“I only make that up to make you more credible,” admitted Patrick.
“Besides, do you honestly think that I’d public ally admit to having you for relative if I didn’t have to?”
“Watch it, Callaghan,” advised Sean playfully “Or I’ll leave you in that empty vault after I’ve removed all those royal jewels.”
The day went unbelievably quick. The good weather held, and they were actually able to accomplish quite a bit of work before the foreman blew the whistle signaling the end of the shift. It was Patrick who informed him that they were willing to work overtime for regular pay, as long as the light remained. Not about to pass up such a bargain, Angus Ross gave him his blessings, and instructed them to sign themselves out before the guards locked them in for the night.
They worked for an entire hour on their own and recorded their quitting time in the official work log. Yet instead of leaving the castle at this point, they returned to the cistern and crawled inside its narrow, wire-mesh mouth to hide themselves. The interior reservoir was formed of brick and was utilized to store rainwater. It had long since been drained dry, but it still smelled musty, much like an old basement.
Sean and Patrick positioned themselves on a brick ledge to await nightfall. This lip was just wide enough to allow them to sit down. Sean was especially thankful for this perch, since he hadn’t worked this hard in months and his back and muscles were sore from the physical effort involved.
To keep from being detected, they kept absolutely quiet. They passed the time by staring off into the black reservoir and breathing its cold, damp air. It was as this blackness seemed to intensify that the shrill distinctive notes of a bagpipe sounded in the distance.
Well aware that this traditional salute meant that the sun had set and the castle was now sealed for the night, Patrick stood and beckoned his associate to do likewise. A narrow, recessed set of footholds led them to the cistern’s mouth. It was Patrick who cautiously peeked through the wire-mesh screen, and finding the compound clear, furtively crawled out onto the cobblestone courtyard.
With the piper’s soulful tune providing an appropriate accompaniment, the two Irishmen took in the rich colors of twilight. A crescent moon could be seen hanging on the western horizon, with the evening star already visible above it. Except for the constantly blinking, battery-powered strobe lights that were mounted on top of the construction barriers, the compound was dark, thus allowing them safe access to the generator where the tools of their other trade were stored.
It was Patrick who removed the generator’s metal cover plate and pulled out an elongated wooden crate.
Inside this container were an M-1 carbine, three loaded clips of ammunition, and a compact green satchel. A smirk painted Sean Lafferty’s face as he gingerly picked up the satchel and checked its contents. Satisfied with what he saw, Sean watched as his associate expertly slid a clip into the M-1, snapped a bullet into its chamber, activated the safety, and looked up to meet his expectant glance.
“We haven’t far to go now, Sean. We’ll get to the crown room by following along the back wall of the Scottish national war memorial. That will bring us to the Half Moon battery, which adjoins the entrance to the palace yard. We’ll be able to get into the royal apartments by way of Queen Mary’s room. We did some renovations in there last week, and I made certain to unlock the iron security grate that covers the window.
That will put us immediately outside the crown room itself.”
“And that’s where I’ll take over,” whispered Sean as he patted the green satchel he held securely at his side.
Patrick managed a nervous smile.
“Then, for the cause of one united People’s Republic of Ireland, let’s do it, comrade.”
Sean flashed him a thumbsup, and Patrick proceeded to once more sweep the compound with his glance. The twilight had all but faded by now, and the sound of bagpipes was absent as the two sprinted across the courtyard and disappeared into the shadows beyond.
“Are you telling me, Sergeant Major, that no one actually saw these two workmen leave the castle?” quizzed Major Colin Stewart, incredulous.
“That I am, sir,” replied the regiment’s ranking noncommissioned officer.
“Then for all we know, they could still be inside, couldn’t they now?” continued Colin Stewart angrily.
The sergeant major appeared uncomfortable as he answered.
“I imagine that’s very possible, sir.”
“That’s just wonderful,” reflected the major as he pushed his chair back from the dinner table and threw his napkin on his half-full plate.
“And wouldn’t you know that they just happen to be named Lafferty and Callaghan. Get together a squad. Sergeant Major. I’ll lead the search personally.”
“Shall I alert the garrison?” asked the red-cheeked NCO.
Colin Stewart stood.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Sergeant Major. Most likely our sentries merely missed checking off their names as they left the grounds. But just in case, I want you to call the construction foreman and find out all you can about the pair. Also have Mr. Ross give you their local address and a phone number if they have one.”
“I’ll do so at once, sir.”
“Have that squad meet me up at the war memorial on the double, Sergeant Major. And I want each one of them carrying live rounds.”
“Yes sir!” shot back the NCO. His back arched straight and his heels clicked together as his commanding officer crisply pivoted to get on with his anticipated duty.
The window allowed them entry into the royal apartments, just as Patrick Callaghan had planned it. The room they soon found themselves had a high ceiling and was decorated in period furniture. It was Patrick who explained its history.
“This apartment once belonged to Queen Mary. It was here that she bore the future King James VI in 1566.”
“Are you sure there’s no internal security?” Sean asked.
Patrick shook his head.
“Absolutely. I worked alongside the electrician who was responsible for pulling out the old alarms and installing a new state-of-the-art system.
It won’t be completed for another month yet.
Meanwhile, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I wouldn’t exactly go that far, Patrick,” observed Sean, who noticed a portrait of a particularly ugly woman hanging over the fireplace.
“I bet this hag over here is Queen Mary herself. One thing that hasn’t changed over the years — the English monarchy is just as ugly as ever.”
Patrick managed a strained grin and pointed to the door.
“It’s not much further now, Sean. Follow me.”
The door opened with a rusty groan and led to a dark hallway. The wooden-slat floor creaked beneath them as they tiptoed down this corridor and began their way down a flight of stairs. They faced a wall dominated by an enormous stainless-steel door-length vault.
Its door was securely sealed, and Sean intently studied its hinges and tumbler-style lock.
“You were right, Patrick, it is a bank vault. I imagine that this too is going to be replaced eventually, because it’s certainly seen better days.”
“Can you open it?” his associate asked.
“Now what kind of question is that? Of course I can do it. Just give me a minute to get the charges in place, and I’ll have us in there in no time flat.”
Without wasting another second, Sean opened the green satchel and delicately laid its contents on the floor. He paid particular attention to the white puttylike substance, which he carefully rolled into a half-dozen, golf-ball-sized pellets. He then placed one of these on each of the vault’s four jambs, and two over each of its hinges. After connecting them together with a piece of electrical wire, he expertly attached the wire to a compact detonator.