Chapter 84
I managed to call a taxi to collect me from Rathcoffey and asked the driver to take me back to Dublin, where I found a hotel on Mercer Street. The receptionist was too well trained to ask any questions about my odd check-in time or lack of luggage, and when I went up to my room, I showered and lay on the bed, falling into a deep sleep around 3 a.m. after my racing mind finally settled.
I dreamed about Andi, lying in the road, breathing her last, and even in the unreal realm of memory and the surreal landscape of dreams, I felt the tragedy of a bright soul wasted on corrupt ideology. I pitied her even though she’d played a key role in my attempted murder.
I woke at 7:52 a.m. to the sound of my phone, or more accurately Andi’s phone. Feeling groggy and exhausted, I rolled over to grab it from the nightstand.
“Hello,” I said when I answered.
“Mr. Morgan, it’s Conor Roche here. Have you seen the news?”
I put the phone on speaker and switched to the internet browser.
“No,” I replied, as I found the Irish Times website. “Why?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions about where you were last night.”
The moment the newspaper’s home page loaded, I knew exactly why he was calling. The lead story was the murders of two former police officers, and I featured prominently as the chief suspect in the investigation.
“I’d like to know how you ended up with Andrea Harris’s phone,” Roche said, and I looked at the device in my hand with a growing sense of resignation.
Mo-bot had warned me it tied me to the murders and that it could be used to trace my location. My refusal to dispose of it hadn’t purely been due to my lack of any other communication device. I wanted Mo to examine it for evidence on Propaganda Tre and would only have been parted from it reluctantly. However, as I realized the threat it now posed, I started to question that decision.
“I’ve got plans today,” I replied.
“It’s not a request anymore, Mr. Morgan,” Conor Roche told me. “You’re now a wanted man.”
“Can I ask you a question, Conor?” I said.
“Sure,” he replied. “Knock yourself out.”
“How long have you been a member of Propaganda Tre?”
There was a long silence.
“This isn’t helping you, Mr. Morgan,” he replied at last. “Your pursuit of wild conspiracies and shadows has led you to cross the line into serious crime.”
I suspected this call was being recorded.
“Can’t be honest because the line is tapped?” I tried.
“Tapped and traced,” he replied. “Knock, knock, Mr. Morgan.”
He hung up and I heard the tramp of boots outside my room. Then came the thunder of fists knocking against the hotel’s flimsy door, and I knew Conor and his people were already here.
Chapter 85
I went to my door and opened it a crack, with the chain firmly in place. I saw Conor Roche and a squad of Gardai in tactical gear clustered outside of a room at the far end of the corridor.
One of the officers rapped on the door again and yelled, “Garda! Open up.”
She glanced at Roche, who nodded and an officer who’d been concealed by the squad stepped into view holding a heavy metal ram. He slammed it into the door and the lock split from the frame with a loud crack.
As they rushed inside, I slipped out of my room, heading straight for the fire stairs. I headed up, climbing toward the roof, and after I’d gone a few flights, my phone rang again.
“Didn’t find what you were looking for?” I remarked.
“Very clever, Mr. Morgan,” Roche replied.
It had been Mo-bot’s idea to spoof Andi’s phone to a device on the same floor as me, and to change the hotel’s reservation system to match the location of the other phone. I felt bad for the innocent person we had marked as me but gambled on their innocence being protection enough.
“I’m not on my official line anymore,” Conor Roche went on, “so I can tell you that we’re coming for you, no matter what tricks you play.”
“How long have you done Lawrence Finch’s dirty work for him?” I asked. “How long have you been in Propaganda Tre?”
“You think I don’t know you’re recording this?” he countered. “Besides, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know,” I said. “How else could you be sure I was even at the scene of the murders last night?”
He hesitated.
“Only the real killer knew I was there,” I told him. “There were no cameras, and my presence was under duress since I’d been abducted. Nobody but Raymond Chalmont and his accomplices knew I was there, and the newspaper report says the police only found two dead bodies at the scene. No arrests. No witnesses. So how did you hear about it, Conor? When they examine the chain of evidence, what will they find linking me to the scene — other than your report?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he responded angrily. “Even if people knew, do you think they could touch me? I’ve been in the organization long enough to understand its reach, Mr. Morgan, and we will find you wherever you go.”
I could have cried out with relief. He’d just confessed to being part of a criminal conspiracy.
“I look forward to it,” I told him as I reached the roof.
I hung up and opened the access door. The flat roof was linked to other buildings on the terrace, and as I started across to the neighboring one, I made a call.
Mo-bot answered after two rings. “He’s not very smart, is he?”
“Smart enough to have got this far,” I replied. “Did you get it?”
“Yes,” she said.
Conor Roche was right; Mo-bot had been monitoring and recording all calls to Andi’s phone. He’d been sufficiently cunning to avoid saying anything incriminating during the initial call, but anger at having lost me and the evidence of his own corruption being laid in front of him had made him reveal enough to put him behind bars.
“We’ve got him,” Mo-bot said.
“Good,” I replied. “Get the audio to Carver’s people. They can alert the Garda that there’s at least one other rotten apple still serving in the force.”
“On it,” Mo-bot said. “What about you?”
“I’m going to go topple a king,” I replied as I forced open a roof-access door and entered the stairwell of the building at the other end of the terrace.
Chapter 86
The Irish Derby is one of the world’s most popular racing fixtures. People travel there from all over the globe and they like to dress up for the event. I joined them, filing into the Curragh after purchasing a new suit and shoes from a menswear store near the hotel. I couldn’t afford to look out of place and needed to pass unnoticed now my photograph was all over the news.
The sky had cleared after the storms of the previous night and the sun was bright and high, so I completed my look with a pair of oversized black sunglasses that matched my suit and shoes. The shades concealed much of my face, and only an astute observer would recognize me.
I hoped the throng of people would prevent police and security guards from identifying me, and expected the sport’s enthusiasts to be so enthralled by the day’s racing they wouldn’t notice an alleged murderer in their midst.
“Are you still there?” I asked, speaking for the benefit of the mic in my Bluetooth earpiece.
It wasn’t the most sophisticated wire, but it was adequate in the circumstances. I’d purchased a new phone and headset when I’d bought the suit and was on an open call with Mo-bot, who was monitoring my location and recording audio.