“There’s been another incident. Someone took a shot at the minister’s wife today while she was out riding.”
“Pity they missed.”
“What was that? Wait, I’ll take you outside.” Ben heard a door, and the other voices died away. “She claimed she saw a chip fly out of the trunk of a tree by her head, but by the time our people got there the scene was cleared. She may have been mistaken. But if it did happen, it turns an ill-defined threat into something much more personal.”
“Tim said Seamus couldn’t be at the pub tonight because he had something on. Why don’t you pull him in?”
“He’s gone to ground. We’re looking for him now.”
“I’m being taken to a meeting with him tomorrow.”
“Good.”
There was a long pause while both seemed at a loss what to say next. Nikolas sighed. “I have to go. There is another issue…but it doesn’t need to involve you.”
“Do you ever actually sleep?”
“I never sleep, Benjamin. It is advantageous in my job.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never had the opportunity to know that, have I? I guess I have to be grateful for small mercies that you always pay for the rooms we fuck in, even if I never get to stay and actually sleep in them. Tim Watson’s a brilliant kisser, by the way.” Silence. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes. I heard you. What do you want me to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about I don’t want you to—”
“I don’t want you to kiss Tim Watson. I don’t want you to fuck Tim Watson. You know what, Benjamin? I don’t actually want you to kill Tim Watson. But where has it ever been written into our lives that we get to choose such things? This is our reality, Benjamin. Me being here at three a.m., listening to fat men in suits pontificating—is that the right word?—on things they know nothing about, and you there doing things I want to kill you for. I have to go, Benjamin.” The phone clicked off after the longest speech Ben had ever heard Nikolas make. Ben stared at the handset, his mind trying to process the stream of words. He settled carefully back on the soft mattress, not lassitude but something painfully like hope now pinning him once more to the bed.
§§§
He was a wreck the next day, waking up with his stomach screaming in hunger, a headache from the sour beer and the emotional roller coaster of the previous night. He was late reporting for day three of his course: Environmental Law and Badger Physiology. Fortunately the day was all classroom based. His head hit the desk once, much to the ribald amusement of the other trainees. He had to buy them all tea in the smoke break to apologise.
That evening in the pub, he was introduced to Sean Mafferty, the older of the Irish brothers. Sean was far more cautious with Ben than the others and questioned him on his regiment and service. Ben fielded the questions innocently in his guise as Jaime Lancaster. When Sean suggested they leave and meet with his brother, Ben readily agreed. Tim seemed reluctant to accompany them at first but then got into the car with Sean. Ben followed on his bike. They wound around the Devon lanes for some time until finally beginning to climb at the edge of the moors. At last, they came to an old farm complex of dilapidated buildings with ugly, utilitarian cowsheds now fallen into disrepair, looking stark and forbidding in the cold December night. Ben slid cautiously off his bike and stowed his helmet. He came close to the car as Tim and Sean waited for him in the dark.
“You live here?”
Sean shook his head. “Nah, my brother uses it as a kind of headquarters for the organisation. Place we can meet.”
Ben glanced at Tim, and Tim shrugged. “Sometimes we come across badgers that have been injured in illegal culls or during hunting, and we bring them here and release them.”
Ben followed them into one of the sheds. There was no light at all inside, despite the broken sections of the roof. It was huge, and stank of old cow shit and rats. Ben turned to speak to Tim but something smacked into the back of his head. He went down, tried to rise; something hit him again, and then everything went black.
§§§
When Ben woke, he knew instantly things were bad. He was tied to a chair by his ankles and wrists. He was also gagged and blindfolded. He kept still, assessing the situation, testing his restraints. He could hear voices off to one side. They were speaking in Gaelic, some of which he understood. He appeared to be strapped down with good old Harry Black—electrical tape—the IRA’s restraint of choice. He’d been a guest of the IRA once before, and he hadn’t appreciated the experience. Finally, he let them know he was awake by lifting his head. He heard footsteps then a hood was lifted off his head. He made a noise in his throat, and the rag in his mouth was pulled out. He was facing Sean Mafferty and another man so like him there was no doubt this was Seamus. To his relief, but also to his alarm, Tim was strapped in a chair next to him, head hanging down, glasses askew and one lens broken. “Fuckers. What do you want? What’s this all about?”
“Your real name for a start, soldier,” Seamus said in his broad Belfast accent.
Ben spat out a residual taste of the gag. “What the hell? You think you’re gonna stop the cull by taking me? For God’s sake, man, I’m just a grunt doing my job.”
Seamus nodded thoughtfully then smashed his fist into Ben’s face. “We’ll see, mate. By the time this night is over, we’ll know all about you and who you work for.”
Good luck with that, Ben thought. He hadn’t reckoned with Tim waking up, his terrified expression, and the almost paternal feelings it raised in his own gut. Seamus saw the emotion that passed between them, nodded at his brother, and switched his attentions to Tim. After five minutes, Tim’s face wasn’t so appealing. It was a vicious beating, but as he wasn’t the real target, nothing he said or did stopped the brothers. For all Ben’s anguish, he couldn’t let this break him, so the Maffertys were at something of an impasse. They switched their attentions back to Ben when Tim slumped over, unconscious. Unfortunately, they picked his bad knee to start on. He cried out when Sean hit it with a plank of wood. “Who the fuck are you?”
When the pain lessened to a dull ache, Ben spat out, “Let the professor go, and I’ll tell you what I know.” Tim didn’t raise his head to protest. The brothers conferred for a moment then Seamus hit Ben again. Sean went over to a pile of farm machinery at one side of the shed and came back with a pair of pliers. Ben gave him a look. “You have got to be kidding.” Seamus took Ben’s little finger in the pliers and began to apply pressure. “Real name.”
“You’ve got the wrong—” The top of his finger was crushed. He couldn’t speak through the pain. He felt the world greying out then suddenly the pressure lessened. He heard the whirring, thumping sound of a helicopter. A voice over a loudspeaker penetrated the shed, indistinct in actual words but clear in intent. Sean ran to the doors. “Shit. The police. It’s the fucking police.”
Ben, taking advantage of their distraction, shoved hard with his feet, toppling the chair and falling backward. As he’d hoped, one arm of the old chair broke, and he then had a free arm with a piece of wood strapped to it. He rolled and hit at the legs of the chair, breaking one of those as well. It took only a matter of seconds to scramble to his feet, pieces of wood strapped to him—but weapons now, not restraints.
