O'Brien's eyes pleaded, he shook his head violently from side to side.
Malone nodded and Moonface discharged both barrels of the shotgun into the ceiling, showering Dempsey and O'Brien with plaster. Gordon O'Brien awoke and started screeching with fright. His tiny arms threshed.
'No money, no baby,' were Tommy Malone's parting words.
Peggy Ryan stuffed a soother into the baby's mouth but it didn't stop his frightened screeches. Harry O'Brien heard those screeches right up until the child was carried into the back of the Cherokee and driven away.
They drove back towards Kilcullen by the Sally Gap in the higher Wicklow hills, passing through Cloghleagh Bridge
and Manor Kilbride. Forty-eight minutes past midnight they arrived in Newbridge, after winding their way along back roads which were now covered by the still falling snow. The transfer in the car park of a nearby hotel to the Volvo was delayed only by Peggy Ryan's increasingly desperate attempts to stop Gordon O'Brien's screeches.
Sam Collins primed the can of petrol with a charge for fifteen minutes after they abandoned the Cherokee. The Volvo was inching up the narrow lane to the cottage when the charge detonated, turning the jeep into a blazing inferno and waking up most of the hotel residents.
Just after one o'clock on the morning of Saturday, 15th February 1997, Tommy Malone's A-team sat in the kitchen of the cottage drinking tea, their faces reflecting the elation each felt. Gordon O'Brien was sucking contentedly on a bottle of formula milk Peggy Ryan had heated, his screeching over for the moment at least.
Tommy Malone held up a mug of tea in a toast.
'Well done team. Well done.'
They smiled at one another.
Back in Wicklow Sandra O'Brien's demented screams echoed throughout the mansion.
Day 6
25
6.45 am
Saturday, 15th February 1997
Kate Hamilton was already half awake when the phone rang.
In the bed beside her lay Rory, who had crawled in at 4.17 am exactly as she noted on the digital clock. She had spent the rest of the night trying to find a spot in the bed that his kicking legs wouldn't reach. She snatched at the receiver before a second ring woke the sleeping child.
'Hello.'
'Is that Kate Hamilton, Detective Sergeant Kate Hamilton?'
'Yes. Who's that?'
'Detective Hamilton, it's Mike Loughry.'
She sat upright in the bed, hand cupped over the mouthpiece.
'Who?' Her voice reflected her incredulity. Mike Loughry ringing me?
'Mike Loughry. Chief Superintendent Mike Loughry.'
For a split second she thought it was someone playing a joke, then quickly decided to run with the caller just in case.
'Yes… what can I do for you?' It was as much as she could think of saying, and even then it was whispered.
'Kate,' Loughry decided to drop the formalities, 'I'm sorry but you'll have to come in today. Something big blew up last night and we have to call everyone in. Also the Commissioner wants to have a word with you.'
'The Commissioner? You mean Commissioner Quinlan?' Hamilton was astonished, then worried. What the hell have I done? This had better not be a prank. I'll kill if someone's setting me up.
'Yeah. It's something about that case down at the maternity hospital. You might be asked to take it over.'
'Take it over?' The words were almost shouted.
'Look Kate, I can't go into this over the phone. I'm sorry. It's just that the Commissioner has to make some very big and sudden changes and you're part of those changes. I can't tell you any more at this stage and I've gotta go. I've half the force to ring up.'
'What happened last night?'
'Listen to the news at seven.'
Click. The phone went dead. She barely had a chance to let this sink in when it rang again and Loughry's voice barked: 'Room Twenty-Four, Garda HQ in the Phoenix Park at ten o'clock exactly. Don't be late for Christ's sake.'
She was still staring at the receiver when Rory woke up.
Kate Hamilton didn't get a chance to listen to the seven o'clock news. Rory threw a tantrum when she tried to explain she had to go to work. Again. Today of all days, the first free day she was supposed to have off after ten in a row on duty and a Saturday at that. Saturday and Sundays were precious to Rory, the days when his mother allowed him to lie on beside her until breakfast. Then she would bring up a tray with two bowls of cornflakes and toast and tea to the bed. The two would cuddle up while Rory watched cartoons on the portable TV that balanced precariously on the tiny dressing table. And as he lay beside her with his thumb in his mouth Kate Hamilton would gaze at him, wondering at the mystery of life, admiring his petite features.
