Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “Have you made this crossing before, Ned? In yon wee boat, I mean?”

  “To Wales, ye mean? Only a hundred times. Never mind. It’s big enough for the job.” Ned held out his hand to Sarah and she stepped into the boat. “Go to the front, lass,” he said.

  Then he unhooked the rope attached to the rear of boat and tossed it in after her, holding fast to the boat itself.

  “Hop in, Squire,” Ned said, urgently. “Quietly now. There’s patrols on the hour. No sense in straining our luck.”

  Mike waded into the water, drenching his pant legs to the knees. The boat tilted dangerously as he stepped inside but righted itself soon enough. He moved to the middle seat to leave the tiller space for Ned. He touched Sarah’s shoulder.

  “Alright then, love?”

  She nodded but didn’t speak. She was pointed toward Wales. Her focus was all one way now. Mike turned around to see Ned give the boat a mighty push from the shore.

  “Hey!” Mike shouted. “What the feck—”

  “Good luck, Squire. Keep your head down.”

  “You bastard! I paid you to take us across!” Mike grabbed the tiller. Sarah turned around, her face white.

  “I changed me mind. You’ve bought the boat. Just point ‘er nose straight ‘til you hit land.”

  Sarah grabbed Mike’s arm. “Let him go. We don’t need him. Let’s just go!”

  She was right. There was nothing for it. He would have plenty of time later to imagine the pleasure of throttling the little termite when he and Sarah were back in Ireland. But the feeling in his chest—of betrayal and lies—wouldn’t go away. This was the most treacherous part of the whole expedition. The sea was full of patrol boats and while the rumors about helicopters in the sky ready to shoot boats out of the water seemed to be only rumors, there was still enough to worry about.

  The sound of the outboard motor itself was an announcement of stealth in the still quiet of the night. Should he kill the motor? Would they be able to paddle across? He hadn’t thought to ask Ned any of this because he’d done the one stupid thing he’d always taught the boys not to do—trust someone else to handle the details.

  Sarah turned around and he managed a smile for her. The fact was, they really didn’t need a helmsman. It just felt wrong to Mike for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on and hated to admit to. It just felt wrong. Ten minutes into the night he suddenly realized why. It didn’t make sense that the night was so dark, the air so silent except for the sound of their own motor.

  Suddenly, the night illuminated like a supreme hand had flipped on all the lights. Two large patrol boats shot into stark relief directly in front of them.

  Their powerful searchlights swept across the water in threatening bands of brightness drawing ever closer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The twin patrol boats loomed out of the darkness. When the powerful search beams crossed and intersected on the small outboard dingy, Mike brought his arm up to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

  They knew we were coming.

  His gut roiled. There was no hope of escape. The lights illuminated the boat and everything around it in a fifty-yard radius. It was like standing on stage blinded by the footlights—revealed, naked, vulnerable. Sarah never turned around but Mike’s gut instinct was to reach forward and clamp a hand on her arm before she launched herself into the water. He knew she was about to do it even though not a twitch betrayed her intention.

  He knew because he had the same idea. She put her hand on top of his. He killed the motor and moved to sit behind her and hold her close.

  An hour later, they sat shivering in the lighted cabin of the boat of the Garda Siochàna, the Irish government’s national police. They were disarmed but not handcuffed. Before being taken aboard, they acknowledged that they were coming from Ireland, not Wales, although that seemed obvious enough with Ireland barely several hundred yards away.

  “Were you aware that it is illegal for an Irish National to travel to the United Kingdom?” the young Garda police officer asked.

  “Was it on the news channels?” Mike asked. “Because I might have missed it.”

  “Pretty cheeky, old fellow,” the officer said. “We’ve blanketed the surrounding area with leaflets and made several announcements in the villages.”

  “We don’t live near the coast,” Mike said.

  “Where are ye from then?” The officer narrowed his eyes.

  “I am from Jacksonville, Florida,” Sarah said. “And I’m almost positive the US doesn’t have a no-fly policy with the UK.”

  The Garda policeman turned to scrutinize Sarah. She could tell he was surprised by what she said but he made his mind up quickly what to do about it.

  “I’m sorry ye weren’t made aware of the new law,” he said, turning back to Mike. “But that’s no excuse for breaking it. We’ll be taking you to Dublin for further questioning.”

  “Are ye daft? Do ye think we’re takin’ state secrets to Wales for God’s sake?”

  Sarah could tell that mentioning states secrets had been an error in judgment on Mike’s part. That was clear from the way the police officer’s face took on an immediately worried look.

  “Secure them,” he said to his men as he turned and left the cabin.

  Sarah moved closer to Mike and took comfort in the strength of his arms around her.

  “It’s all right, love,” he murmured. “We’re going to be all right.”

  But what of John? As Sarah felt the boat turn and set its course northbound, she felt her loss well up inside her until she wanted to scream. Instead, she bolted from Mike to grab a nearby wastepaper basket and vomited noisily into it.

  *****

  No guns. No Jeep. No money. Just the clothes on their backs and their good word. Their good word made slightly less good by the fact that they were caught attempting to sneak across to Wales in the middle of the night.

