Read Online Hidden River (Five Star Paperback) by Adrian McKinty - Free Book Online
Authors: Adrian McKinty
Tags: Scotland
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we can give you protection.”
“Protection. Ha. Not as smart as you look. What do you think? I’d uncovered a big bloody plot to flood Ulster with drugs? Some enormous protection racket? You’re way off base, mate. You think they would have forced me to resign and that would have been it? They would have fucking killed me already. There’s no plot, no racket, I don’t know anything. I resigned because I was sick of it.”
“Who is they?”
“What?”
“You said ‘they.’ Who is ‘they,’ who would have killed you?”
“There’s no ‘they,’ there’s no mystery. You don’t get it, mate, I resigned because I’d had enough policing for a lifetime. Fed up. Forget your plots, forget your conspiracies. They don’t exist. People like you and Samson believe in the conspiracy theory of history, well I believe in the fuck-up theory of history. Stupid things happen for no reason.”
Douglas sat for a moment, listened to the sound of the rain on the rooftop. He looked at me and a wave of disgust seemed to go through him. His face contorted with rage. What was he doing here? I knew what he was thinking. These fucking Micks. Even the so-called smart ones, bog stupid. Eight hundred years England had been entangled with this awful place. Eight hundred bloody years. And he was a paratrooper, he’d probably been over here in the army and taken all kinds of shit. This time he stamped his cigarette out on the carpet.
He seemed to make a decision, got up, came over, grabbed me by the lapels of my dressing gown and pulled them so tight that he was effectively choking me.
“Now you will listen to me, you Paddy fuck,” Douglas said, leaning in close. His breath stank, he was grinning. I gasped for air.
“You’ll listen to me, Micky boy. I will fucking break you. I will have you, you Paddy piece of shit. I want the names. I am not someone to be fucked with,” he said.
“I can’t breathe—”
Douglas tightened his choke hold, I really couldn’t breathe, seeing stars, blacking out, I grabbed at his big wrists, tried to push them off, but it was no good.
“Listen to me, bastard, fucking potato head. We will arrest you. We will force you to testify. I personally will make sure you do hard time for whatever it is you’re hiding.”
Suffocating. Choking.
“Stop it, I’ll tell you,” I managed to get out.
He eased up on the stranglehold, let me fall back to my chair.
“Speak,” he said.
I took a couple of big breaths.
All policemen in Northern Ireland go on a survival course, and one aspect is how to respond if you’re kidnapped by the IRA, tortured, questioned. At the first stage of the interrogation you say nothing, then you let them break you to the second stage, where you give them a lie and then, if the torture continues, you let them break you to the third stage, where you give them a story that is nearly the truth but not quite but close enough, so they’ll think that that’s finally it and they’ll buy it. I had already told two stories about my resignation, so unfortunately I was at the third stage quicker than I would have liked. Nearly the truth.
“Ok, look, Douglas, here it is. It’s the oldest bloody story in the book. I was an undercover cop. I had to pretend to be a junkie. I started taking heroin. It got ahold of me, took over, I really was a junkie, I was taking heroin from the police evidence room to support my habit. One time they caught me. The RUC found out and they made me resign. They were nice to me, they didn’t prosecute me for theft, they just made me resign. No conspiracy, no corruption. I just fucked up. I know it’s the bloody cliché of the narcs squad. But it’s true.”
He stared at me for a moment. He wasn’t sure. He sat back down in the chair and lit another fag. He smoked nearly the whole thing. Thinking. I tried not to show that my fingers were crossed. He coughed, weighed his words.
“Mr. Lawson, I’m disappointed in you, I’d guessed that that was
“Protection. Ha. Not as smart as you look. What do you think? I’d uncovered a big bloody plot to flood Ulster with drugs? Some enormous protection racket? You’re way off base, mate. You think they would have forced me to resign and that would have been it? They would have fucking killed me already. There’s no plot, no racket, I don’t know anything. I resigned because I was sick of it.”
“Who is they?”
“What?”
“You said ‘they.’ Who is ‘they,’ who would have killed you?”
“There’s no ‘they,’ there’s no mystery. You don’t get it, mate, I resigned because I’d had enough policing for a lifetime. Fed up. Forget your plots, forget your conspiracies. They don’t exist. People like you and Samson believe in the conspiracy theory of history, well I believe in the fuck-up theory of history. Stupid things happen for no reason.”
Douglas sat for a moment, listened to the sound of the rain on the rooftop. He looked at me and a wave of disgust seemed to go through him. His face contorted with rage. What was he doing here? I knew what he was thinking. These fucking Micks. Even the so-called smart ones, bog stupid. Eight hundred years England had been entangled with this awful place. Eight hundred bloody years. And he was a paratrooper, he’d probably been over here in the army and taken all kinds of shit. This time he stamped his cigarette out on the carpet.
He seemed to make a decision, got up, came over, grabbed me by the lapels of my dressing gown and pulled them so tight that he was effectively choking me.
“Now you will listen to me, you Paddy fuck,” Douglas said, leaning in close. His breath stank, he was grinning. I gasped for air.
“You’ll listen to me, Micky boy. I will fucking break you. I will have you, you Paddy piece of shit. I want the names. I am not someone to be fucked with,” he said.
“I can’t breathe—”
Douglas tightened his choke hold, I really couldn’t breathe, seeing stars, blacking out, I grabbed at his big wrists, tried to push them off, but it was no good.
“Listen to me, bastard, fucking potato head. We will arrest you. We will force you to testify. I personally will make sure you do hard time for whatever it is you’re hiding.”
Suffocating. Choking.
“Stop it, I’ll tell you,” I managed to get out.
He eased up on the stranglehold, let me fall back to my chair.
“Speak,” he said.
I took a couple of big breaths.
All policemen in Northern Ireland go on a survival course, and one aspect is how to respond if you’re kidnapped by the IRA, tortured, questioned. At the first stage of the interrogation you say nothing, then you let them break you to the second stage, where you give them a lie and then, if the torture continues, you let them break you to the third stage, where you give them a story that is nearly the truth but not quite but close enough, so they’ll think that that’s finally it and they’ll buy it. I had already told two stories about my resignation, so unfortunately I was at the third stage quicker than I would have liked. Nearly the truth.
“Ok, look, Douglas, here it is. It’s the oldest bloody story in the book. I was an undercover cop. I had to pretend to be a junkie. I started taking heroin. It got ahold of me, took over, I really was a junkie, I was taking heroin from the police evidence room to support my habit. One time they caught me. The RUC found out and they made me resign. They were nice to me, they didn’t prosecute me for theft, they just made me resign. No conspiracy, no corruption. I just fucked up. I know it’s the bloody cliché of the narcs squad. But it’s true.”
He stared at me for a moment. He wasn’t sure. He sat back down in the chair and lit another fag. He smoked nearly the whole thing. Thinking. I tried not to show that my fingers were crossed. He coughed, weighed his words.
“Mr. Lawson, I’m disappointed in you, I’d guessed that that was
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