Private Dublin

Chapter 77

I left my phone on the bedside table and abandoned the hostel immediately. It was early evening and a light drizzle was falling as I made my way to the parking lot on Trinity Street.

I was taking a risk using a stolen police car, but I could not hire one without a fake ID and if Conor Roche was dirty, there was every chance he wouldn’t report the theft.

I drove through slick streets that reflected the lights of cars and streetlamps beneath ominous clouds. The rain was light but persistent and the dark sky threatened a downpour at any moment.

I went to the George’s Street Arcade, a shopping mall a few blocks away, and bought another phone and some tools that would be necessary for what I was about to do next.

When I returned to the car, I used the new phone to send messages to Sci, Mo-bot and Justine, using my safe phrase so they would know it was me giving them my new number. I received messages back from all of them wishing me luck, and an extra one from Justine who told me she loved me and asked me not to do anything too dangerous.

I hadn’t bothered with new clothes. My black suit would suffice for the work ahead.

I took the BMW on a run out to Ballagh House and parked it behind a copse of trees, so it was well hidden from the road.

With the car concealed, I made my way on foot to the perimeter wall that surrounded the vast estate and went to the nearest security camera as it rotated away from me. I climbed the wall and clambered up the camera post. With the small can of black spray paint I had ready in my pocket, I coated the lens. A blank screen was more likely to result in the dispatch of a maintenance team than to raise a full-scale alarm, but I didn’t care too much either way. I planned to be in and out before anyone could review the last footage and see my hand and the spray can.

I clambered down the post and dropped onto Finch’s property, immediately setting off through the ravine and the woods that stretched toward the house.

As I crept through the trees, I caught glimpses of the palatial home beyond the meadows and lawns. I heard movement some distance ahead and froze. A moment later, I saw a uniformed security guard shine a flashlight into the forest. I ducked behind a tree and pressed myself against the trunk as the light danced around me. After what seemed like an age, it moved on and I resumed my cautious journey to the house.

The paddocks and gardens were the most dangerous sections and involved a few sprints across open ground. My lungs were burning by the time I slowed to a walk on reaching the paved terrace to the rear of the east wing. I crept to the large windows and saw a library illuminated by the gentle glow of night lights, which burnished the gilt tooling on the spines of some of the ancient books. Beyond the shelves, through a double-width doorway, I saw an office with a large partners’ desk covered in papers. On the far side of the desk was a laptop. My target.

I went to some French doors opening into a dining room next to the library. I took a small chisel from my pocket, checked the frame and catch for signs of an alarm and found none. I pushed the implement between the double doors and forced it deep, so I could use it as a lever to snap the lock through the frame.

“I wouldn’t do that. These particular doors are two hundred years old,” Lawrence Finch said, and I turned to find him standing close behind me.

Sam Farrell, Andi Harris and Raymond Chalmont accompanied him along with two bodyguards and Jackson Kyle, Finch’s head of security, plus the uniformed guard I’d seen in the woods.

The guard shone his flashlight in my eyes, dazzling me.

“You’ve reached the end of your race, Mr. Morgan,” Finch said. “And you’re not even going to show in the results.”

He nodded and Jackson Kyle covered me with a pistol while the two bodyguards stepped forward and took my arms.