Read The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) for Free Online Page A

      ‘Why not bring him in?’ asked Connolly.
            ‘Because there’s nothing we need from him. Other than to be an example of what we do to our enemies.’
            A plopping sound at the far side of the river caught Connolly’s attention. He shaded his eyes with his hand but couldn’t see anything. ‘Aye, the bastard deserves a bullet, right enough,’ he said.
            ‘So I have the Army Council’s permission?’
            Connolly smiled tightly. ‘Let’s just say there won’t be any tears shed. But we won’t be claiming responsibility, not officially. Politically it’s too sensitive; you know how things are at the moment. But Cramer’s been the death of too many of our people for us to leave him be.’ Connolly licked his lips and they glistened wetly. ‘When?’ he asked.
            McCormack drained the flask and slipped it back into his pocket. ‘Tomorrow morning. Early.’
            Connolly put a hand on McCormack’s shoulder. ‘Just be careful, Thomas. If anything goes wrong  . . .’ He left the sentence hanging, and McCormack nodded. He understood. There must be no mistakes.
           
           
           
           
    Dermott Lynch was tucking into sausage and chips in Aidan Twomey’s spotless kitchen when the telephone rang. Twomey answered it in the hall and a few seconds later he appeared at the kitchen door. ‘It’s Thomas,’ he said.
            Lynch nodded and put down his knife and fork. ‘This’ll be it,’ he said. He took a mouthful of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He picked up the receiver. ‘Aye, Thomas.’
            ‘It’s a runner,’ said McCormack. ‘Tomorrow morning.’
            ‘Fine,’ said Lynch.
            ‘You’re sure he’s alone?’
            ‘Dead sure.’
            ‘And he suspects nothing?’
            ‘He’s not even looking over his shoulder.’
            ‘Where are you going to do it?’
            ‘The sea wall. Every morning first thing he takes a walk. Stands near the lighthouse looking out over the sea like a fisherman’s wife.’
            ‘Be careful, Dermott.’
            ‘He’s a sitting duck.’
            ‘Just mind what I say. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.’
            Lynch laughed softly. ‘Except for Cramer, you mean?’ He was still chuckling when he went back into the kitchen. Twomey was refilling their mugs with steaming tea. ‘It’s on,’ said Lynch, sitting down at the table and picking up his knife and fork.
            ‘What’s your plan?’ asked Twomey.
            ‘We’ll take him on the sea wall. There’ll be nowhere for him to run.’
            ‘You might be seen.’
            Lynch snorted contemptuously. ‘We might be seen, but I doubt there’ll be any witnesses,’ he said.
            ‘Aye, right enough,’ said Twomey, sipping his tea. He put his mug down. ‘I’d like you to do me a favour, Dermott.’ Lynch narrowed his eyes, his fork halfway to his mouth. ‘Not for me, you understand, for the Quinn boys. They’ve been pestering me . . .’
            Lynch grinned, understanding. ‘And they want to be in on the kill?’ Twomey nodded. ‘Sure, no problem. It’s about time the boys were blooded.’
           
           
           
           
    Mike Cramer woke to the sound of seagulls screaming. He rolled out of bed and washed in the bathroom before dressing in the same clothes he’d been wearing all week. Before going downstairs he took the Browning from under the stained pillow and slid it down the back of his trousers.
            He made himself a coffee and sat in the old man’s chair as he drank it. There were packets of bread and sausage in the kitchen but neither had been opened. The bottle of Famous Grouse sat half-finished in the hearth and he reached over and poured a slug into his mug. Not quite an Irish coffee, he thought wryly, but close