That morning Rory's petite features were marred by tears and tantrums. He was howling. He howled while she showered, while she rushed to get the breakfast, while she rang her father to come over and mind him. He even howled through all of Sesame Street.
'Damn!' cursed Hamilton as she tried to blow dry her
hair, Rory clinging to her dressing gown. 'The joys of being a single mother.'
He only stopped howling when she bribed him with a trip to the zoo with Grandad. She just had to figure out now how to persuade Grandad to take him to the zoo.
'I hate the zoo. And it's trying to snow out there, did you know that?' Grandad was none too impressed. 'It would cut you in two out there,' he grumbled as an afterthought.
'Look Dad, he nearly had a fit when I told him I had to go in today. I'd have offered him a trip to the moon to shut him up.'
'Might have been warmer than the bloody zoo.'
She stood in front of the only long mirror in the house, trying to decide what best to wear, and finally chose a navy skirt, sky-blue blouse and navy linen jacket. Look like a policewoman, she told herself, let them know you know where you're coming from. She checked herself one more time in the mirror, tucking her blouse in under her skirt band at the same time. She bared her teeth to make sure there was no lipstick staining, then pouted.
You haven't lost it, she said to the mirror. There was no one else to admire the view.
She kissed Rory and her Dad and flew out the door, aware of the disapproving frowns that followed. She was back again within seconds.
'Keep an eye on him, for God's sake, if you do go to the zoo. Don't let him out of your sight. Make sure he's got Ted with him and don't lose it.' Ted had once been a cloth teddy bear and was now Rory's comfort rag. Four years of washing it and clutching at it and rubbing it along the ground had reduced Ted to no more than a greyish square. Still there was no going anywhere without Ted and no consoling the boy when it went missing. During any tantrum or crisis Hamilton had only to show the rag and Rory's right thumb would disappear into his mouth and he would settle. For Rory there was no life without Ted.
Grandad and Rory watched open mouthed as she disappeared again.
'Right, Rory, let's get the house tidied up and we'll have some breakfast.' Grandad looked around at the mess and sighed. Rory's train set was laid out in the small living room, the tracks stretching back into the kitchen and under the breakfast table. There were stations with tiny men holding up flags, other stations where make-believe coal was being dropped and two sheds where engines were in for repair. 'Are you going to help me tidy up?'
Rory was down on his knees shunting an engine into a siding. 'In a minute, Grandad, in a minute. You go and have your breakfast first.'
Grandad smiled and knelt down beside the boy, sensing his unhappiness. 'Don't worry, Rory, we'll have a great time at the zoo.'
Rory said nothing and continued pushing engines and carriages along the tracks. He didn't look up until Grandad started climbing to his feet.
'Grandad, why does mummy have to go to work?'
Grandad started to answer then decided better of it. 'I'll get the breakfast.'
'Grandad, where's my daddy?' Rory had stopped shunting engines and was looking straight into his grandfather's eyes. There was no mistaking this was a
big
question for the boy, one he probably had been brooding on for some time.
Grandad sighed deeply. He wanted to answer honestly, just as Kate had asked him to if the subject ever cropped up. She was emphatic the boy should know everything about life, told honestly and openly. Grandad just wasn't up to it.
'I'll tell you after breakfast,' he lied.
Rory went back to shunting.
Alice Martin, Minister for Justice, was a small, tidy-looking woman who kept her years at bay with weekly root treatments, allowing just enough grey to creep into her hair to make her look slightly younger than her fifty-two summers. For twelve years she had sat on the opposition benches complaining about no fewer than three governments and their inadequacies. When her coalition staggered into power
on the strength of a three deputy majority in the Dail she soon discovered it was much easier to criticise from the opposite side of the house than to enact changes in government. Her portfolio brought her to the cutting edge of society. It also brought her into regular contact with Commissioner Quinlan and the two made little attempt to hide their intense personal dislike for each other. Quinlan was tall and statesman-like in his manner, always looking good in his Commissioner's uniform. She, by contrast, appeared frequently to be a woman out of her depth wearing clothes that were out of fashion. To compensate for the profound physical difference in stature she wielded her icy wit and barbed tongue like a blunt instrument during their frequent exchanges.
At nine fifteen that morning Martin was being briefed on overnight developments. She quickly decided this was not a day for scoring points.
