“That’s the church down there.”
“Sorry?” she said, startled by the voice behind her. “The church is down there,” Whitlock repeated, pointing it out through the side window.
She nodded then cast a sidelong glance at her husband. He was staring ahead of him, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. If he had noticed her, he didn’t show it.
The helicopter slowly descended toward the clearing at the edge of the cemetery. Graham and Sabrina were the first out of their seats as the wheels touched down on the ground. A group of armed policemen had already formed a cordon around the helicopter by the time Graham had opened the cabin door. He pushed the steps out from the cabin and they were anchored firmly on the ground by one of the policemen. Sabrina was the first to disembark and ran, doubled-over, to where Eastman was standing clear of the rotors.
“Has everything gone according to plan?” Eastman asked her.
“So far,” she replied then jabbed her thumb in the direction of the helicopter. “A word of warning. Scoby seems a bit preoccupied today.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Not that I know of,” she replied, then looked around as Graham hurried over to them. “I was just telling Keith that Scoby’s got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”
“Judging by those bags under his eyes, I doubt he even got into bed last night.” Graham turned to Eastman. “How’s the security operation going?”
“A gnat couldn’t get within a hundred yards of this place without the proper security clearance.”
“I hope you’re right,” Graham replied softly.
“The senator’s agreed to the revised schedule,” Sabrina told Eastman. “He’ll lay a wreath at his grandparents’ grave then head straight over to the Town Hall for lunch with the mayor.”
“So the priest won’t be saying a few words at the grave?” Eastman asked.
“No,” she replied.
“Does he know that?”
“We thought we’d let you tell him.” Graham gestured behind him. “Come on, Scoby’s about to disembark.”
They crossed to the helicopter and stood on either side of the steps as first Melissa Scoby, then her husband, alighted from the cabin. Whitlock brought up the rear. The Scobys were introduced to the elderly parish priest who was hovering at the foot of the steps.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the priest said, shaking Scoby’s hand. “I’m only sorry your visit to our country has had to be conducted under such a tight security blanket. Tell me, senator, is this your first visit to Ireland?”
“Yes, it is,” Melissa Scoby said when it became evident that her husband wasn’t going to answer. “And from what we’ve seen of it so far, it’s certainly a beautiful country.”
“That it is,” the priest agreed.
Whitlock put a hand lightly on the priest’s arm. “Father, could we proceed to the cemetery?”
“Of course. If you’ll follow me.”
Eastman fell in line beside Whitlock as he followed the Scobys into the cemetery. “Where’s Tillman? Didn’t he fly over with you?”
“No, he decided to stay behind in London.” Whitlock looked across at the photographers who were massed behind a police cordon at the edge of the cemetery. “It is supposed to be a personal visit, after ail.”
The priest stopped beside the double grave of Kieran and Estelle Scoby. Jack Scoby removed his sunglasses and stood over the grave, his head bowed as he read the epitaph which had been carved into the headstone more than a hundred years earlier.
Graham and Sabrina exchanged anxious glances. Scoby was the perfect target. Stationary and exposed. She caught Whitlock’s eye. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead then looked across at the thick woodland a couple of hundred yards beyond the cemetery. He knew there were over forty policemen combing the area. But what if Fiona Gallagher had still managed to evade them, assuming she was even in there? Eastman followed Whitlock’s gaze for several seconds then looked toward the church. His eyes finally settled on the belfry and the window which looked out over the cemetery. It all seemed so peaceful …
The heat was stifling in the belfry. Fiona wiped her forearm across her face then reached underneath the tunic and pulled her damp blouse away from her back. But within seconds it was clinging uncomfortably to her skin again. She had monitored Scoby’s progress from the time he had left the helicopter but it was only when he stopped in front of the grave that she reached for the rifle which was propped against the wall beside her. She wound the strap tightly around her arm then kneeled down on one knee and pressed the butt firmly against her shoulder. She lined up the top of Scoby’s bowed head in the cross hairs and, after making a minor adjustment to the Schmidt & Bender telescopic sight, she slowly curled her finger around the trigger. She knew she had only one shot. She had to make it count …
Scoby stood silently in front of the headstone for over a minute before he finally looked up at the RUC officer standing on his right. The policeman handed him the flowers he’d brought with him from London. He placed them across the grave then stood up and caught Melissa’s eye. He smiled gently at her then reached out and took her hand.
The soft-nosed bullet hit him above the right eye and exploded through the back of his head. His flailing arm caught Whitlock painfully on the side of the face as he was knocked off his feet as if hit by a hammering punch to the jaw. He landed heavily on the ground, his arms outstretched, the blood streaming down the side of his face. Melissa Scoby screamed in horror then fell to her knees beside her husband and cradled his bloodied head in her lap. Whitlock yelled at the nearest RUC officer to get the paramedics whose vehicle had been parked discreetly out of view of the cemetery.
Eastman, Graham and Sabrina exchanged glances then started running toward the church. The shot had to have come from there. A dozen armed policemen had already surrounded the building by the time they got there.
“The sniper’s in the belfry,” a senior officer told them breathlessly. “But the doors are locked and the keys are with the sergeant inside the church.”
“I got a spare front door key from the priest last night,” Eastman said, taking it from his pocket. “You take the back, Sabrina. Take some men with you and break the door down if necessary.”
Sabrina quickly picked out half a dozen men and disappeared around the side of the church. Eastman unlocked the front door and eased it open. Graham pushed past him and went inside, Beretta drawn. Calling to the remaining policemen to cover the door and windows, Eastman hurried after Graham who had already reached the foot of the stairs.
“Hey, wait up,” Eastman hissed, grabbing Graham’s arm. “I know these stairs better than you. Let me lead the way.”
Graham pulled his arm from Eastman’s grip and reluctantly let him go first. Eastman unholstered his Browning then began to climb the stairs. Graham winced every time Eastman stepped on a creaky floorboard. So much for him knowing the stairs! Gallagher would certainly know they were coming.
Eastman suddenly held up his hand and whispered to Graham that they would be visible from the belfry as of the next turn in the staircase. Graham watched as Eastman pivoted around sharply, training the Browning on the top of the stairs. He held up his hand again to halt Graham. Eastman negotiated the last few stairs by himself.