“Wind yer neck in, mate,” Coyle said. “Jackie, drive. Calm and cool. Everything’s just grand.”
The big vehicle began to move, and Coyle pulled out his phone. He sent a Signal text directly to Mike.
Hyattsville job sorted. Standing by for requested information.
With the text he sent the photo of the body; the Cherokee drove through a residential neighborhood, and Jack Donnelly kept within the speed limits.
Behind them, a Volkswagen Passat remained parked a moment, while the two other men from the Boston-based crime group made sure no one was following Coyle away from the scene.
A minute later, the Northern Irishman received a message on Signal.
4008 Meeting House Road, Virginia Beach, Virginia. Home address of M. Hanley. Lives alone. No employer info at this time.
Seconds later, a new text arrived, telling Coyle he needed to get to Baltimore to execute his second operation, killing a man who worked for the NSA. After that was a job in Chicago that needed to happen in quick succession, lest the intended targets go to ground.
They pulled into a parking lot just before a highway ramp; the Passat with Barry and Gavin Walsh pulled in behind them, having hung back a few blocks along the route to watch for followers.
All five Kearney men waited while Coyle looked at a map on his phone, and no one disturbed him.
Coyle had made it clear to all five loaned to him for this operation that he didn’t want friends, he wanted employees, and to the Walsh and Donnelly brothers’ credit, they kept their mouths shut for the most part.
Coyle climbed out of the back of the Cherokee and the five men stepped up to him. “All’s of you. Take the Jeep, start heading to Baltimore. I’ll send more information when I have it.”
“You’re not coming with us?” young Nolan asked.
Coyle shook his head. “I’m going to Virginia Beach.”
The Boston men looked at one another. “New target there?” Gavin asked.
“New target there, aye. You lot might have to sort out the one in Baltimore.”
Alfie Donnelly said, “If it’s as easy as this one, we’ll have it done by dawn.”
Coyle said, “You’ll manage, I’m sure. Know how to fashion a car bomb?”
Alfie shook his head.
Coyle just shrugged. “It’s dead easy. Call me when you’re on the road, I’ll talk you through it.”
After moving some bags and equipment between the vehicles, Coyle sat alone behind the wheel of the Passat and took a few seconds to get his head around the fact that he’d have to drive on the right side of the road, something he hadn’t done in years.
At eleven twenty p.m. the two vehicles headed off in different directions, leaving the distant sounds of police sirens behind.
—
Court Gentry watched the Ford Expedition idle across the street, maybe thirty yards away. Still there was no movement around it, and he could make out no figures inside its tinted windows. He hoped Travers could get a better look at the car he was checking out to give him more information, but in the end, it was not Chris Travers who came through with the crucial intelligence.
Over his earpiece he heard Jill’s voice; she was calm but nevertheless intense. “This is Gumdrop. Subject who entered the Carriage House condominiums is sighted on the fourth floor at this time; he’s moving down the hallway, looks like he’s either heading to a unit here, or else to the stairs on the other side of the building. Wait…” The pause was brief. “He’s pulled down his scarf, we’ve got his face now.”
Hanley spoke from behind the binoculars on the tripod behind the balcony glass. “You running it?”
“Stand by. In the low light of that corridor it’s going to take a sec—” She stopped speaking suddenly, and when she spoke again, her voice had completely changed. “Oh…oh my gosh.”
“Tell me,” Hanley said calmly.
“Subject is…he is putting on a mask. A mask like the one from earlier today, but not the same mask.”
“Oh shit,” Hanley muttered as he looked over her shoulder.
