Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “Last night, Missus,” Archie said, holding his cap in his hands. “They told me the terrible news…about both lads. I’m that sorry.”

  “Mike and I are leaving today.” Sarah looked again at Mike for confirmation. But Mike was frowning and watching the old man’s face.

  “I’ve asked Archie to stay on,” Mike said. “Dec can use the help. I’ve told him all about the mad bastards in the woods.”

  “I’ll make tea,” Sarah said. “You can stay in our cottage while we’re gone.”

  “I thank you, Missus,” Archie said.

  “Call me Sarah.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a tray of tea mugs and milk and sugar.

  “You’ve changed the place quite a bit since I were here last,” Archie said. He looked uncomfortable sitting on the couch. Sarah hadn’t been here when it all went to hell that time. When the smoke cleared, Archie’s two sons Colin and Cedric and his daughter Caitlin were dead. Sarah could not imagine how painful returning to the place of their deaths must be for him.

  Why had he come back?

  “Archie’s spent the last year fishing off the coast of Wales,” Mike said. “That’s a hard life,” he said to Archie.

  “Aye. But it suited me,” Archie said. “It helped me come out of that time. Work. It’ll be the saving of ye. That’s what I always told me boys.” He stopped and looked down at his hands.

  Sarah poured the tea into the cups. She didn’t want to have tea. She wanted to saddle the horses. Or had Mike decided that taking the Jeep was a better idea?

  “I might have a scone or something in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” she said.

  “Archie’s come to us with news,” Mike said, giving Sarah a deliberate look as if he were trying to tell her something without speaking. A splinter of anxiety wedged between her shoulder blades and she looked at the old man.

  “What kind of news?” she asked tersely.

  A sudden knock at the door made all three of them jump.

  “Donovan! We need you! Now!”

  Sarah was afraid of this. She stood and grabbed Mike’s sleeve. Nothing must stop them from leaving today. He knew that. There would always be some crisis or another.

  “Let Declan deal with it,” she said.

  Mike patted her hand and went to open the front door. Declan stood on the porch with four other men. Sarah didn’t recognize two of them. They must be men from the village.

  “Look, Dec, I told you—” Mike began.

  “I heard what you fecking told me,” Declan said. “But it won’t wash. The whole place is in an uproar, man. A fecking uproar!”

  “And if it is,” Mike said heatedly, stepping out onto the porch, “it’ll be because you lit the fecking fire!” He glanced at one of the men on the porch. “Why aren’t you standing guard at the mill? Didn’t I tell you to post a guard?”

  “And I told him to bugger it,” Declan said. “All our security measures are bollocks now.”

  “And why is that? Is it because fairies can fly over barbed wire fences?”

  “You’ll not embarrass me in front of me men, Mike Donovan.” Declan stepped up to Mike, his fists clenched by his side. “I no more believe in magic than you do.” But he wouldn’t look at Mike when he said it.

  “Glad to hear it,” Mike said. “So do your job. Get on the satellite phone and contact the Irish Guard. Tell them we’ve a group of maniacs down here stealing children and killing old men. And if you’ve got any bollocks yourself, you’ll take five men and comb the woods three kilometers north of here behind where we found the altar. Sarah said their camp is nearly the size of our own. Even you can’t miss it.”

  Declan glanced into the house and Sarah saw him nod curtly at her before turning on his heel and stomping off the porch with his men following him.

  “My God, Mike,” Sarah said. “What was that all about? Is Declan going mental?”

  “He doesn’t think I should be leaving just at the moment,” Mike said, shutting the door firmly and sinking down in the chair.

  “And what do you think?” she asked. “Have you changed your mind about going?”

  “Would I have to tie up me own wife to keep her from slipping out in the middle of the night if I did?” Mike said, frowning. “But he’s not wrong about the place being in an uproar.” He turned to Archie. “Could you tell?”

  Archie looked at him and then Sarah as if trying to read which way to go. Finally, he said, “Aye. There’s something in the air and no mistake.”

