Private Dublin

Chapter 64

I woke suddenly, my heart racing, certain I’d heard something. My ears strained against the silence of the early hours and my entire body was alert, even though it took my mind a beat to orientate itself.

I was in my bedroom in the house in Fitzwilliam Square, and the absence of light around the edges of the heavy drapes suggested it was still night. I checked my phone and saw that it was 3:06 a.m.

I listened carefully and heard another sound: the scraping of metal on metal. I rolled out of bed, crept to my wardrobe and slid on a pair of jeans and a black pullover. I picked up a pair of boots and some socks and carried them as I moved silently to the door.

I pressed my ear against the painted surface and listened closely. Hearing nothing, I opened the door slowly and crept across the landing to the stairs.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a lock turning and realized it was coming from the kitchen. Almost certainly the back door. There was a shift in the silence, a change of air pressure, as the back door opened. I could have sworn I heard a whisper then, but pitched so low I couldn’t be certain. One thing I was sure of was that we had intruders.

I moved away from the stairs and went along the landing to the next flight. I climbed carefully and heard more clearly defined sounds coming from the first floor. I moved silently across the top floor and opened the door to Andi’s bedroom.

I crept to her bed and placed my hand over her mouth, which was enough to wake her while stifling her instinctive cry. I raised a finger to my lips to signal her to be silent.

“Downstairs,” I whispered. “Moving up. They must have followed us from the fire.”

She nodded and rolled out of bed, grabbing some clothes from a pile on an armchair.

I signaled toward the low inset window, and she nodded again. I crept over to it while she pulled on her clothes. I lifted the catch and opened the window as a floorboard creaked directly beneath us. The intruders were on the floor below.

I climbed through onto a stone ledge and helped Andi out. My stomach lurched at the sight of the sidewalk so far away. I made myself look up, rather than down at the doom that awaited if we fell. We edged our way around the gable window and slid down the sloping roof to the flat section below, and from there moved toward a large stone chimney.

We settled behind it just in time. I peered around one side to see a man climb out on the sloping roof and look around him, scanning for any sign of us. He wore a ski mask and carried a pistol. I tensed, ready to fight if he came toward us, but seeing nothing, he retreated, and I heard him climb back into Andi’s room.

She glanced at me, her relief obvious, and I signaled for us to move. She nodded and I led her across the roofs of the adjacent townhouses on that side of the square to the house at the very end of the block. This had been converted into offices and was fitted with a fire escape at the rear. We crept down them, and when we reached the bottom, hurried across the small back yard, clambered over the brick wall, and dropped onto the sidewalk of Fitzwilliam Street.

Our safehouse had been compromised and we had to assume they would keep watch on the place. We could never go back.

We hurried to the Ford, which was parked in the square. I had the key in my pocket and unlocked the doors as we approached. Andi climbed in the passenger seat and I got behind the wheel, started the engine, and quickly drove us out of Fitzwilliam Square to avoid being spotted.