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  "Ah, Jesus. This tastes like there's vodka in it."

  "Must have been a heavy night."

  "Ugh. I don't want to talk about it yet."

  They made it to George Best Belfast City Airport in record time. The driver jumped out and snagged a luggage trolley. He trundled it back to them, his face blank and joyless as he went through the motions of a well polished routine. Rory stood at the side of the car with a wheelie case and a rucksack. Lydia had a light overnight bag slung over her shoulder. The driver offered them the trolley.

  "I think we've got it covered," Lydia said. "Thanks anyway."

  The driver grunted and left the trolley at the kerbside. Rory intercepted him on his way to the car.

  "Hold up, mate." He rummaged in his hip pocket and pulled out a twenty pound note. "Here you go."

  "Cheers."

  "No worries, but put that trolley back where you got it, will you? I hate to see them lying about."

  The driver made a face, looked at the crisp note in his hand and then shrugged. "Certainly, sir."

  Rory snapped up his shirt cuff and checked the time on his chunky blinged-out timepiece. Mid-morning light glinted off platinum and ice. "We've twenty minutes to get checked in. Fancy a bit of breakfast?"

  "After we get through security. It'll be more relaxing."

  He crossed his eyes and smirked. "You're such a geek."

  "No. I'm organised."

  The early morning commute rush was over and the hangar-sized terminal building exuded an eerie calm. A handful of tardy business types rustled newspapers and periodically glanced at the flight schedule monitors dotted about the waiting areas. Lydia was overly aware of the echoed clip-clop from her heels as they marched to the check-in desk. The orange-faced Ryanair rep beckoned them forward from the red line on the floor they'd obediently stopped behind despite there being no queue. The rep rattled through her list of security questions in a robotic voice and was satisfied with Rory's equally robotic answers. Then she weighed and sent Rory's case down the conveyor belt.

  As the case disappeared behind a rubber flap curtain Rory came to a realisation. He pointed at Lydia's hand luggage.

  "Is that all you're bringing with you?"

  "Em, yeah? You realise that I haven't got John and Mattie with me either, don't you?" Her insides knotted at the thought of her family but she kept herself in check. Maintained a mask of calm.

  Rory's face reddened. He coughed into his fist. "Aye, right enough. Sorry, I've only just woke up to be honest." He drained the dregs of his Red Bull can and shuddered with displeasure. "So what's the story? They taking a later flight?"

  "No, I'm going to come back in a few days and finish up the week with them. No point cutting their holiday short when it's only a quick flight back over. It wouldn't have been fair on Mattie."

  "Thought you said he was bored."

  Lydia picked at an imaginary thread on the sleeve of her coat. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. "Well, yeah, but you know kids. They'd get bored on a rollercoaster then moan when the ride ends."

  Rory shrugged. He hadn't a clue about kids and didn't pretend otherwise.

  Airport veterans both, Lydia and Rory breezed through the security process. They had all their toiletries in clear plastic bags, wore slip-on shoes and didn't bother with belts. When they got to the departure lounge, Rory led them straight to the coffee shop. Lydia's mouth watered at the smell of fresh scones, bagels and fried bacon but when Rory offered to buy her breakfast she passed.

  "That's the second time you've knocked me back in two days. One more KB and you might just hurt my feelings."

  She forced a smile. "It's not you, it's me."

  "You'll waste away."

  "Chance would be a fine thing."

  "Ach, wise up, you eejit. I could pick you up and stick you in my pocket."

  A devilish look crossed his face and he stepped towards her with his arms outstretched. "Come here and I'll show you."

  Lydia reeled backwards. "Stop it. Don't touch me." She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and shuddered.

  Rory's face dropped as if she'd just slapped him. "Fuck's sake, Lydia. I was only joking." He slipped his hands into his hip pockets and bunched his shoulders. His expression went from angry to bewildered.

  Her skin crawled at the memory of the previous night's humiliation. She could still feel the bastard's sticky fingerprints on her face. Organising the flight to London and trailing Rory out of his bed had allowed her to push her disgust to the back of her mind, but one little joke was all it took to bring the horror back with a vengeance. She couldn't act like this around Rory, though. For the sake of John and Mattie, she tried to shake it off. She forced a laugh that had as much humour about it as a death rattle.