  “There’s something else,” Mike said. He leaned over and took Sarah’s hand but she pulled free. “Listen to what he has to say, lass.”

  Archie cleared his throat and glanced at Mike as if for permission to begin. Sarah felt an overriding sense of dread at what his words might be. As long as he didn’t have proof of John’s death, did it really matter? Could anything be so bad? She sat ramrod straight in her seat and braced herself.

  “There’s a sickness coming,” Archie said. “Reports from the Continent are saying it’s swept through France and Italy.”

  Sarah looked at Mike. His face was worn with worry and tension as he listened to his former father-in-law.

  “What kind of sickness?” she asked.

  “Nobody kens,” Archie said. “It’s contagious, that’s sure. Thousands and thousands of people dead. Mostly in France.”

  A needle of fear pierced Sarah’s heart at the thought of John out in there somewhere in the world. Alone.

  “I met a traveler last week,” Mike said. “He said Paris had lost a fourth of its population.”

  “Paris?” Sarah shook her head as if to dispel the facts. “Can that be true?”

  “T’is true, Missus,” Archie said earnestly. “I saw it meself working the docks in Fishguard when I was living rough in Wales.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked. “What did you see?”

  Archie looked at Mike and then back at Sarah before spreading his hands in a helpless gesture.

  “People dying. Everywhere in the UK.”

  Sarah put her hand to her throat. “And you think…”

  “Aye. It’s heading for here. As sure as anything. It’s coming.”

  *****

  “Sarah, listen to me,” Mike said, reaching for her as she stood at the window in their bedroom. “It’s only for a little bit.”

  “A little bit may make all the difference to our boys.”

  “I can’t sacrifice the compound for me own personal wants, lass. You see that, surely?”

  She turned to look at him but didn’t speak. Her unspoken words were as clear as if she’d spoken them outloud: I will happily sacrifice this place and much more in order to find my son.

  “You promised me, Sarah.”

  “And you’d keep me to that? You’d prevent me from going after my child?”

  “For your own safety and the bairn that’s to come? Aye, I would.”

  Sarah turned back to the window. She knew it wasn’t fair to blame him. If it wasn’t her son somewhere out there in the cold, diseased world she’d probably be impressed that Mike could put the good of the community before his own heartache and desperate desire.

  But it was her son out there.

  “If I never find him,” she said, not looking at him, “I’ll know it was because of you.”

  “Sarah…” He put a hand on her shoulder but she moved away from it.

  “Go run your compound, Mike. I hope it’s worth it because you’re throwing everything you ever loved on the funeral pyre to have it.”

  She heard his heavy sigh and then the sound of him leaving the room. When the door closed she heard him speaking softly to Archie. And then both men left the house.

  No. She wouldn’t stay. Screw her promise. Mike was wrong. This was all about his pride and his precious compound. Was the man really putting it before his own son?

  His marriage?

  He’d make it difficult for her to slip away. He’d be watching he
r. But unless he locked her up in the jail, in the end he wouldn’t be able to stop her.

  A light tap on her bedroom made her frown. Only one person could creep into the house that quietly.

  “Go away, Fi,” Sarah said.

  Her bedroom door opened and Fiona was standing there, a gun holster on her hip. Sarah turned back to the window. The activity outside had easily doubled, especially with the construction on the new cottages. They weren’t being built near the center of the compound but the noise carried everywhere.

  “How are you then, Sarah?” Fiona said, her voice warm and questioning.

  “Hand off the baby to someone again?” Sarah asked tartly. “I don’t know why you bothered having her for all the time you spend with her.”

  Fiona came into the room.

  “I know you’re hurtin’, darlin,’” Fi said. “I’m hoping I can help in some way.”

  “Want to help? Saddle my horse and open the gate for me.”

