“Dig in,” ordered William Foard without ceremony.
“And don’t be afraid to eat hearty. Commander. Because it sounds to me like you’re certainly going to have your work cut out for you these next couple of days.”
Chapter Ten
Dr. John Maguire had just arrived at his office at Dublin’s Shamrock Nuclear Power Station on the banks of the River Liffey when a call arrived for him on his private line. In a very serious, calm tone of voice, a woman explained to him that his wife and two daughters had just been kidnapped.
The physicist’s first reaction was that this was all some sort of sick practical joke, and he was tempted to hang up the receiver and call plant security. It was at that moment that his oldest child’s voice emanated from the telephone. There could be no denying the six year-old’s frightened tone as she begged her father to take this call very seriously or they would hurt her mommy. Sobered by this plea, Maguire listened anxiously as the kidnapper directed him to leave at once for the Central Dublin postal exchange. He was ordered to drive alone, and above all, not to inform the authorities of this call. For if he did, he would never see his family alive again.
Maguire’s brow was soaked in sweat, his hand trembling, as he hung up the telephone and contemplated his next move. His position as director of the Shamrock plant gave him instant access to the Republic’s highest ranking political and military figures. But he was no stranger to the assortment of terrorist groups active in his country. And knowing full well that the lives of his family would mean absolutely nothing to such ruthless individuals, he decided against notifying the police. He tried to appear as composed as possible as he informed his secretary that he would have to cancel his morning appointments and leave the office.
His secretary was caught totally off guard by this revelation, and was unable to get her boss to explain his reasoning behind this abrupt change of plans.
The drive to the postal exchange seemed to take forever.
When he finally arrived, he remained in his car, as instructed. At one point during his wait, a pair of uniformed gardia patrolmen strolled by his automobile, and Maguire fought the temptation to appeal for their assistance. Soon afterward, there was a loud knock on the passenger window, and a woman dressed in a hat and sunglasses beckoned him to allow her entry. He quickly did so and breathlessly listened as she spoke to him with a dreaded familiar voice.
“I want you to head for the N3 by way of Phoenix Park. And for the sake of your adoring family, drive carefully. Doctor.”
It wasn’t until they were well north of the city limits that Maguire found the nerve to voice himself.
“Who are you? Where are we going, and where are you keeping my family?”
“My heavens. Doctor Maguire, aren’t you the curious one. But if you want to see those babies of yours grow up to take husbands, you’ll keep that mouth of yours shut and do like I tell you!”
The physicist forced himself to hold his tongue as they continued traveling north on the two-lane highway.
Outside the town of Navan the clear sky darkened, and soon they were in the midst of a driving rainstorm.
The lush green estates of Meath county was known for could hardly be seen as Maguire struggled to keep his car on the road.
It was as they passed through the village of Virginia that the rains abated. A rainbow formed on the northern horizon, and his escort ordered him to turn off the main highway near the town of Stradone.
“We’ll be taking the back roads from here on, Doctor.
So watch your speed and keep your eyes peeled for oncoming traffic.”
Maguire wisely heeded this warning in time to steer clear of an approaching lorry that had no intention of sharing the narrow road with anyone else. Doing his best to miss the assortment of potholes that abounded here, he noted the parched appearance of the passing countryside. The hilly landscape here was dotted with ramshackle cottages and rock-strewn fields marked by winding stone hedges. A tinker’s caravan passed on their right, and the physicist got a brief view of its gypsies seated on the side of the road playing cards.
Certain that they were in County Caven at this point, he learned this fact for certain when he spotted a tilted road sign that indicated that the village of Cootehill was three kilometers away.
At one point they had considered building a nuclear power plant in this part of the Republic. It was hoped that the jobs and abundant energy the plant would create would help this perpetually backward area develop.
One of the sites they were considering was south of Cootehill, on the banks of the Annalee River. John Maguire was flown out here by helicopter and found the location most promising. Yet it was the Republic that finally decided that the site’s relative proximity to the border with Northern Ireland made such a location undesirable. For the further north they now went, the closer they came to that infamous portion of Ireland known as “bandit country,” the virtually untamed home of the political terrorist.
Was such an organization responsible for his current abduction? The physicist could only guess that this was the case as they drove through the sleepy village of Cootehill and turned off onto a winding country lane.
The roadway here was all but impassable. Its asphalt was cracked and pitted, and in many places virtually nonexistent. Trying his best to ignore the rough ride and his vainly protesting shock absorbers, Maguire was ordered to turn left at a sign that read Cootehill House. A partially flooded lane took them through a forest of stately pines. A large lake was visible to the left. As the road twisted and they began their way up a rather steep rise, Maguire spotted the rounded arches of an estate house at the summit of this hillside. An ominous, heavy feeling formed in his gut with the realization that this gothic-looking habitation signaled the end of their long trip.
“You’ll park by the barn at the back of the house,” instructed his abduct or
Maguire did as he was ordered, receiving his next instructions as he put the transmission into park and turned off the ignition.
