Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

Chapter One

10:52pm Local Time – Thursday June 7th, 1990

Glenshesk Road

Armoy, Northern Ireland

The ancient church loomed on the crag overhead as Declan McIver revved the Honda motorcycle and leaned into the turn that would bring him up the hill and around into the twelfth century churchyard. Bringing the bike to a stop next to the rock wall surrounding the property, he could see a man waiting at the base of the church's round tower, the moonlight cutting between the many gravestones to illuminate him as he lingered, alone.

Declan reached into a saddlebag and withdrew a Beretta pistol, tucking it into his black rain jacket as he stood from the bike and removed his helmet, his shortish trimmed blonde hair undisturbed by the headgear. While he had once trusted the man he was meeting with his life, a lot had changed in the past six months. At the edge of the wall, he stepped up the overgrown hill and into the graveyard surrounding the church, his eyes moving about as he zigzagged between the tombs to the base of the tower.

"Has it really gone that bad?" the man said with a frown on his pallid face. "Never thought we'd need guns to come and talk to each other."

"You always need a gun in this country. Why did you call?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Dec, we've been friends for eight years. What do you mean why did I call?"

Shane O'Reilly was right. They had been friends for eight years and in that time they'd formed the kind of bond that only soldiers fighting a war side by side could know. Declan considered the moppy, red headed youth for a moment and then relaxed. "Aye, get over here you. How ya been?"

The two embraced, their hands slapping over each other's backs.

"Grand, just grand." Shane said as they separated.

"How're things at home?"

Shane shrugged. "Not been there much really. Kinda busy and all."

"Aye. So why did you call?"

"Because there's a lot to talk about," another voice said loudly from the covered doorway of the church. Declan turned fast and drew the Beretta.

"Easy!" a dark haired man with a lined face said raising his hands as he stepped out of the darkened entrance. "I'm just here to talk."

Declan kept the pistol aimed but flashed a hateful glance at Shane.

"I'm sorry, Dec," Shane said shaking his head. "He just wants to talk, and it's important."

Declan turned his eyes back toward Eamon McGuire who still stood with his hands raised to shoulder level. "I told you I didn't want to talk to ya, that I didn't want anything to do with ya, didn't I? Leave me alone." He flipped the safety on the Beretta and lowered it. He didn't trust McGuire as far as he could throw him, but the man wasn't a threat. At least not to him, not now. He walked briskly back towards the motorcycle.

"It's Meaghan, Dec!" Shane called. "It's Meaghan McCraven!"

Declan stopped at the name of his former girlfriend.

"That's why he's here. That's why I brought him!"

Slowly, Declan turned back and looked at the two men. Shane had a pleading look. "I wouldn't have broke your confidence if I didn't think what he had to say was important."

"It's a gesture of good will, between you and me," McGuire said as he lowered his hands. "Your bird's in trouble, or at least she's going to be."

"She's not mine. Not anymore."

McGuire nodded. "But you still care for her. I know you do. You never stopped. She's going to get herself killed and possibly a lot of others, too."

Declan took a deep breath and walked back to the base of the tower.

"First off," McGuire said, "I don't bear you any ill-will. I never have. You're like a son to me. You're all like sons to me. I know times have been hard, but we're a family and I'm here because I want us all to get through this, alive and well."

Declan nodded. He couldn't argue with McGuire's claim. The McGuire family had been good to him and somewhere deep inside he knew he wasn't being fair by turning his back on them, but he felt like he had to if he was ever going to get away from the violent life he had been leading for the last seven years. "So what about Meaghan?"

"After you left for Afghanistan one of the lads said she'd started in with a group of Provos out of Belfast. Ciaran Donovan's in charge of that lot now. They've been planning some dicey operations. They've sent the unit she's with to Anguilla."

"Anguilla?"

"Aye. It's a British territory in the Caribbean. They're planning to put a bomb along the route of a parade honoring the Queen's birthday. It's just like the botched attack in Gibraltar. The Brits are all over it. The unit's gonna be slaughtered."

"The SAS?"

