Target - Prendergast Uncovered

By Ian Welch

Brad Prendergast leads a life focused on sun, surf, parties, and girls. Work is a necessary evil to support his laid-back lifestyle. A beach bum with no future according to his dad. Brad's carefree lifestyle undergoes a cataclysmic change when he receives a dream offer of a paid-for holiday in Hawaii and yes, he can take his surfboard. There is a catch, MI6 requires him to use his socializing skills to befriend the daughter of a known RIRA operative and glean any information that might assist British intelligence thwart a suspected terrorist event. This assignment comes with some danger, Brad's presence is not welcome by everyone traveling with the daughter. 

A suspense novel of 79,000 words full of action and danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Night Owl Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224938773

Ian Welch

Ian Welch was born and educated in New Zealand. After briefly studying accountancy and commercial law he turned his attention to agriculture.He started an agricultural contracting business and progressed to owning several livestock farms. His business interests moved on to city based businesses. He has travelled extensively before opting for a quieter lifestyle in the idylic Bay of Islands. Writing has never been on his must do list, it happened more by accident. His first foray into writing came as a contributor to a local publication. Now with time on his hands he sat down to explore this passion. Target -Prendergast Uncovered is his second novel.Writing has suddenly transformed from a hobby into an obsession.

Book preview

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

FOREWORD

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VX was developed in Britain in the 1950s as an agricultural pesticide. It was quickly discovered to be extremely dangerous to handle, making it completely unsuitable for this purpose. It then came to the attention of the British and American military. They further developed it as a chemical weapon. It was discovered that when a high heat was applied a highly lethal colorless, odorless vapor was produced. VX gained the reputation as the most lethal nerve gas ever developed, ten times more lethal than the more common Sarin. Russia and America are known to hold stocks of VX. Iraq’s Saddam Hussein was widely believed to have developed it.

CHAPTER 1

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BELFAST, NORTHERN IRELAND

Seamus glanced in his rear vision mirror. He looked behind him almost as much as he looked at the road up ahead. It was a fact of life, he knew he was a marked man. All Real IRA operatives were almost certainly under surveillance. Seamus was aware his freedom depended on maintaining a constant twenty-four-hour vigil.

It looks okay. I can’t see any blowflies. Seamus laughed out loud. Carrick had come up with that name for the British. It was quite appropriate, as blowflies were attracted to meat. Unfortunately, today he was that meat. It wouldn’t be British soldiers he needed to be wary of, they were always visible, always obvious. No, the undercover surveillance work was usually left to British Intelligence. They were a different proposition, a far more sinister threat. Two of Seamus’ close friends had fallen foul of the clandestine MI6 in the past month. They were always lurking in the background. Add in the complicity from the Royal Ulster Constabulary made up almost entirely of the hated protestant loyalist UDA and you had a recipe for disaster. This made life in Belfast extremely dangerous for Seamus and his RIRA friends.

Seamus studied his surroundings. Every passing car; every pedestrian posed a potential threat. He breathed a sigh of relief; he couldn’t detect any car following him. But that did not necessarily mean he was safe. It just meant he had to go through a repetitive procedure of driving up numerous side streets and keeping close tabs on any car behind him. He had previously slipped into the shopping center, exchanged cars, and exited to another car park. One that would hopefully not be known to British Intelligence.

He cruised quietly up Broadhurst Street making a mental note of all the parked cars. He drove slowly past Belfast Central Police Station. This was his target, but he didn’t stop. He drove around the block for a second time. Six cars, the same as last time. Seamus coolly and calmly analyzed the situation. He glided to a halt two hundred yards away from the station. His car was just far enough away to not attract attention, but still close enough to provide a good view of all the comings and goings. This was his real purpose, he was waiting for Sean Rainey, senior Inspector Sean Rainey. Again, Seamus studied his rear-view mirror. He watched every approaching car with intense interest.

Apprehension and nervous excitement pulsed through Seamus. This was a familiar feeling, he always felt this way before a hit. But this hit would be different. No bullet in the head, no exploding car as the victim started the ignition. The unsuspecting victim would not even know he had been targeted. It would be quiet and unobtrusive. It might still be experimental, a chance to test the liquid, but Seamus held no doubts. He had witnessed the evidence of its ruthless efficiency. That evidence lay buried in his backyard: two cats and one dog. Neighborhood pets. The sample liquid had proven to be devastatingly effective.