  Sarah and Mike were marched off the boat in Dublin where they were met by three armed soldiers and a waiting SUV. At four in the morning, all lights of nighttime Dublin were gone as they drove from the harbor to the same government offices where they’d been just two days prior.

  This time there was a definitely sinister tone to the visit. The two police officers, dressed more like soldiers, didn’t speak, even though Mike repeatedly asked them where they were being taken. Eventually they arrived at the entrance to a maze of darkened government buildings and were taken to the second floor and down a long hall. Their two escorts led them through a door painted seasick green to match the walls then left and closed the door behind them without a word.

  Sarah waited several seconds and tried the door handle. They were definitely locked in. The room looked like an old-fashioned motel room with furnishings from the seventies. A queen-sized bed was jammed up against the wall and flanked by Scandinavian style nightstands with matching lamps on them.

  Sarah went to the bed and sat down. She turned the side lamp off and then back on.

  “They have electricity.”

  “Well, they would, wouldn’t they?” Mike said. He stood by the door as if not convinced they couldn’t somehow walk back through it. His pant legs were still wet from when he’d stepped into the sea hours earlier to launch them on their ill-fated mission. She patted the bed next to her.

  “Come sit. It’s late. We’re exhausted. Nothing to be done tonight.”

  She saw his shoulders heave like he was wrestling with a terrible decision.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t anything you did, Mike.” She went to him and put her hand on his arm.

  “I trusted the little weasel who turned us in.”

  She tugged at his jacket in an attempt to peel it off him. “We don’t know what tomorrow will bring or why we’re here. Let’s be as rested as we can be for whatever we’re in store for.”

  “What did that policeman mean by interrogating?”

  “I don’t know. But I know they’ll have
to answer to the US and even if that wanker ambassador isn’t here any more, they still have to deal straight with me. We’ll get all this sorted out in the morning. In fact, I’ve been thinking, Mike.”

  He dropped his jacket on the floor behind them and allowed her to pull him to the bed. “Oh, Lord, do I want to hear this?”

  “Since we obviously are not going to be able to do the crossing Mission Impossible style, we’ll do it through proper channels. I am an American looking for another American. The US will see to it that I’m able to cross to the United Kingdom. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it in the first place.”

  “You might have a point,” he conceded, kicking off his shoes. “There might be something to this going through proper channels thing.”

  “You think? Just for a change?” She smiled and pushed him down into a reclining position on the bed before slipping into his arms and placing her head on his chest.

  “You might have something, darlin’,” he said with a long sigh. Seconds later he was asleep. Sarah stayed still for a moment before standing and taking off her own jacket and shoes. Just before she slipped into bed next to her lightly snoring husband, she said a quiet prayer.

  Tomorrow, God. If you please. And we’ll all just forget this monstrosity of a night.

  The next morning, Mike and Sarah splashed water on their faces from the room sink—a luxury Mike hadn’t seen in four years—and readied themselves for whatever the day would bring. Sarah was determined to speak with any US representative besides cooks and secretaries who could help them get to Wales. This nonsense of them sneaking across the Irish Sea to get to Wales would be put in proper perspective as soon as the Irish authorities knew what the stakes were.

  Two soldiers knocked on their door at seven in the morning and escorted them back down the same hallway and down three flights of stairs to what appeared to be a subterranean level of offices. The halls had electric lights and the carpet looked new. Sarah decided to take this as a good sign—a sign that the city, or at least its provisional government, was righting itself, and the infrastructure needed to deal with an international incident was in place.

  There were no signs on any of the office doors that they passed. Sarah’s shoes were still wet from the night before and the dampness of her clothes chilled her, making her wish she could feel warm again. The two soldiers stopped at a double set of doors and rapped loudly against them before opening them and motioning for Mike and Sarah to enter.

  Inside was a small bleak lobby devoid of seating or wall decorations. The only furniture in the room was a metal desk, behind which sat a young man in suit and tie, whose long hair hung to his shoulders.

  “Right, you’re here. I’m Shane Sullivan. Mr. O’Reilly’s Junior Minister. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a seat but you won’t have to wait that long.”

  Sullivan had a pleasant face but large round eyes, giving him a slightly startled appearance. Sarah wondered if he’d been bullied a lot as a child.

  “And who the feck is Mr. O’Reilly?” Mike asked.

  To Sullivan’s credit, he looked Mike in the eye and answered, “Mr. O’Reilly is the Senior Minister of the provisional government of the Republic of Ireland.”

  “The Senior Minister?” Mike said. “What the feck is that? Do we not have a prime minister, for shite’s sake?”

  “We do not, sir,” Sullivan said. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to realize that we have endured many changes in the last four years. Not all of them bad.”

  “Shite. What are you? Sein Fein?”

  “As it happens, I am not, sir,” Sullivan said. “In fact, there are fewer parties than there was before.”

  “Well, since there were only two before, I’m guessing that means we’re down to one?” Mike said. “With no media, it’s easy enough to make all kinds of changes I’ll wager, but what are you in charge of? A country of people who can’t vote, don’t have running dunnies, and can’t even feed themselves.”

