The Bloomsday Dead by Adrian McKinty Read Free Book Online Page A

you’re set on going, aren’t you?” he said finally.
    I tapped the passport on the table.
    “Don’t worry, Dan, they won’t harm me now I’m an American citizen,” I said.
    Dan shook his head, for him this was not an occasion for levity.
    “There’s nothing I can say?” he said sadly.
    “No.”
    Dan motioned for one of the agents to come over. He told him something I couldn’t catch and the agent sloped off.
    “What was that all about?” I asked.
    “I’m going to get some paperwork faxed over. I’ll want you to sign a release ending your relationship with the WPP. If you’re killed by Bridget Callaghan or one of her employees, or meet with any kind of accident while you’re there, I want us off the hook. I’ll want us to be able to say that you did this strictly against my advice and that you were no longer a member of the WPP.”
    I nodded. He was right. There was no point kicking up a stink about it. He ordered two more Sam Adams, getting one for himself this time. We clinked the bottles together.
    “Ok, so tell me everything you know about the daughter,” I asked.
    “Her name is Siobhan, it’s spelled with a b, pronounced Shavawn, but there’s a b in there somewhere.”
    “Christ, I’m Irish, I know how to spell Siobhan.”
    “Ok, we believe it’s Darkey’s kid. I think she must be about eleven or twelve. She went to private school in Manhattan. A good student. Pretty girl, takes after her mother, not Darkey, thank God. Only child, but she has a lot of cousins. . . . And, uhh, well, I’m afraid that’s about all I know.”
    “You think Bridget is the type of person to use her daughter in a ploy to get me?”
    “I don’t, frankly, but nothing would surprise me.”
    “How often does Bridget go to Belfast?”
    “I have no idea. I do have other cases, you know. I heard something about a home in Donegal, wherever that is.”
    “It’s in the west. But that would make sense. Ok. That’s fine.”
    We talked for a couple of minutes and Dan stood up. One of the goons was coming back with a bunch of forms.
    “Here come those faxes. Let me get you dinner at the executive club. Airline food is getting worse and worse,” Dan said “Aer Lingus never hit the culinary high notes to start with,” I said. Dan smiled and put his arm around me and we left for what I’m sure Dan thought was something of a last supper.

    The flight was full and overbooked. Aer Lingus offered me two first-class tickets and a thousand dollars to fly tomorrow. But I wanted to go now.
    There was a festive air to the check-in crowd and it made me wonder if there was some holiday or event taking place that I didn’t know about. A wealthy-looking, trim, educated crowd, so it wasn’t some drinking binge or the hurling final. It wasn’t the Olympics, but I did know that the Tour de France sometimes went out of country. Perhaps that was it. The Tour de France was having an Irish leg this year.
    I got a window seat and they brought me champagne and gave me a copy of Ulysses, which was strange.
    “Don’t you do movies anymore, love?” I asked the stewardess.
    “Sorry?”
    “Like I know Aer Lingus is a bit backward but most of the other airlines have films, and computer games and stuff like that. Giving someone a brick-size book for a six-hour flight is pretty lame,” I said.
    “No, that’s just a complimentary copy, we have a dozen films for you to watch, sir,” she said, raised her eyebrows, and walked off to deal with a less obtuse passenger.
    The woman next to me had heard the conversation. She obviously had enough dough to be flying first but she looked like a retired English teacher from central casting. Aran sweater, granny glasses, sensible shoes. I supposed she was about sixty.
    “I take it, young man, that you’re not flying to Dublin for the festivities,” she said in a patrician accent.
    “No, I’m just going home. What festivities?”
    “You don’t know what day it is tomorrow?”
    “Aye, it’s