“No, I’ll go as a janitor. When we were at the hospital, I saw the maintenance rooms are unlocked. I nicked shirt and trousers from the maintenance man at the seminary. They’re the same color as the hospitals. I get me a bucket and mop and make my way to the Father’s room and I pull out this,” Dylan said holding up a handgun.
“And what, you’re going to kill everyone in the room with that and shoot your way out of there?” Emily asked staring at the gun.
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Dylan said.
“And what of the police? You think they’ll just sit by and let you kill everyone?”
“It’s the element of surprise, isn’t it? They won’t expect a bold attack. I kill the security guard, they don’t have guns here anyway, then kill the priest and leg it out of there into the crowd after I’ve changed clothes.”
“And where am I supposed to be? How do I cover you? We’ve only one gun.”
“You stay here, wait for my call. Then we’ll call our minder and get our pickup and we’re out of here. I hear Las Vegas is warm this time of year. We’ll get some new identities, and you, my lovely, will be drinking margaritas by the pool come Sunday.”
“But I need to be with you,” Emily whined.
“No, the two of us together will stand out too much. I’ll leave early in the morning and take the back streets on foot to the hospital. I’ll go in the back entrance. They have security at the front but not the loading dock. By ten o’clock I’ll be ready when all the visitors come to the hospital.”
Emily sighed. “You’ve got it all planned. But I think its suicide. Why can’t we just make a run for it now.”
“Because we’ll be killed by our people back home. You know what master said if we failed. And, besides, do you want to jeopardize the life we have been promised?”
“You mean all that crazy talk of us being the heirs of the new world, that we have the blood of the ancients of Ireland in our veins? Look Dylan, I might have believed that once when we were kids, but I’m getting older now. This whole mission has been a cock up. I’m getting tired of it.”
“We’re close to the finish. Be strong my love,” Dylan said. He reached across the table and kissed her hard on the lips.
21
Bernadette came out of the bathroom wearing her t-shirt. She lay down beside Chris in bed and put her head on his chest. “That was a memorable family dinner, don’t you think?”
Chris kissed the top of her head. “No blood was spilled, so I’d say it was a success.”
“What did you think of that crap of me being the daughter of an Irish Gypsy?”
Chris blew out a breath. “I don’t know if there is a way to be sure other than to do a DNA test.”
“Like you did? What if Cahal is right, that I’m one hundred percent Irish? Do you know that means my father and mother smuggled me into Canada and falsified my records? That is the record I used to get into the police force.”
“Why not cross that bridge when we come to it. I just happened to have ordered a DNA kit for you and it came in the mail today,” Chris said. He reached into the nightstand beside him and pulled out a box.
Bernadette opened the box and pulled out the tube. “That’s it? What do you do with it?”
“You spit,” Chris said. “You see that line there, you spit all the way up to that, and you’re done. We send it in and in several weeks, we find out just how you arrived on the planet. What’d you think?”
“Do I really want to know?”
“Can you live with the uncertainty? You know you’re like a cat with a ball of string when it comes to things like this. This will gnaw at you forever.”
Bernadette looked at the tube. “You’re absolutely right. It’s the only way to know. But what if find out that he’s right, that I’m not my mother’s daughter? That I’ve been living a lie for all my life?”
“You mean like me finding out I’m mostly Israeli and Jewish?” Chris asked with a chuckle.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. How are you taking that?” Bernadette asked as she rubbed his chest.
“I’m fine with it. One of my new cousins informed me on Facebook that they survived the holocaust mainly because they spoke Greek and blended in, so the Nazi didn’t take them off to the camps in Europe.”
“Wow, you have one hell of a past. Have you told your mother yet?” Bernadette asked.
“I’m going to call her in the morning and tell her about our wedding plans. She’s going to make a big stink about the wedding not being in Toronto and how we need to be in big hall with two hundred Greeks. I’m going to tell her I have a couple of cousins coming from Greece—one of them is a Rabbi,” Chris said with a deep chuckle.
“You think that’s kind of cruel?”
“No, my mother has been pretty cold blooded when it comes to you and my entire life. It’s time I took control and live my own life. She’ll have to deal with it.”
Bernadette looked at the clock. “It’s getting late. We’d best get some sleep. I’m doing some work tomorrow in tracking our suspects.”
“Oh, yeah, there’s one more thing I forgot to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I got a call from your detachment today. They said they are really short of personnel right now and asked if I’d pull some guard duty at the hospital tomorrow.”
“What? Did you accept?”
“Well, yeah. Your force is run off their feet searching for suspects and they could use the officers at the hospital for the streets.”
“But they have security officers at the hospital.”
“None of them are authorized to carry a weapon. I’ve been out of the RCMP for only a year, so my qualifications are still valid.”
“Well, if it’s what you want. Who’s taking care of Cahal tomorrow?”
“Harvey will keep an eye on him, your grandmother is fine on her own, and I could use some time away from all of them.”
Bernadette laughed. “You know, you’re right. You’ve been doing all the heavy lifting at home. I really appreciate it.”
“Really,” Chris said, moving his hand down her back and massaging her buttocks.
