Free Patriots & Tyrants by Ian Graham Page B

sarcastically, "Well if it ain't, Mr. Sheehan! Hold on your majesty… I'll send down the elevator." The man below walked briskly towards the freight elevator as it rumbled down to the first floor landing.
    Staying put in his shadowy alcove, Declan waited until Sheehan rose to the top floor and was met by Boyle and Kelly. After exchanging some brief niceties, the three headed away from the balcony and out of sight. Looking around to be sure no one else was present, Declan rose from his hiding spot and moved quickly back to the staircase, climbing methodically to be sure he remained unseen.
    The third floor was completely empty except for a room which stood in the far right hand corner. With the exception of a piece of frosted glass in a door that faced the balcony, the square room was windowless, hastily constructed of plywood and two-by-fours. Seeing nowhere else the men could have gone, Declan crossed the wood planked floor towards it. He quickened to a silent sprint as the door was opened and a bright light shot out of the room, chasing away the gloom of the warehouse. Declan pressed his back to the wall of the room around the corner from the door and waited.
    "Where the hell you goin'?" Boyle's voice called from inside.
    "To get a smoke," Cameron Kelly answered as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
    Moving sideways, Declan crept up the wall towards the corner as he heard the sound of a Zippo lighter. Risking a glance, he leaned around the corner and watched as Kelly took a long drag from a cigarette and walked towards the edge of the balcony, looking out over the two floors below him. Keeping a watch on the door, Declan crouched low and moved up behind him. Sliding the Glock pistol into the holster on his belt, he reached up as Kelly lowered his cigarette and exhaled, filling the air with a blueish haze. A gasp of surprise erupted from Kelly as Declan wrapped an arm around the goon's head and pulled him harshly to the floor. With a forearm wrapped tight around the man's neck and pushing his head forward with his other hand, he applied pressure until Kelly stopped struggling and went limp.
    Dragging the goon away and laying him beside the wall, Declan waited for any indication that his assault had been heard from inside. Hearing only a few low voices and no movement, he moved towards the door and bent down, keeping his back against the wall. Leaning forward, he listened through a mail slot below the frosted window.
    Declan smiled as he heard O'Rourke's voice. "Alright, Richie you're dealin' this game — where the hell you goin', Boyle?"
    "To get Kelly."
    "Screw him. We'll deal him in when he gets back."
    A scraping sound filled the room as chairs pulled up to a poker table. Declan listened intently, focusing on each individual voice and trying to discern how many people were in the room. After waiting a full round, he was sure there were four men; Boyle, Reid, O'Rourke and Sheehan.
    As the round ended, O'Rourke said, "Go and get that idiot and tell him to get in here. He's been out there for ten minutes. How the hell long does it take to smoke anyways?"
    A chair scraped across the floor and Declan assumed it was Boyle standing to head for the door. Drawing the Glock from his belt, he stood up and opened the door, entering with the gun leveled in the direction he'd heard the voices coming from.
    Inside the room was barren, a ramshackle desk, a filthy sofa and a dormitory-sized refrigerator were the only furniture. The card table stood in a far corner and papers littered the floor near the desk.
    "Jesus!" Boyle said with a shocked look as he stopped, seeing the raised pistol. The other men at the table looked up suddenly as if they hadn't realized what was happening.
    Shooting his right leg forward in a sharp kick, Declan caught Boyle in the stomach with the heel of his boot causing the man to double over. With Boyle's face exposed as he gasped for air, Declan brought his right knee up across the bridge of the