the AK across my lap and the two spare mags tucked into my jeans. I waited for him to close the door, then headed on towards Dundalk.
105
'I need to see where the fuck we're going.'
Dom let Mr Green sit up.
'Left at the next junction. It's about two miles down the road. You'll see the sign for Caitriona Farm on the right. I'll need to call before you drive up it.'
I handed Dom the phone. 'Number's still on there, mate.'
We drove on in silence. There was fuck all to say; we just had to do.
Mr Green was getting his voice back. 'Listen, fellas, just drop me off. I'll do the fucking call, but let me go. Come on.'
I didn't bother to reply.
'We're here.' The badly handpainted sign wired to the fence would have looked at home in Kabul. I swung on to the track and stopped.
Dom tapped the keys and shoved the phone to Mr Green's ear.
'Aye, yep, it's me. We're turning in now.' He nodded at Dom, who cut the phone and shoved it into his pocket.
'Dom, shut him up. Use the gaffer-tape and the rubber strapping. Do his legs as well.'
'Hey, come on, please, let me go, fellas – I won't say anything, I won't do—'
Dom rummaged in the day sack.
I drove up a crumbling concrete track on full beam. I flicked on the fancy front fog-lights for good measure. There were no buildings yet, just shiny wet grass.
'You ready, Dom?'
I heard the click of his AK's safety lever.
'You make sure you point that thing at them, not me.'
I wasn't worried about getting shot. That was the business I was in. But getting shot by one of your own side is a bit of a fucker.
I checked my own safety. The arm was still up.
We crested a gentle rise. The farm was spread out below us. Light spilled from the ground floor of what looked like the main house on to a cracked and pitted concrete yard. Wrecked cars were piled haphazardly to the right of it, just as Mr Green had said.
We rattled over the cattle grid.
The concrete hard-standing was about twenty metres wide and fifty long. The containers were jammed together in a line and padlocked up between the wrecks. The rest of the yard was like any other scrappy – in shit order. Hosepipes led in all directions from wall-mounted taps outside the house. Oily rags had been dropped where they'd been used. Tyres were stacked four or five high in a long line, like the safety wall at a racetrack. Dirty water puddled the concrete.
Three guys emerged from the front door and stood waiting. Their cigarettes glowed in the darkness. The full beam and fog-lights hit them and they half turned or shielded their eyes with their hands. They were dressed for Sheriff Street, not the countryside, in jeans, trainers and leather coats. The lights were blinding them and I could see their mouths working as they cursed.
'Dom, you're going to hold them outside here. If they move, don't fuck about. You OK?'
'You can depend on me, Nick. I won't let you down. Or Finbar . . .'
I stopped the wagon with the three still caught in the beam. I left the engine running. I opened the door and got out. Dom was just behind me.
Weapon in the shoulder, safety lever down two clicks to single shot, I took one step to the right of the main beam.
They turned their heads. 'For fuck's sake, turn your lights off, you stupid shite . . .'
I kept my voice low. 'Stand still.' I kept moving. 'Stand very still.' I spoke like I was trying to coax a child. 'I have a weapon. Stand still.'
I took a couple more steps and they saw what was going on.
'Show your hands! Hands, hands!'
All three were thirty-something. All three had a cigarette cupped in the right hand where their weapon should have been.
'Who's got the keys? Keys for the containers. I want the boy.'
Dom made himself visible on the left. The one in the middle flicked his cigarette to the ground and nodded towards the house.
I had to go straight in. I didn't know when the next lot might be coming through the door. I moved towards it. It was still ajar. Right hand on the pistol grip, pulling the butt into the shoulder, I pushed it gently with my left.
I moved into a tiled hallway. There was a strong smell of cigarette smoke. Voices filtered from a room at the