  "Ignore me. You just caught me off guard. Didn't mean anything by it. I'm dead tired and, you know, it's that time of the month and all..."

  Rory's face scrunched up for a second then ironed back out to expressionless cool. He nodded meaningfully and then turned to study the chalkboard menu behind the coffee shop counter. She knew it was a cheap trick to play the "time of the month" card but it had done the business.

  Without turning to face her Rory asked, "Will you have a coffee, even?"

  "How about a bottle of water?"

  "No sweat."

  She dropped her overnight bag at his feet. "Will you watch this while I nip to the ladies?"

  He waved her away, a little too eagerly. She hadn't the time to worry about it. On the way to the toilets she dug her phone out of her pocket and called the office. Gloria, her PA, picked up.

  "Benson and Gallagher. Can I help you?"

  "I hope so."

  "Oh, hi, boss. How's bonny Ireland?"

  Bonny? Jesus. "It's lovely, Gloria. I'm tripping over leprechauns every ten minutes. Look. I need you to get me a meeting with Jeremy at PHQ. Pretend that you're tipping him off for sending you that bottle of bubbly at Christmas."

  Gloria immediately lost the office girl ditz and went into shark mode. "Will do. What's the tip?"

  "Rory Cullen wants to outsource his sponsorship business to a heavy-hitting marketing agency. And he's got my blessing."

  "Why the hell would you do that, boss? You've been massaging L'Oreal for weeks to get him that shampoo ad."

  Like she needed the reminder. "I don't have time to go into it."

  "You know best. Shall I set up a meeting, then?"

  "Yeah, get him a spot at three o'clock today."

  Gloria choked a little. "I'm not sure I can make that work."

  "You can if you tell him we're meeting with McGoldrick at four."

  "And are you?"

  "That's up to you. Phone McGoldrick after you set things up with Jeremy. Tell him we're in talks with PHQ but we're willing to throw him a bone."

  "But if they phone each other to check for bullshit they'll know we're playing them."

  "For Rory Cullen they won't risk the call."

  "If you say so..." Gloria cleared her throat. "I better get... Oh, wait. You and Rory are in Ireland. How's this going to work?"

  "We're at the airport now. Just a few hours away."

  "God, whatever you're planning must be massive."

  "You've no idea."

  Lydia cut the call and dropped her phone back into her bag. Her spine tingled as she sensed somebody behind her. She turned on her heel expecting to find Rory. A small lady in a blue smock gave her a nervous smile. Her hands were wrapped around the shaft of a mop. The head was dunked into a huge bucket on wheels filled to the brim with grey water.

  "Can I get past you, love?"

  Lydia realised she was stood in front of the door to the ladies.

  "Yes, sorry. Work away."

  On her way back to the coffee shop Lydia considered the day ahead. It was destined to go tits up but as long as she thought of a decent cover story to sell to Rory when it did, she just might get through it and get to work on the kidnappers' list of demands.

  S
he was within backstabbing distance of Rory when she realised she really did need to go to the toilet. And if she didn't go fast, she'd end up puking in the middle of the departure lounge.

  ###

  Cormac chewed through the final thread holding the two halves of his bootlace together. He re-laced his boot, skipping the hooks at the top, and tied a short-looped knot. Then he repeated the process with his other boot.

  "What are you doing?" Mattie asked.

  Cormac looked up and winked at the kid. "I'm making a rope so we can climb out the window."

  "Have you a hole in your skull?"

  Cormac patted the blood-crusted hair at the back of his head. "Not for want of trying." He held a hand out to Mattie. "Come over here a wee second."

  "Why?"

  "Just come here and sit in the chair, please."

  Mattie grunted as he raised himself off the mattress. The damage he'd taken off Paddy had stiffened and slowed him visibly. He moved like an eighty-year-old arthritic. A fresh blast of fury heated Cormac's skin, much of it directed at himself for failing to protect the boy.

  Mattie took his seat and tilted his head as Cormac knelt in front of him.

  "Let's see your hand, Mattie."

  Mattie twisted slightly in his seat and drew his left hand away from Cormac. "What for?"

