Unknown.. Book (Working Title.. Draft 2)_
Chapter one.
Five years
ago.
A Sunday
morning in a small Northern Ireland town.
A light breeze is blowing some discarded fast
food wrappers along the pavements on the main street which is deserted, no traffic,
no pedestrians. The churches are full and the public houses are not yet open
but it is still unusual for there to be absolutely no one walking the streets
of this usually busy little town.
During the so called “Troubles” in this part
of Ireland it was usually taken as a warning that something untoward is about
to take place and the word has gone out.
The deserted street is being scanned through a
pair of high powered binoculars from a long distance away and a slightly
elevated viewpoint…they continually move across the area.
A man
with a broad Irish accent says brusquely “They’re here …get ready.”
The
binoculars settle on a Garda Police car and a white transit van as they move into the area. Moving
rapidly down the road they then swiftly move over to pull up in front of a grey
granite faced building. The sign above the heavy oak doors which are at the top
of a flight of five stone steps states this place to be a Garda/Police Station.
At
the side of the Police Station is a narrow alley way and walking down to the
main street is a woman in her thirties and a girl aged about eight. The little
girl has a bright green envelope in her hand which she happily waves about as
she skips alongside her mother who holds
her other hand.
The
large wooden doors to the Police Station swing open and two men wave for the
drivers in the car and van to come inside. The car doors
swing open and two men dressed in civilian clothes get out and they slide open
the side door of the van. Three more men
get out, The man in the middle has a grey blanket over his head.
Four
men from the car form a small defensive ring around the captive as they begin to cross the wide flagged
pavement to the stone stairs.
As
they exit the alley way and the little girl spots the post box at the edge of
the pavement, she lets go of her mothers hand and runs to it. When she reaches
the post box she turns to her mother, waves the green envelope then stands on
her tip toes as she stretches up to reach the slot.
The Irishman’s voice “Stand by…on my
word…wait until they get to the door, get all the bastards at one go”.
The Police are now moving up the stairs,
the little girl is still hanging on to the envelope and grinning at her mother
who is urging her to drop the letter into the box. Both of them are unaware of
the drama being carried out on the steps behind them.
Another mans voice “We can’t do it Vinny,
the woman and the kid.”
“Now ..do it now.”
“No way..not kids.”
“Fuck em..give it to me.” Inside the small dimly lit rear bedroom in a
terrace house looking over the main street a mans hand grabs a detonator and presses
the red button on the top.
“Fucking now.”
On the steps of the Police Station the
police have almost reached the door with their reluctant guest and the little
girl finally lets go of the green envelope when the small green delivery van
which is parked on the opposite side of the street to the station erupts in a
ball of high explosive from the two Claymore bombs which also ignite several
canisters of petrol.
An enormous blast and fireball envelops the
police and the mother and child.
The man looking through the binoculars
waits for the smoke to settle and disperse, then , happy with what he sees “Got
the fuckers, all of em, that traitorous bastard will be giving nowt away, now
lets get out of here.”
The multiple killing takes less than five
seconds.
