The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Read Online Free PDF Page B

for warmth. He hadn’t dressed for the outdoors. Lynch motioned for him to get into the back of the car, next to Pat O’Riordan, a stocky farmer from Ballymena who was responsible for the deaths of three British soldiers. Davie recognised O’Riordan and his eyes widened as he realised the calibre of the men who’d driven down from Belfast. He was in illustrious company.
            ‘Where’s your car?’ asked Lynch, twisting around in his seat.
            ‘My brother’s got it,’ shivered Davie. ‘He’s parked on the west pier, across from the Sass-man.’ Water dripped off his hair and onto his pullover. He flicked his wet hair out of his eyes.
            Twomey handed Lynch a pair of powerful binoculars. ‘That’s your man down there, on the sea wall,’ he said.
            Lynch focused the binoculars, using the steering wheel to steady his hands. ‘That’s him, right enough,’ said Lynch.
            ‘You know him?’ Davie blurted out, then fell silent, embarrassed by his outburst.
            ‘Aye, lad, I’ve met Sergeant Cramer before.’
            ‘What do you want to do, Dermott?’ asked Twomey.
            ‘We wait,’ he replied, the binoculars still pressed to his eyes. ‘We wait and we watch.’
            ‘You think it’s a set-up?’
            ‘Look at him, Aidan. Standing there as bold as brass. He’s like a baited trap, and we’re the rats. We’re not going to do anything until we’re sure he’s alone.’ He handed the binoculars to Twomey and turned back to Davie. ‘What’s he been doing?’
            Davie rubbed his hands together. ‘He walks along the beach, he walks up and down the harbour wall. According to the lad in the shop he buys some food: bread, milk, just the basics. Doesn’t seem to eat much, he’s more of a drinker. Famous Grouse. He buys a bottle a day from the pub.’
            ‘Is there a telephone in the cottage?’
            Davie shook his head.
            ‘Has he spoken to anyone, any strangers?’
            Another shake of the head.
            ‘Visitors?’
            ‘Not according to the neighbours. He keeps himself to himself, but he seems friendly enough to the locals. He’s made no secret of who he is.’
            ‘Good lad, you’ve done well.’ Davie smiled with pride as Lynch turned the key in the ignition. ‘Let’s take a run by his cottage while he’s down there,’ he said. ‘Show me the way.’
           
           
           
           
    Thomas McCormack stared at the ripples on the surface of the river. ‘What do you think, Joe? Think he’ll take it?’
            Joseph Connolly grinned. ‘It’s all in the wrist, Thomas. Give it a go.’
            McCormack drew back his arm and sent his fly arcing through the air. It settled on the water but the trout below defiantly refused to bite. Connolly chuckled to himself. ‘He’s a cunning old bastard, right enough.’
            McCormack wound in his line again. The two men had been standing thigh deep in the fast flowing water for the best part of thirty minutes, and neither had caught a thing, never mind the huge trout that was said to inhabit the shady spot beneath the riverside oak. ‘Go on, let’s see your best shot,’ said McCormack. He pushed his horn-rimmed spectacles further up his nose. The glasses and his greying hair gave him a scholarly, almost schoolmasterly, appearance, belying his role as a member of the IRA Army Executive, a man who regularly made life or death decisions. It had been an impassioned speech by McCormack which had resulted in a massive car bomb, causing millions of pounds worth of damage to London’s financial centre, and it had been McCormack’s idea to bring in the American sniper with a high powered rifle who’d killed half a dozen members of the security forces with long distance shots across the border.
            Connolly was one of the hardliners in the Army