Sea Devil

Chapter Eight

The rain came down in a fine, cold mist. But that didn’t deter Major Colin Stewart from walking the drafty ramparts of the castle, his afternoon ritual.

With his hands cocked behind the protective confines of his rain slicker, Stewart briefly halted when the distinctive booming blast of an artillery piece sounded a single time nearby. He didn’t have to look at his wristwatch to know that it was one p.m. As he glanced over the stone wall beside him, he could just make out Princess Street through the mist. The wide paved thoroughfare was crowded with buses, trucks, and automobiles.

On the sidewalks scurrying pedestrians continued on their ways, oblivious to the inclement weather.

Modern buildings lined this walkway, and the major knew that he was looking at the dynamic new face of the ancient city of Edinburgh.

A wet gust hit him square in the face, and he turned his back on it to continue his introspective stroll. The outside world took on a radically new perspective when viewed from the walls of the castle. It was almost as if time halted here, allowing one to see it as a continuous flowing stream, with the tides of history providing the current.

The major’s current concern was centered on the daring robbery attempt that had recently occurred here.

He had only just learned the identity of the young intruder who was shot to death during this attempt.

Army intelligence, with the help of Scotland Yard, was able to match the deceased’s fingerprints with those of one Patrick Callaghan of Belfast. The twenty-four-year old had a long record of criminal activity, starting at the age of fifteen, when he was convicted of petty larceny.

After a brief stay in a detention home, he was again arrested, this time at the age of seventeen, for car theft. This brought him a two-year prison term.

Callaghan served only eighteen months of this sentence.

Following his early parole, he began working as a lorry driver and stayed relatively free from trouble, except for a minor conviction for public drunkenness.

Yet it was most likely at this time that he joined the Irish Republican Army.

It was on the eve of his twenty-first birthday that he was arrested outside of Armagh with a truckload of stolen Armalite rifles and ammunition. An IRA informer revealed that Callaghan had been very active in the organization and had smuggled many more than one load of weapons over the border in the trucks he drove. Though this fact could never be proved, Patrick Callaghan was convicted of gun-running and sent to Long Kesh for a five-year term without the possibility of parole. While in prison, he met Bernard Loughlin, the founder of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. Originally formed as a militant offshoot of the IRA, the IRB was philosophically a Marxist organization with close ties to terrorist groups in Libya and the Middle East. When Loughlin escaped from Long Kesh, Patrick Callaghan was at his side; a helicopter swooped down and carried them off to safety. Both men had since been at large and were believed to have participated in a number of snipings, car bomb attacks, and robberies in both the Republic of Ireland and the north.

There was no doubt in Colin Stewart’s mind that Callaghan was a bad seed from the very beginning. He was just the type that terrorist organizations such as the IRB loved to recruit, and his premature demise was certainly no great loss. Yet what really bothered Stewart was the fact that such a renowned terrorist was currently doing his dirty deeds on Scottish soil. Except for a few minor incidents in the past, the Irish “troubles” hadn’t paid their country a visit.

Scotland was primarily populated by a conservative Protestant element. To the average Scot, the religious war that had been plaguing Northern Ireland for centuries was a wasteful, foolish mess, one they wanted no part of. Colin remembered well an incident that occurred in Edinburgh several years ago, when a trio of IRA sympathizers were loose in the city, trying to stir up public support for their cause. Spray-painted revolutionary slogans soon covered almost every vacant wall in the city. Yet when a young Welsh soldier was shot to death while hiking Arthur’s Seat and a car bomb was found inside a car parked outside the castle, the people had had enough. With a minimum of commotion, a committee was formed to deal with the problem.

And the very next morning, all three IRA agents were found hung by their necks from light standards behind Usher Hall. That was the supposed end of the troubles in Edinburgh.

Was Patrick Callaghan’s presence inside the walls of the castle the other night indicative of a change of terrorist policy? Colin Stewart shuddered to think of the consequences for Scotland if this was true. Until more intelligence information was received, he could only pray that this was an isolated incident. Perpetually short of money to fund their revolution, the IRB most probably thought they could get away with carrying off the Scottish crown jewels. But now one of their ranks lay cold in the morgue, the royal regalia still secure as ever in their resting place as they had been for hundreds of years past. Surely they got the message that such a fantastic operation was ill-conceived from the very start.

