Ulnlikely Hero-20

1

Unlikely Hero-202

By Geraldine Fitzsimmons3

End of chapter 174

West Germany 19795

Expecting it to be a call from his paper, he was startled when he read. Alex, stop by room 516-RM6

Less than five minutes later Alex Cahill rapped his knuckles lightly on the door of room 516.7

It came open quickly as if Ryan Mason had been standing there waiting for him. “I saw you from the window,” Mason said as Cahill stepped by him into the room. “I’m playing errand boy, Alex. You’re not going to like what I have to tell you.” He closed the door.8

“I’ve picked up a couple of ‘Shadows?”9

“You’ve spotted them already?” That came with a look of respect Mason didn’t bother to hide. It wasn’t often an SAS undercover agent slipped up. “There’s quite a parcel of pressmen here—you might be wrong.”10

“So you aren’t sure who they are?” Cahill motioned towards the courtesy carafe sitting open on the end table and giving off the aroma of fresh coffee.11

“Help yourself.” Mason waited until Cahill poured himself a cup and sat on the edge of the bed. “They are trouble Alex. They’re MI6 and have information that Hendricks is to be eliminated and they’re looking to grab the executioner—preferable alive.”12

“Do they have German clearance?”13

“Not certain. No one is going to shed tears over Hendricks. It’s still McCarthy’s demise that has those English tails twisted.” Mason reclaimed his own cup he’d filled earlier and sat in the armchair facing Cahill. “You try for Hendricks and they’ll have you in military custody and so covered you’ll be whisked to London before you can spit.”14

“They know it’s me?”15

“Nope. If they had a hint, lad, you’d be on a plane already.”16

“So they’ll wait until it comes down.” Cahill seemed to contemplate his chances.17

Mason knew he had to stop him. “I don’t know who’s financing you,” he said. “Since Hendricks is considered trash no one really cares. But I had a visit from the ‘Indian’ and a message for you. Cancel the contract.”18

“That’d be a first for me.” Cahill let a cool smirk play about his mouth.19

“That wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand. I have my orders—you can’t be taken alive.”20

Cahill gave a sharp laugh. “Ryan, me boy, surely you wouldn’t soil your clean legal hands?”21

“Didn’t say it would be me.” Mason shrugged. “But if you go for Hendricks—you’ll be hit before you get near him. You’re not that hard up for cash or that stupid. So if you want to do the story, stay far back. I’m to finger you—you won’t know them.”22

Cahill got up and walked slowly to the window. “Gonna be hot as hell—but a fine clear day.” He turned slowly and eyed his companion. The hard pebbles of stone that were his eyes belied the grin on his mouth. “A nice day to die.” He started towards the door.23

“Alex, don’t be an ass!”24

“Got time to catch me two hours sleep.” The door closed behind him.25

“The son of a bitch!” Mason said to the room. He slammed his left fist into his right palm. In a few short hours he could be forced to eliminate a man he respected and it didn’t set right on his soul. He’d killed before but could always justify the reason to himself. He dropped down and spread out on the double bed. Might as well catch a few winks myself, he thought. Sleep didn’t come.26

At nineteen, Ryan Mason had just entered his first year at Trinity College in Dublin when he was indoctrinated into a group that seemed to have solutions for the mess mankind had gotten itself into. He had already decided the world was a cesspool where the powerful and rich lived off the sweat of the common man. His comrades convinced him Democracies were the biggest farce of them all, they provided for a larger, hungrier, power base. True World Communism, where each person received exactly the same compensation for their efforts, not the travesty propagated by the Russians, could bring equality to all men.27

Though years ago he had ceased being idealistic, he’d become so tied up in his beliefs he stopped questioning the means used to further them.28

Once, during the early years of their relationship, when his ideals were still untarnished, he tried to enlist Alex Cahill in the movement. Alex hadn’t outright ridiculed it. He’d said, “Revolutions to destroy the ruling class never work. In the end one group just replaces another at the top. A man rarely lives long enough to enjoy any change. Since I don’t desire to create perfection for coming generations, I will simply benefit from what I can while I’m alive.” After that the two never discussed Mason’s political beliefs. 29

How Cahill became a tool who allowed others to purchase his ability, Mason didn’t know. He assumed that like others in Cahill’s field of expertise, Alex had no family ties or if he did he’d broken with them long ago. In the years they’d been acquainted, Cahill had never so much as mentioned a mother.30

‘Maybe he came from an egg!’ Mason laughed out loud but there was no humor in the sound. ‘Damnit!’ He liked the man. It shit to sacrifice him over a Nazi piece of crap like Hendricks. Well, knowing Cahill, he might not have bought the claim Mason wouldn’t be the shooter. They might both be crawling to hell before the noonday clock chimed.31

That idea sucked. Just when he’d finally decided to make a commitment, work on continuing his family line, he has to take a chance like this. When he pointed out Cahill, gave the signal, if the hired gun didn’t bring him down, he would have too. Damn, he might find his Irish ass in a German jail.32

Hendricks was due to speak at noon. At quarter to eleven, Mason checked his weapon and placed it in the shoulder holster and positioned it beneath his armpit. He put on the lightweight linen jacket that hid the bulge. In his heart he held the hope Alex had listened. Logic told him this wouldn’t be the case. By quarter after eleven he was walking among the milling reporters and cameramen vying for the best locations. Fairly certain that Cahill would cause a commotion before he made his move, Mason didn’t feel harried.33

At a little before twelve, Hendricks’s caravan still hadn’t arrived. Mason hadn’t spotted Cahill. He moved closer to the platform from which the Nazi would carry out his niggling of the Bonn Government. A small group of Hendricks’ supporters were clustered together on the platform deep in a conversation. One waved a two-way radio. Then this fellow moved quickly up to the microphones. “Es tut mir Leid—I’m sorry.” His voice was shaky. “Herr Hendricks won’t be with us today. He was shot entering his limo. They have the assassin in custody.” 34