Collusion

84

Lennon followed the satnav’s directions west, then south. He and Fegan crossed the River Boyne via a small bridge, then cut west again. The car’s navigation had deserted him at the last junction, leaving him only a one-track road to follow. Up ahead, between the high treetops, he saw the roof of a grand old building.

Sickness and hunger wrestled in Lennon’s gut. His eyes dried with tiredness, his mind flaking with the rust of fatigue. He blinked hard and wound the window down. Cool damp air rushed in to meet him. He breathed it in deep.

The road curved south, mirroring the river’s arc through the countryside. A rabbit sprinted across his path, its white tail bobbing madly until it disappeared into the undergrowth. He’d travelled little more than half a mile when he slowed to a stop.

‘How do we do this?’ Lennon asked.

Fegan shifted in the passenger seat. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean we’re here,’ Lennon said. ‘How do we do this? Do we find a way in or what?’

Fegan opened the passenger door. ‘You can do what you want. I’m going in.’

‘Wait! You can’t walk straight in there, for Christ’s sake.’

‘They know I’m coming,’ Fegan said. ‘No point in sneaking around.’

‘How do they know?’ Lennon called after him, but the door slammed closed before the question was out.

He watched Fegan walk along the road ahead, sunlight creeping through the branches above and glancing off his shoulders.

‘Fucking madman,’ Lennon said.

Would he get Marie and Ellen killed? Possibly, but what other options were there? He and Fegan had discussed precious little on the journey here, let alone what they were going to do when they arrived. Now Fegan disappeared around the bend up ahead.

Lennon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he worked through the possibilities, panic edging in from the outer limits of his consciousness.

Surely they would kill Fegan as soon as he showed his face at the gates?

Yes, so they’d be busy there. And who were ‘they’ exactly? Bull O’Kane’s people, Lennon supposed. Henchmen, maybe that was the word. Lennon thought of the useless lumps of belly and muscle Roscoe Patterson kept around him. O’Kane’s men would be of a different order, Lennon was certain. But they still had Fegan to deal with.

Lennon looked to his right, along the river shore, beyond the woods. Did he have a better idea?

‘Nope,’ Lennon said to himself.

He pulled the Audi into the treeline, felt it buck and jerk over the terrain until the nose pitched downwards. He saw moss and earth spewed into the air in his rear-view mirror. He shut off the engine and got out.

Lennon stood back and looked at the car, its radiator jammed into a gulley. It wasn’t going anywhere without a tow rope.

‘Christ,’ he said.

He looked to the water beyond the trees, the Boyne making its way to the coast. No other way to go, Lennon started walking.