“Okay, that’s going to get you laid, you know that, right, big guy?”
“I was hoping it would.”
Bernadette sat up, pulled off her t-shirt and pulled the covers over them.
22
Dublin 8 A.M
Ronan Bronaugh stepped out of the back of his chauffer driven Bentley onto the curb. A light rain was falling. His chauffer held an umbrella for him as he walked to the door of the Westin Hotel.
He frowned at the attention of the chauffer; no self-respecting Irishman needed an umbrella unless it was a monsoon type rain. But a good chauffer was hard to come by and this one was worth the mild annoyance.
The doorman opened the door with a tip of his hat and Ronan made his way to the Moreland Grill where he’d reserved a quiet table. As it was Saturday and the business crowd wouldn’t be there, he’d be assured of privacy.
The manager of the Grill took his coat and hat and led him to his table. Ronan Bronaugh was sixty-three years old, tall, good-looking, twice married with no children and one of the richest men in Ireland. He’d made his millions first in pharmaceuticals and parlayed that into billions in the genetic sciences. Currently, several newspapers accused his company, Odin Genetics, of ‘playing god with our genes;’ he loved the sound of that. He had the newspaper column placed in a glass frame on the wall in his office.
Brandon Millhouse, a thin man with thick glasses and wispy brown hair, sat hunched at his table. He rose with a halfhearted attempt to greet Ronan but did a bad job of it and sat back down again.
“Mr. Bronaugh, always a pleasure,” Millhouse said in his nasally upper-class British accent.
“Yes,” Ronan replied. He disliked Millhouse intensely. Not just that he was always ill at ease and looked like a frightened rabbit that might bolt at a moment’s notice, but that he was English, the very people
his forefathers had fought to keep the south of Ireland free. But Millhouse was the best accountant there was. If you wanted to keep your fortune hidden from the prying eyes of the taxman, then Millhouse could sink it deeper and keep it more hidden than any accountant he’d ever known.
A waiter brought them menus and Ronan waved him away.
“I have made the deposits you requested,” Millhouse said.
“What’s the total?” Ronan asked
“One billion.”
“Is there any way it can be traced?”
“I washed it through several of your other companies,” Millhouse said.
“You’ve done an excellent job. Please take your usual fee.”
“Yes, of course. Is there anything else you’ll need?”
“No, that will be all for the moment. On your way out, would you tell the gentlemen sitting in the lobby I’ll see him now,” Ronan said.
Millhouse didn’t flinch at being so abruptly dismissed by Ronan; that was his usual style. He used him for his knowledge of how to transfer money. He got up from the table, nodded slightly, and left.
Ronan motioned for the waiter to bring two coffees to the table.
A well-dressed man in his mid-fifties joined him at the table. He was well groomed with an aquiline nose and high cheekbones. He carried himself as if he thought he was much more than he was, or wished he were.
“Mr. Bronaugh, thank you for seeing me,” Brendan Shannon said.
“How are things in parliament these days?” Ronan asked as he rose and shook his hand. “I took the liberty of ordering you a coffee.”
“Thank you, much appreciated,” Brendan said as he sat at the table.
The waiter dropped off menus, and they ordered the Sunday special and stirred their coffees.
“The wife and children are well, I hope?”
“They are splendid, thank you for asking,” Brendan replied. He stirred his coffee and wondered what Ronan was getting at as he was never this cordial.
Ronan looked around him. “Now, listen carefully, I’ve sunk a lot of money into your campaign and your party and presently I do not see the votes in the house going our way. What’s it going to take? Just who else do we need to pay off?”
“The bill you’re asking for is very controversial,” Brendan replied. “I have the religious right up in arms. They see the bill as playing God with genetics. I think I can get it through wrapped in the new protection bill.”
“I need that bill made law. Don’t you see that allowing us to edit the human embryo will not only eliminate disease for all mankind but also eradicate violence? What we’re doing here in Ireland will be the vanguard of a new world for humanity. You will be hailed as a hero when the results are seen. They’ll be calling for you to lead your party, and all of Ireland will want you as Prime Minister.”
Brendan couldn’t help but blush. “That is indeed a happy scenario. However, it will be a hard road to get there.”
The waiter brought their breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and tomatoes. Ronan bit into a piece of toast and sipped his coffee. His eyes regarded Brendan for a few beats.
“There are always hard roads. But I selected you to get this done, and get it done you will. The vote happens in ten days. All of Ireland will be watching you. I will be watching you,” Ronan said.
“With all the troubles re-igniting in the North, it’s been hard to concentrate on these things.”
“Then you must press parliament that when the new DNA law is in, we will start a worldwide campaign of eradicating violence from human genetics. It’s in the research. Wrap that in your protection bill, this country and all countries will be safe from violence forever.”
“Yes, of course, I’ll see it gets done,” Shannon replied. He’d suddenly lost interest in his breakfast.
“Excellent. Now, I must be off. I look forward to your results,” Ronan said. He got up, threw some euros on the table, and walked out.
