I sensed movement behind me and ducked and rolled. As I came up and looked around, I saw machete man rushing me, swinging his blade wildly.
I tried to parry a blow and the razor-sharp edge of the blade lopped the tip off of the wooden club.
Machete man paused, and in the momentary silence I heard a voice yell, “Hey!”
I looked beyond my assailant to see one of his masked accomplices who’d been at the front of the building register the mayhem at the back. More men started to come around the corner until there was a large group of them.
“He helped them escape,” machete man yelled to the group that had started toward us.
“Let’s get him!” the leader shouted, and ran forward, followed by the entire gang, roaring and jeering as they came.
I couldn’t see machete man’s mouth, but I could tell from his eyes that he was smiling.
I thought about turning and running for the picnic table, but my opponent would slice my back open as soon as I showed it to him, so I squared up to him and the approaching mob and prepared to go down fighting.
Chapter 62
My heart thundered with fear and adrenalin as the masked horde approached, brandishing weapons. I’d rarely faced such poor odds and felt strangely calm as I realized these were likely to be my last moments. I was heartbroken at the prospect of losing Justine, and the pain of impending loss filled me with sorrow. It was goodbye to Mo-bot and Sci too, and all the other people I considered my friends. But there was no panic, just the clarity and peace of knowing I would face the end on my own terms.
Sorrow turned to relief when I heard sirens close by, and the klaxons of the emergency services.
I glanced behind me to see twin beams of light. There were two Irish police officers, leaning over the top of the wall, shining their flashlights toward me. I had no idea what they were standing on. It could have been air for all I cared. They were joined by Adel, who pointed at me.
“That’s him,” he said. “That’s the man who saved us, and those are the men who tried to kill us.”
Machete man hesitated. Behind him, the advance of the baying mob slowed to a halt.
“Stand where you are!” one of the Gardai commanded.
Machete man dropped his blade and turned and ran. The whole gang of masked men did likewise, fleeing as emergency vehicles flooded the scene.
I watched the gangsters sprint away and jogged after them, to see them surging through the gate and scattering into the night. Police cars and fire engines pulled up and the three vans were surrounded, but from what I saw, most of the men got away, running into adjacent properties or down side streets and alleyways, lost to the shadows and the night. The Gardai and firefighters had a more urgent issue to address: the blaze that was rapidly consuming the building. I watched for a moment as firefighters prepared themselves and their gear to combat the flames, and then I hurried out through the gate to the perimeter where the chain-link fence adjoined the high side wall. As I ran alongside it, into an empty lot, I saw the refugees huddled together in a large group, and found Adel being interviewed by the two Gardai who’d parked their patrol car by the wall. The trio fell silent as I approached.
“You saved my life,” I said, nodding to the two officers. “You all did,” I added, acknowledging Adel.
“Then we are even,” he replied. “My family are safe because of you. You got us out of there.”
He nodded toward the burning buildings, which had turned the night sky a hellish orange color.
“Jack Morgan.”
I recognized the voice and turned to see Conor Roche emerging from an unmarked vehicle he’d driven into the vacant lot. The passenger door opened and Andi got out and hurried over.
“I managed to convince him the threat was serious,” she said.
“Trouble seems to follow you around,” Conor remarked, eyeing the flames engulfing the refugee center.
“We are alive because of him,” Adel said.
“I’m sure,” Conor replied. “You’ve done good work here, Mr. Morgan.”
“You said you were going for a new phone and a pint of milk,” Andi challenged me.
I brandished my cell. “I got the phone, but not the milk.”
“How did you end up here?” she asked. “I know you don’t trust me, and I understand why, Jack, but this is too dangerous to tackle alone.”
I wasn’t going to apologize, but I knew she was right. This was too dangerous for one person to take on, but without a team behind me that I could completely trust, I didn’t see any other way.
“I want to get him home,” Andi told Conor. “It’s not safe for him here.”
“Understood,” Conor replied. “But my colleagues will want a statement. Won’t you, fellas?” he asked the two Gardai who had resumed taking Adel’s account of events.
“Yes, we’ll need his statement,” one of the cops replied.
“Fine with me,” I said.
“Okay,” Andi conceded. “But I want it done quickly, and when it’s over we’re going home.”
Chapter 63
I gave my statement to the Gardai and watched the firefighters struggle to bring the blaze under control.
Once I was finished, Conor released me from the scene. He was coordinating the operation and the nascent investigation. From snippets I heard of his conversations with uniformed officers, they hadn’t captured a single member of the gang responsible.
Adel and his family had been taken away to temporary accommodation along with the other occupants of the center. He and his wife and children had reiterated their thanks before they’d left. Much as I appreciated their generosity of spirit, they should never have been put in a situation where they were called upon to show gratitude merely for surviving. I couldn’t understand the hatred in men’s hearts that could compel them to visit such atrocities on innocents. Understanding and love might be powerful, but my experience had taught me that hate would always come more easily to some people. Still, I wondered whether those men ever held up a mirror to themselves. Did they question how they’d reached the point of throwing a firebomb at a building full of children? Did they ever ask where their lives had gone so wrong? What had damaged their moral compass so badly?
By the time Conor cleared me, the firefighters had got the worst of the blaze contained and were working on isolated hot spots here and there. The building had been gutted, and if it could be repaired rather than demolished, there would be months of restoration work involved. The rudimentary temporary home these poor refugees had had here was gone, and all their belongings likely destroyed. They now faced further hardship and uncertainty in their already uncertain lives.
“Are you okay?” Andi asked me during the cab ride back to Fitzwilliam Square.
I nodded, but I think I might have been in shock. The fire had triggered some of my own traumatic memories of the Sea Knight crash and the inferno in which my comrades had perished all those years ago.
“You don’t look okay,” Andi responded. “What happened, Jack? What did you discover?”
I still didn’t know if I could trust her, so I was evasive. “I can’t talk about this now. I’m exhausted. Let’s discuss it in the morning.”
She nodded, but I could see she was hurt.
“Have you spoken to Maureen or Justine?” she asked. “You need to talk to someone. You can’t bottle these things up.”
“I’m okay,” I told her. “At least, I will be.”
She didn’t press me any further.
We had the driver drop us off a few blocks from the house, and when we reached our temporary home, I gave Andi a perfunctory goodnight and went upstairs to my room.