  “It’s still Ireland,” Sullivan said. He glanced at his watch. “Mr. O’Reilly will see you now.”

  “Actually,” Sarah said, stepping forward. “I’m an American national and I was hoping to see a representative from my country. I have a problem I need help with.”

  “We’ll do everything we can to help you, Mrs. Woodson.”

  “It’s Donovan,” Mike growled.

  Sarah was surprised that Sullivan knew of her, regardless of what her name was. Before she could react any further the door behind Sullivan opened and a tall man with flaming red hair stepped through. With the wiry red hair, he looked so much like Gavin that for one mad moment she thought it was him. Mike must have thought so too because he barely stifled a gasp.

  “Yes, of course it is,” the man said, extending his hand to Mike. “I’m Liam O’Reilly. Please come in.”

  Sullivan stepped out of the way so that Mike and Sarah could pass him and step into the adjoining office. Shane followed behind them and closed the door.

  “Please sit,” O’Reilly said as he returned to his desk. Sarah and Mike sat down in two chairs facing him. Sullivan stood against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

  “I’m hoping you can help me,” Sarah said. “It’s extremely important that I get to Wales. I have information that my son—my child—is there.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, Mrs. Donovan,” O’Reilly said. “But you’ll know that you’ve broken our laws here in this country, aye?”

  “Broken your…I am trying to find my son, Mr. O’Reilly,” Sarah said, fighting the urge to stand up and somehow make this man understand her.

  “I heard you, Missus,” O’Reilly said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me to do aside from commute your sentence.”

  “Jaysus, man!” Mike exploded. “Are ye serious? You’re arresting us?”

  “What part gave it away?” O’Reilly said impassively. “The escort by the Garda Sìochàna? As I’m reliably informed you have electricity and all the comforts of life-before-the-bomb at your compound.” He flipped open a file on his desk and jabbed at it with his index finger. “So I can’t imagine you’re here to enjoy our hospitality.” He looked from Mike’s stunned face to Sarah’s.

  “We’re here,” Sarah said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, “to ask your help in finding our children.”

  “You and everyone else in Ireland. You do know that your country is experiencing a significant economic crisis, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “They’ve pulled their presence from everywhere west of St George’s Channel.” He picked up a cellphone from his desk and glanced at the screen for a moment. “I’m sure I’ve the exact verbiage somewhere but suffice to say there is no United States presence in Dublin or Ireland or anywhere in the United Kingdom at the moment.”

  “I…I don’t believe you,” Sarah said, an incredulous look on her face.

  “As you like.”

  “My…I have US-secured funds in a bank here in—”

  “No.”

  Sarah looked away from O’Reilly to Mike and then back to O’Reilly.

  “There is no US-backed anything any more,” O’Reilly said. “All monies have been seized by the republic. We are facing several challenges—although perhaps not on the level of what the US is battling—foreclosures, recession, and the like—but at least they still have running vehicles, electricity and functioning grocery stores. You’ll notice that Ireland today has none of those?”

  “You took my money?”

  “Your money, Missus, was in this country at the indulgence of the Irish Republic. Am I right, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “You are,” Sullivan said.

  Sarah turned to Mike. She felt as if she’d been slammed in the stomach. Was it all gone? All the money? Any support from her country? Was that possible?

  “It’s all right, love,” Mike murmured, but his eyes glinted dangerously as if he was ready to erupt at any momen
t.

  “But what do we do now?” she said, ignoring the two politicians in the office.

  “What you do, Missus,” O’Reilly said, standing up and signaling for Sullivan to open the office door. “Is go back to wherever it is you came from and be glad you weren’t shot trying to cross to the United Kingdom. I can see you’re not looking too grateful at the moment and I hope that will change for your sakes.”

  “But our Jeep…” Sarah said, looking wildly about the office as if expecting to find their vehicle there somehow. “How are we to get home?”

  “If you’ve lost your vehicle—when millions have naught but a bicycle and glad for that—then it’s your own fault. Go home by putting one foot in front of the other or stay and I’ll change me mind about holding you for your attempt to illegally sneak off to a forbidden location.”

  “Can this be happening?” Sarah said softly to herself. Mike stood up and tugged her into a standing position.

  “Let’s go, Sarah. Looks like both our countries are done with us.”

  “Truer words, Mr. Donovan,” O’Reilly said, turning away to open a filing cabinet. “Truer words.”

  Sullivan escorted them to the hallway and gave instructions for the waiting pair of soldiers to accompany them out the main gate. Without a glance at Mike or Sarah, he returned to his office and closed the door. Sarah felt the strength in Mike’s hand on her elbow as he walked beside her. She was thinking of O’Reilly’s last words as she put one foot in front of the other until they found themselves walking down an outdoor tunnel of barbed wire leading to an exterior gate.

  It was still morning but the rain was cold and relentless. Mike led her to the first line of storefronts opposite the government complex where they stood under a narrow overhang to avoid the worst of the downpour. They watched their security detail return and disappear into the complex.

  Sarah knew she was shaking but wasn’t sure it was the cold and the wet or the fact that she was breaking down.

  “Now what?” she whispered. Mike held her in a warm one-armed embrace and kissed her hair.