Sincerely hoping that this was the case, Colin Stewart climbed down to the rampants that graced the western walls of the castle. The mist had all but stopped now, and he could just make out the harbor area and the gray waters of the Firth of Forth in the distance.

When he was active in the SAS, anti-terrorist operations had been his specialty. He had been at the Iranian embassy in London on May 6, 1980, when the SAS interceded to save the lives of twenty-one frightened hostages. As a devout student of religious fanaticism, he understood the warped sense of values that such groups based their actions upon. The only way to control such an organization was to root it out at its very base. That’s why Stewart’s next great concern was tracking down Patrick Callaghan’s accomplice.

Somehow this individual had succeeded in escaping from the heretofore all but impregnable confines of Edinburgh Castle. He was last seen scurrying over the walls of the Half Moon battery, where a blood trail led them as far as the gatehouse. The sentries there reported sighting no trespassers. But unless he just disappeared into thin air, he managed to elude them and vanish into the surrounding city.

Stewart immediately notified the metropolitan police.

He then personally called the local hospitals and clinics, who spread the word to every doctor in the city to report the treatment of any suspicious gunshot wounds to the castle at once. When twenty-four hours passed and these efforts failed to show results, Stewart feared the worst.

Still not ready to throw in the towel just yet, he received permission from headquarters to expand the search. To determine his next move,

Stewart tried to think like his prey. Since he now knew that the man was most probably Irish, there could be only one place where he would be attempting to flee to, and that was home. Now the Highlander had only to figure out how the wounded terrorist would manage such a feat.

The only way he’d be able to return to Ireland was by sea or air. If he chose to travel by sea, there could be any number of places where he could depart from.

Stewart would begin by asking army intelligence to initiate a sweep of every port on the western shore of Scotland, with most of their effort to be centered on Glasgow. Certainly a wounded young Irishman was bound to draw some attention, especially if he utilized public transportation.

Plane travel would be a bit easier to monitor. Since there were only so many airfields in the vicinity, they could be intensively covered. Again they would concentrate their efforts at the major public airports in Glasgow, Prestwick, and Edinburgh. Here passenger manifests could be scrutinized and all flights to Ireland carefully screened.

Since there was always the possibility that he’d attempt chartering a small plane from a private field, Colin Stewart would ask assistance from the R.A.F. One of their Nimrod AWACS platforms was on continuous patrol over the Irish Sea and would have a taped record of every single flight headed westward. In this way they could track down any unauthorized aircraft that left Scotland without filing an official flight plan.

Though the possibilities were still very good that he would manage to escape their dragnet, Colin Stewart felt that it was absolutely necessary that they at least made the effort. A serious wrong had been done when one of the most hallowed shrines in all of Scotland had been violated. One of the perpetrators had already paid the ultimate price for this folly. And if Major Colin Stewart had anything to say about it, his accomplice would soon feel the iron hand of Scot justice also.

A little over two hundred miles to the southwest of Edinburgh castle lay the green rolling hills of County Caven in the northern portion of the Republic of Ireland.

Primarily made up of small farms. County Caven was a relatively poor district, where potatoes and lamb provided basic subsistence.

It was sixty-two years ago that a Belfast-based surgeon moved his new wife and infant son out of the city and into County Caven. He chose a two-hundredandfifty-acre plot of land outside the village of Cootehill on which to build his new home. No expense was spared on this estate, which included a magnificent manor house, barn, and several cottages for the help.

Here he planned to raise his newborn boy as a country gentleman, far away from the pollution and sectarian violence that had made Belfast all but uninhabitable.

