Finally, after hours of waiting, my flight was called for boarding and I got to my feet and headed for the gate and the Airbus A330 that would take me to Ireland.
Chapter 18
Years of combat experience as a Marine and then as head of Private had taught me to sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself. I drifted off as the aircraft reached cruising altitude and woke for the breakfast service, about ninety minutes out from Dublin. I had a black coffee and watched the Emerald Isle come into view as we began our descent. I hadn’t had any dreams, at least none I could remember, but the sight of the distinctive green landscape on the very edge of a different continent prompted me to think of my last trip to Europe. My mind filled with images of me and Justine on what should have been a romantic vacation in Monaco, a trip that had ended in turmoil and danger.
I hadn’t intended to fall in love with a colleague, but I wasn’t sure a civilian would have been able to cope with the stresses, hazards and unpredictable nature of my work. Justine was one of the world’s leading criminal profilers and had years of experience of operating in this arena. She understood the landscape of law enforcement as well as she did the criminal mind, and recognized that sometimes we had to make personal sacrifices to do the right thing. Being away from her now in order to come to Ireland was one such sacrifice for me. My heart wanted to be with her, never leaving her side as she continued her recovery, but my experience as a detective and a veteran told me I had to neutralize this threat.
We continued our descent as we flew over the west coast of Ireland and moved from roiling seas crashing against rocky shores to a rich, fertile green landscape. I could see cows grazing in fields beneath puffball clouds, a tractor motoring up a gentle hill toward a field-stone barn, cars winding along single-lane roads that crisscrossed the landscape between high hedges, large expanses of wild bog and thick forests. In the distance, a town lay nestled between hills at the mouth of a wide estuary. This looked like a beautiful, peaceful country; it was hard for me to imagine such a bountiful, gentle environment as the source of the horror that had invaded my life. Then I recalled Ireland’s troubled past, both recent and ancient, and reminded myself that darkness can thrive wherever people’s hearts are turned by ambition, greed or anger.
Situated on the East Coast of Ireland at the mouth of the River Liffey, Dublin is home to a little over half a million souls and its mix of architecture reflects a history that stretches back more than a thousand years. Peppered among the post-war homes and contemporary retail parks and office blocks were castles and ruins so old they seemed to have merged with the landscape, making the myth and magic that are commonly associated with Ireland feel real. The flight touched down at 2:30 p.m. on a warm and sunny day.
I cleared Customs and Immigration in under an hour, and as I went into the Arrivals hall, I saw a woman holding up a sign with the word “Private” on it. She was early thirties, athletic, had long black hair tied in a ponytail, and wore a dark green pantsuit. Her keen gaze suggested a sharp mind and there was a flash of recognition in it when I approached.
“Mr. Morgan, my name is Andrea Harris. Emily Knighton sent me from the London office.”
She spoke with a London accent but there were Irish undertones to her voice. She stepped forward and shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Harris,” I responded. “Call me Jack.”
“Everyone calls me Andi,” she said with a bright smile. “Welcome to Dublin, Jack.”
Chapter 19
“I used a gray name to hire it,” Andi told me as I placed my bag in the trunk of a black Ford Kuga.
Gray names were identities belonging to real people we paid to allow us to book hotel rooms, car rentals, Airbnb homes and other practical hires in their name when we didn’t want to leave a paper trail. Private had to operate within the law, but sometimes our activities required straining legal limits, and gray names were one way we did this.
“I used a different name to rent a place in the city center,” she said as we got into the car.
She started the Ford, revved the engine a little too long, and drove out of the white multi-story parking structure at speed. She was an aggressive driver, bordering on reckless, but I said nothing as we darted along the airport service roads, weaving through the traffic, passing rental cars, and red and white Bus Éireann coaches.
While Andi got us clear of the airport, I used my phone to message Justine, Mo-bot and Sci, to let them know I’d arrived safely.
“Have you been to Dublin before?” Andi asked, as we joined the motorway.
“No,” I replied, taking in the greenery that surrounded the busy six-lane highway.
“Your loss,” she said, flashing a cheeky smile. “I was born in London, but my dad was from the old country, and I spent a lot of time here as a child. When Emily asked for a volunteer, I jumped at the chance. And not just because I’d get face time with the big boss.”
It was my turn to smile. Her enthusiastic and irreverent energy shone through, and I found it endearing.
“Or should I call you the ultimate boss?” she asked playfully. “Anyway, I know this place like a home from home and have a lot of friends here. We’re staying in Fitzwilliam Square, in the heart of the action.”
I’d done some research on Dublin at the airport and the city had a reputation as one of the most welcoming capitals in the world. Situated on the Irish Sea, covering less than 120 square kilometers, with a port to the east and lush countryside in every other direction, it was the economic powerhouse of Ireland and home to more than ten percent of the country’s population.
“Emily gave me the case file you sent,” Andi continued. “So, you’re looking for this Finlay fella, or whatever his real name is. Any leads? Where do you want to start?”
“We’ve got his flight details and arrival time,” I replied. “We should start at the airport. Get access to security footage and track his movements. He’ll have left the airport in a private vehicle, cab or public transport, any of which could give us a trail to follow.”
Andi crinkled her nose, signaling she wasn’t keen on my suggestion. “I don’t want to disagree with the big boss, but I’ve got a better idea.”
Chapter 20
Andi had rented us a beautiful four-story redbrick townhouse in Fitzwilliam Square, an upscale, historic Georgian area in the heart of Dublin. Set in the center of a long terrace, the house faced south, overlooking mature trees that lined the edge of a well-manicured garden. We were within a stone’s throw of several embassies and there was a visible police presence in the area, as well as national and private security patrols around the grand buildings that flew the flags of other nations. I spotted Hungary, South Africa and Canada as Andi navigated the streets to our assigned parking spot outside of our temporary home.
I grabbed my bag from the trunk and Andi led me inside an elegantly decorated house, complete with period features. Intricate plaster reliefs surrounded the light fittings, a picture rail ran around the tops of the walls, and there were elaborate marble surrounds to the two fireplaces I could see from the hallway. Floorboards were old and worn and covered with oversized rugs, and the furnishings were all antique. Andi took me upstairs to a similarly refined bedroom on the second floor. A king-size bed stood against the wall to my left, directly opposite two large sash windows overlooking the garden in the center of the square. There was an en suite bathroom off the other side of the room. I placed my bag on a couch that was set between the windows.