Page 58 of Dublin Debacle

Jack’s jaw hardened. “Were there any witnesses to the attacks?”

“I don’t know,” Briget said. “Everything I heard was through the news reports.”

Jack slipped an arm around Emily’s waist and held her close.

She leaned into him, absorbing his strength, letting him ground her before she spoke. “They need to know they’re being played,” she said. “We have to go to the rally.”

CHAPTER13

“We need concrete information fast,”Jack said into his cell phone, “something tangible and big enough to get the attention of a massive crowd before they turn on each other.”

“You don’t need information,” Lucie Monroe said, “you need a miracle.”

Jack had led Emily up the stairs to her apartment, sat her at her dining table and fixed her a cup of tea. Then he’d placed a three-way video call to Lucie Monroe and Ace Hammerson.

Lucie leaned toward the camera on her monitor. Though her youthful appearance with her purple eyebrows and purple hair didn’t inspire adult confidence, her results did. “We have information coming in as we speak. Ace, you want to fill them in on what we know so far?”

“We’ve been receiving data and images over the past thirty minutes. Some from Seamus O’Brien and some from the queries Lucie has made through her contacts on the dark web.”

Lucie jumped in. “More deets on the dead mercenary. He was from a particular team of mercenaries who call themselves Night Shade. They used to work for the Shadow Syndicate. Though the Syndicate’s owner disavows any responsibility for their work, my contacts in the dark web say the Syndicate is behind their efforts. Though if they’re caught, they’re on their own. That specific group of his is known not just as guns for hire, but as assassins for hire. They’re skilled in a variety of weapons, hand-to-hand combat and demolitions. A call went out on the dark web approximately three months ago by an anonymous source looking for assistance with a special project needing the help of Night Shade.”

“Lucie followed the money flowing into an account owned by our dead guy, Frank Bycowski,” Ace said. “The money came from another account in the Caymans under a corporate name buried in another account fed from another in Switzerland under the name Bacon Meister Enterprises.”

“For the record,” Lucie said, “Bacon Meister was the name of Frank’s pit bull that had to be euthanized after it bit a kid’s face off back in Missouri.”

“Lucie found a large sum of money dropped into the Swiss account that fed the others in smaller sums,” Ace said. “When she went after the drop in the Swiss account, she found it had come from one of the Shadow Syndicate’s secret accounts.”

“Long story short,” Lucie cut in, “the money came from an account in Dublin—a campaign funds account that supports one of the Nationalist Party’s prime candidates.”

“Cormac Faherty?” Emily had come to stand beside Jack.

“That’s right,” Ace said.

“Why would he want to pit the Radical Nationalists against the Travellers before his big campaign rally?” Emily asked. “You’d think he would want a peaceful rally to demonstrate his ability to maintain order.”

“I can’t read the man’s mind,” Lucie said. “All I can feed you are the facts. Money from his campaign donations is funding the mercenaries killing people from the Radical Nationalists and the Irish Travellers.”

“What information has my father provided?” Emily asked.

“Photographs of weapons, plastic explosives and detonators brought into Dublin’s port and stored in a warehouse. He has also provided photos and videos of men dressed in wharf worker coveralls going into the warehouse either empty-handed or with an empty bag and coming out carrying full bags and stacks of cardboard boxes on hand trucks. They wear baseball caps and keep their heads down to hide their faces. Fortunately, Seamus was able to get clear enough shots to run their faces through facial recognition software. They match with more of the Shadow Syndicate’s rogue operatives that now make up the Night Shade team.”

“When did you get that information?” Emily asked.

“Last night,” Lucie said. “Getting the match on Bycowski helped us tie things together through his bank account all the way to Faherty’s. That took a hot minute.”

“What we haven’t determined is the identity of the person pushing the hate narrative,” Ace said.

“The Flamethrower, as Jack has tagged him,” Lucie said. “Good one, by the way. I was able to refine the photograph you sent of the man leaving the alley beside Ms. O’Brien’s pub. Although his face wasn’t visible, I determined the nature of the tattoo on the back of his hand.”

Lucie flashed an image onto Jack’s cell phone. “That’s a tattoo of a Celtic cross with ivy and a ribbon draped over either side of the cross. Normally, when you see such a tattoo, it’s in rich colors, celebrating the tradition of handfasting. As it is, all black, it represents the death of someone the wearer had handfasted.”

Jack frowned. “Handfasted?”

“Married,” Emily said softly. “Not all weddings are performed in a church. Handfasting was a common way to pledge one’s life to another.”

“So, this guy who could potentially be our social media flamethrower lost a loved one.” Jack shook his head. “How does that help us find him?”

“Could he have lost her through a conflict between Radical Nationalists and Travellers?” Emily asked.

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