  “If you leave, Sarah, you know Mike will be right behind you and there’s so much needs doing—”

  “Sure. I see that. How selfish can I be?” She turned to look at Fiona. “If you had an ounce of maternal feeling in you, you couldn’t stand there and tell me not to go.”

  Fiona flinched at her words.

  “I understand why you want to go, I do, Sarah. But have ye not noticed that every one who leaves here doesn’t come back? We have to sort out the bastards in the woods first.”

  “I don’t want you here, Fiona. Please leave.”

  Fiona strode to the window and grabbed Sarah’s arm. “Think of the baby, Sarah. Would you lose both your children? Be sensible.”

  Sarah jerked her arm away. “Is that what you are? Sensible about Ciara? Or maybe you don’t feel the same way about her as a normal mother.”

  “Ye already pushed that button, Sarah. I love her dearly, so I do. And I’ll be forgiving your harsh words today because of your grief.”

  Sarah turned away. “Whatever.”

  Fiona stood for a moment and then quietly left. As soon as Sarah heard the front door shut behind her, she sagged to the bed and covered her face with her hands.

  What was it she had said before Archie delivered his news? That if it wasn’t about John’s death, it couldn’t be that bad?

  How could she have been so wrong?

  *****

  Declan sat in the cramped observation room and watched the video screen. One of the druids was walking around the mill site. The trespasser wore a long dark cloak. He wasn’t tall and he was barefaced so Declan knew it wasn’t Cormac. Sarah had described the leader in detail to Mike who’d confirmed the description. This man seemed to be in no hurry and also didn’t seem to care that he was certainly being watched.

  “How long has he been there?” Declan asked Tommy who sat in front of the main bank of video screens. The other screens showed expanses of pasture and woods that bordered the other three sides of the compound.

  “Maybe an hour?”

  Declan continued to watch the druid. Did it make sense? Should he go down and try to talk with the wanker? He drummed his fingers against the table top in front of him and noticed the satellite phone out of its cradle.

  “Did you call Dublin?” he asked Tommy.

  “Not yet. I have to reposition the external antennae first.”

  Declan felt a creeping sensation beginning in the back of his neck and working its way down his shoulders. Something was bad wrong.

  Something right in front of me. Something I’m not seeing.

  “Mr. Cooper?” Tommy said. “I think he’s signaling to us.”

  Declan swiveled around to the main screen to see that the druid had planted himself in front of the camera.

  “You’re not panning?”

  “Uh, no sir,” Tommy said. “I stopped when I saw something on screen. Should I continue to sweep?”

  “No.” The man was standing with his arms crossed. “No, you’re right. There’s no point. Can you go in closer?”

  “Zoom in? Aye.” Tommy made a series of keystrokes on the video panel and the image enlarged to show the man full screen.

  His face was impassive, almost as if drugged. But Declan reckoned it was probably just the stupefied look of zealots and converts. The druid had dark hair and deepset eyes and a disfiguring hair lip. As Declan and Tommy watched, the man’s eyes widened and he held up his forefinger to the camera as if he were a prophet about to speak.

  “What’s he doing?” Tommy asked.

  The druid tilted his head back and carefully drew his finger across his own throat. Then he dropped his hand to his side, turned, and walked out of the camera’s range.

  “Pull back,” Declan said, standing up. “See which way he went, can you?”

  Tommy jabbed various buttons and the picture elongated to encompass the mill site once more. But the scene was empty. The druid had disappeared.

  After a moment, Tommy looked at Declan. “What do you think it means?”

  Declan looked at the image and then at the other vacant screens.

  “I don’t know,” he said. Then without knowing he was about to do it, he picked up the satellite phone and smashed it against the desk. Wires and chunks of plastic flew around the room, one piece catching Declan in the eyelid.

  “Shite!” Tommy yelped, jumping up.

  Declan ignored the blood trickling down from his eye. He swept his hand around the control room.

  “Dismantle it all,” he said tersely. “We don’t stand a chance as long as we continue to thwart their laws.”

