44. Murray
The Walsh brothers assumed we’d already left from Leth Sholas to make what was a twenty-five-hour boat trip to the meeting point off the coast of Dublin. They’d planned our route for us so we could avoid official boats that policed the waters.
However, since Fraser and I had the police on board with us, we traveled to the mainland in the wee hours of the morning instead and had driven four hours from Oban to Cairnryan, a small port town on the southwest coast. It would cut the boat journey down to only a few hours and the Walshes wouldn’t know any better.
We’d slapped one of my boat registrations on the long-liner we were using to cover our arses in case they checked it.
The Irish Sea was choppy, the long-liner boat bobbing roughly in the water as we waited off the coast of Ireland for the Iris.
The undercover cops were dressed in typical fisherman gear, all of us wearing thick weatherproof jackets and beanies to fight off the chilly breeze.
My stomach roiled and not with the boat.
I’d had my sea legs since I was a boy and a strong stomach because of it.
Usually, however, a fishing expedition was filled with machine noise and loud communication among the crew.
All that could be heard out here was the whoosh of the water beneath us and the racing pulse in my ears.
And there was the small matter of having never had to face dangerous criminals and pretend to traffic drugs for them with a bunch of undercover police officers whose mere presence could get my cousin and me killed.
It changed everything. I’d always felt at home out on the water. Even with all its dangers, I’d found more beauty in it than threat. But today, all I felt was its chill. Its dampness seemed to seep into my very veins, filling me with its vast, empty loneliness.
I wanted more than anything to abandon it.
To be on land, with Kelly and London.
Seconds bled slowly into minutes as we waited.
Finally, I spotted a trawler heading toward us. “There.”
The officer in charge, Detective Sergeant Davis, gave me an abrupt nod.
“Remember, he won’t suspect anything if you’re a wee bit nervous.
But act like we’re just your crew. You’re in charge.
Don’t look at us for guidance or protection because while we will protect you, you seeking assurance from us will give us away. ”
Fraser and I nodded. My cousin was pale, but his eyes were hard with determination.
I tried not to think about Eileen or the twins, Kelly and London, and how much they were all counting on me to get this right.
The wait for the Iris to approach seemed to take forever. I could feel the stress pressing on my bladder and fought off the desperate need to pee out my nervousness.
London flashed across my mind. She’d hardly slept and had woken with me in the wee hours of the morning. My last image of her was standing in our driveway, waving me off with a brave but trembling smile.
Kelly was still asleep, thank goodness, so I didn’t need to pretend with her. My last image of her was her sleeping peacefully in her bed, her e-reader abandoned beside her pillow.
I’m coming home to them.
I steeled myself as the Iris drew to a stop starboard side. Approaching the edge, I watched warily as a huge beast of a man, even taller and broader than me, stalked to the edge of the Iris. “I’m Russo,” he announced in a thick accent.
“Shaw,” I stated grimly. “Let’s do this.”
“We need to check boat first. Make sure no weapons, sì.”
DS Davis had already warned me this might happen, so I just jerked my chin up in agreement.
Two lithe men boarded our long-liner, and I gritted my teeth while one of them patted me down as the other patted down Fraser. They moved through our small crew, the undercover police officers doing a good job of looking just the right amount of nervous.
“All good!” one of them shouted back as the other checked over the boat.
Without a word, they worked with the crew of the Iris to unload crates of fish that we knew had drugs buried inside them. Rage burned in my chest at the realization these people had intimidated others into crime. But they weren’t going to get me. They’d chosen the wrong fucking man.
After it was done, the men disembarked the long-liner onto the Iris. Russo’s expression was hard, cold. “Anything goes wrong at port, you are a dead man, sì?”
I stared blankly at him and he smirked, giving me an approving nod before he waved his hand imperiously. “Move on. We stay, watch you leave in right direction.”
Without another word, I turned and gestured to Fraser. He moved into the cabin and the engine started back up. Carefully, he maneuvered us away from the Iris and toward Dublin.
Once we were out of earshot, DS Davis approached. “You did very well.”
“It’s not over. Should we check the crates?”
