Free Undercover by Gerard Brennan Page B

of that because he'd caught them on without even trying, but O'Neill's crew had no way of knowing that Cormac's actual home was in South Belfast. He'd joined O'Neill's crew with the back story that he'd come from Newry, a border city with a growing Dissident Republican support network. His softer South Down accent had lent strength to this, as had the backing of a colleague deeply immersed in the investigation of the Real IRA.
    Maybe he'd read too much into the look that passed between him and the man in the blue van. A lot had happened and his adrenaline levels were tweaked. Paranoia may have gotten the better of him. Still...
    He reassessed his situation. He was basically on the run with a beat up kid and his bleeding father in tow. It was too big a risk to go to the house and hope that his gut instincts were off. They rarely were and going against them would most likely get him and his charges in even deeper shit. And if he took them to the hospital, could he be sure that his handler had his back if he needed to call through a favour or three? The information on his likely whereabouts had to come from somewhere. If somebody at the station had ratted him out to O'Neill and his men he couldn't risk reaching out for that particular lifeline. He'd get Mattie and John somewhere safe first and then see what they had to say back at HQ.
    Cormac restarted the Suzuki. "We have to go somewhere else."
    "Where?"
    "A friend's house."
    He looked into the back seat at what he was about to bring to Donna Grant's doorstep. She would be less than thrilled.
    ###
    J eremy Quentin, the Q in PHQ Publicity, stood up as the final slide of the PowerPoint presentation faded from the screen, and offered his junior colleagues a quick clap. The three bright sparks seated at a little round table by the huge office window lapped up the praise. Then the two young men of the group high-fived. At least the young lady had the wit to look embarrassed for them.
    Lydia groaned internally as Jeremy cleared his throat. Was there more to this fucking circus?
    "I could talk some more about what PHQ can offer you, RC," Jeremy said. "But I won't."
    Thank Christ.
    "I think our presentation said everything that needed to be said. What do you think, RC?"
    Rory looked to Lydia and crossed his eyes, then back to Jeremy with his business face on.
    "Aye, I thought it was class, like. How'd you get my picture onto that aftershave ad?"
    "Photoshop, RC."
    "Magic." Rory fiddled with a lever under his chair and it sank with a pneumatic hiss. "One small criticism, though... I don't know what you did with the aul' airbrush, but I looked a wee bit like a fruit. Do you not think so?"
    Jeremy shot a glance at one of his cubs; a young man with thick glasses and a mane of cartoonish spiked hair. The Photoshop wizard, Lydia assumed.
    "That was by no means a finished piece, RC. Consider it a mock-up. Just a thrown together image to give you a taste of what—"
    "Chill out, Jeremy," Rory said. "I was only slegging."
    Jeremy's brow knotted. "Em..."
    "Slegging means taking the Mickey," Lydia offered.
    Jeremy's lips parted in a quick and easy fake smile. "I see. Irish, is it?"
    "Belfasty," Rory said.
    "Oh? Is that a thing?"
    "Oh, aye. Some people call it Norn Iron spake, but Belfasty's more... specific, you know?"
    "Fascinating." Jeremy's head bobbed for a little too long. "So, anyway, we've said our bit. We'd love to work with you, RC. And now you have an idea of what we can do for you if you do sign with us. I guess the ultimate decision is yours. You tell us what you want and we'll hammer out the details with Lydia."
    "You mean LG, here?" Rory asked.
    Jeremy paused for a second then he raised a long, slender finger and waggled it. His well-practised smile returned. "Ah, more slegging , eh?" He turned to his people. "We'll have to watch this one, folks."
    The young lady's giggle seemed a little too shrill to Lydia's ear but Rory gave her a look of interest. Cool as a Trebor mint, the PHQ