what we need you to find out,” the handler said. “Fegan was the last person to see McKenna alive. It seems he was also the last to see Caffola. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Why don’t you nab him, then?”
“He was questioned last night,” the handler said. “Said he and Caffola got split up when they were running from the police.”
Campbell snorted. “And you think he’s above telling lies?”
“Our friend inside says McGinty believes him. Fegan’s been keeping his head down for years. There’s no reason he would turn on his friends now. Besides, there’s nothing to actually tie him to McKenna’s killing. All evidence says he was at home at the time, piss-drunk.”
“Then who did kill McKenna?” Campbell leaned forward, following the blood-scent.
“McKenna was dealing with a Lithuanian, Petras Adamkus, on some people trafficking. A very shady character. The leadership had got wind of it and were putting pressure on McGinty to nix it. The last contact anyone had with McKenna was when he phoned a barman and told him he was meeting someone on business at the docks. Next thing we know, McKenna’s brains are all over his windscreen, and Mr. Adamkus is nowhere to be found.”
“But you’re not satisfied with that,” Campbell said.
“No, we’re not,” the handler said. “On the surface it looks like the party cleaned up their own mess over McKenna and Adamkus, and it suits them to blame the police for Caffola’s death. We know Caffola wasn’t happy with the political end of things, particularly the party supporting law and order. The party won’t tolerate dissent in the ranks. They’ve done it in the past, taking out one of their own and blaming the security forces or the Loyalists, so it would be par for the course. Still, something doesn’t add up.”
“And you want me to find the missing pieces.” Campbell sat back, burying a peal of excitement deep inside himself.
Public School shot the handler a condescending smile. “You said he was bright,” he said, his voice oily. He peered around the headrest at Campbell. “We need you to go back to Belfast, tell them you’re not happy with the dissidents, that you want to come back into the fold. See what you can find out about Fegan. If he’s behind it, deal with him. Or tip the party off and let them do the honors.”
“They’ll tell me to fuck off,” Campbell said. “They know I was running with McSorley’s lot in Dundalk. McGinty won’t like it. Have you no other mug to do it?”
He knew the answer.
“We’ve never had an agent as close to McGinty as you,” Public School said. “Our friend inside will smooth things over for you. Besides, if I’m correctly informed, Mr. McGinty owes you a pretty big favor. You’ll be welcomed with open arms. Trust me.”
“Not for a second,” Campbell said.
Public School gave him a hard look. “There’ll be a generous bonus, of course. Fifteen thousand for going in. Another fifteen if you’re able to resolve matters to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Campbell looked from Public School to the handler and back again. “Twenty-five first, twenty-five after. And I want what I’m owed for Dundalk. It wasn’t my decision to leave.”
“You’re a mercenary bastard, aren’t you?” Public School said, smiling. “All right. I’m sure you’ll give us our money’s worth.”
“Every penny,” Campbell said. He tried not to picture Gerry Fegan’s blood-spattered face or the bodies at his feet.
13
Fegan stood among the gravestones, sweat drawing cool lines down his back. It had been the warmest spring he could remember. Black Mountain loomed over the graveyard, its craggy slopes bright and hard in the May sunlight. Father Coulter droned on by the graveside amid polite coughs and gentle
“Why don’t you nab him, then?”
“He was questioned last night,” the handler said. “Said he and Caffola got split up when they were running from the police.”
Campbell snorted. “And you think he’s above telling lies?”
“Our friend inside says McGinty believes him. Fegan’s been keeping his head down for years. There’s no reason he would turn on his friends now. Besides, there’s nothing to actually tie him to McKenna’s killing. All evidence says he was at home at the time, piss-drunk.”
“Then who did kill McKenna?” Campbell leaned forward, following the blood-scent.
“McKenna was dealing with a Lithuanian, Petras Adamkus, on some people trafficking. A very shady character. The leadership had got wind of it and were putting pressure on McGinty to nix it. The last contact anyone had with McKenna was when he phoned a barman and told him he was meeting someone on business at the docks. Next thing we know, McKenna’s brains are all over his windscreen, and Mr. Adamkus is nowhere to be found.”
“But you’re not satisfied with that,” Campbell said.
“No, we’re not,” the handler said. “On the surface it looks like the party cleaned up their own mess over McKenna and Adamkus, and it suits them to blame the police for Caffola’s death. We know Caffola wasn’t happy with the political end of things, particularly the party supporting law and order. The party won’t tolerate dissent in the ranks. They’ve done it in the past, taking out one of their own and blaming the security forces or the Loyalists, so it would be par for the course. Still, something doesn’t add up.”
“And you want me to find the missing pieces.” Campbell sat back, burying a peal of excitement deep inside himself.
Public School shot the handler a condescending smile. “You said he was bright,” he said, his voice oily. He peered around the headrest at Campbell. “We need you to go back to Belfast, tell them you’re not happy with the dissidents, that you want to come back into the fold. See what you can find out about Fegan. If he’s behind it, deal with him. Or tip the party off and let them do the honors.”
“They’ll tell me to fuck off,” Campbell said. “They know I was running with McSorley’s lot in Dundalk. McGinty won’t like it. Have you no other mug to do it?”
He knew the answer.
“We’ve never had an agent as close to McGinty as you,” Public School said. “Our friend inside will smooth things over for you. Besides, if I’m correctly informed, Mr. McGinty owes you a pretty big favor. You’ll be welcomed with open arms. Trust me.”
“Not for a second,” Campbell said.
Public School gave him a hard look. “There’ll be a generous bonus, of course. Fifteen thousand for going in. Another fifteen if you’re able to resolve matters to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Campbell looked from Public School to the handler and back again. “Twenty-five first, twenty-five after. And I want what I’m owed for Dundalk. It wasn’t my decision to leave.”
“You’re a mercenary bastard, aren’t you?” Public School said, smiling. “All right. I’m sure you’ll give us our money’s worth.”
“Every penny,” Campbell said. He tried not to picture Gerry Fegan’s blood-spattered face or the bodies at his feet.
13
Fegan stood among the gravestones, sweat drawing cool lines down his back. It had been the warmest spring he could remember. Black Mountain loomed over the graveyard, its craggy slopes bright and hard in the May sunlight. Father Coulter droned on by the graveside amid polite coughs and gentle
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