  "I'm going to strap it up for you. It'll ease the pain a bit, I think."

  "You think?"

  "I know, I know." Cormac held the laces up. "I'm going to buddy them with your index finger and pinkie to keep them straight. It'll lessen the chances of jarring them by mistake."

  "How do you know?"

  "I used to hurl for Antrim. I've had my fair share of broken fingers."

  "Hurl?" Mattie's face brightened. "You mean like puking?"

  "No, you eejit. Hurling. The game with a stick and a ball. Fastest sport in the world?"

  "Oh, is it that hockey-type thing?"

  "Hockey! Where are you from, the moon? They're a world apart. I thought your da came from Belfast..."

  "Yeah, he did, but he only ever told me about that weird football you guys play. You know the one that's a bit like rugby?"

  "Ach, you're winding me up now, aren't you? Rugby. You may as well compare Gaelic to golf."

  Mattie shook his head. "Whatever. You're still not qualified to fix my fingers with manky laces."

  "They're clean enough." Cormac held them up to the low wattage light bulb. "At least I hope they are. I've had them in my mouth."

  "Gross."

  "Look, quit your stalling and give me your hand."

  Mattie looked at Cormac sideways then blew air through his teeth and slowly extended his arm. The fingers were swollen to more than twice their original size. He'd suffered a very bad break. Surgery bad, Cormac reckoned. And the young fellah hadn't bitched about the pain once. Tough little bastard.

  "Jesus," Cormac said. "Fat arse did a real number on you. What the hell did you do to set him off?"

  "The first time?" Mattie's lips quivered a little but the traces of a smirk slipped through. "He kept staring at me when he was guarding us. I told him to stop it. Called him a fat, ugly paedophile. He squared up to me and I punched him in his... you know... his nuts. Then the psycho flipped his lid."

  "Can't imagine why."

  "It was nearly funny. Except for this, like." He nodded towards his ruined fingers.

  "We really need to get you to a hospital, kid."

  "Yeah? Why don't you ask one of the guys downstairs to give us a lift? They could drop you off at the morgue."

  "God, you're a dark wee man, do you know that? I bet you watch a lot of horror movies."

  Mattie pointed at his hand. "Who's stalling now?"

  "Right, right. Tell me if this hurts."

  Cormac took the middle digit between his thumb and index finger and squeezed. Mattie growled through clenched teeth and bounced a little on his seat. Tears rolled and he curled his right fist. He punched Cormac's upper arm.

  "Jesus, kid. Sorry. No need to break my arm, but."

  Mattie snuffled hard and croaked. "Ah, shit. There's no way you're touching them again."

  "It's okay, I'll be gentle."

  "How about I fuck you gently with a chainsaw?"

  Cormac bit down on the inside of his lips to hold back a chuckle. He unbuckled his belt, slid it out of its loops and folded it in four.

  "Ever see an old cowboy movie, Mattie? The way they bite down on bullets when somebody digs an arrow out of their leg? Well, I don't have any bullets, but here." He pushed the folded belt into Mattie's good hand. "See if it works for you."

  For a second Cormac thought Mattie might wallop him with the belt but the moment passed.

  "Get it over with, then."

  Mattie chomped down on the leather and held out the injured hand. It trembled ever so slightly. Cormac gently wound the lace around the pinkie and ring fingers. Tendons stuck out on either side of Mattie's neck, tight as guitar strings, as he bit harder into the belt. Tears squeezed through his clenched shut eyes. Cormac worked fast. He let go of Mattie's wrist to tie the ends of the lace together and quickly bound the other two fingers. The result was an abomination of a Star Trek salute.

  "Live long and prosper, kid."

  "Kiss my arse."

  Mattie tossed the belt to Cormac and spat on the carpet. He swiped the tears from his eyes with the heel of his uninjured hand and sniffed. Cormac ran a finger across the deep indents Mattie's teeth had left in the belt leather. The thought of whipping Paddy raw with it played on his mind.

  "What now?" Mattie asked.

  "We get out of here, tough guy."

  Cormac beckoned Mattie out of the chair and upended it. He gripped two of the legs in his hands and pulled at them. They held fast. He laid the chair down, the backrest and legs parallel to the floor.