No sooner was the last brick of the estate laid when the Great Depression hit Ireland with a vengeance. The surgeon had been planning to augment his medical practice by raising sheep and produce. But the new economic climate made such a dream impossible. After his savings were drained, he was forced to return in earnest to his old trade. He became a traveling country physician, going from village to village treating the sick, who most often could only pay him in trade goods, the setting of a broken leg costing a chicken and so forth. Meanwhile, his wife was charged with the vast responsibility of attempting to wring some sort of nominal existence from the land they had settled upon. As the years passed, she succeeded in this challenging endeavor, though the cost of this triumph drained her energy and ultimately broke her resolute spirit. was well into his forties, though no one knew his exact age for certain. One only had to take a close look at his face to know that he had seen much of life in his years. There were deep character lines etched on his cheeks, and with a black eye patch that covered his right eye and a long, brown ponytail, he almost resembled a modern-day pirate.

Bernard Loughlin was one of the original founders of the IRB, and one of the most ruthless men that the physician had ever met. Car bombs and snipings were his specialty. He had a callous disregard for human life, as long as it wore a British uniform. Yet he was a fair man in his own way, and a genius of strategy. He also knew how to judge a man’s character instantly and determine his worth to the cause. Together with Marie Barrett, who helped dictate political strategy, Bernard commanded a virtually invisible army of guerrilla warfare specialists, who yearly displayed their loyalty to the Brotherhood with a blood oath.

Though some of their methods were a bit distasteful, especially when the loss of innocent lives was concerned, Tyronne knew that this crudeness was but a temporary evil. The IRB was an army of change that wouldn’t lift its offensive until the goal was reached.

And since in any war loss of life was inevitable, they had to look beyond the bloody present to the day when all Ireland was one socialist state, united by the bonds of equality and brotherhood.

Proud to be a part of this movement, the physician followed the narrow earthen trail to the edge of the vegetable garden.

“Good morning to you, Marie Barrett. And what a lovely morning it truly is.”

The redhead looked up from the plant she was tending and returned the physician’s greeting.

“And a pleasant good morning to you. Doctor. Have you been out long?”

Tyronne leaned his wooden walking stick up against the white stone wall that surrounded the vegetable patch.

“Since sunrise, my dear. Even though I’ve been here almost three days, I don’t feel really at one with the place until I’ve properly walked the grounds. How are those tomatoes of yours coming along?”

Marie delicately picked off a stunted limb.

“I’ll be getting ready to tie them up to their sticks shortly.

They’re really growing, and this year we should have an excellent crop.”

“It’s that new variety that we imported from the States that’s done it my dear. That and your tender loving care of course.”

Marie smiled, then stood up straight and looked toward the house.

“I guess I should be checking on Sean. He was sound asleep when I poked my head in there earlier.”

“Good,” returned the physician.

“The lad needs his rest. Yet if we’re going to get any strength into him, we’re going to have to get him out of that bed eventually.

So come on, nurse, let’s see what we can do about it.”

Hand in hand the two innocently walked into the manor house. In the anteroom Tyronne removed his mud-stained boots and hung up his raincoat. Then he followed the redhead through the large kitchen and into the living room. This part of the house was decorated just like his mother had left it. The furniture here was a bit shabby with age, but still comfortable and functional. A twisting stairway took them to the second floor. Sean’s bedroom had been Tyronne’s as a child, and was set into the front portion of the house facing the meadow. They entered and found their patient propped up in bed with his vacant stare focused out the open window.

“Good morning. Scan. It’s a glorious morning out there,” greeted the physician.

Sean’s voice was hoarse and heavy.

“I was just thinking about Patrick again. He knew all the time that he didn’t have a chance of getting out of there. Yet he stood his ground all the same, and sprayed those damn Brits with bullets so that I could make good my own escape. If our situations had been reversed, I wonder if I could have met death so boldly.”

“Of course you would have, lad,” offered the physician.

“But as it turned out, fate had other plans for you. Patrick Callaghan was a good boy, and it’s a damn shame that he had to be taken from us. But he’s not the first and he won’t be the last to give up his life for the Brotherhood. So quit your selfish brooding, and start thinking about how you’re going to use this second chance at life to best advantage.”

This compassionate speech hit home, and Sean turned his glance away from the window.

“You’re right, Doc. I guess I should be grateful just to be here.”

“Damn right,” retorted the physician firmly.