The deaths represented collateral damage, Unfortunate but necessary. He wasn’t about to lose any sleep over it. Seamus settled back in his seat to wait. Everything was in place, everything had been meticulously planned. All he needed now was patience, and of course for bloody Inspector Rainey to oblige. 

This is one hit I’m going to enjoy. Seamus grinned to himself as he recalled past events. Rainey’s got blood on his hands. RIRA blood, he deserves what’s coming."

Seamus glanced at his watch, ten to four. It was a waiting game now. He knew Rainey was scheduled to be the guest speaker at the sports club, a seven o’clock appointment. Why pick a wanker like Sean Rainey to speak? Well, Inspector, I don’t think you’ll be keeping this appointment. Seamus sat back again to wait. He had done his homework, if Rainey stuck to his usual routine he would stop off at the supermarket to buy his groceries.

Seamus smiled. That's where I'll do it. Plenty of people around to mingle with. His mind wandered as he tried to kill time. Memories of his first hit, the exhilaration, the apprehension, the drama consumed his thoughts. He recalled sitting in the airport reception lounge awaiting the arrival of a British Airways flight from Zurich. He held up a paper pretending to be engrossed in reading as he searched for his target exiting customs. The first assignment is always intimidating, plus the fact Seamus had never seen his target, He'd spent hours studying a photograph as he built up a mental picture of the politician. As a backup, he had the photograph safely tucked into his inside jacket pocket. Seamus knew that was dangerous as it provided a link back to his target should he have the misfortune to be apprehended. He made a mental promise to himself. The moment I’ve completed the hit I’ll dispose of the photograph.

Seamus became aware of a young girl, probably no more than six years old, standing a few feet in front of him. She stared intently at him without speaking. He tried to ignore her; he needed to concentrate on his assignment. He glanced back again Damn it, she’s still there. A sudden rush of anger consumed him. He desperately needed to blend in and not attract attention. Why is this damned girl staring at me? Where are her bloody parents? I’d love to tell her to piss off, maybe give her a shove, but that will attract attention. That’s the last thing I need.

What? Seamus lowered his paper and glared at the young girl.

She returned Seamus’s scrutiny with a mystified look on her face. Why are you reading the paper upside down?

Seamus felt a debilitating wave of apprehension consume him. He nervously glanced around hoping no one had heard the girl.

He lowered his head and whispered. You need to find Mummy, she will be looking for you.

No, she isn’t. She's on a plane, I'm waiting for her.

Damn it, I hate kids. Well, Daddy will be looking for you.

The little girl had a pained expression on her face. He’s on the plane with Mummy.

Seamus was close to losing his cool, he threw the paper onto the seat beside him, jumped to his feet, and hurried away. I have to stay calm and focused. The last thing I need is a confrontation with this frustrating damned kid.

A loud voice echoed through the reception lounge. Hey, Mister, you forgot your paper.

Seamus spun around; his anger was nearing boiling point. All his pent-up anxiety over doing his first hit now suddenly focused on this annoying kid. As he hurried back towards her; he became aware of many sets of eyes focusing on him. Seamus tried his best to suppress his burgeoning rage; he couldn’t afford a scene. He stopped in front of the young girl and crouched forward bringing his face to within inches of the expectant small girl. Stay calm, don’t attract attention.

Seamus lowered his voice and whispered. You can read the bloody paper, little Miss Smarty pants.

He spun around and hurried away flashing a contrived smile at the watching faces. He stationed himself on the opposite side of the arrival lounge sucking in deep breaths as he tried to calm his shattered nerves. Fifteen minutes passed, the flow of disembarking passengers had become a trickle. Five more minutes, no more arrivals. Bloody brilliant, my first assignment and I stuff it up thanks to that damned kid.

It was obvious to Seamus that while the short exchange had taken place, his target had slipped past him without him noticing. Not a good start to his new career, but it had been a valuable lesson. Stay calm, pay close attention to detail, be patient, and above all don’t allow yourself to be distracted.

