My reward arrived just after six o’clock. Headlights came blazing up the hill and a car swept in towards the gates, which opened in front of it. I saw the Rotty rush out and leap around as the car cruised forward and pulled up outside the door. On went the security light, and out got three men. I saw straight away that the driver was Farrell, but I could make nothing of the other two. The car was a Mercedes estate, and before any of the men entered the house they opened the tailgate, took out some heavy-looking suitcases, two apiece, and staggered across to the nearest outbuilding. From the way they were buckling at the knees I could tell they had a fair weight on board. When they reached the outhouse Farrell produced a bunch of keys, with which he unlocked a door. Once the suitcases were stashed inside, the men went over to the house, and soon several lights were showing as they settled down inside.
That was enough for day one of my campaign. I’d established that the farmhouse was Farrell’s, and that he was using it. All I had to do now was devise some means of getting in close. As I walked back up the hill in the dark, my mind was already working on it.
At the forest gate I put on my gloves again to close the padlock, once again leaving it cocked at a particular angle, so when I returned I would see if anyone else had been through.
In bed that night we were still lying entwined, with Tracy’s back towards me, when she said, ‘Geordie, what are you doing?’
I was half asleep, and muttered, ‘What?’
‘Out there, with that gun.’
‘What gun?’
‘The pistol. I found it under that pile of clothes.’
‘Oh, that. I need it for self-protection. That’s all.’
She went quiet for a minute, then said, ‘You’re going after someone, aren’t you?’
I tried to keep myself relaxed. If I let myself tense up, she’d be bound to feel it. I was in a real spot. If I tried to bluff it out, she’d know I was lying — she had a tremendous sense for that. And if I did start telling lies, I’d undermine our relationship right at the beginning.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’ll be all right.’
‘It’s the person who killed Kath, isn’t it?’
‘Trace!’ Now I did tense and pull away from her. ‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘I guessed it. I’ve had the whole afternoon to think about it. I reckoned, Either he’s on leave, or he isn’t. He can’t be half-working. I know you lot don’t work alone. It’s always in pairs, isn’t it?’
I nodded. My forehead was still against the back of her head, and, although she couldn’t see me she could feel the movement.
‘Well? You’re trying to kill him?’
I nodded again.
‘Why?’
‘He killed Kath. That’s why.’
‘I don’t suppose he meant to.’
‘He sent the bomber to kill somebody. He’s killed plenty of others, too. He’s a murdering bastard.’
‘An eye for an eye.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why not just leave him?’
‘Trace, this is nothing to do with you.’
‘Of course it is!’ She suddenly turned over to face me and said angrily, ‘If we’re going together, I’m part of everything you do.’
I wanted to tell her gently that she couldn’t be, that my profession made any such arrangement impossible. But I sidestepped, and said I’d reconsider things when we were fresh in the morning.
‘The trouble with you,’ she said, ‘is that you’re a loner. You know that, don’t you? You’re always wanting to do things on your own.’
Next day, Tuesday, the weather gave me a breathing space. A westerly gale brought in tremendous rainstorms, which continued on and off until dark, and made it no sort of a day for lying out in the open. After lunch we went for a drive up the coast and walked along part of the Giant’s Causeway. Tim loved the amazing formations of rock, like chopped-off pillars, and jumped tirelessly from one to another until another storm drove us back into the car. I suspected Tracy thought she’d won the argument — although I hadn’t made any definite promise to lay off, I didn’t seem to be taking any further action.
In fact my mind was working full-time on the problem of how to get in close on Ballyconvil farmhouse. Wire-cutters would see to the perimeter fence all right, and if I came along the back of the house, between the grass bank and the building, I could position myself at the corner, only two or three metres from where Farrell had got out of the Merc. But what about the ruddy dog? If I bought a pound of steak, or liver, and doctored it up, there was little doubt that the Rotty would wolf it down. But if I put the dog under before Farrell returned home, he would immediately notice something was wrong if the beast didn’t run out to greet him. Worse still, it might freak out in front of the house, where he’d be bound to see it. And what if he arrived back with a couple of other guys, as he had before? Would I have to take them out as well to make my getaway?
When Wednesday dawned fine, I decided I would have to have another go. Tracy was upset, of course, and we had our first real row; but I limited the damage by promising that I was only going on another recce — which was true up to a point. I needed to check Farrell’s movements at least once more before committing myself.
This time I started later, and didn’t reach the forestry gates until 1600. I took a careful look at the padlock, decided it hadn’t moved since my last visit, drove through and up to the same parking place. Once again I saw nobody on my way to the OP, and I was there in time to watch the old peasant-lady going about her evening business. The dog was loose as before; it followed her about, and from the pattern of their movements I reckoned she fed it at the same place, out of my sight. That could be a problem: after its meal, it would be less hungry.
With the clear sky, the light was hanging on for a few extra minutes, and full dark didn’t come down until after five. By then the wind had turned to the north, straight in my face, and I reckoned it was safe to move down to a position only fifty metres above the wire. There I lay down behind a solitary gorse bush, studying the farmyard with the kite-sight. The dog must have laid up somewhere, because I couldn’t see it, and in the hour that followed I had nothing to do but think. In particular I thought about the amazing contrast between being cocooned in the light and warmth of the family one minute, and lying alone on a cold, black hill the next, trying to fight the forces of darkness singlehanded. Maybe Tracy was right? Maybe I was a loner?
The Merc came up the drive at almost exactly the same time as before, just after six. Was this another delivery of weapons or whatever? Once again the dog raced out to meet the car and danced attendance as it moved up to the front door, but this time only two people got out: Farrell and a woman. Through my binoculars she looked young and smartly dressed, in a pale jacket and skirt and carrying a handbag that must have been made of patent leather, because it flashed in the security lights. This time I got a good sight of him, too. He’d put on weight since those photographs; I could see it about the jowls. There was his limp again, too — a small dip on the left foot — but still he moved quite sharply. I watched him unlock the door and hold it open for his companion. Then the house came to life as the interior lights went on one by one and the security lamps were doused.
‘You think you’re safe in there,’ I said quietly. I held in an imaginary pressel-switch and said, ‘Tango One, target complete in house. Permission to proceed. Over.’ Then I told myself to stop pissing about, and set off for the car.
I was back at the cottage by eight o’clock. Tim was already asleep, and a good smell of supper filled the air. I sat down at the kitchen table, preparing to relax, but Tracy pulled me up sharp. ‘A man called to see you,’ she said.