“And one other thing, lad — if I were you, I’d be saying a little prayer of thanks for those wonderful parents of yours. Why, you’ve got your own mother’s blood pumping through your body, and if it wasn’t for your father, I would have never been there in time to save you.”

The mere mention of his father caused an introspective grin to crease Sean’s face.

“So the old fool finally came through.”

Tyronne Blackwater shook his head in disagreement.

“Liam Lafferty may be simple in his ways, but he’s a fine man in his own right. You should be very proud of him, lad, especially when you see with your own eyes the great gift he fished from the seas for us.”

Puzzled by this statement, Scan looked to Marie for clarification.

“What do you mean by that?”

The redhead teasingly smiled.

“Why don’t you come out to the barn and see for yourself. Do you think he can make it. Doc?”

“I don’t see why not,” answered the physician.

“It wasn’t one of his legs that was almost shot off.”

Determined to find out what they were talking about, Sean struggled to sit up straight. His heavily bandaged shoulder made this simple movement an effort, and Marie was quickly at his side to lend him a hand.

“Come on, Sean. It will do you good to stretch your legs and get some fresh air,” prompted the redhead.

Sean removed his legs from beneath the covers, then remembered he was wearing only a t-shirt. Marie caught a quick glimpse of his naked torso and turned to get his pants for him.

“Come on, soldier. Since when are you the shy type?

After all, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Sean managed to get into his sweatpants on his own, and after slipping into some thongs, attempted to stand. It was at this point that he was overcome by a wave of dizziness. Alertly his escorts scrambled to his side to steady him.

“Breathe deeply, lad. This spell is only natural. It’s nothing to worry about,” offered the physician.

Sean filled his lungs with air, and just as quickly as it arrived, the spell passed. He nodded that he was fine, and even took a few tentative steps on his own to prove it.

“There’ll be no keeping you down now, Sean Lafferty,” observed Marie playfully.

By the time they descended the stairway and crossed through the living room, Sean’s stride had a new sense of confidence to it. It was as they began their way through the kitchen that his old personality began to show.

“You don’t suppose that there’d be a nice ice cold bottle of Guinness in the fridge, would you now?”

Tyronne Blackwater gave the redhead a sly wink as he answered.

“It’s a wee early for that, lad. Perhaps we’ll talk about that a bit later. But once we return from the barn, Marie will be happy to make you a hearty breakfast. Won’t you, my dear?”

The redhead nodded.

“Just name it and it’s yours, Sean.”

Sean seductively eyed the redhead’s curvaceous body.

“Well, since you’re offering, it has been a pretty long time.”

Not certain if he was joking or not, the physician interceded.

“I don’t know what’s worse for you, Sean Lafferty, a Guinness, or what naughtiness you have on your mind.”

“Well, Doc, you have been saying all along that I have to start thinking about getting back to my normal self once more,” offered Sean, who followed Marie out into the courtyard.

“Oh, to be young once again,” mumbled the physician as he continued outdoors himself.

A brick pathway took them past a large fish pond that was covered with lily pads. As they approached the entrance to the barn, Dr. Blackwater sped up to lead the way inside. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and inserted it into the padlock recessed in the barn’s front door. It triggered with a click, and the old-timer proceeded to pull the door open.

Sean Lafferty really didn’t know what to expect as he followed his two escorts inside. As the lights were switched on, he spotted a large stack of peat. Stored behind these squared segments that would be used as fuel were dozens of wooden crates. Upon closer examination, Sean could see that each container had the official RUC seal on it. The Royal Ulster Constabulary were the local police force of Northern Ireland, and as Sean spotted the inventory list stenciled on the sides of each crate, he couldn’t help but shake his head in wonder.

Crates of M-16 rifles lay on top of a container holding Browning M-60 machine guns and endless rounds of ammunition. An even larger storage container held a 90-mm recoilless rifle.

“Ah, our spoils from the Newry raid,” observed the wounded terrorist.

“This is the first time I’ve seen it all together like this, and it certainly is a sight to behold.”

“It’s more than that,” broke a deep voice from behind.

“It’s the future destiny of Ireland.”

