Liam’s initial guess was that it was a piece of a satellite that had exploded in the earth’s atmosphere. Most likely it belonged to either the United States of America or the Soviet Union. It didn’t matter much to Liam though. Both countries were rich, and would pay him well for returning their property.
With visions of large stacks of cash dancing before his eyes, Liam finished securing his newfound treasure and went to start up the engines for the trip home.
They sputtered alive, but only operated for a few fleeting seconds before unceremoniously shutting down on their own. Liam sensed trouble, and sure enough found the engine impossible to restart. After a series of angry curses, he rolled up his sleeves and crawled down into the engine room.
For the better part of two days he worked in this greasy, cramped compartment. He broke only for an occasional meal of salted fish or the briefest of naps.
There were several occasions, though, when he rushed topside upon hearing the sound of what he thought was an approaching vessel. But in each instance, the clatter proved to be coming from a grouping of helicopters that must have been in the midst of maneuvers in the area. Since they never got close enough for him to flag them down, Liam could only crawl back to the engine room to get on with his toils.
It was during dusk of the second day that his tireless efforts paid off. The engine coughed alive, and after a brief cry of joy, Liam turned the bow toward the flickering lights of Dunany Point.
Though he wore no watch, he knew it was long after midnight. It had been his father who had taught him how to read the time by checking the location of the stars in the ever-shifting evening sky. Doubting that there’d be anyone down at the main docks in Dundalk to greet him at this hour, Liam decided to tie up at the leisure pier in Dunany. This would put him within walking distance of home. Then after a bath, a nap, and one of his wife’s delicious meals, he’d move the boat back into Dundalk and get on with the process of collecting his reward. With this plan settled, he anxiously set a course for the bright white beacon that shone from the Dunany lighthouse.
Liam reached his goal without incident, and after securing the hold with a padlock, climbed off his boat and began the walk homeward. Solid land felt good beneath his feet. His hike took him up a sloping earthen path. Several times he had to momentarily halt to catch his breath. Only a few years ago he could make this climb without stopping to break his stride, and he was well aware of one of the handicaps of his advanced age. Yet he wisely paced himself, and after a period of hiking would halt, wipe his brow, allow his heaving lungs to settle, and only then continue.
He felt a sense of accomplishment upon attaining the summit. Confident that he still had some life left in his old bones after all, the fisherman scanned the darkened bluff. He could just make out the twisted trunks of the grouping of ancient oaks that gripped the rocky soil here, and the outline of several ramshackle cottages that were interspersed among these trees. Strangely enough, the lights nearest to the bluffs edge were still illuminated.
“I wonder what in heaven is keeping Annie up at such an ungodly hour?” he mumbled to the gentle wind.
Guessing that she had either gotten carried away with her knitting or fallen asleep reading, Liam headed for the cottage to find out.
The first inkling he had that something was seriously wrong was when he spotted the blood-soaked doorknob.
His pulse quickened in alarm as he noted that there were also drops of blood on the mat.
“Annie!” he screamed as he pushed open the door.
He immediately spotted his wife kneeling beside the couch. Laid out before her with his shirt off was the unconscious body of their son, Scan.
“My heavens, Annie! What in God’s name has happened here?”
His wife answered while staunching the flow of blood from Sean’s right shoulder.
“He stumbled in here about a half hour ago. It appears he’s been shot.”
“Shot, you say?”
“That’s what this wound indicates.”
“But who in the world would shoot Sean? I always thought he didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
Almost in answer to his father’s question, Sean began mumbling incoherently.
“Patrick… Patrick … the Crown of Scotland … for the glory of the Brotherhood!”
With this, he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
While his mother wiped his sweat-stained forehead, Liam pondered out loud.
“Who in the hell is this Patrick? And what does the Crown of Scotland have to do with anything? Surely the lad’s delirious.”
“He said the same thing earlier,” retorted Anne Lafferty.
“It’s his mention of the Brotherhood that scares me, Liam. Could he be involved with the IRB?”
Liam looked at his wife as if she was crazy.
“Our Sean, involved with the likes of the Irish Republican Brotherhood? Surely you’re daft, woman. He’s much too sensible to be in league with that group of bloodthirsty Marxist terrorists.”
“I hope you’re right. Because there’s no telling what kind of trash he came in contact with in Dublin. And if he has gone and gotten himself involved with the IRB, that could account for this gunshot wound.”
Liam didn’t want to consider this possibility and turned back toward the front door.
“All I’m certain of is that our son has lost a lot of blood. And since Sean’s going to need some expert tending to if he’s going to pull through, I’d better go and fetch Doc Blackwater.
Can you handle him until we get back?”
Anne Lafferty nodded. Her husband got on with his urgent mission of mercy. Since neither he nor any of his neighbors had telephone service, he once more proceeded on foot. He didn’t even wait for his night vision to return to travel at full stride. This time his route was down a narrow paved roadway that eventually led to Dundalk’s central square. The physician lived on the outskirts of the tiny village of Annagassan, approximately two kilometers from the Lafferty residence.
Liam covered this distance quickly. He barely felt the alien tightness in his legs as he climbed up onto the wide wooden porch and anxiously pressed the bell.
The house was dark, and Liam wondered if the doctor had been called away. If this was the case, Liam would be forced to travel into Dundalk to find the next readily available medical assistance. Again he hit the doorbell, this time with panicky impatience. He was all set to bang his fist against the door when a light popped on. This was followed by a hoarse, muffled voice.
“All right out there, hold your horses. I’m coming!”
The door finally opened, revealing a tall, thin, silver haired man dressed in a robe and slippers. Dr. Tyronne Blackwater was in the process of putting on his wire rim spectacles. Only when these glasses were in place could he identify the individual who had called him from his warm bed.
“Liam Lafferty, what in the world are you doing on my doorstep at this hour? Is Annie all right?”
“Thanks be to God, she is, Doc. It’s my son Sean who’s ailing. It appears he’s been shot in the shoulder.”
“I’ll get my bag! Meet me on my driveway beside the garage.”
Liam turned to follow the physician’s directions and arrived at the garage just as the doctor came out the back door. Somehow in this brief time he had managed to throw on some trousers, shoes, and a jacket, and with his black leather bag in hand, he crossed over to open the garage door. Inside was a dark green Land Rover.
“Get in!” commanded its owner.