“You still want to see Finch?” she asked, pouring me a coffee.
We’d discussed our plan of action over Chinese takeout the previous evening and I’d concluded an upfront return to Ballagh House was our best option until Mo-bot could develop the leads we’d given her. It seemed more likely Lawrence Finch was involved given that I’d been abducted from his property, and if he was, another visit might shake him into making a mistake. I have never been one to give in to fear and relished the prospect of returning to the place where I’d faced violence. It was as much an affirmation of my refusal to view myself as a victim as it was a confrontation.
After we’d finished our coffee, Andi drove us out to Ballagh and we were shown through the gates by security and directed to a large summerhouse by a member of Finch’s close protection detail.
The summerhouse was warm and filled with tropical plants, creating a lush environment that felt vibrant and opulent. We found Finch swimming in a slate-tiled pool at the heart of the building.
He waved hello to us, completed his lap and hauled himself onto the poolside. He was a fit, muscular man who moved with assurance. He grabbed a towel from a lounger and dried himself, beckoning us to join him in a seating area.
“Would you like anything to drink?” he asked as he took a seat in a wicker chair.
Andi shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Not for me,” I said. “Thanks.”
“We had some excitement in the night,” he revealed as Andi and I sat down opposite him. “It seems someone broke into Sam Farrell’s place. Looks like there was a struggle, but somehow whoever it was avoided being caught on the estate cameras. I wonder if Sam came back.”
Finch finished drying his hair and hung the towel across the back of his chair. I scanned his body for signs of the distinctive Propaganda Tre tattoo, but there were no visible markings of any kind, which was a relief, though I couldn’t relax entirely. There was no guarantee all members of Propaganda Tre carried the tattoo, but its absence was least a welcome indicator.
“That must be a headache,” Andi said. “Having the police poking around.”
“Ah, it’s okay. My staff are dealing with it. Always happy to help the Garda.”
He hesitated before he continued, saying, “Strange thing is, the police found a bag full of surveillance gear that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there when we checked the place before. Certainly didn’t belong to Sam.”
For a second, I worried he was going to press us about the discovery, but he moved on.
“How can I help you both?” he asked.
“I wonder if you know a man called Raymond Chalmont?” I asked. “He ran the Chalmont Casino in Monaco.”
Finch shook his head. “Never heard of the man. Sorry, Mr. Morgan. I wish I could say yes, but it’s a no.”
He looked me dead in the eye. His voice didn’t waver, there were no sideways glances, no hesitation, nor upwards rolls of the eyes, which are all common traits in those spinning fiction. I’ve interviewed hundreds of people in my career, and all my experience told me Lawrence Finch was being truthful. Which, given the fact I’d been abducted from one of his properties, meant that he was either a completely innocent man who was the victim of circumstances, or he was one of the most accomplished liars I’d ever met. Either way, this was a dead end. Lawrence Finch was giving us nothing. We’d have to wait and see what Mo-bot could uncover from the information we’d brought her.
Chapter 45
“What now?” Andi asked as I drove us back to Dublin.
I’d been considering the question as I steered the twisting country lanes that took us away from Finch’s estate.
“They will realize the warehouse I escaped from has been compromised because I know its location,” I replied. “But I doubt they will assume the other two warehouses have been identified because they won’t expect me to have access to someone with Mo-bot’s skills. I’m not sure there’s anyone else quite like her.”
“So, you want to find out what they’re being used for?”
I nodded. “We take one each and stake it out. See if we can learn what they’re up to.”
Andi shook her head. “It’s too risky. I don’t want to find myself alone in a jam after what just happened to you, and I don’t want you to take any undue risks either. We should work together. Pick one of the warehouses, set up a stakeout and keep watch in shifts, but with both of us on-site in case anything goes wrong.”
I thought about disagreeing for a moment. Her approach had its own risks: we could both be captured, or we might choose the wrong warehouse to watch, but then I remembered how powerless I’d felt against those men last night, and I knew she was right. I didn’t want to be in that situation again. Or at least I wanted to reduce the chances of it, and having a skilled operator like her at my side should do just that.
“Okay,” I said. “Which one?”
She considered the question for a moment. “I don’t know why, but my gut tells me the one on Manor Street to the north of the city.”
I nodded. “Your guess is as good as mine. Let’s do it.”
I drove us back to the house in Fitzwilliam Square, taking a long, haphazard route to ensure we weren’t followed from Ballagh House. Once there we changed into casual clothes, both opting for dark jeans and tops, and put together a surveillance pack of a mini-drone, camera and a night-vision scope. Losing the gear bag in Sam Farrell’s house had given us limited options and these were all we had left of the supplies Andi had brought with her.
While I was packing food and drink, she checked Google Maps for overhead images of the warehouse, which was situated halfway along Manor Street in Dublin’s Stoneybatter district, north of the River Liffey. The place was surrounded by businesses and other warehouses, which would hopefully ensure a steady stream of traffic and reduce the chances of us being noticed.
We planned to keep watch from the car, but Andi identified a couple of the surrounding rooftops as alternative locations if we felt the car was too exposed.
Satisfied we were ready, our gear and supplies prepared, we waited until sundown before beginning our journey. The drive took twenty minutes, and in that time we went from the upscale, immaculately restored historic buildings of Fitzwilliam Square through the historic heart of Dublin, past St Patrick’s Cathedral and its high dressed-stone spire, along and over the river then through residential streets lined with rows of small Victorian terrace houses, before finally arriving at Manor Street, which turned out to be in a gritty commercial neighborhood.
We circled our target, a large redbrick warehouse set back from the road, and didn’t see anything unusual. Andi spotted a space in the driveway of a vacant warehouse fifty meters along the street. It was the perfect spot because we were obscured to one side by the loading dock, which jutted out beside the driveway.
I parked nose-forward, facing the loading bay, meaning we also couldn’t be seen from the front. The headrests made us difficult to spot from the street, so we were only really visible from the right, but we needed a clear view in that direction to keep watch on the building that was now the target of our investigation.
Chapter 46
I couldn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point exhaustion swept over me like a tide, and as the adrenalin dissipated, fatigue carried me to a place of nightmares. I was back in the chair, staring down the barrel of Raymond Chalmont’s gun. Only this time I didn’t escape. He pulled the trigger and in the muzzle flash I was transported to the flaming wreckage of the Sea Knight helicopter I’d been piloting when it was shot down and many of my comrades had died. The nightmare seemed so real, I could have sworn I felt the heat of the flames on my face as I watched the chopper burn. But there was no crash and no chair, just the wild imaginings of my tormented mind trying to make sense of a life that had already seen too much horror and violence.