***

Seamus’ attention diverted back to the Police Station. He threw the paper he had been reading over onto the passenger seat. He picked up movement in the Station car park. He watched intently. This could be Rainey. Yes, that silver Ford is Rainey’s car, he’s on the move and it’s only four-fifteen. A wry smile creased Seamus’ face. Guess that's one of the perks of the job. The boss can go home early. Seamus reached across and again picked up the paper. He held it up covering most of his face as the silver Ford drove out of the station car park and past him.

A smile of satisfaction spread across his face. That’s our man. Action time. Let’s see if you keep to your usual routine, Inspector. Seamus waited until the Ford had disappeared and then he made a slow U-turn. He didn’t need to hurry, he assumed Rainey being a man of habit would keep to his usual routine. If not he would postpone the hit. This had happened before. Experience taught him to never rush these jobs. Seamus began repeating a calming message to himself: Be careful and keep a cool head. He knew mistakes invariably happen when these simple rules were ignored.

Seamus picked out the silver Ford as it maneuvered into the car park closest to the shopping center entrance. He parked one row back and sat quietly observing. Rainey didn’t appear to be in a hurry, he stood talking on the phone before walking into the center. Seamus sucked in a deep breath. Showtime. He jumped out of his car and moved to the trunk. Everything was neatly laid out. He pulled a rubber surgical glove from its packet and carefully put it on. He put on a second glove. Being careful was essential, the liquid was extremely dangerous. Fatally dangerous. Seamus carefully unscrewed the lid of the plastic bottle containing an opaque liquid. Peering inside the bottle, he studied it. Innocuous looking and yet so lethal.  His hand began to tremble, he knew one drop of the liquid on his skin and it would be ‘goodnight nurse.’ Washing it off provided no guarantees. He struggled to maintain a steady hand.

Seamus moved slowly and methodically. Placing the lid of the bottle to one side, he examined the shiny tip of his black umbrella. It might look slightly odd carrying an umbrella; it was a brilliantly sunny day, but he didn’t concern himself with that. If everything went to plan he would be in and out of the center before anyone noticed. He ran his finger along the tip of the umbrella that had been filed to a sharp point, perfect for the purpose he had in mind. Seamus dipped the tip into the liquid. He knew from experimenting with the animals it only took a minute amount. Placing the umbrella tip safely away from any accidental contact, Seamus replaced the lid of the bottle. He took off his gloves and placed them in a plastic bag to discard later.

Seamus retrieved the umbrella, closed the car trunk, and set off towards the shopping center. He knew exactly where the inspector would be, the supermarket’s grocery department.

I wonder if Rainey will recognize me. Seamus was thinking ahead to how he would manage the hit. My photo will be on police records. Seamus knew the chances of the inspector passing on the identity of his attacker would be remote. He would be lucky to survive ten minutes after the attack. And who would he tell? Another shopper who he almost certainly wouldn’t know.

It only took a brisk stroll up and down the aisles, for Seamus to locate the inspector. Damn, he's talking to a woman, probably that’s his wife. No doubt that was who he was talking to on the phone. Seamus knew he needed to be patient. If he carried out the attack in front of Rainey’s wife, she would be an eyewitness. That represented an unnecessary risk unless he dealt with her as well. After a few moments of deliberation, he quickly discounted that option. That would attract too much attention. He repeated to himself, stay calm, be patient.

Several minutes later the inspector separated from his wife. She stayed in the vegetable department while the inspector wandered over to the meat section. Seamus smiled, it was time for action. He strolled casually up behind Inspector Rainey, one hurried glance around him. Good, no one is paying any particular attention. Seamus raised the umbrella to waist height and stabbed Rainey in the buttocks. Inspector Rainey emitted a gasp of pain, swung around, and angrily faced Seamus.

You bloody idiot, you stabbed me with your umbrella.

Seamus didn’t retreat, he stood watching, a sneer crept onto his face. I know, Inspector, wasn’t that careless of me. Sorry about the tear in your trousers. Send the bill to Carrick Fitzgerald.

Inspector Rainey’s face clouded in shock, he recognized that name. Almost everyone in Belfast knew that name. Carrick Fitzgerald? You're not Carrick Fitzgerald.