Davis checked his watch. “In a minute. Right now, the Iris’s radio systems are all being blocked so they can’t radio out, and they’re about to be surrounded by the Gardai.” He tapped my shoulder. “See.”
Sure enough, in the distance, I could see multiple police speedboats heading toward the Iris. We watched as she tried to flee, but the Iris was an old trawler and there was no way she could outrun them.
“This is the risky part,” I reminded him. “If your signal blockers didn’t work, they warned Siobhan and the Walshes.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Have faith.”
Siobhan Cosway was not at all what I expected.
In fact, she was not unlike my wife in appearance.
Young, maybe late twenties. Red hair, startling blue eyes, and a bonny face.
Yet there was more than a glint of ice in those eyes.
She wore a rain jacket, tight jeans, and wellies, and I wondered if the downplayed look was to blend into our surroundings.
There was a dark confidence in her grim, clipped commands.
Before we got into port, DS Davis used the radio system to check in on the operation. Two crew members were shot, a police officer took a hit, but he would live, and Russo and the crew of the Iris were arrested. There was no sign that they’d been able to warn anyone else about the operation.
Still, it was nerve-wracking when Cosway and her two thugs approached us at the port. The commercial side of Dublin Port was expectedly noisy and crowded. We’d preregistered our arrival with no problems, and obviously the Gardai was waiting in the wings along with officers of Police Scotland.
I played my part. “No fish until payment,” I reminded Siobhan when she demanded we start unloading.
With a pinch of her lips, she gestured to the boat. “I’ll need to make sure it’s the right kind of fish.”
“Then you’ll need to come closer.”
The biggest bloke at her back, who had a saddle nose and the big meaty fists of a boxer, grunted in displeasure.
“I’ll be fine.” Siobhan waved him off before walking confidently up our gangplank.
Fraser wedged open the crates and lifted the board between the fish and the drugs inside to show her. It was a first time I was getting a look at the cake.
Fuck. There were thousands and thousands of pounds’ worth of cocaine in there.
“I need to sample it.”
“No one said anything about that. The longer we dally here, the more likely we are to get caught. You want to sample the fish in plain sight?”
She threw me a scathing glance before she bent over, hiding her hand inside the crate.
To my shock she flipped open a switch knife that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
She cut open a bag and it spilled into the crate.
Siobhan didn’t seem to care one whit. Instead, she scooped a tiny amount onto the back of her other hand, tucked the switch knife into her pocket, and straightened.
She wiped her hand over her nose, snorting inconspicuously.
It just looked like she was wiping her face.
Once she’d dusted off any remains of the powder, she stood for a second, not saying a word.
My heart felt like it was about to explode.
Finally, Siobhan turned to the men who waited below and nodded. There were a few minutes of awkward silence as her man made a phone call. Siobhan studied every single one of us, like she was searching for something. When her gaze lingered on DS Davis, I held my breath.
Then the burner phone Joshua Hughes gave me rang. I slipped it out of my back pocket and answered it, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt.
“Got the money,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Make the delivery.” He hung up.
They didn’t know, then?
Surely that meant we’d gotten away with this?
“Let’s unload.”
The next fifteen minutes were probably the worst of the operation as we drew closer to bringing this thing to an end. After all, the plan was that as soon as these crates started going into Cosway’s van, simultaneous arrests and raids would begin.
My heart was in my goddamn throat as we carried the last of the crates to the delivery vehicle.
I’d just backed up from handing over one to Siobhan’s goon when everything slowed down as shouts of officers poured into the scene, guns raised and pointed at the Cosways.
I was pushed to the side, stumbling back into Fraser as the undercover officers moved into position too, guns magically appearing in their hands.
I didn’t have time to wonder where they’d gotten the weapons because one of the men with Siobhan wouldn’t lower his gun.
Siobhan was already on her knees, hands behind her head, multiple weapons pointed at her face. The others were surrendering and lowering to the ground.
Except that one.
The one with the saddle nose.
His gaze swung frantically along with his gun until it alighted on me. Expression morphing into rage, he said something I couldn’t hear over the noise of the shouting officers as he pulled the trigger.