Fear of God

FEAR OF GOD THE JAKE SAWYER SERIES (BOOK 8) ANDREW LOWE CONTENTSJoin my mailing listProloguePART ONEChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37PART TWOChapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44Chapter 45Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49Chapter 50Chapter 51Chapter 52Chapter 53Chapter 54Chapter 55Chapter 56Chapter 57Chapter 58Chapter 59Chapter 60Chapter 61Chapter 62Chapter 63Chapter 64Chapter 65Chapter 66Chapter 67Chapter 68Chapter 69Chapter 70Chapter 71Chapter 72UntitledBlankAcknowledgmentsJoin my mailing listPlease leave a reviewJoin the teamTHE JAKE SAWYER SERIESCreepy CrawlyStronger Than DeathThe Dying LightPray For RainChase The DevilThe Skeleton LakeCruel SummerFear Of GodBooks 1-3 Box SetBooks 4-6 Box SetBooks 1-6 Box SetGlossaryAlso by Andrew LoweAlso by Andrew LoweAbout the Author JOIN MY MAILING LISTSign up for the no-spam newsletter and get your FREE three-book starter library.Details can be found at the end of this book. Copyright © 2023 by Andrew LoweThe moral right of the author has been asserted.All rights reserved.No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.Email: [email protected]: andrewlowewriter.comTwitter: twitter.com/@andylowe99First published in 2023 by Redpoint BooksThis edition May 2023Cover photographs © ShutterstockCover: https://www.book-cover-shop.com/ For Tom and Josh I dreamt the past was never past redeeming.RICHARD WILBUR, ‘THE PARDON’ PROLOGUE The man shook his head like a wet dog, splashing the floor with sweat and blood. He slumped forward, his matted hair hanging between his legs, shoulders propped on his knees.A hand gripped his chin, raised his face.‘Y’still with us, son?’The man tried to jerk his head away, but the hand held him firm. The light from the overhead bulb was tepid, but his swollen eyes squinted, craving the dark.The hand released him, and he slumped forward again.They’d worked in shifts; two at a time. Knuckle dusters. Cudgels. A cricket bat for the stomach.As a four, they’d had him up against the wall; arms held by one pair while the other two worked his kidneys. He’d kicked and scuffed his feet at the start, but the pickaxe handles put a stop to that.The heavy door scraped open and the four men parted to make way for a fifth. He pulled up a chair and sat in the centre, facing his captive. He took a puff from a Sweet Afton cigarette and tapped ash onto the floor. Smoke spiralled up, coiling around the bulb.‘Well, now.’Handlebar moustache, deep-set eyes in shadow beneath heavy brows.The man piped the smoke out through his nostrils and smoothed back his thick dark hair.He leaned forward. ‘You’ve had better days, Connor. Am I right?’Connor slowly raised his head and peered at the new man, then slumped forward again. ‘Who the fuck are you?’‘I’m gonna let you call me Patrick.’ He leaned back. His silver medallion glinted in the light. ‘I’m hoping you’ll acknowledge the courtesy, Connor. You shouldn’t bother wasting your time being tough and obnoxious. Nobody here will care or be impressed by that. And we’ll make sure your family knows you cried like a newborn, however this goes.’Patrick took another puff and stamped out the cigarette beneath a heavy work boot. He shuffled his chair closer.‘I know you’re terrified, Connor. I know your bowels are loosening.’Connor raised his head. ‘Where are we?’Patrick glanced up at one of his men. ‘Omeath. Little village about halfway between Dublin and Belfast. Normally, I wouldn’t be seen dead here. You don’t have a choice, though.’One of the men gave a grim laugh.‘Have you worked this out yet, Connor? It’s sort of a debrief. We’re both soldiers, am I right?’‘If you’re Nutting Squad, you’ve got shite intel.’‘I thought we were being courteous.’ Patrick grabbed a fistful of Connor’s hair and tugged back his head to face him. ‘I’m engaged in a righteous struggle against an occupying oppressor. Your role is a bit more complex, yes? I can assure you, our intel on you is far from shite. We’re internal security. They call us the Nutting Squad because of the bullets we put into informers’ brains. But that moment is a long way down the line for you, Connor.’ He pointed. ‘You’ve had the good bit. There’s a lot of bad to come. The kind of bad is up to you.’Connor raised himself upright and leaned back in his chair. He spat to the side. Mostly blood. ‘Whatever you do to me here, you’re not my judge.’Patrick nodded. ‘You’re a good Catholic boy, then. Used to be my way, too. I heard the pastoral call. And then the loyalists killed my father, and I got distracted.’‘I was just trying to save lives.’Patrick waved him away. ‘I don’t want to know your story. I’ve got the basics. I want to know how you were recruited. Security service contacts. Names, network, handlers. I know a lot of it already, but I’m looking for a few connections to confirm. To help me take others like you out of the game.’Connor’s head lolled and he drew in a shallow breath, mouth opening.Patrick leaned forward.Connor spat onto the floor between them. ‘Not an inch.’Patrick sighed. ‘You’re going to feel a lot of pain now, Connor. It’ll go on for a long time. Days. And then you’re going to die.’ His fingers went to the medallion. ‘Now, we’re clearly not going to get a confession, and I’m sorry to say that we’re all out of holy oil. So when we’re done with the work, we’ll have to skip to the prayer, then send you on your way.’ He leaned forward, finding the eyes, the faltering defiance. ‘I’m just a seminarian, Connor. A deacon. I might get back to my