“Ailbe used Rod’s phone to call Wyl and told Wyl to make himself available. He wouldn’t give me more details but said his life is over if something happens to Rod.”
“Then we’re up shite creek. Feck! How do we help them?” James asked.
“We call O’Brien,” Glenn picked up his phone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
After a harrowing wrong-side-of-the-road drive back to Galway, Wyl walked along Old Dublin Road near Bon Secours Hospital, not far from the GMIT campus. The exact route Keenan Moynihan walked, according to police reports. Ailbe instructed him to stroll along this route Sunday around 3:00 the morning after Rod’s abduction. He spent a restless evening worrying about his husband and hoping the various entities involved in this case could figure out where they holed up and how to rescue them. Only holding Rod alive and safe mattered.
Only an occasional vehicle traveled the route. Headlights approached from behind, and a black van stopped beyond where he walked. The side door opened, and a voice from inside commanded, “Climb in.”
Wyl climbed inside. A hood went over his head, and someone shoved him into a seat.
“Stay!”
A gruff voice allowed no argument. Wyl did as told.
Hands frisked him for weapons and tracking devices. The toughs took his cell phone and wristwatch. Wyl hoped his government cell phone detected unusual activity triggering an alert, but wasn't sure. They must be headed for a covert outpost of some kind. He lost count after fifteen stops and twenty turns. When the van stopped the door slid open. Someone grabbed his right arm and tugged him out. Another hand grabbed his left arm and led him forward. The van pulled away.
They walked about twenty steps. A gruff voice said, “Step down.” Stairs. Twelve steps down. A door creaked open. Inside, noisy machinery ran somewhere. Another door creaked open. Wyl stumbled into the next room from a hard shove. The aroma of industrial cleaning solvents assaulted his nose. The door creaked closed behind him, muting the noise. Something clicked before someone lifted the hood. Bright fluorescent lights blinded him until his eyes adjusted.
* * *
“Do you have them?” Glenn asked. He and James stood in O’Brien’s office watching a monitor at 3:30 in the morning. The case took an urgent turn with the abduction of Rod, and Wyl’s reluctance to share information.
“Aye,” O’Brien said. “We have the signal from Wyl’s phone. We tracked the phone to the GMIT campus, but now we show the phone following a route to Waterford.”
“Waterford? What the feck?” Glenn said. “Is that where Rod’s phone is?”
“We don’t have a signal from Rod’s phone,” O’Brien said. “I asked Commissioner Kane to ask General Sternberg if he can provide us with a history of the tracking. We may have a lead if we can determine where Rod’s signal ended.”
“First, let’s track down that vehicle. If they took Wyl and he’s headed for Waterford, we’re running out of time.” James huffed. “If Ailbe is in Waterford and he gets the information he needs from Wyl, we may have two more murders on our hands.”
“Waterford would be out of character for MacGowan,” O’Brien said. “Our prior surveillance of his patterns includes no trips to Waterford. But you’re right, we need to pick up that vehicle. If Wyl or Rod is inside, they’ll need our help.”
“We don’t even know the vehicle type,” Glenn said.
“No, but we know the route and an approximate location. It’s around a three-hour drive from Galway to Waterford, so I’ll ask Waterford Gardaí to set up a roadblock, stopping motorists looking for drunk drivers. We can come close to the exact location and home in on the geo-signal.”
“Do it,” James said. “Let’s not waste time.”
O’Brien picked up the phone and called his counterpart in Waterford.
* * *
Wyl’s vision cleared. Rod stared at him from a chair across the room. He didn’t appear to be harmed and wasn’t bound or gagged. Wyl tried to run to him, but a hand grabbed his shirt collar. The shirt tugged against his throat.
Wyl coughed. “Let go!” His voice strained from the choke.
“He’s fine.” A familiar voice. He turned to Declan, smiling at him.
“I’m fine, Wyl,” Rod spoke.
Wyl stopped struggling. “Ailbe, you’re here somewhere.”
“Waiting for you.” Ailbe sauntered out from between storage shelves into the light. “We’re in a basement surrounded by heavy HVAC equipment, so no cell or tracking signal penetration. Your cell phone is taking a little excursion to Waterford, so guess where they’ll search?”
“They’ll figure it out sooner or later,” Wyl said.
“Perhaps. But I can hide long enough to achieve my goal. That is unless you want to visit your precious husband lying in a morgue. I can’t stop Declan’s guys from getting trigger-happy.”
Wyl glared at Ailbe.
“Now, if a certain roadblock is removed from my program, I’ll consider dropping you two off in a remote location, unharmed, of course.”
“Now that you have me, let Rod go,” Wyl said.
“What guarantee do I have that you’ll release your lock on the program?” Ailbe asked.
“Having Rod here won’t give me any incentive. Letting my darlin’ go will allow you and me to be together like we discussed.”
Rod tensed. What the fuck? Wyl and Ailbe together? Wyl wanted to fucking get rid of his darling? Then, the safe word sank in. Darlin’. Wyl played the game. Rod didn’t like it. Not one bit. But survival depended on keeping up the pretense.
Wyl glanced at Rod, whose stern glare included anger and shock.
"Your precious husband isn’t happy with that little statement,” Ailbe said. “I think I’ll let him go before he witnesses us two going at it.”
He motioned to the two toughs. “Tie his hands behind his back, blindfold him, and gag him so he can’t shout. Then lead him to the middle of the bridge down the street, tie his ankles together, and lay him down crossways. It’s late. Some drunk driver will hit him and put him out of his misery. It’s tragic when people wander into the street and become a fatality.”