Sean pivoted in time to see the tall, gaunt individual from whose lips these words were uttered enter the barn. Bernard Loughlin had a red bandana tied around his forehead, and wore a stained sweatshirt with the seal of the University of California at Berkeley embossed on it. With fluid strides he walked to Sean’s side, looked him over with his good eye, and then reached out to hug him.

“Comrade, it’s good to see you up like this,” welcomed the IRB’s co-founder.

“When I last saw you, you were in such a weakened state that you didn’t even recognize me as I carried you up to your bed. And now just look at you, well on your way to a full recovery.”

“Thanks to all of you,” Sean added humbly.

“I believe it was a Japanese philosopher who once said, You only live twice. Once when you’re born, and once when you look death in the face. I, too, have come back from a serious combat wound like yours, Sean, and understand how confusing it is for you right now. Why I bet you’ve been up there tormenting yourself, trying to figure out why it was Patrick who was taken and not you.”

“How did you know?” Sean asked, astonished.

Bernard Loughlin grinned slyly.

“You’re forgetting that you’re talking to someone who has already looked death in the face, Comrade. So enough of your soul searching

Your mere presence here is reason enough to celebrate, even if your mission wasn’t a successful one.”

“I still say that it was a daft idea from the very start,” reflected the physician.

“Let’s not get into that again!” countered Bernard Loughlin firmly.

“We tried and we failed, it’s as simple as that.”

“At least our goal was clear,” offered Marie.

“If we were able to acquire the crown jewels, the enemy would be on their knees right now, begging to get them back.”

“How very ironic it is that soon they’ll be in this very same position, even without those jewels,” said the one-eyed terrorist.

Noting that Sean didn’t seem to know what he was talking about, Bernard turned to address the physician.

“Has he been told about our find yet?”

“We were just about to show him when you arrived,” answered Dr. Blackwater.

“Good,” retorted Bernard.

“I’m eager to see his face when he sees the object his own father was responsible for bringing to us.”

The ponytailed terrorist beckoned Sean to join him beside the crate containing the recoilless rifle. There was a large object covered by a green tarp on a pallet.

Not until all three members of his audience were gathered around him did Bernard pull off the tarp. Exposed for all to see was a seven-foot-long cylindrical canister that had a set of stubby iron fins mounted on its tail.

“Is that a bomb?” Sean asked.

Bernard’s good eye sparkled as he breathlessly answered.

“That it is, Sean. But don’t mistake it for just an ordinary piece of ordnance. For the device that you see before you has just made the Irish Republican Brotherhood into a nuclear superpower!”

“Are you saying it’s an atomic bomb?” queried Sean.

“Why, that’s impossible. Come off it. This is a practical joke, isn’t it?”

Bernard’s expression was deadly serious as he responded to this.

“No, it isnt a joke. Comrade. Doctor, why don’t you explain how this device came into our possession.”

The physician cleared his throat and proceeded to relate to Sean the story of Liam Lafferty’s incredible discovery in the waters of the Irish Sea. As Dr.

Blackwater concluded this tale, Bernard added, “I’ve got to admit I didn’t believe it myself when the Doc first called me. But then I did a little checking around with our contact at Royal Navy headquarters at Northwood, and this is what I learned. On the very night that your father witnessed the flash in the sky that he reported and then pulled this device on board, an American B-52 Stratofortress collided with another aircraft while initiating an in-flight refueling. Both planes went down in the Irish Sea, and as best as we can learn, the B-52 was carrying a load of four atomic bombs at the time. Two of these weapons were subsequently found by the Yanks, while Liam Lafferty pulled in the one you see before us. Now, I know this tale sounds incredible, Sean, but you have my word that it’s God’s honest truth.”

With his gaze still locked on the shiny steel canister, Sean stuttered, “I still can’t believe it. My own father pulled an atomic bomb from the sea without anyone but us knowing about it? Why, its absolutely amazing!”

“Don’t forget that he’s still under the impression that it’s a piece of a satellite,” said Dr. Blackwater.

“And he’s relying on me to negotiate a suitable reward.”

“We’ll pay him handsomely for his efforts, sure enough,” offered Bernard.

As the reality of this extraordinary tale began to sink in. Scan dared to vent his curiosity completely.