McGuire shook his head. "No. This'll be even worse. The Brits learned from the bad press after they shot down the ASU in Gibraltar. This time they've sent a group of Defence Regiment boys linked to the Ulster Freedom Fighters."

"They're going to blame a rival paramilitary?"

McGuire nodded. "Aye, and there's talk they've been given orders to go ahead with the bombing so the IRA can be blamed."

"So why do you care about stopping this? Sounds like it's right up your alley to me."

"C'mon Declan, I deserve better than that and you know it. Attacking the Royals or anything to do with them has never brought us anything but trouble. Donovan's gone mad. I doubt he could even pick an Anguillan out of a line up yet he's gonna blow 'em up just because it's the Queen's birthday. There's nothing but bad press to be had here and Meaghan's going to end up with a bullet between the eyes for it."

"But not if we stop it, mate," Shane put in.

"I can get you to the island and I know where they're held up," McGuire said. "There's not a lot of time but there's enough if you get moving. Are ya in?"

Declan grimaced. "Aye. I'm in."

Chapter Two

1:56pm Local Time – Saturday June 9th, 1990

Anguilla Wallblake Airport

The Valley, Anguilla

A regional jetliner roared down the small runway behind him as Declan considered the man leaning against the car in front of him. The lanky, black man in the baggy shorts and grungy tanktop seemed perturbed. "Are ya comin' man?"

Declan didn't like the feeling he was getting from the man but the three thousand miles between him and anyone that could change it left him with little choice. He let the backpack he was carrying slide off of his shoulder and rest at the man's feet. "Aye. Let's go."

The antiquated Ford LTD spun its tires in the dirt lot and bumped over several potholes as it left the airport and drove north, passing rundown one story buildings and sparsely populated businesses with cabanas in front. Several minutes later as they entered and quickly exited a more robust downtown area, the man made a right into a decrepit trailer park full of squalid, single-wide residences.

"My contact said you had everything I'd need," Declan said as they pulled to a stop in front of a trailer in the far corner of the park. He'd spent the previous day digging up everything the Belfast Central Library had on the minute island of Anguilla and he was guessing the man sitting next to him was a member of one of the gangs active throughout the island.

"Yeah. We have what you need, man, but money first. Always money first."

"Guns first. Then money."

"Always money first, man."

"Then I'll buy them somewhere else," Declan said as he opened the door and stepped out.

"You have a problem then, man," the Anguillan said getting out and meeting him near the trunk. "The other leprechauns pay faster."

Declan saw a reflection in the man's sunglasses and heard a throaty growl. He stepped aside as another black man lunged with a switchblade. The knife barely missed and the assailant quickly righted himself for a second attack as the driver of the car drew a knife as well. Faced with two attackers now, Declan let his backpack slide to the ground as he prepared to defend himself. Having been trained by the legendary Special Forces of the Soviet Union, he knew that neither man stood a chance.

The driver lunged first and Declan blocked him at the wrist, striking a pressure point on the man's neck as he fired his foot into the second attacker's stomach, throwing the man forcefully against the car. The first man writhed painfully as the second man struggled to get off the ground, gasping.

"You're a dead man!" the first attacker said lunging again. Declan was through playing with these two. He grabbed the attacker at the wrist and pushed a pressure point under the man's armpit forcing him to turn suddenly away from the pain and stab his partner in the throat as the second man advanced. Striking the driver in the carotid artery. Declan watched as the man collapsed onto his partner who was now choking blood.

"Dilen? Dilen!"

Declan turned to see another man rushing from the trailer, his eyes locked on the bloody scene. The man reached into his oversized pants pocket and pulled a small pistol. Declan bent, grabbed his backpack and hurried around the car, diving onto the ground as the man began firing. Taking cover behind the wheel as shots pinged off the metal over his head, he loosened his bag and reached inside, removing a razor sharp entrenching shovel that he'd concealed among some scuba diving items so it would pass the airport security in Dublin without a second look.

