relaxed, the way Nicole had taught him, stepping out as though on the high wire at the circus or the balance beam at the gym.

The rain had stayed off. The parapet was dry. There was very little wind. He did not look down at the ground far below but kept his gaze fixed on the way ahead, to the next opening. Though only about ten yards away, it seemed like a mile. He imagined himself high above the circus ring, walking the tight wire. He imagined the sound of the circus crowd below as it sucked in its collective breath and waited in agonized anticipation. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His head throbbed. He had forgotten about the swelling at his temple. Circus spectators had no idea how much an aerialist suffers if he is unwell on the day of the performance, he thought. One step at a time; one foot in front of the other. Lightly, carefully. He imagined Nicole encouraging him: “That's it, Liam. Keep going.”

He was almost there. Nicole's happy face. Relax. Take it easy. No hurry.

An imaginary roar of appreciation from the crowd below told him he had reached the metal door. He held on with both hands, swallowing with relief.

He turned and faced back the way he had come, expecting to see the Mole glaring out at him from the other door, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he had gone back inside, planning to catch him with the help of a security guard at this second open door. But no! The Mole now stuck his head out the far door, saw Liam, and started to climb out onto the parapet!

Liam stared. The man was mad. Rage had made him blind. Mole blind. So intent was he on killing Liam, that he seemed unaware of the danger. Liam left the parapet, stepping through the door into a room similar to the first. Now that his feet were on safe ground, he was able to lean out the door and look back at his pursuer. He decided to wait. If the Mole was foolish enough to walk the parapet and managed to make it to Liam's door, Liam could easily push him off without any danger to himself and that would be the end of the Mole.

The Mole crawled out of his door onto the parapet, breathing heavily, red-faced, eyes staring madly. He tried to stand on the parapet but failed. He sank to his knees and began crawling slowly along the parapet toward Liam's door. He crawled only a few yards before he stopped, scared, as if suddenly realizing his predicament. He tried to change his mind and move back but almost fell. He clutched the stone parapet desperately. “Help!” he yelled down to the window cleaners. “Help!”

The window cleaners looked up. “Hold it there!” one of them yelled.

“Hang on!” yelled the other as he switched on the electric motor that raised and lowered the platform. The platform began moving upward, like a slow elevator, until it was level with the parapet and then it stopped. But the Mole was several feet away from the safety of the platform. The window cleaner stretched out his arms but could not quite reach him. He was wearing a safety harness. He tied one end of a rope to his platform, climbed onto the parapet, and started crawling toward the Mole with the rope. “Tie the rope round your chest!” he yelled. The Mole, his back toward the window cleaner, reached back for the rope, slipped, swayed, tried to recover but overbalanced and fell, plunging into space, arms fluttering like the wings of some great black bird, bouncing off the second window cleaner's platform, and plummeting to the ground, screaming like the wind.

…a great black bird…

By the time Liam had controlled his trembling enough to climb back down through the gallery and descend the marble staircase to the outside pavement, a crowd had gathered.

Liam pushed his way to the front. The Mole lay on his back, perfectly still, arms outstretched, eyes closed. A man and a woman were crouched beside him. The woman searched for the Mole's neck pulse. An ambulance arrived. Two ambulance men exchanged a few words with the man and woman as they examined the Mole. They moved him onto a stretcher, tucked a blanket around him, and then loaded the stretcher into the ambulance and drove away.

Liam discovered that he was shivering, whether from fear or from the cold he didn't know. And his head ached. The small crowd broke up as the spectators moved off.

Was the Mole still alive? It looked like maybe he was. On the telly, didn't they always cover the face if the person was dead? The ambulance men hadn't covered the Mole's face. But Liam needed to know for sure. He headed for the nearby hospital, running to warm himself up. The rain started. By the time he got to the hospital he was quite wet. The woman on the information desk gave him change for the telephone.

He dialed the number.

It was ringing.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Cassidy—Delia—it's me, Liam. I'm at the hospital. The Mole—he's had an accident.”

“What! What are you saying?”

“The man who was trying to kill me. He fell. He's here in the hospital. Could you tell Jack—Mr. Cassidy? And could you call the police—Inspector Osborne?”

“Liam! Where exactly are you? Are you in Emergency? Which hospital?”

“Royal Victoria. Information desk.”

“Jack will call Osborne. Stay right where you are. We will be there, quick as we can.”

He paced the entrance lobby. The Information woman told him he could sit in the waiting room. She pointed. He opened the door and looked in; sad faces looked up at him. He closed the door, turned away and resumed his pacing, thinking about the Mole, seeing him falling like a stone.

…makes the whole world blind…

The Cassidys were the first to arrive, bursting through the swing doors, straight to where he was waiting. They had taken a taxi.

“Liam! You're all right?” Delia Cassidy sounded like his mother. Her worried gray eyes quickly took in his appearance, noticing everything about him, especially the lump on his temple and his wet, scruffy appearance. She came close and examined the bruise. She smelled good. It was like being close to his mother. Mum always smelled good—soap, fresh-baked bread…He missed her something terrible.

He shrugged. He couldn't speak. Thoughts of his mother made him a mute.

Rory said, “Hey, boyo.”

Jack Cassidy said, “What happened?”

Delia Cassidy put her arm around Liam's shoulders, led him to a bench and sat him down beside her. She pushed back his hair and examined the bruise on his temple more thoroughly. “We should never have trusted Osborne. I knew something would happen. I said to Jack, I said…”

“What are you doing here, boy? Why aren't you at the safe house?” It was Inspector Osborne, uniformed and angry.

Liam glared at him. He was no longer intimidated by the man and his uniform. “They tried to kill me.”

Delia Cassidy clasped his shoulders, as though to protect him from the policeman.

Osborne frowned. “Who tried to kill you?”

He felt a terrible tiredness and wanted to lie down. He had to force himself to speak. “Grogan and the man with the mole. He's a police officer. One of your men. Gave Grogan money. They tried to kill me. I escaped. He's here—the man with the mole is here, the policeman. In the hospital. He fell off…city hall…dead, I think.”

“When? How long ago was he brought in?”

“Ambulance…just now.”

“What about Grogan? Where is he?”

Liam shrugged. “At the house…”

Delia Cassidy sat up straight, shoulders back, steely gray eyes, cold stare. “So much for the protection of our city police, yes, Inspector? What kind of a safe house is it that wants to murder a young defenseless boy?”

The inspector silently fingered his ginger mustache. Then he said, “Please wait here.” He strode away toward the information desk.