9

She has to be taken already, he thought, but I hope to find out anyway.

Mick’s done a fine job of bringing people together, Sean thought as he watched his friend set drinks in front of the guests now seated in the parlor. He’s been right all along; I needed to spend time among our own, and I’m comfortable here.

Conversation was easy, talk centered on the present and the circumstance that each was experiencing. Occasionally it shifted to lighthearted stories of their earlier years, their childhoods and incidents that, when related, brought laughter because of their familiarity. Sean discovered that Bridgette was not taken and, as she put it, might even be open to exploring the possibilities of meeting someone who could be of interest to her in a meaningful way. He was delighted.
The flat’s small dining room was just large enough to accommodate everyone. With Mick seated close to the kitchen door and able to move between rooms without creating a disturbance, the meal went smoothly.

After dinner, Bridgette told a joke and when the laughter died down, Rafferty looked squarely at Sean and said, “Oh, by the way, Sean, there is something we would like to speak with you about.”
“I hope you’re not going to ask me for money,” Sean replied, still looking at Bridgette and smiling at her joke.

“Our problem isn’t about money, McGuire. There is, however, a small matter regarding some business we have in Derry. I think perhaps you may be able to help us.”
The abrupt change in Rafferty’s tone of voice startled Sean and when he looked across the table, beyond the mugs of tea and plates of leftover food, he saw a stranger. The good-natured barkeep, his friend whose role seemed solely to listen and help ease troubled minds, had vanished. In his place sat a different Rafferty, a hard, determined man whose voice commanded respect; it was a voice capable of instilling fear in the heart of anyone unwilling to listen. Willing or not, Sean McGuire chose to listen. But the fear came on anyway.
The room went silent, and Sean realized that every eye was on him. Time seemed to stop until suddenly, Rainey spoke.
“We want you to find a way to get us past the wire in Derry. We’ll fix it so there’s no way to connect you, McGuire, but we need you to get us through the gate.”
“Why? What business would you have there?”
“Our business is none of your concern. What is your concern is that we get through the gate the night we need to. You might also want to see to it that you’re not aboard that night.”
Time and talk eventually revealed that Rafferty’s guests, active members of a radical terrorist group, had chosen his vessel as a target. Sean started to protest, but before he could get anything out, Bridgette Toomey spoke.
“If you don’t cooperate with some measure of patriotic enthusiasm, Mr. Irish Fellow, the Royal Navy may be spending some of its time discovering what Sean McGuire’s been up to while hanging about in the company of the IRA.” Flashing a disarming smile, she added, “There’s plenty more they’ll be finding out as well.”

Those no-good bastards, Sean said to himself as he walked back to the boat that night. I’ve done everything I know of to stay clear of this stuff and now they’re reeling me in. Damn, what in hell am I going to do?

A thick, gray, disorienting fog had rolled in, and as he made his way along the narrow streets, he could hear the muted sound of his heels striking the paving stones. A faint fishy smell of the nearby ocean hung heavily in the damp air, and rather than his usual comforting feeling of knowing what his life was about, he felt as lost and lonely as he could ever imagine.

9