  Tommy stood up and stared at him.

  “Do you understand?” Declan shouted. “All of it! Destroy it all.” He picked up the largest monitor and flung it out the open door to the ground below.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was the longest day of Sarah’s life. She watched compound life from her bedroom window until dinnertime. The construction on the three new cottages were in full swing. Mike was overseeing the work while Declan and a group of five men went out in the Jeep, using Sarah’s directions, to search for the druid camp. Archie had been left on the front porch.

  Her guardian.

  Fiona wisely didn’t return and Sarah felt no remorse for how they’d ended it. Everyone needed to do what they needed to do. If Sarah didn’t know that by now, she never would.

  The gypsy women gathered around the main campfire as the sun began to sink. Sarah watched them as they threaded spits with freshly-gutted and plucked pullets and set them over the fire.

  How could Mike go about the compound’s business with Gavin missing? Was there something wrong with him? Something Sarah hadn’t noticed before? She saw Father Ryan walk by with a group of children. His dog walked closely at his side. He looked up to smile at her in her window and she gave a half wave back.

  Her leg was better. The swelling had gone down.

  One of the girls from the village had come by at midday with a small basket of sandwiches and had made coffee in Sarah’s kitchen. She didn’t go out and greet her but when the girl left, Sarah saw she’d left the basket on the kitchen table.

  They’re treating me like somebody’s died. Next people will be dropping by with casseroles.

  Maybe Mike was the smart one by throwing himself into work. Sarah stared out the window again. All day she had striven to keep the image out of her mind that was intent on flooding her thoughts. She would look out the window and see a couple of people walk by and suddenly, an image of John would materialize blotting out everything else. John laughing. John frowning. John explaining something. His eyes blue and inquisitive, his mouth full and generous. His father’s mouth.

  And when the image came, whichever one it was of him, she pinched the flesh in her wrist as hard as she could until the image dissolved. She didn’t need to remember how he was. And the pain of the images was killing her.

  Just flat killing her.

  “Sarah?” Archie’s voice came through the door, not for the first or eve
n the second time today. “Can I make you a cuppa, lass?”

  Sarah stood and went to the door. She wanted to tell him no to his face and to thank him like a civilized human being but, no, please just no. And when she saw him, his eyes told her what she’d forgotten until then. This man had lost every one of his children. All four. And he’d loved them. Loved them as dearly as Sarah loved John. The pain in his eyes would be there always. That much she knew. And yet he was reaching out to her to ease her way if he could.

  “Thank you, Archie,” she said. “Tea would be good.”

  His eyes lit up in surprise and he backed away from her.

  “I’ll just put the kettle on,” he said. “It’d been so long since I’d seen an electric cooker, I all but forgot how to work one.”

  Sarah joined him in the kitchen. The hum of activity outside the window was softening now. People were going inside to make their suppers. Mike would be home soon. Archie poured boiling water in her old brown betty teapot and set the cozy on it to steep.

  “I have to go after him,” Sarah said to him. “I’ll need you to tend to Mike so he doesn’t come after me.”

  Archie sat down at the table and so did Sarah.

  “I’m to watch you,” he said “to make sure you don’t go.”

  Sarah poured tea into two mugs and slid one across the table to him.

  “John is just fourteen,” she said. The words hurt like razors slicing her mouth to utter them. She’d worked so hard all day not to think of that. Or to remember him so young and vulnerable. And all that hard work was undone with one cup of tea and a chat.

  “I heard Mike and them talking,” Archie said. “There’s a hole in the fence needs repairing.”

  “Where?”

  Archie shrugged and looked into his tea. “Down by the Widow Murray’s.”

  The door swung open behind Archie and Sarah gasped in surprise. So intent on her conversation with him, she hadn’t even heard Mike coming up the porch steps. Mike looked around the kitchen and smiled sadly when he saw Sarah. Fiona came into the kitchen behind him and set a box on the table. Sarah could smell the aroma of fried chicken.