Monthly Online Book Review and Listings Magazine ~ May 2009

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Secret Agent

by Rafe McGregor

www.rafemcgregor.co.uk

Plas Gywnant, Tuesday 12^th July, 0944 hours

“There it is again!  Is it them, is it them?” asked Jessica from the backseat.

            “I don’t fucking know!” shouted Moon.

“I haven’t heard that much gunfire since eighty-two – an’ I weren’t happy about it then, neither – but I reckon those prats in Wrexham came through for us,” said Sommer as he drove. 

“Look, up there!  Tha’ Land Rover’s goin’ dead fast.” 

“He’s scarpering, that’s what he’ doing.  Come on, John!”  Moon picked up the mike, gave their location, and called for armed back-up. 

            “He’s spooned, he’s spooned!” cried Jessica. 

“I wish you’d speak English,” said Sommer as he powered the Astra up the road past Llyn Dinas.    

“He lost it!  The driver lost it on the bend!”  Jessica couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Pukka.”

Moon put the mike back and drew his Glock.  Jessica followed suite.  “Two of them have climbed out.  What can you see, Jess?  Macnamara?”

“We’re too far.  There’s three of them.  The other two are carryin’ a third.  I dunno who.”

Sommer had his foot flat, and Moon could see the men clambering up the riverbank. 

“Wait, tha’s Wilké.  Wilké’s just come round the corner!”  Jessica could just make out Wilké on the other side of the track. 

“Stop here!” Moon shouted to Sommer as he cocked the Glock.  Jessica was way ahead of him.  The Astra skidded to a halt.  There was gunfire from across the river.  Jessica saw three men drop.  Sommer whipped up the handbrake.  More gunfire.  Moon and Jessica were both out while the car was still sliding.  Sommer popped the boot, and debussed two seconds after them.

Moon and Jessica charged for the bridge. 

Sommer took the Heckler & Koch submachine gun from the boot. 

Moon surged ahead of Jessica.  He saw Wilké on the ground and Mullen walking towards him.  He sprinted.    

Sommer flicked off the safety catch, and cocked a round into the chamber. 

Mullen stood over Wilké.  Moon – halfway across the bridge – stopped and raised his pistol.  Jessica stopped beside him, knowing full well they were too far for an accurate shot.  They both opened fire: two shots – three – four, five, six.

Sommer, still standing on the main road, eased the Heckler & Koch into his shoulder. 

Mullen turned to Moon and Jessica.  Moon fired another wild burst and missed.  Mullen raised his rifle.  Jessica took careful aim.

Sommer put a single round into Mullen’s head.   

Jessica ran over to Mullen.  Moon followed.  Brain and bone were protruding from Mullen’s head.  She kicked the M4 rifle out of reach.  Wilké was lying on his back, unconscious. 

“See what you can do for Wilké,” said Moon as he ran to the riverbank.

Once the shooting had started, Jessica had forgotten about the other two Irishmen.  Tunnel vision, it could be fatal.  She holstered her Glock, and knelt down next to Wilké.  “Wilké!  Wilké, can you hear me!”  She found the wound, hesitated when she realised she wasn’t wearing gloves, and then covered it with both hands.  She straightened her arms and used her bodyweight to increase the pressure.  “Wilké, Wilké!”  She realised she didn’t even know his real name. 

Moon took the weapons from the brothers as Sommer appeared at his shoulder.  “Mullen and Connor are on their way out.”

“This one’s in a right mess, an’ all.”  Sommer prodded Padraig with his foot.

“Nice one.”

“You’re not wrong.”  Sommer moved over to Jessica.

“Come on, Wilké, stay with me!  Come on, my man, stay with me!”

He didn’t look good.  Sommer heard sirens and screeching tyres as the other Special Branch personnel arrived.   

 The first police car slid to a halt in cloud of dust and gravel.  Moon came over to Sommer.  “Is he gonna make it, John?”

“I dunno, guv, I dunno.”

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