Page 65 of Dublin Debacle

Rory Gallagher stepped toward the microphone. “I’ve come to tell you the Travellers have not attacked Nationalists.”

Half the crowd booed with shouts of, “Liar!”

Rory raised a hand, though the crowd didn’t get much quieter. “I’ve also learned the attacks on the Travellers were not by Nationalists.”

Now the entire crowd shouted. People shifted behind Emily, pushing her and Jack forward several feet.

“It’s true!” Rory said. “The attacks were by mercenaries hired to manipulate each of our people, to make them angry enough to fight back.”

The shouts diminished, but not fully.

“How do we know you’re not lying?” the loud man up front shouted.

“You don’t. But you should also know those mercenaries are among us, ready to start the fight and leave all of us to finish it. Are you going to let someone manipulate you into throwing away the peace we’ve had for over two decades? We shouldn’t be angry with each other; we should be angry with the person who hired the mercenaries.”

“I think I see one of the mercenaries near the east end of the stage,” a staticky voice said into Emily’s ear. She glanced toward Jack.

He frowned and looked around. A moment later, he touched Emily’s arm but spoke into the radio. “I just saw a guy who looks like the one with the scar through his eyebrow. He’s in the front of the crowd, standing near center stage. I’m going to work my way through the crowd toward him.”

“Be careful,” a voice said. “He might be armed.”

Jack glanced down at Emily. “Stay here. Duck if you hear gunfire.”

Emily started to follow Jack, but the crowd closed around him before she’d gone two steps.

When she lost sight of the back of his head in the crowd, she turned back to the stage.

Rory faced the crowd that was demanding to know who would manipulate them. A scowl descended on the Traveller’s forehead.

Emily held her breath. He was about to reveal the identity of the Flamethrower—the man behind the attacks.

“My source traced the mercenaries’ payments to campaign funding,” he turned toward Cormac Faherty with a dramatic wave, “for Cormac Faherty.”

The crowd roared.

Movement behind Cormac Faherty caught Emily’s attention.

Amanda Faherty’s hand rose to her mouth, her eyes widening.

Cormac’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never do such a thing.”

“Then how do you explain the money sent from your campaign funds to the mercenaries’ accounts?”

Cormac held up his hands. “I have people who manage the funds. I don’t even know the account number.” The man looked completely surprised. Either that or he was a good actor.

Behind Cormac, his sister, Orla, raised a hand to her mouth much like his wife had, though the sister’s eyes didn’t widen. They narrowed. On the back of her hand was a dark smudge. At least, from a distance, it appeared to be a dark smudge, very much like the fuzzy image of the person on the video footage, leaving the alley on game night.

The night the Flamethrower had been in the Tap & Tavern.

Emily’s pulse slammed through her veins. She turned toward Jack only to remember he’d gone after one of the mercenaries. In her ear, she heard Jack say, “This guy is armed. I’m taking him down.”

Again, movement on the stage made Emily look back to see Orla Faherty moving toward the steps at the rear. As she reached them, a man dressed in black, much like the Garda, but not quite, stepped forward to help her down the stairs.

Not wanting to disturb Jack while he was taking down an armed mercenary, Emily pushed her way through the crowd to the edge.

As she emerged on the side, she saw the man in black rush Orla toward a black limousine.

Emily ran toward them, shouting, “Stop her! She’s the one! She hired the mercenaries!”

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