Page 64 of Dublin Debacle

Daphne hugged Emily. “Stay safe. Good friends are hard to come by.”

Emily hugged her friend. “You’re right. I’ll be back.”

She left the pub with Jack.

As they walked toward the Customs House, Jack reached for Emily’s hand and held it all the way through the streets, across the bridge and over to where people were already gathering in front of the Customs House.

Emily was worried because she hadn’t heard from her father or Finn. They were supposed to text her when they had Rory on board. The closer to the time for the rally to start, the more tense she became.

They’d reached the edge of the crowd before her phone vibrated in her pocket. Her hands shook so much she fumbled and almost dropped her cell phone as she held it in front of her.

The message was from her brother, Finn.

Finn: We have Rory on board, waiting near the stage. Got a megaphone as backup.

Emily: Team’s here. Let’s stop this war before it happens.

“They have Rory,” she said softly to Jack. Emily breathed a short sigh.

“Good,” he said without looking down. He would be looking for the faces of the mercenaries, like searching for needles in a haystack.

Emily pocketed her cell phone and searched the faces in the crowd for those of the mercenaries she’d studied back at the pub. She shoved her hand in her pocket, somewhat comforted by the presence of the stun gun. Although they were early for the rally, Emily and Jack had to push their way through the crowd to get close to the stage.

Once there, Emily searched for her father, Finn and Rory, but couldn’t see them.

People kept coming, filling in behind them. As the time for the rally to begin neared, Emily’s pulse pounded and her breathing became more erratic.

Jack’s hand found hers and immediately grounded her.

She drew in a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly.

Cormac Faherty stepped up onto the stage that had been erected for the occasion and approached the microphone. His wife, Amanda, and sister, Orla, took positions on either side of him, and his staff flanked them. Emily recognized them from Cormac’s advertisements on television.

“Good afternoon, my fellow Irish!” he called out.

The crowd yelled with equal cheers and boos, the sound a roar in Emily’s ears.

“Let me start by addressing what must be foremost on your minds, the recent murders of Micky O’Roark and Tristan Doyle. Rest assured, I’m working with the Garda to find those responsible and bring them to justice.”

“You’re responsible! Bring yourself to justice!” a loud voice called out, followed by more shouts for justice.

A disturbance from the back of the stage caused Faherty to turn.

Rory Gallagher, escorted by Emily’s brother, hurried to the front of the stage.

Faherty’s bodyguards converged on them.

“What’s this?” Faherty demanded.

“As the new leader of the Travellers,” Rory called out, his voice loud enough to carry, “I’ve come with information that might lead to justice for all those attacked or murdered over the past month.”

When the bodyguards tried to push them off the stage, a voice in the crowd shouted, “Let him speak! Let him speak!”

Soon, others picked up the chant, and the entire crowd roared with the demand.

“Wait,” Faherty called out to his bodyguards. “Let go of the man. What information do you have?”

As the bodyguards brought the two men to the front, Orla and Amanda backed up several steps. Amanda leaned toward Orla and whispered something in her ear. Orla nodded, her gaze on the three men, her mouth set in a thin line.

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