He could just make out Ridley’s name on the screen, half obscured by the glare from the setting sun. He sipped on a sixteen-year-old Bushmills and watched the sky changing colour. If Jack answered his mobile, Ridley would probably order him to come home, which Jack would refuse to do. So, he opted to ignore Ridley’s call. Less than thirty seconds later, his mobile let out a single buzz indicating that Ridley had left a voicemaiclass="underline"
‘I presume the Garda don’t know you’re there? Be smart, be subtle and be careful. If you get caught on the wrong side of the line, either by the police over there, or by Hammersmith over here, I can’t help you. If you succeed in finding Adam Border and you need backup, you call me, understand — no one else. Anytime. I’ll send the cavalry. Again.’
Jack smiled as he listened to Ridley’s message for a second and third time. Not because it was surprisingly supportive, but because he sounded exactly like his old self.
The mattress in Jack’s Cosy Bedroom was so soft that it was impossible to roll over. He’d slept like a starfish all night and woke more refreshed than he ever did at home. But the price of sleeping alone was too high: he missed Maggie.
Over a full Irish breakfast, Jack googled what he could about hemp farms in Ireland. There were several articles in the regional and national press about the Garda raiding small holdings and farm buildings. And there was a recent interview with a local MP who promised a crackdown on the sale of CBD products manufactured in Ireland. This interview was printed in one small column, on page three of the local newspaper; whereas the opposing viewpoint supporting making the production of CBD oil legal to be used medically to counteract pain, anxiety, inflammation and seizures, was front-page news for two days running, with numerous hemp farmers insisting that the plant thrives in Irish soil, aids the economy and helps reduce climate change. Oppositional quotes from the Department of Health reiterated that CBD products containing THC were illegal. The current legislation was strict and anyone growing hemp without the correct licencing could face prosecution.
Jack was fed, showered, dressed and back in his hired BMW before half past eight. The rain started after ten minutes of driving, so torrential it made visibility poor, and the noise of rain on the sunroof was alarming. After another ten minutes, the rain stopped, and the sun came out. And the rainbow that followed was truly magical.
As Jack drove through a small village, he saw a dark blue minibus, showing no vehicle livery, stranded in a ditch at the side of the road. A burly man, wearing a tweed coat and cap, had his face out of the driver’s window and was smoking a rollup. Jack pulled up alongside to check if he’d broken down and needed help.
‘You offerin’ to tow me out in your hired BMW, are ya?’ Jack immediately saw the futility of his offer. ‘I know I look stuck. But that’s on account of the Garda. If they come along saying I’m not allowed to stop here for a smoke, I’ll tell ’em the rain drove me off the road. How come you’re out this way? You lost?’
‘I’m here on business,’ Jack lied. He couldn’t introduce himself as a policeman from England because he was fairly certain from the faint aroma that the rollup was actually a spliff. Jack nodded knowingly to the dog-end between the man’s lips. ‘My mate buys his baccy from somewhere round here. Adam Border. You know him?’
For a second, the driver said nothing whilst he sized Jack up. Then he started his engine. ‘Oh, I definitely think you’re lost, my friend. I’d go back the way you came if I were you.’ He drove off, coughing a plume of black smoke from his exhaust as the bus heaved itself out of the ditch. After a moment, Jack followed.
The roads were narrow and winding, so Jack frequently lost sight of the tweeded bus driver. As the rain came down again, he slowed to give way on a single-track humped-back bridge and, when he emerged on the other side, the blue bus was gone. He put his foot down but after a couple of minutes he still couldn’t see it. Jack pursed his lips, furious with himself for mentioning Adam’s name and spooking the bus driver.
Jack decided to head back to the village and start again trying to locate the hemp farms. He checked his rear-view mirror before pulling into a layby — and suddenly there was the dark blue bus, closing in fast. Not wanting to be challenged in a layby in the middle of nowhere, Jack quickly pulled back out onto the road and sped off.
Soon he came to a crossroads with a sign pointing back to Killarney. Perfect. He’d get back to civilisation, where he’d be more than happy to challenge the driver of the bus that was currently still hot on his tail. But Jack’s move towards the Killarney turn-off was pre-empted and the bus cut him off, forcing him onto a single-track road. If anything came in the other direction now, it would be a head-on disaster. The bus sped up, forcing Jack to do the same.
Jack was now doing 40 mph around hairpin bends without a clue what might be coming the other way. He had to find a turn-off. Up ahead, beyond the roadside hedges to the left, Jack could see a farm building and realised there must also be a track leading to it. Jack sped up, skidding into the dirt track at 60 mph, sending a spray of loose pebbles into the path of the following bus. Jack spun the beautifully responsive BMW into a tight handbrake turn and ended up facing the road he’d just turned off. The blue bus slowly came into view. It was now stationary and, by the time Jack realised that the driver was no longer inside, it was too late.
The crowbar shattered the BMW’s passenger window, forcing Jack to escape via the driver’s door. A voice shouted, ‘Why’s an English businessman following me down country lanes? Which side of the law are you on, asking about Adam Border?’
Now that the tweed-clad bus driver was out of his cab, Jack could see that he was built like a hard-working farmer should be. Add the crowbar into the mix and Jack was most certainly on the back foot. Jack could now read the name badge sewn into the man’s jacket. ‘I’m nothing to do with the police, Greg,’ Jack shouted back. ‘I’m looking for Adam because I have some news for him. That’s all.’
‘Well, you can tell me, and I’ll pass it on. How’s that?’
‘No. I need to see him for myself. I have news for Adam, good news. Connected to his family. You can check with a guy called Jason Marks if you like. He knows about it.’ Jack threw the name of Jason Marks into the mix hoping it would establish a connection in Greg’s mind between Jack and Adam. And, if the name meant nothing, then no harm done.
Greg got an old flip phone from his pocket. He stepped away from Jack and placed a call.
The rain came down again and Jack started shivering in the icy deluge. Greg, who was more hardened to the weather, didn’t flinch. Finally, Greg closed his mobile and put it back into his pocket. ‘Follow me.’
Greg’s bus snaked effortlessly along back roads and narrow lanes while Jack, following closely behind, constantly dodged potholes and dried-out tractor ridges to avoid ruining his suspension or ending up in a ditch. A chill wind filled the car through the broken window, making Jack’s wet clothes stick to his body.
They drove deeper into the countryside, passing dairy farms and smallholdings. Eventually, Greg pulled up outside a five-barred gate with thick hedgerows on either side.
Jack had no clue where he was. He pulled up a short way back from Greg’s bus, leaving enough room between them to pull out and drive away if he began to feel any more unsafe than he already did.
Greg got out of the bus, opened the gate, walked to Jack’s car and spoke through the broken passenger window. ‘Follow the track till it splits. Then go left. Close this gate behind you.’ He then got back into the bus and used the gap Jack had left between them to reverse and drive away.