Authors: George Norris
“Jim, what are you still doing here? It's almost
seven; you should've signed out nearly an hour ago.”
Keegan looked up at the clock on the wall in the office. “Oh shit! I gotta give Kate a call and tell her I won't be home for a while.”
“There is nothing more to do tonight. I faxed over the preliminary details you drew up to the Chief of D’s officer almost two hours ago. They were satisfied. I have the debriefing at headquarters at 2000 hours with all of the top brass. Any further concerns, they will let me know. You can count on that. Then we could adjust the detail as need be to address their concerns in the morning. There is nothing more you can do here tonight.”
Marsh appreciated Keegan’s hard work in spite of his prior lack in judgment. “Jim, why don't you just go home? Tomorrow is another day.”
“Cap I feel terrible about everything. It was my fuck up that's causing all of these problems for you, so I'm going to stay right here with you until we sort this whole thing out.”
Captain Anderson shook his head in agreement. He knew Keegan was a real stand up type of cop and time and time again he proved this true of himself. “All right Jim, suit yourself. You might as well come with me to headquarters and sit in on the meeting in case they have questions.”
Keegan thanked Captain Anderson for everything he has done to help him through this mess before calling his wife to tell her he wouldn't be home for quite some time. After hanging up the phone, he was relieved that Kate hadn't been as upset by the fact he wasn't going to be coming home for a while as he thought she would be. Every now and then Kate would take him by surprise and actually be understanding about his job.
There was less than an hour before the tactical meeting with all the top brass of the department to discuss what strategies should be employed at the parade. He wanted to have all the answers that it would be feasible for him to have. On the other hand, he didn't want to have too many answers where he couldn't supply them with his source of information. This way, if he got lucky enough to prevent the assassination, and Flynn didn't snitch on Keegan, nobody would be the wiser.
Keegan rang his friend, Bob Wolf’s office, hoping he had not left for the day. He was surprised that Wolf was actually still there. They two men exchanged pleasantries before Keegan got to the heart of the phone call. “Do you remember a few weeks ago when I called you to look into a guy named Sean Murphy?”
“Of course I do. You heard he was running a scam to raise money for the I.R.A. or something along those lines.”
“You don't ever forget a thing, do you Bob?” Keegan continued, “As it turns out, I don't believe Murphy is his real name anymore and conning people out of money may be the last thing he is here for. I received another intelligence report recently that said an I.R.A. member was in New York to assassinate the Grand Marshall of the Saint Patrick's Day Parade. I think they might be somehow be related,” Keegan baited his friend.
“I don't
understand why the I.R.A. would want to murder the Grand Marshall of the parade, Jim. To what end?”
Rather than explain the history of Ireland to his friend, he kept the answer short and sweet. “I don't know
Bob; I guess they're looking to make some sort of point. I don't even know if it's true for sure, but I have to assume it is. I can’t take a chance on Devine getting killed.”
“Fair enough. So how can I help?”
“Could you just run it through the computers to see if there are any known I.R.A. members past or present who recently came into the United States. Use a time frame of within the last two months.”
Keegan doubted the computer would come up with anyone and at worst case scenario they did come up with the name Gerald Flynn, he was sure Flynn would be laying low somewhere with only a few days to go before Saint Patrick's Day. “No problem Jim. I'll call you back in a few minutes.”
“Thanks Bob. One of these days I'm going to pay you back for all these favors you're always doing for me.”
After hanging up the phone, he looked back down at the detail rosters in front of him. It was almost seven thirty and he was trying to figure the best way to present the details to the department’s
hierarchy. He went over all of the details about the possible assassination attempt that he should know. He wasn't about to tell the department’s top brass, the Super Chiefs, as they were known to the rank and file, everything that he in fact did know from his dealings with the men of the I.R.A. He studied the details rosters and kept the number of cops he wanted on each block in mind.
Keegan needed a break from the paperwork in front of him and walked out of his office and into the squad room. He saw one of the detectives had put on a fresh pot of coffee and decided to take advantage of the situation. He poured himself a cup of coffee when he heard the telephone start to ring in his office. He took the coffee with him and walked quickly back into his office. “Lieutenant Keegan, Joint Terrorist Task Force.”
“Jim, have I ever told you how official sounding you are when you answer the phone?” Bob Wolf began to kid around with him.
Keegan didn't want to seem curt with his friend but he just wasn't in the mood for silliness of any kind. “Have you got anything for me?”
“No Jim. Sorry. I have no record of any known I.R.A. members at all entering the U.S. any time in the past six months.”
Keegan, wanting to keep the conversation to a minimum, thanked his friend and hung up the telephone. He felt a lot better now. He would have more answers than any one would expect him to. At twenty minutes before eight, Captain Anderson entered his office and announced it was time they leave for headquarters. The two men left the office of the Joint Terrorist Task Force and made their way to One Police Plaza.
****************************
It was a typically windy March afternoon in New York. As he left the pharmacy, Gerald Flynn buttoned the bottom button on his denim jacket to prevent the wind from blowing it open. The temperature was in the middle fifties and spring wouldn't be far behind. Flynn was somewhat impressed with all of Manhattan's skyscrapers. He shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he looked up to examine an oddly shaped building in the heart of the city. Flynn had spent almost all of his time inside the hotel room since his confrontation with the female detective. It was a relief to get some fresh air and exercise by taking a long, slow walk through the crowded streets of Manhattan.
Flynn figured with Saint Patrick's Day being tomorrow and nobody finding him yet, it was a rather safe bet the police had no idea where he was staying. He had been watching the news every evening at six and then again at eleven, as well as combing through the daily newspapers. He was relieved to see the police hadn
’t released his photo nor was there any mention of an Irishmen being sought for any reason in New York City. He was curious to go back to his original hotel to see if the police had impounded the rental car yet but he knew the risk was too great in case Keegan had the car staked out.
