I was eager to wash away the grime of the fire, and showered to try and cleanse myself.
When I came out of the bathroom, I found my phone ringing and recognized the caller’s number immediately.
“Justine,” I said when I answered.
“Jack,” she responded. “What’s going on? Where have you been?”
“Just following up a lead,” I told her, though inside my heart was breaking because I couldn’t tell her about the experience that had shaken me so profoundly. Her recovery must come first. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” she said. “Mo gave me your new number.”
I was so glad. I’d been thinking about calling Justine but hadn’t wanted to risk my distress being apparent in my voice and giving her any cause for concern. Her timing could not have been more perfect. The shower and some time and space away from the recent horror had stopped my mood from spiraling, and the sound of Justine’s voice brought me joy and relief.
We talked for over thirty minutes. I focused on her recovery, asking her what the doctors had said, which was all positive, what she’d been watching on TV, trash, and what she’d been eating — bland, nutritious hospital food. I told her about the visit to Lawrence Finch’s training facility and the pub lunch I’d had with Andi, both of which seemed so distant now, but I left out the latter half of the day and the aspects of this Ireland trip that would cause her grave concern.
When I heard fatigue seep into her voice, we said our loving goodbyes and I hung up, feeling more myself.
I put my phone on the bedside table, lay down and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 64
I woke suddenly, my heart racing, certain I’d heard something. My ears strained against the silence of the early hours and my entire body was alert, even though it took my mind a beat to orientate itself.
I was in my bedroom in the house in Fitzwilliam Square, and the absence of light around the edges of the heavy drapes suggested it was still night. I checked my phone and saw that it was 3:06 a.m.
I listened carefully and heard another sound: the scraping of metal on metal. I rolled out of bed, crept to my wardrobe and slid on a pair of jeans and a black pullover. I picked up a pair of boots and some socks and carried them as I moved silently to the door.
I pressed my ear against the painted surface and listened closely. Hearing nothing, I opened the door slowly and crept across the landing to the stairs.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a lock turning and realized it was coming from the kitchen. Almost certainly the back door. There was a shift in the silence, a change of air pressure, as the back door opened. I could have sworn I heard a whisper then, but pitched so low I couldn’t be certain. One thing I was sure of was that we had intruders.
I moved away from the stairs and went along the landing to the next flight. I climbed carefully and heard more clearly defined sounds coming from the first floor. I moved silently across the top floor and opened the door to Andi’s bedroom.
I crept to her bed and placed my hand over her mouth, which was enough to wake her while stifling her instinctive cry. I raised a finger to my lips to signal her to be silent.
“Downstairs,” I whispered. “Moving up. They must have followed us from the fire.”
She nodded and rolled out of bed, grabbing some clothes from a pile on an armchair.
I signaled toward the low inset window, and she nodded again. I crept over to it while she pulled on her clothes. I lifted the catch and opened the window as a floorboard creaked directly beneath us. The intruders were on the floor below.
I climbed through onto a stone ledge and helped Andi out. My stomach lurched at the sight of the sidewalk so far away. I made myself look up, rather than down at the doom that awaited if we fell. We edged our way around the gable window and slid down the sloping roof to the flat section below, and from there moved toward a large stone chimney.
We settled behind it just in time. I peered around one side to see a man climb out on the sloping roof and look around him, scanning for any sign of us. He wore a ski mask and carried a pistol. I tensed, ready to fight if he came toward us, but seeing nothing, he retreated, and I heard him climb back into Andi’s room.
She glanced at me, her relief obvious, and I signaled for us to move. She nodded and I led her across the roofs of the adjacent townhouses on that side of the square to the house at the very end of the block. This had been converted into offices and was fitted with a fire escape at the rear. We crept down them, and when we reached the bottom, hurried across the small back yard, clambered over the brick wall, and dropped onto the sidewalk of Fitzwilliam Street.
Our safehouse had been compromised and we had to assume they would keep watch on the place. We could never go back.
We hurried to the Ford, which was parked in the square. I had the key in my pocket and unlocked the doors as we approached. Andi climbed in the passenger seat and I got behind the wheel, started the engine, and quickly drove us out of Fitzwilliam Square to avoid being spotted.
Chapter 65
I drove through Dublin, my mind racing. I’d been knocked off balance by the attack on the refugee center and hadn’t been as careful as I should have been to ensure we weren’t followed from the scene. With hindsight, it was easy to see that I should have taken more precautions on the way back from the fire, and I realized how simple it would have been for the Dark Fates on the ground to put a man or two on our tail. They could have watched me being interviewed by the Gardai and afterward followed me and Andi, identifying our safehouse and making a move at their leisure.
I hit the steering wheel in frustration, and Andi jumped.
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I should have been paying more attention on our way back.”
“I was thinking exactly the same thing,” I confessed. “About myself, of course.”
She smiled wistfully. “A couple of high achievers blaming themselves for a perceived failing they probably could have done very little to prevent,” she remarked.
I wasn’t sure where I was heading, but we were on Morehampton Road, heading south, and had just passed the intersection with Herbert Park when my phone rang. I hadn’t saved any contact details yet, but I knew this number by heart.
“Mo,” I said when I answered.
“Jack, where are you?” she asked.
“In the car. We had to evacuate in a hurry. Some unwanted guests came to visit.”
“Jeez, Jack. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Apart from a bruised ego.”
“Is Andi with you?” she asked, and something about her tone made my hackles rise.
“Yes,” I replied, glancing at Andi, who smiled.
“But she can’t hear me?”
“No,” I said, glad I hadn’t connected my phone to the car’s Bluetooth system.
Mo hesitated for a moment.
“Jack, I went through Sam Farrell’s narcotics cases. His biggest was a joint operation between the Gardai and the Metropolitan Police in London,” she revealed, and my stomach lurched in anticipation of what was coming. “His Met liaison was Andrea Harris.”
I looked sidelong at Andi and tried to conceal my dismay as the implications of this revelation hit me.
“They worked together for six months, Jack,” Mo-bot continued. “She knows him. She knows him well.”
“Thanks for that,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure. “Follow up and let me know what else you find.”
“I will, Jack, but please be careful,” Mo-bot cautioned. “She’s dangerous.”
“I hear you,” I replied. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be in touch.”