Brendan Shannon watched him leave and wondered just what he’d got himself into. There was a saying about being in league with the devil, but to Brendan, being in league with Ronan Bronaugh could be worse.
Ronan walked to his car. His chauffer had left it idling by the curb. Sitting in the back of the car was John Dunne. He was in his mid-fifties, heavy set with dark features and a broad forehead and bushy eyebrows that overshadowed two blue-green eyes that missed nothing.
He’d become Ronan’s chief officer of security. He’d spent time in the Irish Army in the special operations force then did some of his own private security work. When Ronan wanted something or someone taken care of, John Dunne made it happen in a matter that left no details. John would say, “They won’t see a ripple in the water when I’m finished.”
Ronan liked that about him. He slid into the back seat and nodded to the driver. The Bentley moved into traffic and made its way down the street.
“Good morning, Mr. Bronaugh,” John said. “Here are a copy of the reports.”
John handed Ronan a one-page piece of paper with the recent troubles in Northern Ireland. Most of it was a recap of the news. There was nothing incriminating to his company in it.
“Is there anyway this could come back to us?” Ronan asked.
John shook his head. “Every cell that is operating knows nothing of the others. They believe they are working for an ancient ancestry sect, set up by the figurehead you arranged.”
“What about the priests who were writing their memoirs?”
“I have a team working on it. They’ll have it taken care of.”
“Very well, excellent job.”
Ronan motioned for his driver to pull to the curb. Dunne was about to get out of the car then stopped and turned to Ronan. “I’m a bit concerned about the man you have acting as the leader of the sect.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, for one, I’ve never seen his face, I have no idea who he is, and he seems to be demanding more loyalty from the followers. He might be going too far in some of his reprimands with them. I hate to see him maim or kill some of them. A waste of talent,” Dunne said.
“Just leave that to me, Dunne. I have the situation in hand. Just ramp up the cells, bring hell fire to the island in the form of the Troubles, and I’ll have my company goals put in place,” Ronan said.
“Aye sir, let loose the dogs of war then?”
“Yes, those are my orders.”
Dunne stepped out of the car and onto the street.
Ronan sat back in his seat and thought about the recent events. He was setting everything in motion. If everything went as planned, he would become one of the most powerful men, not just in Ireland but also in the world.
He felt the ancient DNA in his veins. His heritage was linked to the kings of not only Ireland but of the Nordic realms. He was destined for greatness. His ancestors would have nothing less.
23
Dylan hadn’t slept. He’d lain in bed beside Emily and kept hearing the house creaking as if someone was walking about. He’d taken his gun and walked into the living room several times. The old woman had stared at him with unblinking eyes. She didn’t seem afraid of him. That bothered him. He couldn’t wait to leave.
He now sat in the kitchen watching an old electric clock on the wall sweep its second hand around the face of a sun, a moon, and a rooster. He hated the clock.
Emily came into the kitchen. “Are you going then?”
“Yes, it’s almost five. I want to walk there through the back alleys in the dark.”
“What will you do if the police stop you?”
“I’m wearing my janitor uniform, aren’t I? But I’ll keep my face covered with this balaclava. It’s so deathly cold outside no one will notice.”
Emily looked at the window at the outside thermometer; it was so old it still registered in Fahrenheit. “Bloody hell, it’s minus fifteen degrees, you’ll freeze your bleeding arse off well before you get there.”
“No worries, love, I found some long underwe
ar that woman’s husband must have used. The stuff is wool. And I found this old parka in the basement,” Dylan said holding up a ski parka with a Swedish flag on it.
Emily tousled his hair. “Be careful, okay? And promise me something?”
“What’s that?”
“That you’ll get right close to him before you shoot. Last time you were shite!” Emily said, making her hand like a gun and pointing it to Dylan’s head.
Dylan shook his head in disgust, finished his tea, put his other clothes in a packsack he’d found in the basement and stuffed the gun in his jacket pocket.
Emily hugged him and kissed him hard. “Be careful. Shoot the bastard quick and run like fock, you hear me?”
“Aye, here’s to that. Keep your phone close by. Mine’s good and charged, I’ll call you or text you when I’m done. I may have to hide out for a bit. I saw some places by the river I might use. I’ll let you know how it goes,” Dylan said.
He slung his pack over his back, pulled his balaclava over his face then covered his head with his parka hood.
“You look like you’re about to trek to the North Pole,” Emily said as he went out the door.
After he left, she went in to check on Anna. She was lying there with her eyes closed. As Emily approached, she opened her eyes.
“Do you need to pee, then?”
Anna nodded and Emily took off her bonds and led her to the bathroom, then into the kitchen for tea.
“Your man’s gone then?” Anna asked.
“Yeah, he’s gone to do some business.” Emily replied.
Dylan walked quickly down the dark alley to the main road where the street lamps threw pools of light to guide his way. His feet made a crunching sound on the snow. He’d never heard anything like that before in his life. And he’d never been so cold.
His phone’s GPS showed a thirty-eight-minute walk of three point two kilometers over the Taylor Bridge. He took a longer route over Fifty Avenue Bridge. It was longer but less open.
Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5) Page 12
