“Yes.”
“Well, that’s fortunate. Because I suspect that film is very valuable, or they would never have gone to so much trouble. You were wise not to go to the police.”
“Perhaps I should go to them now, Father.”
“No, I think not.” He hesitated. “The police in our smaller cities are an unsophisticated lot, Ellen. They’re country folk, and they’re used to dealing with the sort of crimes that occur in villages. Spies and stolen plans are a wee bit over their heads.”
“But they could contact someone—”
“Would they?” He shook his head. “It’s a sad thing for a fellow Irishman to say, but I wouldn’t trust them if I were you. Small-town gardai are traditionally suspicious of foreigners, you see. They would very likely detain you. At best they would order your immediate deportation, probably shipping you back to New York.”
“At least I’d be safe there.”
“Perhaps. But you wouldn’t get much in the way of protection before you were deported, and things could go badly for you. This Clare fellow seems daring and resourceful and quite ruthless. And suppose that you were deported? What do you think your own countrymen would do?”
“I don’t understand.”
He slowed the car to permit a small boy to lead a band of sheep across the road. Then, resuming speed, he said, “Consider how it will look to the American officials. They will find out that you met David Clare at a pub in Dublin, that you consorted willingly with him for several days, that the two of you met again in Dingle. From their point of view, it will look as though you were a willing agent of the spy gang all the way.”
“But that’s insane!”
“Of course it is, child, but will they see it that way? I doubt it. Remember, you were invited to Berlin. Then and only then you decided to come to Ireland, and you met with Clare the very first day in Dublin. It will look like collusion to them, don’t you see? And then they’ll suspect that the two of you had a falling out or that you developed cold feet at the last moment. And that that’s why you turned in the film.”
“What would they do?”
He shrugged. “Different governments operate differently. I suspect at the least they would suspend your passport indefinitely and forbid you to travel. And of course they would put you through a long and grueling interrogation. And meanwhile you would have exposed yourself to a great deal of danger. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yes, but...”
“But what?”
“But I still don’t know what I can do to avoid it. I can’t see David again. He knows now, you see. And I can’t go on to Berlin. I certainly can’t give them the film. I wouldn’t do anything like that!”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“Then what can I do?”
He considered this for a moment, guiding the little car through a narrow passage, then heading up a sharp incline toward the peak of a little hill. She reached for a cigarette, then paused to ask him if he minded her smoking. He said that he did not. She lit the cigarette and rolled down the window part way so that the little car would not become thick with smoke.
“Ellen?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about your situation. I’m not as worldly as I might be, to be sure, but I have traveled a bit. And even a missionary got a taste of the unrest in Africa, the interplay of political forces. So I may be able to advise you and to help you.”
She said nothing.
“The first step is to make you safe from harm. That’s the most important consideration for the time being. You need a place to hide for the night. A place where you can sleep safely while I go back to Dingle and try to learn something more about your situation. I can move around town without arousing suspicions, you see. Clare and his gang would never suspect a black-robed Irish priest of having an interest in their dirty little scheme.”
“It would be dangerous for you.”
“I think not. And with any luck at all I should be able to come up with some sort of solution. Now if there were only a place where you could hide, a sanctuary from the elements...”
Sanctuary. She said, “Gallarus Oratory!”
“What’s that?”
“Gallarus Oratory,” she repeated. “Oh, Miss Trevelyan was there just this morning.” Quickly she described the ancient structure. “Of course, it’s a major tourist attraction, but I don’t think there would be people there at night, do you?”
“I doubt it. Probably few enough there this afternoon, in weather like this.”
“Well, it should be comfortable. It’s watertight after a thousand years, it says so in the guide book. And David would never think of looking for me there.”
“You never mentioned it to him?”
“I can’t remember. I might have said that Miss Trevelyan was going there, but nothing beyond that. He wouldn’t have any idea that I would think to go there. And he wouldn’t suspect that I would go anywhere in a car. I don’t have a car, and I don’t know anyone with a car, so he wouldn’t realize that I would be able to get out of Dingle.”
“It does sound good,” he said. “Do you know how to find it?”
“No. It’s somewhere north of Dingle, but I don’t—”
“There’s a county map in the glove box, I believe. Can you reach it for me?”
She passed him the map. He slowed the car to a stop at the side of the road and unfolded the map, holding it against the steering wheel and studying it intently. “Gallarus Oratory,” he said. “Gallarus Oratory. Well, here’s Dingle, and the roads north — ah, here it is now, Gallarus Oratory. Yes, I should think we can find it with little difficulty.”
“It shouldn’t be far. Miss Trevelyan reached it by bicycle.”
“No, not far at all. We’ve even come in the right direction, though we’ll want to take the next road off to the left.” He refolded the map, and she returned it to the glove compartment. He started the engine and eased the car back onto the road.
She was quick to recognize the oratory. It was just like the picture in Sara Trevelyan’s guide book, and it did look like an inverted rowboat. The state of preservation was remarkable.
The little building was quite deserted. He parked the car, and they walked to the entranceway through the rain. The doorway was just high enough for her to get through without stooping, and Father Farrell had to bend down to get inside. It was dark within, and damp, although air and light filtered through from a deeply splayed loophole window at the rear of the structure. The building was small on the inside, about fifteen feet by ten. The floor was composed of bare earth, packed down hard over the years. She would be quite safe here, she thought. No one would think to look for her here.
“I’ve a blanket in the car,” he said. “I’ll fetch it for you. And my mother packed me a lunch that I never did get around to eating. I think you should be comfortable here.”
She waited. He returned with a heavy blanket and a large brown paper bag. Seeing him, she thought of David that morning, with his own blanket over his arm and their picnic lunch in one hand. She had been so happy then, so very much in love. And only a matter of hours ago.
She felt as though she had lived years since then.
“I think you’ll be comfortable.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“It may get a bit cold.”
“I’ll be all right.”
He spread the blanket on the ground for her. “A remarkable building,” he said. “How old is it, do you happen to know?”
“I’m not sure. Over a thousand years.”
“Extraordinary that a pagan culture could produce such a structure. And just by piling one stone on top of another.” He shook his head in wonder. “I’m sure you’ll be safe here. Does anyone know of your discovery besides David?”