Dunleavy drained his glass again and set it down. “As a military man and a politician, sir, I’ve had to make several promises I was not sure I could keep, but what you ask is not too much. Aid us in our campaign against the Queen, and you shall have your laboratory.”
Barker slowly put forth his hand. “A gentlemen’s agreement, then?” he asked. The colonel took his hand and shook it solemnly. I looked over. O’Casey and Garrity had broken into grins.
“Gut,” Barker said, filling his glass with more schnapps. “I was intent upon leaving the country, but you make me take heart again. I believe I shall stay. It would be a shame to leave now when things are just beginning to get interesting. And as a German, I am, of course, concerned about English arrogance, especially regarding the seas. It is necessary that the Germans, the Irish, and the Americans show England that they shall not be cowed by its imperialist expansion. Who better than the Germans to be your allies, gentlemen?”
I thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but it was obvious these Irish radicals were impressed by his speech. They would ally themselves to Satan if it meant they could have their own country. It occurred to me, then, to wonder what would happen if they succeeded. A country just thirty miles away led by bombers and anarchists would not, in my opinion, be a stable ally; and should they truly form an alliance with Germany, where already there were rumblings of discontent, it would form an imminent threat to English security. That is to say, to my security. If we didn’t stop these people, I could find myself with a rifle in hand on some foreign battlefield or, worse than that, in our own country. It would be 1066 all over again.
“Mr. van Rhyn,” Dunleavy said, “we have done a desperate thing. We have planned a second attempt upon London within the month, using the very dynamite you have urged us to destroy. We are committed to this venture and shall go forth with our campaign, but if this dynamite is as dangerous or worthless as you say it is, we must find another source. Nowhere in these godforsaken isles will they allow an Irishman or an American to purchase dynamite, blasting caps, chemicals, or even so much as base materials. The Special Irish Branch and Scotland Yard are watching, hoping to catch us in the attempt. This dynamite is all we have in the way of munitions.”
“You have adequately described some of the obstacles in our path,” Barker stated, “but allow me to ease your mind upon a few points. First of all, Mr. Penrith and I are very obviously not Irish and would be able to purchase materials forbidden to you. My name, as well, might open some doors, though it might close others. Rather than attempt to purchase the ready-made dynamite or nitroglycerin, the two of us will be able to make them ourselves. We would then be able to fashion our own bombs. I would suggest we purchase the equipment elsewhere, such as Amsterdam or Paris, where the officials are not so vigilant.”
“They’re vigilant enough,” Garrity complained. “I’ve been trying to buy materials for weeks.”
“You just leave that matter to Mr. Penrith and me, Mr. Garrity. I believe we can work around it. Within thirty days, we’ll have these Londoners dancing a jig again.”
“Arrogant English aristocrats,” Dunleavy slurred. The drink had finally gone to his head and loosened his tongue. “Let’s see how they feel when half their monuments are in rubble. Let’s see how they feel when we blow their Queen’s head off her shoulders!”
“He’s had too much,” O’Casey apologized, and he and Garrity helped lift Dunleavy out of his chair. “If I may, I’d like to call on you gentlemen in the morning.”
We shook hands quickly, and they maneuvered the American out into the hall. I could still hear him as they escorted him down the corridor.
“We won’t stop till the town’s in ruins. Dublin will be liberated from English oppression. And who shall be its new leader? Alfred Dunleavy, that’s who! What do you think about that, Mr. Gladstone?”
12
They let us alone the next morning, and we went into the dining room for a good breakfast. I thought it possible the colonel was sleeping off the effects of the whiskey he had consumed. It felt strange not attending a service on the Sabbath, but Barker explained that he could not risk having van Rhyn, that old anarchist, seen in a Baptist church. We read the newspapers until eleven thirty, when there was a sharp rap upon our door. It was Eamon O’Casey with a gnarled wooden stick in one hand and a gladstone bag in the other.
“Fine morning, gentlemen. The sun is out,” he announced.
“It is,” Barker agreed, finishing his tea. “How is the colonel?”
“He is just getting up, but he requested to speak with you in the smoking lounge at twelve. He has asked me to express his apologies for being a bit concerned in his liquor last night. The month has been a rather strenuous one for him.”
Barker nodded. “And where is Mr. Garrity this morning?”
“He should be halfway to Dublin by now. He’s not an actual member of our faction but an officer of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and he acts as an advisor to the various factions, as well as constructing explosives for us.”
“Ah. And what is in the bag?” Barker asked. “Surely you are not carrying the dynamite around with you openly, I trust.”
“Faith, no.” O’Casey chuckled. “It’s just my uniform. Most of us faction lads are in a hurling club, and though it’s off season, we keep in shape by playing unofficial games. We begin one in about an hour.”
“What is hurling?” I asked.
“Hurling? What’s hurling? Why, it’s the greatest game, the only game. A fellow’s only half a man if he hasn’t tried hurling; and if he has tried it, it’s in his blood, and there’s no going back. Why don’t you come with me and meet the boys, Mr. Penrith, while the older gentlemen strategize? It’ll give you a chance to see something of Liverpool, such as it is.”
“Well, I don’t know …” I said, looking at my employer.
“Go ahead, Penrith,” Barker said to me, and made a little gesture with his fingers that I interpreted to mean I was to stay alert and be his eyes and ears. “You’ve been restless all morning. You young pups go and play your games.”
“Very well, sir, if you are certain you don’t need me.”
Outside, O’Casey rested his stick comfortably against his shoulder as he took the stairs down to the lobby two at a time.
“How was the ale last night?” he asked.
“It was fine. I noticed you didn’t drink. That’s unusual for an Irishman, isn’t it?”
“I’m in training,” he explained. “I’m captain of the local hurling team. I’ve never been a drinker, though. I’ve seen too many good Irishmen ruined by it.”
“What did you read at university?” I asked.
“Politics and economics. If I can see how other governments have dictated policy, perhaps I can help my own country. My father died in his pursuit of Ireland’s freedom. He was a great believer in Malthusian reasoning, that war, famine, and disaster are inevitable, since population increases geometrically while crop production increases arithmetically. It was the whole reason for the Irish famine in the first place. He was evicted from his own land and forced to go to Dublin for work. It is now my duty to carry on his dream to free Ireland. He was a barrister, who often took on cases against Her Majesty’s government, cases he felt were unjust to the Irish people. Eventually he was arrested on a vague charge of sedition. They put him in solitary for months. He starved himself to death in Kilmainham Gaol, in protest against the tyranny of the English government.”
“How did you fend for yourself after your father’s death?”
“My sister and I were befriended by an Irish patriot who stepped in and acted as a mentor to us. He helped pay for my schooling and took us under his wing. He helped set us on our feet here. But that’s enough about me, Mr. Penrith.”