With the tool at the ready, he listened. The man had stopped firing and by the sound of gravel shifting under foot, Declan could tell he was moving around for an unobstructed shot. He waited until he was sure the man was around the back of the car and then rolled out suddenly, throwing the shovel. The blade lodged into the man's upper chest and he stumbled backward from pain and shock, the front of his white T-shirt beginning to turn inky red as he fell to the ground.

Bending down, Declan dislodged the shovel and picked up the pistol. Two tone sirens sounded in the distance and he knew it was time to take what he needed and get gone, fast.

Chapter Three

6:32pm Local Time

Home of Michael O'Keefe

West End Bay, Anguilla

As the sun set, Declan put down his backpack and looked west towards the front door of the villa where the IRA unit that included Meaghan McCraven was said to be held up. On top of the weapons they were to provide, the gang he'd made contact with was supposed to have taken him to the unit's location, but clearly that hadn't worked out as planned. It had taken him several hours to locate the property on his own, far longer than he had wanted, but here he was, hoping he wasn't already too late. Apparently the UFF had made contact with the same gang and if the gang had tipped them off to his presence, he could be walking into a trap.

He surveyed the property from the cover of a patch of Loblolly trees, looking over every nook and cranny of the flat-roofed, stucco-sided vacation home and its two pools and sundecks. The wooden shutters were closed tight and only a late model Land Rover parked at the end of the home's long driveway indicated that there were occupants inside. Eamon McGuire had told him that the home belonged to a wealthy American businessman named Michael O'Keefe who was sympathetic to the IRA's cause, but Declan wondered if the man knew his house was being used as a staging area for a bombing that would kill dozens of innocent bystanders. Somehow, he doubted it.

If there was a trap set for him, he couldn't see any evidence of it from the outside. The only way to know was to walk up to the front door and find out. He removed a Beretta pistol from his bag and flicked the safety off, stowing the weapon in his waistband as he picked up his bag and strolled out of the brush. On the home's porcelain tiled porch, he stood just far enough away from the door to avoid someone shooting through it. Reaching up, he pounded several times with his fist.

"Who's there?" a female voice asked.

"Meaghan, it's Declan. Donavan sent me."

After several moments the door opened a few inches and Meaghan McCraven's slender face peered out, her brown eyes darting around before finally landing on Declan. "Donovan sent you?"

"Aye."

She looked over the parts of the property that were visible from the door again and closed it, released the chain-lock and reopened it wide enough for Declan to step in. Before he did he regarded her for a moment, a feeling of despair rising inside of him. It was his fault that she was here. It was his hatred and anger that had first brought her into contact with the IRA and had placed the ideas of the armed struggle in her head. Standing there, three thousand miles from home, with bare feet and wearing a black sundress with her chestnut brown hair spilling down around her shoulders she looked angelic and innocent. He hoped she was still innocent, that her association with the IRA hadn't led her to commit the kind of acts that would blacken her soul forever, the kind of acts he'd seen and done. "Let's get inside," he said as he glanced over his shoulder. "It's not safe out here."

"You say Donovan sent you?" Meaghan said as he stepped inside. "He didn't tell us anyone else was com-"

"Like hell he sent you!" a voice said from behind the door as it was pushed closed with force. Declan dropped his bag and turned as a man stepped forward with a pistol aimed. Blocking the man's advance, he grabbed his thumb and twisted his hand and the gun away, pointing it back at it's owner as he brought the man to the floor. He placed his knee onto the man's chest and held him down with the gun under his chin.

"Fu-Fuck you!" the man spat as he tried to struggle.

"Jesus Declan let him go!" Meaghan screamed as Declan heard the sound of a rifle being charged. Two more men stood from behind a couch, one with an AK-47 aimed.

"Let him up! Now!" the rifle man ordered.

Declan kept the man where he was. He recognized the others as Paul Boyle and Dean Byrne, two Provisionals with a list of small attacks throughout Belfast and the surrounding areas. He looked down at the man he was holding and slowly released him. Callum O'Connell stood gingerly from the floor and re-aimed his pistol. "You just couldn't stand that she was here with someone else, could you?"

Meaghan looked aghast as she stood there between O'Connell and Declan.