  "We might need to move fast," Cormac said. "Whatever happens, don't think. Just run when you get the chance."

  "What about my dad?"

  "We're going to bring him with us. Don't worry."

  Cormac raised his boot and stomped down on one of the chair legs. It came loose with a loud crack. He went to work on the next one. It held on until the second stomp. He scooped up both legs and handed one to Mattie.

  "Aim for their knees, kid. I'll go for the head."

  A voice in Cormac's mind screamed for him to drop the chair leg. Both of them were liable to end up shot. But Cormac could see no alternative. If he sat back and waited he'd end up dead and Mattie would have nobody to look after him.

  Cormac booted the bedroom door. The wood splintered a little around the lock. One more kick would bust it open but he held back. He didn't want to run out into the hallway. It'd be much easier to attack whoever had been left to guard them if he waited for them to come through the door.

  Footsteps thudded on the stairs and the bedroom door handle rattled. The lock clunked and the door opened a fraction. A gun poked in through the gap. Cormac and Mattie stepped to the side, away from the muzzle. Then Cormac brought the chair leg down on it. The gun landed on the floor. To Cormac's relief it didn't fire. He kicked it towards the mattress. The door slammed shut and Cormac snatched at the handle. The lock clicked into place before he could pull it open. He stepped back to boot it down. A fist-sized chunk of the upper panel blasted in on him. An ear-thumping boom marked it as gunshot.

  Cormac scrambled backwards and grabbed Mattie by the arm. He dragged him towards the mattress, keeping his own body between the source of gunfire and the boy. Another bullet thundered through the disintegrating wood. Cormac flipped the mattress and pushed Mattie behind it. Then he cocked the pistol, rolled into the middle of the room and fired three bullets through the door.

  The floorboards under Cormac's feet shuddered. Somebody had keeled over in the landing.

  "Ah, fuck."

  It was Paddy's voice.

  Cormac sent two more shots out into the landing. The fat man cursed again and, judging by the second wave of tremors
under Cormac's feet, toppled. Had he taken out two of the fuckers? He cocked his head and tried to listen through the ringing in his ears.

  Hurried footsteps on the stairs. Heading down, not up. A man, maybe John, screaming. Front door opening. Slamming shut. Some whimpering from the landing.

  Hunkered down, Cormac approached the door with caution. He thought he could hear a breathless recital of the Hail Mary. At least one of the fallen was still alive. Most likely armed. He weighed up his options. Stay put and wait for the cavalry or risk a bullet in the face for a quick peek into the landing. Not exactly a no-brainer, but he figured the longer he waited the worse things would get. He straightened slowly to his full height, slightly to one side of the holes in the door. Then he risked a glance out onto the landing. Two bloody forms were sprawled out on the carpet. He made out Paddy right away but the other man lay face down, his upper body out of Cormac's line of vision. Paddy stared up at the ceiling, his ski mask rolled up like a monkey hat and his panic-stricken face exposed. Blood had run from a ragged wound in his chest to paint bright red runnels on his pasty fat neck.

  There was a gun in Paddy's loosely curled fist but it was pointed away from the bedroom, forgotten. Cormac decided to move. He shouldered through the remains of the door and skipped over Paddy's chest. Cormac pinned the fat man's gun to the floor with his foot. Paddy moaned.

  "Get off my hand." His voice gurgled.

  "Shut up."

  Cormac looked over his shoulder at the other body. He realised who it was.

  "Oh, no..."

  He turned back to Paddy, not ready to consider the implications at that moment.

  "Where's O'Neill?"

  "Fucking your ma." He coughed up blood and whined like a crippled puppy. The hiss that escaped from his chest wound with each shallow breath did not bode well for his future.

  "Don't waste time, Paddy. We might be able to get you to a hospital before you drown in your own blood. But I need a few answers first."

  "You won't let me live."

  "Paddy, I'm a cop."

  Paddy double blinked. "Shit."

  "Yeah, I know. So do yourself a favour. Talk to me and I will phone that ambulance."

  "He's followed the bitch and her footballer over to England. Wants to keep an eye on her. The Scullions are with him. Me and Frank were left here to watch you lot."