Maguire’s brow was soaked in sweat, his hand trembling, as he hung up the telephone and contemplated his next move. His position as director of the Shamrock plant gave him instant access to the Republic’s highest ranking political and military figures. But he was no stranger to the assortment of terrorist groups active in his country. And knowing full well that the lives of his family would mean absolutely nothing to such ruthless individuals, he decided against notifying the police. He tried to appear as composed as possible as he informed his secretary that he would have to cancel his morning appointments and leave the office.
His secretary was caught totally off guard by this revelation, and was unable to get her boss to explain his reasoning behind this abrupt change of plans.
The drive to the postal exchange seemed to take forever.
When he finally arrived, he remained in his car, as instructed. At one point during his wait, a pair of uniformed gardia patrolmen strolled by his automobile, and Maguire fought the temptation to appeal for their assistance. Soon afterward, there was a loud knock on the passenger window, and a woman dressed in a hat and sunglasses beckoned him to allow her entry. He quickly did so and breathlessly listened as she spoke to him with a dreaded familiar voice.
“I want you to head for the N3 by way of Phoenix Park. And for the sake of your adoring family, drive carefully. Doctor.”
It wasn’t until they were well north of the city limits that Maguire found the nerve to voice himself.
“Who are you? Where are we going, and where are you keeping my family?”
“My heavens. Doctor Maguire, aren’t you the curious one. But if you want to see those babies of yours grow up to take husbands, you’ll keep that mouth of yours shut and do like I tell you!”
The physicist forced himself to hold his tongue as they continued traveling north on the two-lane highway.
Outside the town of Navan the clear sky darkened, and soon they were in the midst of a driving rainstorm.
The lush green estates of Meath county was known for could hardly be seen as Maguire struggled to keep his car on the road.
It was as they passed through the village of Virginia that the rains abated. A rainbow formed on the northern horizon, and his escort ordered him to turn off the main highway near the town of Stradone.
“We’ll be taking the back roads from here on, Doctor.
So watch your speed and keep your eyes peeled for oncoming traffic.”
Maguire wisely heeded this warning in time to steer clear of an approaching lorry that had no intention of sharing the narrow road with anyone else. Doing his best to miss the assortment of potholes that abounded here, he noted the parched appearance of the passing countryside. The hilly landscape here was dotted with ramshackle cottages and rock-strewn fields marked by winding stone hedges. A tinker’s caravan passed on their right, and the physicist got a brief view of its gypsies seated on the side of the road playing cards.
Certain that they were in County Caven at this point, he learned this fact for certain when he spotted a tilted road sign that indicated that the village of Cootehill was three kilometers away.
At one point they had considered building a nuclear power plant in this part of the Republic. It was hoped that the jobs and abundant energy the plant would create would help this perpetually backward area develop.
One of the sites they were considering was south of Cootehill, on the banks of the Annalee River. John Maguire was flown out here by helicopter and found the location most promising. Yet it was the Republic that finally decided that the site’s relative proximity to the border with Northern Ireland made such a location undesirable. For the further north they now went, the closer they came to that infamous portion of Ireland known as “bandit country,” the virtually untamed home of the political terrorist.
Was such an organization responsible for his current abduction? The physicist could only guess that this was the case as they drove through the sleepy village of Cootehill and turned off onto a winding country lane.
The roadway here was all but impassable. Its asphalt was cracked and pitted, and in many places virtually nonexistent. Trying his best to ignore the rough ride and his vainly protesting shock absorbers, Maguire was ordered to turn left at a sign that read Cootehill House. A partially flooded lane took them through a forest of stately pines. A large lake was visible to the left. As the road twisted and they began their way up a rather steep rise, Maguire spotted the rounded arches of an estate house at the summit of this hillside. An ominous, heavy feeling formed in his gut with the realization that this gothic-looking habitation signaled the end of their long trip.
“You’ll park by the barn at the back of the house,” instructed his abduct or
Maguire did as he was ordered, receiving his next instructions as he put the transmission into park and turned off the ignition.
“You may exit now, Doctor. And by the way, let me be the first to welcome you to Cootehill House.”
His escort displayed an unusual degree of civility with this remark, and with the hope that things might not be as bad as they seemed, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The air was cool and crisp, the ground wet, as if it had just rained. Maguire guessed that the estate house that he stood beside had to be at the least fifty years old. Even then, it was in an amazingly good state of repair. The grounds were also well kept. This included the large vegetable garden adjacent to the estate’s southern wall.
“Damn!” cursed his escort as she left the car and took off for this plot.
The physicist was surprised to find his abduct or drawn to a tomato plant that seemed recently to have been trampled on. She had also removed the hat, sunglasses, and raincoat she’d been wearing, revealing herself to be an attractive young girl in her mid-twenties, with straight red hair and a curvaceous figure.
“So this must be the esteemed Dr. John Maguire,” came a deep voice from behind him.
The physicist pivoted and set his eyes on a tall, swarthy-looking character with an eyepatch over his right eye. Only as he approached did Maguire note that he wore his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Dressed in ragged blue jeans and a Berkeley sweatshirt, he looked much like a middleaged version of a 1960s hippie. Yet there was something sinister about his appearance, and the scientist’s gut tightened as he again spoke.
“It really is an honor to meet you, Doctor. I heard you speak some time ago, when the Republic was considering whether or not to invest in its first nuclear power plant. Though I myself sided with the ecologists who resisted this plant, I couldn’t help but admire the clarity of your thought as you delivered your very persuasive presentation.”
“And to whom, may I ask, am I speaking?”
“Names are not really important at this stage of the game. Doctor. Just know that I hold convictions equally as strong as your own, though I’m certain you and I could have some very spirited debates on a variety of subjects if the opportunity presented itself.”
Frustrated by the deliberate vagueness of this answer, Maguire emotionally exploded.
“Well, how in the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on here if you won’t even tell me your name? What do you want with me, and what have you done with my family?”
“So the good doctor has a temper after all,” re203 turned his one-eyed host.
“Go ahead and shout all you want. Relieve the tension that’s bottled up inside of you, but be assured that I’m the one who’ll be asking all the questions around here. Otherwise, you’ll never see that family of yours again!”
Certain that he meant this, Maguire softened.