"That's got nothing to do with it," Declan said. "I'm here because McGuire picked up intel that the Brits were onto you, that they'd sent a team of UDR thugs to wipe out the entire unit, just like they did in Gibraltar."

"Oh fuck McGuire!" O'Connell shouted. "That old man would have us runnin' around making kissy faces with the touts and tryin' to-"

The sound of a vehicle skidding to a stop came from outside and Declan turned to the door, pulling it open as he withdrew the Beretta from his belt. "No time for talking, they're here! Get down!" He aimed the pistol at the black SUV and squeezed the trigger twice. The bullets impacted the windshield as the vehicle's occupants exited and ran for cover. Declan sighted one as he ran towards the cluster of Loblolly trees and dropped him with a double shot to the head before he turned to another and fired three times into the man's chest as he ran sideways, aiming.

The clatter of machine gun fire sounded from the trees and bullets impacted the side of the house, tearing away chunks of plaster. Declan slammed the door and pulled Meaghan onto the tiled floor. "Get down! Get down!"

Boyle and Byrne retook their cover behind the furniture and O'Connell hit the floor below a window. "What the fuck's goin' on?" he shouted as bullets lacerated the shutters and the door, raining chunks of wood onto them.

"McGuire said there were seven and I just dropped two!" Declan shouted as he kept Meaghan huddled in the corner with him. The gunfire outside stopped and O'Connell stood, pulling open the shutters and aiming his pistol.

"No! Don't!" Declan yelled.

A three round burst from an automatic sounded and O'Connell's face disintegrated, blood and brain tissue flying into the air as his body fell lifelessly to the floor, what was left of his head landing with a hollow thud.

"No!" Meaghan screamed and reached towards her fallen lover.

Declan held onto her tight to keep her away from the doors and windows. "He's dead! There's nothing you can do!

"Are you sure there's seven?" Boyle shouted as he peeked around the side of the couch with his Kalashnikov.

"No!" Declan said. "Could be twenty out there! We need to get out the back while their fire's concentrated on the front! They haven't had enough time to spread out but that'll change quick!"

"Right!"

Boyle and Byrne crawled towards a sliding glass door. As they neared it Byrne raised himself into a crouch and reached for the door handle. Gunshots exploded from the opened window and the interior of the house was shredded with bullets, Byrne catching several in the chest before falling onto his back where he lay still.

"Fuck!" Boyle shouted as he scooted furiously away from the door and back behind the couch.

Declan could see the muzzle flash of the weapon. The gunman was standing at the window and firing in. He pushed Meaghan away and rolled out, pulling the Beretta's trigger rapidly. The gunfire stopped as Declan's shots impacted the windowsill. Declan jumped to his feet and ran for the window, passing it in a rolling motion as he fired at the fleeing gunman who screamed in pain as he was hit. Declan lowered himself to the floor again as his attack was met by more automatic gunfire from outside. If McGuire's intel was good, there were four left. He low crawled back across the room to where Meaghan sat huddled in the corner, grabbing his bag and dragging it with him.

"Are there any other vehicles here besides the Rover?"

"There's a moped in the garage!" Boyle yelled.

"No good. We need something a lot faster. Anything else?"

"There's a speedboat by the pier!"

The gunfire from outside slowed to the occasional burst. Declan knew that was meant to keep them at bay while the men outside spread out. Soon, they'd have the house surrounded. But how long could they hold it before the police showed up? Would the police come? Did the police in Anguilla even have guns? He wasn't sure.

"Where's the pier?"

"Straight out the back door and down to the bay, about a hundred yards," Boyle answered.

"Any cover?"

"Some low lying brush and it's downhill through a gully most of the way."

"Can you operate the boat, love?" Declan asked.

"Aye," Meaghan said nodding.

"Looks like it's a gonna be a run for it then. I hope you brought some shoes. Boyle get her to the boat and I'll cover you as you go."

"I can shoot, too!" Meaghan scolded.

Declan released the magazine in the Beretta and reloaded. "I know, but I want your attention on that boat. It's your only ticket outta here." He handed her the Beretta. "Once you're in and the motor's started, cover Boyle as he boards and then the two of you get out of here!"

