Stephen Leather - The Long shot

“That’s the road,” said Bailey, pointing ahead. “Six miles down there and then we hang a left.”

Lovell nodded. “What about Mary? What drives her?”

“The Brits murdered her husband, and the Protestants killed her brother. And she believes in a united Ireland. That’s something you’ll never understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be a second-class citizen in your own country. Being a Catholic in Northern Ireland is like being. .” He struggled for an analogy. “I don’t know, I guess the closest comparison would be to being black in the South, with the whites always putting you down and pushing you around.”

“And killing this one man will change all that?” He beat a drum tattoo on the steering wheel.

“Maybe,” said Bailey.

“I don’t think so,” said Lovell. “I don’t think it’ll make any difference at all.” He grinned. “But what the hell, I get paid anyway, right?”

“Right,” said Bailey.

The men drove the rest of the way in silence, other than when Bailey gave Lovell directions. Eventually they saw the hangar. “Wow, it looks huge close up,” said Lovell. “Like a giant white whale or something.” He was looking at an airship which was to the left of the hangar, tethered to the ground with ropes. The blimp was more than a hundred feet long and emblazoned with the logo of a Japanese electronics company. Below the gas-filled envelope was a white gondola with windows all around it and two fan-shaped engines at the rear.

Lovell parked the car next to the hangar and took his bag out of the trunk while Bailey stretched. Patrick Farrell came over to meet them. He was wearing the same short-sleeved white shirt as they were, with black slacks. He shook Bailey’s hand and the Irishman introduced him to Lovell. Farrell cast a predatory eye over Lovell’s body as he shook hands and Bailey threw him a warning look.

“Are we ready to go?” asked Bailey.

“Yup,” said Farrell. “The laser sight is under my seat in a bag. There are two personnel, a cameraman and his assistant. The cameraman’s a big brute, I can tell you. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

The three men went over to the base of the blimp. Four ground-crew in blue overalls were preparing to help with the launch. There were two doors to the gondola, one on each side, and each bore the aviation company’s logo. A set of aluminium steps had been placed next to one of the doors and Farrell stood to one side to allow Bailey and Lovell to climb aboard. Lovell stowed his bag behind the pilot’s seat and nodded a greeting to the cameraman and his assistant. As Farrell had said, the cameraman was massive, a big bear of a man with a wild ginger beard and hairy forearms. He was the last choice he would have expected for an assignment in an airship. As if to compensate for the man’s bulk, his assistant was much younger and slighter, barely five feet six inches tall and with the lithe figure of a ballet dancer. They were both fussing over their equipment.

Bailey climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and scanned the instrument panel. It was very similar to the standard aeroplane panel: attitude indicator, heading indicator, compass, airspeed indicator, vertical speed indicator, altimeter, slip and turn indicator, power indicators for the two engines, and magnetic compass. The airship was also fitted with DME and VOR navigation equipment, and an expensive Trimble TNL-GPS system which used twenty-seven navigation satellites orbiting the earth to fix its position to within fifteen feet. There was an extra dial which would allow them to read the speed and direction of the wind once they were stationary in the air, connected to a meter suspended under the gondola.

The controls were also similar to those of a fixed-wing aircraft, despite the difference in the propulsion system, with rudder pedals on the floor, power throttles in between the two seats and control wheels in front of the pilot and co-pilot.

A soft hand squeezed his shoulder and Farrell slipped into the pilot’s seat. Lovell sat in a third seat at right angles to theirs and groped around for the seat harness. Farrell looked over his shoulder and asked the cameraman and his assistant to take their seats and strap themselves in for takeoff. He put on his headset and motioned for Bailey to do the same.

He handed Bailey a plastic-coated checklist which the Irishman read through as Farrell expertly went over the controls and instruments, started the two rear engines and checked that his instruments were functioning correctly. Satisfied, he gave a thumbs-up to the groundcrew and they released the tethering ropes. The airship rose slowly and almost vertically with a surprising amount of vibration. It wasn’t like a helicopter, Bailey thought, it was more like a speedboat, growling and making his chest shudder.

Farrell increased power to the engines and pulled on the control wheel. The airship glided upwards, and Bailey felt the seat press into his back. Farrell’s voice came over the headset. “Okay?” he asked.

“Terrific,” answered Bailey.

“How about you take the controls while I speak to Baltimore Approach,” he said. “Take her up to about five hundred feet and then level her off.”

Behind Bailey, Lovell sat with his hands linked in his lap. He saw the cameraman’s assistant looking at him and he smiled and winked.

Carlos smiled at the girl behind the reception desk, and signed his credit-card slip with a flourish. “Thank you, Mr Sharrard,” said the girl, handing him a key. “Your room is on the seventh floor. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Holiday Inn.”

“I’m sure I will,” said Carlos, picking up his suitcase and bag.

“Do you need help with those?” she asked.

“Oh no, my wife and I can manage just fine,” he said. He walked over to the elevator where Mary Hennessy was waiting, her newly-red hair tied back in a ponytail, a wide-brimmed hat on her head. “The seventh floor,” he said. They went up together and found their room at the far end of the building. Mary looked out through the window at a fire station and multi-storey car park while Carlos slid his suitcase into the wardrobe.

“Ready?” he asked.

Mary turned and nodded and they left the room and went back to the elevator. Mary was carrying a sports bag over her shoulder and she tapped it nervously as she waited for the elevator doors to open. There was no-one in the elevator when it arrived and they went down to the fourth floor. A trolley piled high with clean sheets, towels and bathroom supplies stood halfway along the corridor and as they walked by they saw a black maid making a bed. Mary stopped outside one of the doors and checked the number. “This is it,” she said. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Carlos nodded and walked back along the corridor to the room where the maid was working. He knocked quietly on the open door and heard a tap being turned off in the bathroom. The maid appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I’m really sorry to bother you, but my wife and I have just stepped out of our room without our key,” he said politely. “Do you think you could let us in with your pass key?”

“Of course, hon,” she said, giving him a beaming smile which showed a gold tooth at the front. She waddled down the corridor, swinging a pass key on a chain. She saw Mary waiting outside the door, and smiled.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I feel so stupid.”

“Oh, it happens all the time, hon,” the maid said. She looked at the number of the room, then frowned. “Are you sure you have the right room?” she said. “I didn’t think there was anyone. .”

Her words were cut off as Carlos clapped his hand across her mouth. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and used his left hand to stop her thrashing about. She was a big woman but Carlos was strong and he leant backwards and tightened his grip on her mouth. Mary stepped forward and grabbed the key, ripping it off the chain. She inserted it into the lock, opened the door and then went to pick up the briefcase as Carlos half pushed, half carried, the struggling maid into the room.