On the way back to his hotel, Flynn took a momentary detour and stopped at a pizza parlor. He ordered one slice of pizza and gave the man behind the counter two dollar bills. After putting the little change he got in return in his pocket, he picked up the slice in one hand and walked out of the store. Flynn felt a bit awkward having no free hands. The slice of pizza was in one hand and the supplies he had bought earlier were in the other. He thought how if for any reason he had to go for his gun, he would drop the pizza.
The pizza had curbed his appetite, for now anyway. It was quite good, he concluded. Flynn started to like New York City. There was good food, a good night life and it was a very exciting place, day or night. Although Flynn conceded to himself New York had a lot to offer him, he couldn't wait to be back home in Belfast. That was where he belonged.
The more thought Flynn gave to his eventual trip back to Northern Ireland, the more he realized what a tough task that could potentially be. If Keegan was really out to stop him, then after the hit
, he would undoubtedly have men at all of the airports in the area. His alias of Sean Murphy would also be useless. He was sure Keegan would put out an all points bulletin on that name as well as his real name of Gerald Flynn.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have told Keegan me real name
. He realized he wouldn't even be able to turn to Dan O'Brien for help since he was sure Keegan would have McBride's also staked out twenty-four hours a day. He was on his own to get back to his native country once his mission was accomplished.
It was a sobering thought but first things first. His main and only objective was to assassinate Martin Devine to further the cause of freedom for Northern Ireland. After the mission was complete, would be the time to start thinking about how he was going to get back home. He still had well over three thousand dollars left from the money Eamon Quinn had given him and that would surely be enough to live on the lam for a little while. He could pull off a stick up or two if he had to, just to get enough money to get by if money eventually did become an issue for him.
Flynn figured after about two or three weeks, when the heat began to die down, he could call up Eamon and arrange for some way to get home. Eamon had his connections all over and Flynn figured at worst he would wind up stowing away on a ship bound for Ireland. Even if he had to take a ship to England first, it wouldn't be so bad. From there he could board a plane without the fear of being looked for. Whatever the future held for Flynn, he figured in twenty-four hours time he would have a much better idea of what to do.
At shortly after three o'clock, Flynn returned to his hotel room. He sat down on the bed and emptied the contents of the bag from the pharmacy on the bed next to him. He picked up the mirrored sun glasses and put them on. He walked into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He liked them. He thought they looked intimidating on him. He then took them off and returned to the other room.
Flynn examined the rest of the supplies he bought and then got undressed. He placed his nine millimeter handgun on the night table next to the bed after bringing up to eye level and setting the sights on a random target in the room. After stripping nude, Flynn went back into the bathroom and turned the hot water on in the shower. He watched as the faucet spat out
brownish water. He allowed the water to run until all of the brownish color gave way to clear water. He turned on the cold water and adjusted the water to his liking. Flynn spent about fifteen minutes in the rather hot shower trying to relax. He carefully shampooed and conditioned his long dirty blond hair. When Flynn got out of the shower he toweled himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. Wiping the fog from the bathroom mirror, he studied his face. He had a three day growth of stubble which needed to come off.
Once Flynn had finished shaving, he returned to the other room and retrieved some of the supplies from the bed, bringing them back into the bathroom. Flynn grabbed his slowly drying hair in one hand, crunching it into a pony tail. He then took the pair of newly purchased scissors in the other. The scissors fought their way through the wet hair. He cut it as short as he possibly could
; discarding the excess on the bathroom floor. Flynn examined the hair as it lay on the floor. It had taken him a while to grow it that long and he was sad to see it go.
Well, we all have to make sacrifices
, reasoned Flynn to himself. He laughed to himself about his own joke and plugged in a pair of barber’s clippers. He continued to cut his hair until it was as low as he could do by scissor and then he took to the hair with the buzzers. It was a crude job he admitted but nevertheless, it would change his appearance greatly. He had cut his once long hair, down to an inch long crew cut.
He read the directions on the back of the box of hair dye before opening it. He had never dyed his hair before. He mixed together the appropriate concoction and placed the mix in a dispenser supplied in the package. He stretched the smallish rubber gloves supplied by the kit over his large hands. These were probably made for a ladies hand, he reckoned. Flynn put another towel over his shoulders, not wanting to get the dye all over his entire upper body.
He carefully followed the instructions and combed in the dye exactly as instructed. During the process, which took less than an hour, Flynn wondered how long it would take him to get used to his new, short hair and how long it would eventually take to grow it long again like he preferred it. He never even considered another option like jail or even death. Flynn was quite confident he would succeed in his mission.
When his hair finally dried, it was now jet black. Quite the contrast from the dirty blond color it had been for his entire life, he observed. Flynn added a gel to his hair and styled it with short spikes. He once again put on his mirrored sunglasses to examine how his disguise was coming along. He liked the way it looked so far, but he wasn't quite finished yet. Flynn took off the sunglasses and tossed them on top of his bed. He took a seat on the bed and looked at the remaining items which he had bought at a costume store.
It was a set of false mustaches and the glue to attach them with. Flynn opened the pack and picked out one of the mustaches. He read the instructions and warnings on the tube of glue. The tube of glue stated that it was guaranteed to last for at least twelve hours. This was one guarantee Flynn wanted to be certain of. The mustache was going to be a vital part of his disguise and if it were to fall of his entire ruse could be blown. Flynn stood in front of the mirror as he applied the adhesive to his upper lip. He waited about thirty seconds as the instructions had suggested and placed the mustache in place. The test for the glue would be to go to sleep tonight wearing the mustache, if it didn't fall off Flynn would have enough confidence in it to use it tomorrow, when it really counted.