"What about you?"

"I'm gonna draw their fire. I'll be better off on my own."

Boyle stayed low as he left his cover. "I hope all that shite they're sayin' in Belfast about you McGuire boys is true, for your sake," he said as Meaghan pulled on a pair of tennis shoes.

Declan removed two Taurus PT92s and an H &K MP5 from his backpack. "Belfast doesn't know the half of it," he said as he pushed a magazine into the H &K, charged the weapon and flicked the selector switch to semi-automatic. "I'm going out first. Keep your eyes on that front window until you're outside the building. Ditch the weapons once you're a safe distance from the shore and meet me on the beach at Conto Bay. It's a short walk north to the airport from there."

Boyle nodded as he replaced the magazine in the Kalashnikov. "I gotta give it to McGuire. He knows how to get things done."

Declan stood, placed the pistols in holsters on his belt and moved towards the sliding glass door that led to one of the property's pools. "I'm going to draw them south away from the pier. With any luck, they'll think I'm all that's left and follow."

He gripped the door handle and pulled it open. Stepping onto a narrow porch with a staircase leading to a pool below, he ran to the right where he was covered by the edge of the house. Gunshots clattered and chunks of wood were torn away as bullets struck the bannister, the glass window in the door shattering. From his cover, Declan could see the gunman in a patch of trees on the north side of the pool. Surveying the surrounding area for other attackers and seeing none, he flicked the MP5 to full auto and rolled out. Bullets flew from the snub-nosed barrel as he pulled the trigger. Wisps of dust followed the shots to the clump of trees where they tore branches loose until they found the gunman, who screamed painfully as his body was riddled and fell away into the tall grass. Declan stopped firing, slung the H &K onto his back by its shoulder strap, placed both hands on the bannister for leverage and jumped off the porch onto the deck below. Running to the left, he jumped off the pool's decking and onto the dusty ground at its base, concealing himself from the view of anyone else on the north side of the house. From the south, a gunman rounded the corner of the house and aimed an AR-15. Chunk. The weapon jammed. Declan kicked the gun aside with one foot as he spun and delivered a back kick to the man's stomach, knocking him down. Drawing his pistols, he shot the man twice before placing his back against the house and looking for the other men he knew were about.

Shots sounded a short distance away and he looked realizing there was a shooter in the brush firing at the house. Boyle and Meaghan had to be on their way out. He charged towards the scrub brush. The gunman was lying prone in the grass and scurried for better cover as Declan jumped over a rocky dune that was concealing his approach. Shooting the man in the back as he fled, Declan slid onto his side to use the dune for cover. He peered over the edge and saw Boyle descend a set of steps on the deck and disappear. Where was Meaghan? Hopefully she was ahead of him. He hadn't come to save the likes of Paul Boyle. Everything had grown quiet. Had there only been six assaulters?

Movement jarred his attention and automatic gunfire sounded again. Declan rolled onto his side to see another gunman standing on the edge of the cliff firing an AR-15 into the bay. He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. The gunman's chest exploded in a flash of red and the man's body fell backwards off of the cliff and out of sight. After reloading, Declan jumped to his feet, aiming the weapons around in search of anyone else as he rushed towards the edge of the cliff. The gunman had fired at least twenty rounds into the bay. Had Meaghan and Boyle made it to the boat only to be mowed down from above? Fighting the urge to close his eyes so he wouldn't see Meaghan McCraven's wrecked body on the white sand, Declan looked over into the Caribbean Sea.

A red and white speedboat shot towards the setting sun leaving a white wave behind it. Declan took a deep breath as he saw the driver's long brown hair flowing in the wind. Meaghan had made it and behind her, another figure sat. Declan turned back and looked at the bullet-riddled house. From the looks of it, the battle was over. For today.

An hour later, Declan watched as the speedboat slowly approached the darkened, half-moon beach of Conto Bay. Meaghan killed the motor and let the slender craft grind to a halt in the sand as she moved out from around the steering wheel towards the front of the boat.

