Page 173 of The Texas Sterling Collection
The van sped ahead of him, then tires squealed as it pulled to a quick stop. Back doors opened as it slowed, and two men in dark clothes and hood masks jumped out and ran for Keenan.
“Shite.” Panic flooded Keenan. “Call Gardai, Fergus. I think thugs are after me.” Keenan panted as he ran full speed away from the toughs. His backpack, loaded with books, slowed his pace as it slapped against his back.
Suddenly, powerful arms pulled, landing him on his back atop the backpack. His head thunked against the pavement, and things went fuzzy. Two firm hands grabbed his arms, pulled him up, and dragged him backward.
“Oy.” Keenan’s senses returned, and he struggled to break free. “What the feck…” He flailed his legs, but the toughs were too strong. His breath fogged in the cool evening air as he panted from physical exertion and morbid fear.
“Lemme go, you fekkers,” Keenan shouted.
“Shut up, kid,” one of the masked men gruffed as they muscled him into the back of the van, knocking the cell phone from his hand. One thug sat on Keenan’s legs and pinned his arms to the floor. The other pulled the doors closed with a metal thunk.
Keenan felt the van speed up as a foul-smelling rag covered his nose and mouth. He gasped for air twice.
Fergus listened in horror through the phone. “Keenan…Keenan…” Tires squealed, and engine noise faded. More engine noise increased before the call went dead.
Fergus ran from the dormitory toward the area where Keenan walked each day, hoping to see a sign of his friend. As he crossed the bridge, car headlights passing by revealed the metal and plastic fragments in the street. The remains of Keenan’s cell phone, no doubt. Another vehicle ran over those fragments. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 112.
“Emergency Services. What is your emergency?”
“I think my friend got kidnapped.”
“Are you sure he didn’t simply leave?”
“No. He and I were talking about something he had discovered in our class, and he suddenly yelled that thugs were chasing him. I found what could be his cell phone smashed in the street.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m between the hospital and the university on Old Dublin Road.”
“I’ll send an officer straight away.”
* * *
Wednesday morning, before dawn, a jogger discovered a body caught in the brush on the river’s edge. Keenan Moynihan was found in the River Corrib, with a single bullet to the head.
CHAPTER TEN
Chief Superintendent Ciaran O’Brien studied the report on the dead GMIT student found in the river earlier that morning. The gunshot wound to the head left a lot of unanswered questions. Not a good way to start a Wednesday. At 10:30, his phone rang.
O’Brien’s assistant, Sergeant Padraig Healy, poked his head in the doorway. “You should answer that, sir. It’s the commissioner calling.”
A call from the top-ranking Gardaí official? O’Brien wondered what he had done to warrant a call from the commissioner. “O’Brien.”
“Chief Superintendent. How are you this fine morning?”
The greeting caught O’Brien off guard. Commissioner Seamus Kane’s authoritative tone usually meant business, but this morning sounded almost pleasing. “Um…doing fine, sir.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called. I have a favor to ask of you and your department.”
“Certainly, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Recent developments have led us to a possible connection between Dr. Ailbe MacGowan and cybercrime against Ireland’s largest bank. He is a professor at GMIT.”
O’Brien’s impression of a college professor certainly didn’t match that of a criminal, cyber or otherwise. “A cybercrime involving a bank, you say. And this professor is the supposed perpetrator?”
“He is one of Ireland’s top computer programming instructors. His students are sought by tech firms all over the world.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Commissioner, how much money is involved?”