“Taking it for granted that what you say is true, may I ask what in the hell the Brotherhood plans to do with this thing? If it really is an A-bomb, it could kill millions!”

“We realize that,” said the doctor.

“And before we go and rush into anything drastic, we’re taking a long, hard look at our alternatives.”

“Alternatives?” repeated Bernard.

“I thought I made myself absolutely clear in this matter. Doctor. Because as far as I’m concerned, there are no alternatives. This bomb is a blessing from above, and it will be used where it can inflict the greatest amount of injury on our sworn enemy, that being English soil!”

“I beg to differ with you,” countered Tyronne Blackwater.

“What you’re talking about using here is the most powerful explosive device ever created by man. If it was to detonate right now, half of County Caven would be incinerated, with the resulting radioactive fallout poisoning the land for a thousand years to come.

To set it off in a city the site of London would cause untold havoc. There’s no telling how many innocents, and how many IRB supporters, would die from the resulting blast, firestorm, and fallout. And don’t forget, this same radiation will be borne on the winds and will settle down in Europe, the Soviet Union, and even in Ireland itself. That alone will be enough to quickly turn the world community against our cause for all time to come.”

“I’m not talking about setting it off in London,” returned Bernard.

“What I had in mind was an isolated military installation.”

“Why do we have to detonate it at all?” asked Marie.

“If you ask me, the mere fact that we possess the bomb is enough to blackmail the Brits into meeting our demands and then some.”

Bernard thought about this for a moment.

“That’s an interesting plan, comrade, but any blackmail attempt involves some degree of trust between the parties involved. And when the Brits and the Yanks learn that we have the bomb, they’ll come down on us so fast that we’ll never know what hit us.”

“If we’re not going to blackmail them with it, and it won’t be exploded in London, just what do you plan to do with the bomb, Bernard?”

The one-eyed terrorist intently scanned the faces of his audience as he answered.

“Actually, I’ve been pondering that same question ever since I learned the exact nature of this device, and so far this is what I’ve come up with. It was released in the papers last week that the Brits will be christening their first Trident-missile carrying submarine six days from now. This celebration will be taking place in Scotland, at the Falsane naval installation on Gare Loch. As befitting such a christening, the Queen and the Royal Family will be attending the launching. What I propose is to spoil their little party by sneaking the bomb into Gare Loch and having it detonate just as the Queen smashes that bottle of champagne over the sub’s bow.”

Briefly halting at this point to allow his shocked audience a moment to digest this, Bernard continued, this time with a hint of passion in his tone.

“Just think of it. Comrades. With one mighty blast, we’ll rid the earth of not only one of the deadliest armadas of nuclear submarines to ever sail the seas, but the Royal Family as well!”

“Good heavens, Bernard!” managed Dr. Blackwater, who shook his head in amazement.

Marie Barrett was shocked into speechlessness. Beside her, Sean’s brow narrowed in deep thought.

“I must admit, that’s an incredible plan, Bernard,” said Sean.

“And though it all sounds amazingly simple, I have two questions for you. How do you plan to sneak the device into Gare Loch, and just how does one go about detonating a bomb such as this one?

Surely there’s a protective lock on it of some type to keep it from going off either by accident or by unauthorized hands such as our own.”

“Sean’s got a good point there,” added the doctor.

“I believe the lock he’s talking about is called a PAL, or Permissive Action Link. Supposedly the only way for a nuclear bomb to be armed is by a special code relayed by the United States President in times of crisis.”

Bernard wasted no time with his reply.

“That may very well be. Doctor. But as Sean here so astutely observed, first we have to get the device into Gare Loch, which just so happens to be across the Firth of Clyde from Glasgow Harbor. If I remember correctly, isn’t that oceangoing tug that we recently purchased to assist us in our gun-running operations still being kept for us at the docks there?”

“That it is, Bernard,” answered the physician.

“As you know, I handled the transaction myself. The vessel is registered in my name, and it will be kept in Glasgow Harbor until a more suitable location is found for it.”

“Then can any of you think of a more suitable platform on which to bring the bomb into Gare Loch?”

offered Bernard with a sly grin.