"Where's Boyle?" Declan asked.

Meaghan grimaced. "He was hit, didn't make it."

Declan saw bullet holes near the back of the boat and dark stains on the carpet. "Sorry."

"I threw his body and the guns overboard," she said. Declan opened his arms and held her for a moment. He didn't know much about Paul Boyle or any of the other men that had died today but he didn't have to. Despite being his fellow Irishmen, they weren't good men. They were killers who were willing to take their fight to people who more than likely had never set foot in Ireland and probably never would. They were the kind of men that he used to be. Or were they? He'd killed today, too. What kind of person did that make him?

"Let's go," Meaghan said as she reached down and pulled off the white shoes she was wearing. Declan noted the red stains as she turned and tossed them back into the boat.

"You're going to regret that," he said as they walked north. "The road to the airport's gravel."

Chapter Four

11:29am Local Time – Sunday June 10th, 1990

Aldergrove Airport

Belfast, Northern Ireland

Declan knew that landing in Northern Ireland as opposed to the Irish Republic came with a great risk but McGuire had assured him the passports he had provided, which identified Declan and Meaghan as French and American respectively with no connection to each other, were foolproof and that each of them would make it through the required security without incident.

Having gone through the humiliating process successfully, Declan bent down and scooped up his backpack from the conveyor of an x-ray machine as he searched the incoming crowd for Meaghan. Spotting her as she neared the entrance, he moved away and waited outside of the security area.

He watched as she went through the same process as he had and approached, placing the American passport in the travel bag she had brought from Anguilla.

"I guess that's it then," he said. "No more overseas excursions planned, right?"

She gave him a cold stare. "Looks like the Ulster boys won this round."

Declan shook his head. "The people who won yesterday are the Anguillans since they won't be dying in mass numbers from either an IRA or a UFF bomb tomorrow."

"So it's true what they're saying about you, that you've become some kind of conchie or something?"

"That's not you talking. That's me. Three years ago-"

"Meaghan McCraven?" a loud voice called.

Declan looked over Meaghan's shoulder. Two men in civilian clothes approached followed by four uniformed officers of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.

"Meaghan McCraven, you're under arrest for-"

"I don't know who you're talk-"

"Save it. You're Meaghan McCraven," an officer said holding up a picture, "Take her away."

Declan stepped forward as the constables grabbed Meaghan by the shoulders and began to pull her away. One of the plainclothes officers stopped him with a hand to the chest. "Get lost stud, if you know what's good for you. This one's not worth the lay."

Declan felt a set of hands grab him from behind. "It'll be grand, old son."

"Take your friend's advice," the officer said as he turned and walked away, following the constables as they led Meaghan around a corner and out of sight.

Declan relaxed in the grip of the man standing behind him as he noticed a lock of blonde hair that had spilled over his shoulder. He knew the man was one of the few around that could match him move for move. "Let me go, Torrie." He turned and looked into the face of Torrance Sands as the man released him.

"There's nothing we can do, Declan," Eamon McGuire said as he stepped up next to Sands. "The RUC had every member of the unit identified and pictures at every entrance. She didn't have a chance of getting through."

Declan regarded both men coldly for a moment before walking away.

"Do you think he has any idea it was you who told the screws where to find her?" Sands asked.

McGuire shook his head as he watched Declan leave the airport. "How could he? We've done more in the last four days to bring Declan McIver back into the armed struggle than the Brits have in the last six months."

Bio:

Ian Graham was born in New Hampshire on July 4th, the third generation of his family to share a birthday with the United States of America. His three main interests have always been politics, religion and history. The stories and characters he writes about are centered on the explosive conflicts created when the three intersect. His writing has previously appeared in Action Pulse Pounding Tales alongside best selling thriller authors Matt Hilton, Stephen Leather, Adrian Magson, Zoe Sharpe and Joe McCoubrey.

He lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of the eastern United States with his wife and two daughters. Veil Of Civility, the first full length novel in the Black Shuck / Declan McIver thriller series, was published on April 2nd, 2013.