No, but he asked me to give you a message. Remember Bloody Sunday.

Rainey froze at the phrase referencing a day etched in Irish history.

I had no involvement in Bloody Sunday.

Come on, Inspector, who was passing on information to the Brits? Likewise, when they arrested Carrick, who do you think was passing on information about his movements? You're a traitor, Rainey. You sold out your own people. No doubt that's why you received your promotion. Carrick’s message for you is he doesn’t forget, and he doesn’t forgive. Inspector Rainey was about to reply but he felt a strange sensation creeping through his body. He had trouble catching his breath.

Seamus caught a glimpse of Inspector Rainey’s wife approaching. He turned and nonchalantly strolled away. Don’t run, be casual, don’t draw attention to yourself.

Inspector Rainey couldn’t understand what was happening, but he knew something was desperately wrong. He felt decidedly unwell, gasping for each breath. His head was swimming; a wave of nausea swept over him and he had trouble standing. Inspector Rainey’s wife picked up immediately on the inspector’s distressed demeanor.

Sean, what’s wrong? You look terrible. Are you having a heart attack?

Inspector Rainey grabbed at the shelving to stop himself from falling, as he peered into his wife's eyes. His whisper was barely audible. Carrick Fitzgerald.

His wife didn’t understand, she hurriedly looked around her. She knew what Fitzgerald looked like, his photos often splashed across the papers. One thing she was certain of, Carrick Fitzgerald was nowhere nearby, she would have recognized him.

The inspector collapsed to the floor and immediately started an uncontrollable spasm. His mouth open wide emitting a frothy foam as he struggled to draw breath. Rainey’s wife let out a blood-curdling scream attracting the attention of nearby shoppers. Some rushed over to offer assistance.

Seamus stopped at the end of the aisle, turned, and casually watched. He allowed himself a glimmer of a smile, he knew Inspector Bloody Rainey had only seconds left to live. Satisfied, he turned and strolled nonchalantly out of the supermarket. Mission accomplished. Carrick will be delighted. The trial liquid is everything it’s claimed to be. All they needed now was to get their hands on the rest of the shipment.

***

Carrick's face lit up as Seamus recounted the shopping center attack. He now had a plan formulated in his head. The nine-eleven attacks on New York had been the catalyst for his plan. What was needed now was to devise a plan with casualties that would be measured in the thousands. At last saw a way to rid Ireland once and for all of the meddling occupying British and the chance of a united Ireland, instead of the puppet Government they now had. He had refused to join the IRA and accept the peace agreement. No, it had taken eight years, but it would be worth the wait, their planning could now proceed.

The first step would be to obtain the consignment of this dangerous liquid. It had already proven its worth as a ruthlessly efficient assassination tool, but that wasn’t its main purpose. When the liquid changed its physical state and became a gas, the result proved to be even more deadly. It was colorless and odorless making it virtually undetectable. By the time its catastrophic symptoms were detected, it would be too late for the target. Victims were as good as dead. Unfortunately, there were no available supplies of the gas. He would have to make do with the liquid. This meant they had to experiment on the best way of carrying out the gasification.

Carrick had studied the documented evidence of the ruthless efficiency of the gas while serving time in Maze prison. Street after street cluttered with dead bodies had been captured on film. These bodies were the evidence of the aftermath of attacks ordered by Saddam Hussein during his reign of terror, as he systematically suppressed dissent by wiping whole villages off the face of the map.

The groundwork had been done, Carrick now needed to travel to the U.S. and arrange finance from some sympathetic backers for the cause. Then he would be in a position to commence negotiations for this dangerous chemical. A warm glow of contentment swept over him, as his mind wandered back to his release from Maze prison eight years previous. That had been when planning started.

***

It was a bleak windswept winter’s morning. A crowd was building outside Her Majesty’s Maze prison. Maze prison, nine miles out of Belfast, Northern Ireland, was scheduled to close later that year. The latest batch of prisoners was due to be released at eleven o’clock. There was an air of expectation, apprehension even. Most of the prisoner’s friends and family had gathered at the main gates as well as several hundred locals who had come to see history made.

