A Real Job Read Free Page A

nose, McElvaney glared at the two officers. As David put his pistol back into his shoulder holster, the Irishman said, ‘You English bastards.’
    Pointing to David, Steve said, ‘Get it fucking right, he’s half Irish.’
    Leaning into David’s face, McElvaney said, ‘If you can kill an Irishman, you’ve no Irish blood in you. You’re a dead man and that’s no threat.’ Then emphasising each word, he chillingly whispered into David’s ear, ‘that’s a fucking promise.’

Chapter Two Warwick Lane, London, 17.10 hours, Wednesday,
27 th June, present day 
    Peter Hurst entered the Trafalgar Arms pub in Warwick Lane, close to the Old Bailey courts in London. On seeing his twin brother, David Hurst got out of his seat and walking over to him said, ‘Peter over here, I’m glad you could make it.’ His trial adjourned for the day and carrying his bag containing his barrister’s wig and gown, Peter Hurst decided not to go straight back to his chambers. With the case David’s counter-terrorism team were involved in having come to an end, he sent his twin a text message telling him to join him in the pub. Inseparable as children, with David living and working in the north-west of England and Peter living in London, as adults they rarely got the opportunity to see each other. Unable to hide the joy at seeing his brother, smiling broadly, David said, ‘Let’s get a drink first, then I’ll introduce you to the team.’
    Now a detective sergeant in Greater Manchester Police’s Special Branch Counter-Terrorism Unit, David’s detective inspector, George Byrne, MI5’s northern region senior intelligence officer, Craig MacDonald and MI5 police liaison officer, Debbie Heron had already joined David and his team in the Georgian built pub. Celebrating the conviction of two Al Qaeda terrorists they arrested during an operation several months earlier, the group were sitting on the bench seats in the rear of the room the original frosted glass said was the “Lounge”.
    As they walked to the bar Peter said, ‘You all seem happy. I assume it was a positive result?’
    ‘One got three life sentences to run concurrently with a recommendation to serve a minimum of thirty years, the other got fifteen years, so I’d definitely call that a good result.’
    ‘Seeing how there were no other trials from the Manchester area running at the Old Bailey, were you part of that terrorist case that’s been in the news the last couple of weeks?’
    ‘Yes,’ David said after ordering the drinks.
    ‘How come your squad got involved with terrorists? Was there a drugs link?’
    ‘Something like that. We only had a minor role in the case,’ David said dismissively, hoping Peter would change the subject. Only telling his family he was a detective in a CID department he never told them he investigated terrorist crimes.
    ‘Still, that’s some result and just as well seeing how it was such a high profile case. There are hordes of news reporters camped out on the Old Bailey’s steps getting ready for the six o’clock bulletins,’ Peter said looking behind him. ‘I can see Steve Adams and George Byrne, but the one I’m looking forward to meeting is Debbie. I’m keen to meet the woman that’s turned my big brother’s head. Where is she?’
    ‘I’m right here,’ a female voice said next to him. Peter turned to see a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a dark suit, with well groomed dark shoulder length hair. Used to making accurate first impressions of the many clients he met, while admiring her soft facial features betraying a comfortable upbringing, there was something about her he could not put his finger on. Clearly a confident person, there was something in her eyes exuding the similar unnerving look his brother had. Holding out her hand she said, ‘You must be Peter. It’s nice to finally meet you.’
    ‘You too Debbie,’ Peter said. Shaking hands with her, he continued looking her up and down. Having only images of