Tested by Fire by David Costa (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📗

easy to install in most locations and were deemed the most reliable method of intelligence collection as the information gathered came straight from the horse’s mouth.

‘The information shows they’re in the preliminary stages of planning but to date, we’ve not been able to ascertain what, but we are confident it’s something big.’

Wilson turned another page of the file.

‘As I said, it’s something big, and the one name that keeps popping up is an old friend of yours, David. Sean Costello?’

Reece’s stomach flipped. He looked Wilson in the eye and just smiled.

‘All our information points to Costello being back and up to his old tricks.’

Costello had been one of the top ten terrorists in the world during the Troubles. He had a reputation for ruthlessness and was linked to countless murders around South Armagh and South Down. Most of his suspected victims had died in bomb blasts and mortar attacks, but his speciality was to kill his victims from long range shootings using a Barrett Browning.50 sniper rifle.

But with Reece, it was more personal…the never-ending dull pain in his right shoulder a constant reminder of the last time he’d seen Costello. The day had been hot, but as the sun started to go down over Carlingford Lough, the air grew cooler. Carlingford Lough is an inlet of the Irish Sea which parts the Warrenpoint and Rostrevor towns in Northern Ireland from the town of Carlingford in the Irish Republic. The slimmest of intelligence from a technical source had indicated that a retired judge was the target for assassination.

The judge lived in a colonial-style house on a small country hill just outside Rostrevor, overlooking the Lough below. Reece was assigned the job of visiting the judge to tell him of the threat and to discuss upping his security. SB Officer JD had stayed in the car as Reece approached the house. Just before he raised his hand to knock, a small red Ford van drove at speed into the driveway. In the split second that followed the screech of tyres, Reece could see that both the driver and the passenger were wearing black balaclavas. He ran for the cover of his car, shouting at JD to get down. At the same moment, the front passenger jumped out of the van, an AK47 assault rifle in his hands which he aimed at Reece then opened fire.

The rapid-fire struck the police car just as Reece made it to cover with the engine between himself and the gunman. Reece knew the engine block would give him protection and was the safest place for him to be. He took his Smith and Wesson 59 in his hand and blindly fired over the bonnet in the direction the gunman had last stood. The noise of both weapons exploded all around him. Another burst from the AK and a storm of bullets struck the car and Reece felt a thump and searing hot pain in his right shoulder. Falling backwards, he heard the bang, bang, bang from JD’s H&K MP5 automatic rifle before the blackness and silence took him.

Ten hours later, Reece woke in the Musgrave Park Military Hospital in Belfast. JD stood smiling by the side of his bed.

‘Thought we’d lost you for a minute there, buddy.’

Reece tried a weak smile; the pain in his shoulder now a dull throb. His mouth was dry, and he could just about croak the words, ‘What happened?’

‘When you yelled to get down, I only had a split second to dive out of the car to my right before the AK opened up. Then you blasted back, giving me time to get to cover and fire towards the van. The driver pulled it round and AK man jumped in and they were gone, but not before I’d hit the back of the van and blew out the windows. They found the van a couple of miles down the road with blood in the footwell of the driver’s side. The surgeon was here about an hour ago. He said you’re lucky to be alive. The injury was caused by shrapnel, not an actual bullet, if it had been, in such close range, you’d have lost your arm at least. You were in surgery for eight hours. A lot of bullets hit that car, and a lot of shrapnel got you. I’ve buzzed for someone to come and check on you.’ Just then, a young-looking doctor came into the room.

‘Good, Mr Reece, I’m glad to see you’re awake.’ Lifting the clipboard at the end of the bed, he made a few notes on the form.

‘I’ve made a note for some more painkillers, only to be taken when you really need them. You were lucky the round had already shattered before entering your shoulder. It missed all the vital organs, but we couldn’t get all the pieces out. What’s left are some small fragments and apart from some pain now and then, with a strict physio regime, you should recover full mobility and use of the arm.’

Reece took the doctor’s advice and after three months away from work, made as full a recovery as he could.

Occasionally, as the fragments moved, his shoulder would give out a sharp stab of pain just to remind him of that day.

Having later discovered that the gunman was none other than Sean Costello, Reece had laughed at the thought of the surprise Costello must have felt when he found himself on the receiving end of gunfire from two trained Special Branch officers instead of an unarmed old man. His escape wasn’t plain sailing as his driver and cousin, Vincent Hughes, took a bullet to the foot.

Sources within PIRA reported that both men hid in the home of a Republican sympathiser for two days, during which a doctor, who supported the cause, fixed up the wound on Hughes’ foot. He would be walking with a limp for the rest of his