hear.
“Your second cousin, girl dear, Sean Dillon. Now, put him on.”
The look of incredulity on her face was quite something as she held out the phone to her uncle. “He says he’s Sean Dillon.”
There was silence for a moment, Kelly in immediate shock, but Tod took a deep breath and the phone. “Is this a joke?”
“No, it is me, you old sod. How did you enjoy Nantucket?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop being stupid, it doesn’t suit you. Tell Kelly if he’d not been noticed playing ‘The Lark in the Clear Air’ on his clarinet, I’d never have known you were there. I work for Charles Ferguson these days, but I’m sure you know that.”
“Sold out to the Brits, Sean, didn’t you?” Tod said.
“Oh, we all sold out to somebody, in your case the Master and al-Qaeda. We’ll be over to see you in a few days, and don’t try to run away. There’s nowhere to go.”
He cut off the call, leaving Tod sitting by the fire, numb with shock, the others staring at him. It was Meg who shook her head and spoke first. “The Lord help us, Tod, what have you done now?”
But Hannah was already on her feet, leaning on her walking stick. “The glory days are back, is that it, Uncle Tod? Well, you and the damn IRA and al-Qaeda can go to hell,” and she limped out of the room, banging the door shut behind her.
—
In the computer room, it was all smiles. “Good work, Sean, you’ve stirred the pot there,” Roper said.
“Excellent, Dillon, you really put the boot in,” Ferguson told him. “I would judge he’s in a state of total shock, but we must strike while he’s still off balance, give him time to get really worried, then we’ll take the Gulfstream to Ireland and descend on him.”
“On them, sir,” Sara said. “I thought the young girl was pretty feisty. I liked the sound of her.”
“Well, just remember she might be the enemy, Captain, but I’m for bed. It’s been a rough old week.”
“Tomorrow is always another day,” Sara said. “Hang on to that thought.” They filed out, leaving Roper to doze in his wheelchair, his screens still on.
Half past midnight, Hannah sat on a stool in Fancy’s stall in the stud stable at Drumgoole, a horse blanket over her shoulders, the mare content with an occasional glance at her. It had been a refuge during four years of pain from the car bomb—the dim lights, the stable smell of fourteen horses, always had a deeply calming effect. She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing her rage to ebb away, heard the door open at the other end of the stables, then voices.
Kelly said, “What happens now?”
“You’re forgetting he presented us with one of his coded mobile phones.” Tod’s smile was mirthless. “I’m going to call him right now.”
“At this time in the morning?”
“He boasts that he can operate from anywhere, doesn’t he? Let’s see if he does.”
Kelly laughed harshly. “Put it on speaker, I don’t want to lose a word.”
—
A couple of minutes, no more, and then the voice echoed, calm and full of authority. “Say who you are.”
Tod told him. “So we can cut the crap.”
“Why, Mr. Flynn, you’re angry,” the Master replied. “An emotion that leads to stupidity and that’s not to be recommended in our line of work. Is there a problem? If so, tell me.”
“With pleasure,” Tod said. “What would you say if I’d had a phone call from Sean Dillon a couple of hours ago, asking me if we’d enjoyed Nantucket? They know about you, Master-whoever-you-are, and the al-Qaeda connection—everything.” There was a perceptible pause. “Are you there?”
“Oh, I’m here, Mr. Flynn, and considering what act of human stupidity has brought us to this situation.”
Kelly broke in, shouting, “Trying to find somebody to blame, are you?”
“Because there usually is,” the Master said calmly. “Do get your friend to shut up, Mr. Flynn, then you provide me with a sane explanation and
“Your second cousin, girl dear, Sean Dillon. Now, put him on.”
The look of incredulity on her face was quite something as she held out the phone to her uncle. “He says he’s Sean Dillon.”
There was silence for a moment, Kelly in immediate shock, but Tod took a deep breath and the phone. “Is this a joke?”
“No, it is me, you old sod. How did you enjoy Nantucket?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop being stupid, it doesn’t suit you. Tell Kelly if he’d not been noticed playing ‘The Lark in the Clear Air’ on his clarinet, I’d never have known you were there. I work for Charles Ferguson these days, but I’m sure you know that.”
“Sold out to the Brits, Sean, didn’t you?” Tod said.
“Oh, we all sold out to somebody, in your case the Master and al-Qaeda. We’ll be over to see you in a few days, and don’t try to run away. There’s nowhere to go.”
He cut off the call, leaving Tod sitting by the fire, numb with shock, the others staring at him. It was Meg who shook her head and spoke first. “The Lord help us, Tod, what have you done now?”
But Hannah was already on her feet, leaning on her walking stick. “The glory days are back, is that it, Uncle Tod? Well, you and the damn IRA and al-Qaeda can go to hell,” and she limped out of the room, banging the door shut behind her.
—
In the computer room, it was all smiles. “Good work, Sean, you’ve stirred the pot there,” Roper said.
“Excellent, Dillon, you really put the boot in,” Ferguson told him. “I would judge he’s in a state of total shock, but we must strike while he’s still off balance, give him time to get really worried, then we’ll take the Gulfstream to Ireland and descend on him.”
“On them, sir,” Sara said. “I thought the young girl was pretty feisty. I liked the sound of her.”
“Well, just remember she might be the enemy, Captain, but I’m for bed. It’s been a rough old week.”
“Tomorrow is always another day,” Sara said. “Hang on to that thought.” They filed out, leaving Roper to doze in his wheelchair, his screens still on.
Half past midnight, Hannah sat on a stool in Fancy’s stall in the stud stable at Drumgoole, a horse blanket over her shoulders, the mare content with an occasional glance at her. It had been a refuge during four years of pain from the car bomb—the dim lights, the stable smell of fourteen horses, always had a deeply calming effect. She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing her rage to ebb away, heard the door open at the other end of the stables, then voices.
Kelly said, “What happens now?”
“You’re forgetting he presented us with one of his coded mobile phones.” Tod’s smile was mirthless. “I’m going to call him right now.”
“At this time in the morning?”
“He boasts that he can operate from anywhere, doesn’t he? Let’s see if he does.”
Kelly laughed harshly. “Put it on speaker, I don’t want to lose a word.”
—
A couple of minutes, no more, and then the voice echoed, calm and full of authority. “Say who you are.”
Tod told him. “So we can cut the crap.”
“Why, Mr. Flynn, you’re angry,” the Master replied. “An emotion that leads to stupidity and that’s not to be recommended in our line of work. Is there a problem? If so, tell me.”
“With pleasure,” Tod said. “What would you say if I’d had a phone call from Sean Dillon a couple of hours ago, asking me if we’d enjoyed Nantucket? They know about you, Master-whoever-you-are, and the al-Qaeda connection—everything.” There was a perceptible pause. “Are you there?”
“Oh, I’m here, Mr. Flynn, and considering what act of human stupidity has brought us to this situation.”
Kelly broke in, shouting, “Trying to find somebody to blame, are you?”
“Because there usually is,” the Master said calmly. “Do get your friend to shut up, Mr. Flynn, then you provide me with a sane explanation and
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