“You may exit now, Doctor. And by the way, let me be the first to welcome you to Cootehill House.”
His escort displayed an unusual degree of civility with this remark, and with the hope that things might not be as bad as they seemed, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The air was cool and crisp, the ground wet, as if it had just rained. Maguire guessed that the estate house that he stood beside had to be at the least fifty years old. Even then, it was in an amazingly good state of repair. The grounds were also well kept. This included the large vegetable garden adjacent to the estate’s southern wall.
“Damn!” cursed his escort as she left the car and took off for this plot.
The physicist was surprised to find his abduct or drawn to a tomato plant that seemed recently to have been trampled on. She had also removed the hat, sunglasses, and raincoat she’d been wearing, revealing herself to be an attractive young girl in her mid-twenties, with straight red hair and a curvaceous figure.
“So this must be the esteemed Dr. John Maguire,” came a deep voice from behind him.
The physicist pivoted and set his eyes on a tall, swarthy-looking character with an eyepatch over his right eye. Only as he approached did Maguire note that he wore his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Dressed in ragged blue jeans and a Berkeley sweatshirt, he looked much like a middleaged version of a 1960s hippie. Yet there was something sinister about his appearance, and the scientist’s gut tightened as he again spoke.
“It really is an honor to meet you, Doctor. I heard you speak some time ago, when the Republic was considering whether or not to invest in its first nuclear power plant. Though I myself sided with the ecologists who resisted this plant, I couldn’t help but admire the clarity of your thought as you delivered your very persuasive presentation.”
“And to whom, may I ask, am I speaking?”
“Names are not really important at this stage of the game. Doctor. Just know that I hold con
victions equally as strong as your own, though I’m certain you and I could have some very spirited debates on a variety of subjects if the opportunity presented itself.”
Frustrated by the deliberate vagueness of this answer, Maguire emotionally exploded.
“Well, how in the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on here if you won’t even tell me your name? What do you want with me, and what have you done with my family?”
“So the good doctor has a temper after all,” re203 turned his one-eyed host.
“Go ahead and shout all you want. Relieve the tension that’s bottled up inside of you, but be assured that I’m the one who’ll be asking all the questions around here. Otherwise, you’ll never see that family of yours again!”
Certain that he meant this, Maguire softened.
“What you do to me is not important. Just don’t hurt my family. Please, I implore you!”
The co founder of the Irish Republican Brotherhood seemed to deliberate a moment before verbally reacting to this plea.
“That’s the kind of attitude that will show results around here, Doctor. Your family is being held outside of Dublin by a group of my associates. I give you my word of honor that no harm will come to them as long as you cooperate with us.”
“Can I at least speak to them?” asked the physicist.
“I believe that can be arranged,” replied Bernard Loughlin thoughtfully.
“But first I have a little task for you to perform. Do it to my satisfaction, and you’ll earn both your family’s release and your own as well.”
“Anything you say,” implored the scientist.
“Just don’t harm them… that’s all that I ask.”
“Your loyalty is very touching, Doctor. I like that in a man. A person should passionately believe in something, whether it be another person or an ideal. I myself am involved with the latter. But that’s irrelevant.
It’s time to get on with the task that necessitated your presence here. Marie, forget about those damn plants of yours, and get over here where you belong!”
This invective served to redirect the attention of the redhead Maguire had driven up with from Dublin.
“I’m sorry, Bernard. I guess I should have staked those tomatoes before I left.”
“You and your damn tomatoes!” shouted the one eyed terrorist.
“Forget about your damn veggies for a moment and concentrate on more important things,
like finding the good doctor so that we can get on with this thing.”
“Where is he?” questioned the redhead defiantly.
“How the hell should I know?” screamed Bernard.
“Try his study. If I know the old man he’ll be in there, sipping poteen and engrossed in his father’s diary.”
While she hurried into the manor house to carry out his directive, Bernard Loughlin escorted his guest to the locked doors of the barn.
“Damn women!” muttered the terrorist angrily.
“No matter how tough they say they might be, they’re all satin and bows on the inside.”
Not knowing how to respond to this, John Maguire nodded timidly, and discreetly turned his head to examine the grounds more closely. Beyond the green meadow that surrounded the house was a thick pine forest. Such tracts were planted with governmental assistance several decades ago to counter the severe deforestation that had plagued Ireland through the centuries. A partially worked peat bog could be seen at the edge of these woods. In place of wood and coal, such a substance was the native fuel of poor regions such as this one.
The nuclear physicist had hoped his reactors would make such a time-consuming practice obsolete. Only then would new industry be attracted to areas such as County Caven. And as its population began to be trained to work in these new jobs, its rural populace would be given an abrupt introduction to the modern wonders of the high-tech era that they lived in.
