Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

Andy soldered one of the wires leading from the digital timer to a nine-volt battery. She'd already soldered another wire to the battery terminal, and she'd connected that temporarily to a bulb-holder into which was screwed a small bulb. Three other wires also ran from the timer to three other bulb-holders, which were also connected to batteries. Andy was using red wires from the timer to the batteries, blue wires from the batteries to the bulb-holders, and brown wires from the bulb-holders back to the timer. She fiddled with the timer and all four bulbs lit up.

'Excellent,' said Green-eyes.

'Do you want me to show you how to set the timer?' asked Andy.

'No need,' said Green-eyes. 'You'll be setting it, not me.'

'And you want me to finish it now?'

Green-eyes nodded.

The briefcase full of Semtex slabs was on another table. Andy went over to it and unwrapped the blocks one by one, putting the plastic wrappers to the side. She began to work the blocks together like a pastry chef, squeezing out the air and forming the high explosive into one malleable roll. It was hard work, and her hands were soon aching. She flattened it out into a rough oblong, then picked it up and put it back in the briefcase, pressing it firmly into all the corners. It filled the case to a depth of almost three inches. It was, Andy knew, capable of producing a shock wave so devastating that it would virtually vaporise everything within a hundred feet. Beyond that, shrapnel would kill anything up to five hundred feet away. But the purpose of the Semtex wasn't to produce lethal shrapnel – it was to act as an initiator to set off the four thousand pounds of fertiliser explosive. If the Semtex was destructive on it own, combined with the home-made explosive it would be a hundred times more devastating.

Once she was satisfied with the Semtex, she carried the case over to the table where the electrical circuit was. She put it down and turned to Green-eyes. 'You're sure you want me to assemble it now?'

'Bit late for second thoughts, Andrea,' said Green-eyes.

'It's not that. But if you want me to put the detonators in the circuit, we should unplug all the electrical equipment. The big stuff, anyway. The ovens and the tumble-driers.'

Green-eyes nodded. She went over and pulled the plugs out of the wall as Andy methodically removed the bulb-holders. The four silver cylinders lay in a row by Andy's right hand, their white wires neatly coiled together.

'What about the timer?' asked Green-eyes. 'Won't you have to plug it into the mains?'

'What?'

'The clock? The video recorder needs a mains supply. Doesn't the clock?'

Andy shook her head as she began wiring the detonators into the circuit in the places where the bulb-holders had been. 'No. The voltage is stepped down to about twelve volts. I'm running it off batteries.'

Green-eyes studied the circuit that Andy was assembling. 'And you're going to use all four detonators?'

'That's what you wanted.' She uncoiled the wires from the last of the detonators and wired it into the circuit.

'But that's how many we need, right?'

Andy nodded. 'One would do the job.'

'But the more the merrier, you said.'

'They weren't my actual words,' said Andy. 'But you want more than one in case there's a failure. And the more you have, the stronger the original detonation pulse.'

'A bigger bang,' said Green-eyes, with evident satisfaction.

Andy looked up from what she was doing. 'Have you ever seen what a bomb does? The effect it has?'

Green-eyes gave Andy a withering look. 'Of course.'

'So you should know it's not a laughing matter. It's not funny. People get hurt. Legs get blown off. Children die.'

Green-eyes slammed a hand down on the table, rattling all the electrical components. 'I know what a fucking bomb does!' she shouted. 'And so do you!'

Andy realised she'd pushed the woman too far and she averted her eyes, not wanting to antagonise her any more.

Green-eyes grabbed a handful of Andy's hair and twisted it savagely. 'You're the one who's blown up children, you bitch!' she yelled.

The Wrestler stood watching them, his hands on his hips.

'I'm sorry,' said Andy, trying to push her away.

'Sorry? Sorry for what? For blowing up children? For killing soldiers? What the fuck are you sorry for?' Green-eyes slapped her across the face. Andy stared back at her, not flinching. Green-eyes drew back her hand to hit Andy again, but before she could slap her there was a loud knock at the reception door and Green-eyes tensed. She lowered her hand and looked at her wristwatch. 'Go to the office, now,' she hissed. 'Close the door and don't open it until I come and get you.'

– «»-«»-«»Liam Denham was walking towards the office where Martin was being kept when he heard Patsy Ellis calling him. He went back along the corridor and found her sitting behind a desk in one of the offices.

'Your boss thrown you out on your ear, has he?' he joked as he removed his hat and unbuttoned his raincoat, but Patsy didn't return his smile.

'Come in and close the door, will you, Liam,' she said. Her voice was as flat and emotionless as her face, which Denham took as a bad sign. He closed the door and sat down on a chrome-and-leather chair facing her. The office was much smaller than Hetherington's down the corridor, with modern furniture and two paintings that appeared to be little more than dribbles of colour on pale blue canvases. The desk Patsy was sitting behind was glass and chrome, and Denham could see her legs through the transparent top. The only thing common to both offices was the computer terminal. Denham raised an eyebrow expectantly and waited for her to speak. 'What the hell did you think you were playing at?' she asked.

Denham raised both eyebrows and gave her a look of innocent bewilderment, but he knew that his goose was well and truly cooked. 'What do you mean?' he asked.

Patsy sneered at him contemptuously. 'You're too old to play the innocent with me, Liam,' she said, looking at him with cold contempt. 'K Division were on the hot line before you'd even hung up. What the hell did you think you were doing?'

'I thought I was helping,' he said.

'You were going behind my back. You were jeopardising an ongoing investigation. You've put hundreds of lives at risk, and if your pal Eamonn Hogan makes waves in Dublin you might well be responsible for the death of a seven-year-old girl.'

Denham reached inside his coat and took out his cigarettes and lighter, but she halted him with a stony look. 'No, not this time, Liam. I don't want you smoking around me. In fact, if it wasn't for your insight into Andrea Hayes, I wouldn't want you in this building.'

Denham put his cigarettes and lighter away. 'In my own defence, I would say that I didn't mention the kidnapping. I just asked him to keep an eye out for McEvoy.'

Patsy's fingers tapped on the keyboard, then she hit the 'enter' key with a flourish. Denham felt his cheeks redden as they listened to the conversation he'd had with Hogan, replayed through the computer's small but effective loudspeakers. Patsy made him listen to the entire exchange before tapping on the keyboard again. 'You even told him you were working for Five,' she said.

'Strictly speaking, Patsy, and I don't want to be pedantic, but if you listen carefully to what I actually said, I never talked about Five or the kidnapping.'

'Hogan said it. You didn't disagree.'

'For goodness' sake, what was I supposed to do? Lie to him?'

'What you were supposed to do was to concentrate on the job in hand, not phone your contacts in Dublin. If I wanted the Garda Siochana to be looking for the Hayes girl, I'd have made an approach through official channels.'

'And the only official action so far seems to have been to warn them off the investigation.'