“Since the tug still carries Scottish papers and is home-ported nearby, no one should question its presence in the Firth of Clyde on the day of the christening. And who could blame its skipper for wanting to get as close as possible to Falsane to see all the festivities? Surely other surface craft will have similar ideas, and the authorities will have then” hands full keeping all of them at a proper distance.

“Now, as to getting the bomb to explode once we get it there… since it’s obvious that we just can’t connect a fuse to the device and detonate it that way, we’re going to need the services of an expert. You all know about the new nuclear power station that the Republic is building outside of Dublin. Last year, when the ecologists were raising such a fuss about it, I re172 member hearing the project’s director speak regarding the nuclear industries safety record. The chap was bright and incredibly persuasive, and it was his dynamic personality more than anything else that helped save the project from certain defeat. I was so impressed that I did a little background check on him.

“His name’s Dr. John Maguire. He was originally born in Shannon, yet he was schooled almost exclusively in the States. He got his undergraduate degree at MIT and his doctorate in nuclear physics at Cal Tech.

After graduation, he went to work for the Sandia Corporation.

This company is one of the world’s major designers of nuclear weapons, and I was somewhat surprised at the time that the Americans would allow an Irish citizen to be employed in such a sensitive position.

Supposedly Maguire was disillusioned with the weapons business and took the position in Dublin as soon as it was offered to him.

“Though I doubt we can count on the good doctor merely to volunteer his services, I believe we’ll be able to convince him that it will be in his best interests to do so. They say he’s quite the family man, and practically lives for his wife and two young daughters. Now do you suppose he’d be willing to share the secret of the bomb in exchange for his dear family’s safety?”

“It sounds as if you have this entire operation pretty well thought out,” commented Sean.

“I still don’t like it,” offered Tyronne Blackwater.

“Nuclear weapons always have scared the death out of me. With the radiation and all, there are just too many unknown factors, and I say the risks outweigh the benefits.”

Disappointed with this response, Bernard turned his attention to the only female present.

“And what about you, Marie?”

The redhead hesitated a moment before offering her opinion.

“I must admit that it does sound tempting.

With the Royal Family out of the way and the submarine base obliterated, the Brits will be devastated. And then it will be the IRB that will be negotiating from a position of power.”

“I agree,” said Sean.

“Even if we don’t come right out and take responsibility for the blast, we merely have to follow it with our planned summer offensive. With all the new weapons at our disposal, we’ll attack every single British military installation in Northern Ireland.

Those poor Brits will be numbed by the loss of their beloved Royal Family, and I doubt they’ll be in much of a mood for fighting. In fact, I bet public sentiment will just say the hell with it, and Parliament will give in to our demands just to get us out of their hair.”

Bernard nodded.

“My sentiments exactly, Sean. This gift your father fished from the sea for us will soon enough take the fight out of them. That I can guarantee you. So if there’s no further discussion, I say let’s get on with it. Six days isn’t a hell of a lot of time to get an operation of this magnitude underway, and I’m going to need the full cooperation of each one of you to pull it off.

“Marie, I want you to take off for Dublin at once.

Find out all you can about Dr. John Maguire’s family life. I’ve got a feeling that some of the lads will soon be paying the good doctor a little visit.

“And you’re going to have to carry your weight also, Sean — wound or no wound. I’d like you to be responsible for intelligence on the Falsane naval installation.

We’re going to need to know its exact layout, and just where the Trident christening is going to take place. If you’ll just follow me over to the house, I’ll show you the charts of the area that I’ve already managed to lay my hands on.”

“Come on, 111 go with you,” offered Marie.

“Besides, I’d better get some food into that stomach of yours, Sean, or you’ll be of no use to us whatsoever.

Are you coming, Doctor?”

The physician heavily sighed.

“I’ll be joining you in a moment. You go ahead while I lock up the place.”

The three terrorists left the barn, leaving the owner of Cootehill House alone before the steel-encased, torpedo-like cylinder. With his eyes locked on the bomb, the weary physician mumbled softly to himself.

“Liam Lafferty, my friend, now I’m not so certain that what you pulled from the sea was such a blessing after all.”