The news on Gordon O'Brien's kidnap had begun filtering through to Garda HQ just after three o'clock that morning. At each level a decision was made to inform the next immediate superior. Commissioner Quinlan was finally telephoned at four o'clock. He listened, a sinking feeling filling his stomach, as the details were related. Then he acted.
A meeting of all senior ranking officers and the special Jaguar Unit was arranged for ten o'clock that morning in the Phoenix Park. The Jaguar Rapid Reaction Unit was the force's response to the increasing crime wave that had swept the country in 1996. With the breakdown in the IRA ceasefire in February 1995 and threats of Loyalist bombs in Dublin, the Gardai were stretched to their limits policing paramilitarists as well as common criminals. Throughout 1996 a series of brutal murders rocked the country provoking calls for the government to act to stem the rising tide of lawlessness. But worse was to come that same year, two more dreadful events would shock everyone.
Before the summer had even begun, on 7th June, a serving member of the Garda Siochana, Jerry McCabe, was gunned down by an IRA unit involved in the robbery of a post
office van. Weeks later Veronica Guerin, an investigative journalist with
Independent
newspapers, was shot dead by a contract killer as she sat in her car at a set of traffic lights. The revulsion at her murder swamped the government and a set of emergency proposals was announced in parliament. As emergency legislation to seize the assets of known criminals was being enacted another crisis erupted in October. On the day one of Dublin's gang lords was being brought to trial, the star prosecution witness was almost abducted. There was a lot of criticism of the way the Gardai handled the event by the then opposition, now government. Alice Martin had been the most outspoken.
Twenty senior detectives with experience in subversive activity and major crime were identified. They spent ten weeks' extra training in rapid reaction manoeuvres and heavy firearms experience, and each was assigned specialist areas of activities. Eight of the unit then spent two months attached to an Israeli elite anti-terrorist squad. The other twelve spent Christmas at an FBI training camp in Virginia, USA, being trained in the latest anti-personnel armaments. On their return the full Jaguar Unit held a series of strategy meetings at the Garda training college in Templemore in County Tipperary before returning to normal duties. They blended back quickly and few in the force ever knew the reason behind their sudden absence. The unit was kept on a constant state of alert to move in if something big erupted.
The formation of the Jaguar Unit had been a political rather than operational decision, the incoming government promising such a unit in its election manifesto. It was very much Alice Martin's baby.
It's time for you to meet your baby, thought Quinlan as he telephoned Martin just before six o'clock that morning.
The details of the kidnapping were more or less complete. Quinlan related the sequence of events and as much extra information as was available. He was dressed in full formal uniform with braided hat on the desk in front as he spoke. Martin listened impassively, noting how tired and drawn
Quinlan looked. He was in no mood for a fight either. Martin's fingers gripped and ungripped a ballpoint pen which never wrote a word on the blank paper laid out in front of her.
'What happens now?' she asked finally.
'There's an incident room already set up in Wicklow town Garda station under the command of Superintendent Peter Andrews. He's a good man, very experienced. The O'Brien mansion's sealed off and a forensic team are already working on gathering evidence. There were only four people in the place when this gang struck, five if you count the baby. Apparently there's usually a staff of ten.'
'Where were the rest last night?'
'From what I gather Harry O'Brien let them all go for a short break to celebrate the baby's birth. They're due back tomorrow morning.'
Martin massaged her temples. 'Sounds suspicious to me. An inside job?'
'Everything's possible. Anything's possible.'
'Go on.'
'I've ordered the kidnapping group from Jaguar Unit to meet us here at ten o'clock. We'll go over operational details first and then they move down to Wicklow immediately to support and advise the local command.'
Martin looked at her watch. It was now ten minutes to ten.
'Jesus what's the country coming to?' She sighed, almost as if in pain.
Quinlan shook his head in agreement as he leaned back in his chair. He stretched forward again.
'You'll have a chance now to meet Jack McGrath himself. The detective you insisted we transfer off that hospital investigation. He's our kidnap expert on the Jaguar Unit. He can be moved now without anyone knowing any different.'
'And who's going to take over?'
'Right up your street, Minister.' There was a barely subdued glee despite the circumstances. 'We're going to
promote one of our finest young women detectives and let her deal with the hospital enquiry.'
'Who?'
'Detective Kate Hamilton.' Quinlan opened a file and went over Hamilton's details. Martin listened closely, never interrupting once. She liked what she was hearing, though.
'Sounds very impressive,' she said finally. 'Very impressive indeed. A single-minded young woman.'