Such was John Maguire’s vision of what he had hoped his homeland would be someday. Yet as he was all too soon to learn, the Irish people just weren’t ready to make such a drastic jump forward. His carefully laid plans had met with nothing but distrust and skepticism. Endless bureaucratic red tape made the obtaining of a simple construction permit an ordeal, and it was only after a superhuman effort on his part that he was able to convince his countrymen finally to go ahead and build Dublin’s Shamrock reactor. Soon to go on line, the plant would be a clean, cheap source of electricity, and one hoped it would calm the suspicions of the doubters who had constantly opposed him every long step of the way.
His ponderings on Ireland’s future were all too soon diverted by concerns of a much more immediate nature when two figures emerged from the manor house. One of them was the redhead named Marie. The other was an older gentleman with silver hair, a stooped posture, and a kindly, almost grandfatherly demeanor.
“So this is our respected guest from Dublin,” greeted the elder.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, sir. Too bad we couldn’t have met under different circumstances, but such is life. Shall we get on with it, then? I’m certain you’re eager to return home and be reunited with your family.”
Instantly liking this fellow, John Maguire felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him, and his face broke into a relieved smile.
“You don’t know how true that is, my friend. Now, how can I be of service to you?”
Dr. Tyronne Blackwater answered while pulling a key from his coat pocket and inserting it into the barn door’s recessed lock.
“You might say that we have a little technical problem with a piece of equipment inside and we’d like you to take a look at it.”
The lock triggered with a loud click as the puzzled physicist replied.
“If it’s within my know-how, I’d be glad to assist you.”
Bernard Loughlin had to stifle a chuckle as he pulled back the rusty doors of the barn and switched on its interior lights.
“Our little gadget’s over here,” said the elder.
“If you’ll just follow me, we’ll see what you can make of it.”
Maguire entered the barn and first spotted a stack of dried peat squares. Behind this mound were dozens of wooden crates with official RUC seals stenciled on them. On the floor immediately beside the largest of these crates was a large pallet. Displayed here was a curiously shaped steel cylinder that looked disturbingly familiar to the nuclear physicist. It was only as he bent over to take a closer look at the object’s rounded nose that he gasped in horror.
“My God! Where did you get this?”
Bernard smirked.
“Let’s just say it was a little gift to us from the sea. Now, how do we go about detonating it?”
Hardly believing what he was hearing, John Maguire countered, “You can’t be serious! Do you have any idea the amount of death and destruction this device is capable of producing?”
“Look, we didn’t drag you all the way up from Dublin to hear you mouth off,” retorted Bernard.
“Show us how to explode this damn thing, or that family of yours dies!”
Quick to intercede at this point was the calm voice of the silver-haired elder.
“Can you at the very least have a look at it, Dr. Maguire? You’d sure save a lot of hurt and sorrow by doing so.”
The physicist looked up to the old man and stuttered.
“But… this is a hydrogen bomb! Do you realize how many locks and fail-safe measures are incorporated into this device to keep it from going off?
I couldn’t bypass them even if I wanted to without the authorized code of the day, which only the President of the United States knows. He keeps it constantly at his side in a briefcase called the football.”
“I told you it would be impossible,” said the redhead.
“It looks like we’re going to have to use it for blackmail purposes after all.”
“Like hell we are!” shouted Bernard, who looked at the physicist with a wrath-filled glance.
“I know that you worked for t
he company that designed this bomb while you lived in the United States, so quit playing games with me, Doctor. Open it up, and do whatever it takes to get it operational, or you can kiss that family of yours goodbye.”
“But I can’t!” implored Maguire, whose frustration nearly brought tears to his eyes.
Without paying this passionate outburst the least bit of attention, the one-eyed terrorist coolly addressed Marie Barrett.
“Comrade, call the lads and have them kill the youngest child. Make sure her sister and mother are there to watch as her brains are blown from her skull.”
The redhead nodded and turned for the doorway.
“You wouldn’t dare!” yelled the sobbing physicist.”
“I’m afraid he would, lad,” observed the elder calmly. He turned and watched as Marie was about to leave the barn.
Just as the redhead was about to pass through the doors, John Maguire cried out: “Hold on! Oh God, forgive me for this! I’ll need some tools.”
Bernard grinned triumphantly.
“You’ve got them, Doctor.”
He then snapped his fingers and beckoned the redhead to fetch the tool kit. She obediently proceeded into an adjoining room and came out with a good sized galvanized steel container, which she then set on the floor beside the bomb. It was Bernard who opened it, revealing a wide assortment of tools.
“I believe this should suit your needs. Doctor,” observed the one-eyed terrorist.
John Maguire looked down at the kit’s contents and picked up a screwdriver. His hands were trembling as he inserted the head of this tool into one of the four screws that anchored the bomb’s trigger plate. Sweat flowed off his soaked forehead and splattered onto the metallic skin of the device as he removed the final bolt and pulled the plate off. Displayed inside was a complex grid of circuit boards and wiring. His practiced eye went to the arming switch that would have to be manually triggered by the B-52’s flight crew to open the firing circuit. He did a double take upon finding the switch unlocked, which meant that somehow the fail-safe mechanism had already been bypassed.
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