Maze had gained notoriety from some previous high-profile prisoners. It was used to house paramilitary prisoners from the Irish conflict dating back to its first intake in the early 1970s. Maze came to prominence during the prisoner hunger strikes, which culminated in the death of its best-known inmate, Bobby Sands, in 1981.

The Good Friday Peace Accord saw an almost complete stop in hostilities. All prisoners were to be released. The international media sent representatives to witness this special day.

The crowd started growing restless; the release was already fifteen minutes behind schedule. A police contingent was on hand in case of trouble. They were wisely staying in the background and keeping a low profile. A hush descended over the crowd as something was happening. The crowd pushed forward. The gates slowly opened, and a huge cheer went up. A group of ten prisoners emerged, smiling, waving enthusiastically to the adoring crowd. A solidly built bearded man, wrapped in a long coat, pulled tight around his neck for protection from the harsh weather strode confidently out in front. He had an aura of authority, and fellow prisoners kept a pace or two behind out of respect.

Carrick Fitzgerald had been incarcerated for almost twenty years. His gnarled face showed his age, or maybe it was just the result of his years of imprisonment. He stopped to address the crowd. Fellow prisoners gathered around him, indicating he was their chosen spokesperson. Carrick delivered a forceful political speech, berating the British, and comparing them to Hitler’s Germany. Both had invaded foreign countries, they had the blood of the Irish on their hands. The media hurled a barrage of questions at Carrick.

How does it feel to be a free man?

Carrick’s response was thoughtful and measured. How would you feel if you had twenty years stolen from your life? I’m happy to be out. I need to reassess my life, or what’s left of it.

What do you think of the Peace Accord?

There can be no peace while a single British soldier remains on Irish soil.

It sounds like you reject the Peace Accord?

A young girl carrying a microphone had worked her way to the front of the media group. Carrick stared at her menacingly. He noticed the BBC logo on her windbreaker, his face twisted in contempt. You run off home and tell your sniveling, meddling Prime Minister to stop interfering in Irish affairs. He is a war criminal, and his hands are soaked in Irish blood. I, for one, will not stand by and see this go unpunished. Tell him to remove all British soldiers from our soil, then maybe I might consider recognizing the Peace Accord.

Undeterred the young reporter continued. You complain that the British have blood on their hands. What about all the innocent people who died at your hands? What message do you have for the wives that have no husbands or the children that have no parents?

Carrick exploded in rage, and he moved menacingly towards the girl. Two minders appeared at his side and hustled him to a waiting car. He continued shouting at the reporter over his shoulder as he was bundled into the car, and it sped away. Murmurings of discontent rose from the crowd: the mood had now changed. Most were Carrick’s family or supporters. They were angry at this upstart reporter who dared to criticize their beloved crusader for a free Ireland. The BBC film crew quickly picked up on the tension in the air. They grabbed the reporter and made a hurried retreat to the relative safety of a media van. The van sped off as stones crashed against its panels.

***

Eight years had passed since Maze Prison had closed. The IRA had ceased operations. A breakaway splinter group, the Real IRA or RIRA, made up of disaffected IRA members had vowed to continue the fight. Of immediate concern were intelligence reports linking Carrick Fitzgerald with a concerted attempt to carry out a catastrophic attack on Britain on a similar scale to nine-eleven.

Home Secretary James Alexander had requested a meeting at Thames House, MI5 headquarters. Seated at the table was Richard Townsley, director general of MI5. A tall athletic man, his age betrayed by his rapidly receding silver hairline. He had gained the top job after fifteen years in the field and now after a long service was closing in on retirement. Next to him sat Stuart Wilson, Richard’s counterpart in MI6. He oversaw all off-shore operations. Stuart had served his time in the field and now in his late forties, he spent most of his day behind a desk. He maintained his muscular physical condition by regular visits to the gym. James looked at the two Intelligence men.

Now tell me, is this Carrick Fitzgerald really a threat? Or is he just some aging terrorist who won’t accept reality, and that the world has moved on? I mean, is putting resources into keeping him under surveillance diverting our attention from other more pressing issues?

Richard leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. 

"Maybe, but can we afford to ignore him? We’ve had great success infiltrating the RIRA. We’ve arrested many of their key members. The word filtering out is Carrick has carried out a major reorganization. He still has