Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (16 page)

*

S
etanta walked alongside Crat’s car—a slow formal funeral walk, with head up—casting an occasional dirty look at him. He wished that damned animal would go away.

They reached the centre of the town. Suddenly, there was a mighty explosion some distance away to the north; the sky lit up. Everyone froze. Crat, fearing he was about to be assassinated, ducked down in the car. Then another explosion, a bigger one; high in the sky white petals scattered and fell slowly to earth. The crowd roared approval, but didn’t know what was happening: Ulick did.

At that moment he noticed Ozzy standing beside him; he hugged and danced around with his old friend. All was well now. The explosions continued, getting louder. Setanta raced over and danced around with Ozzy before resuming his silent march beside the late Director. The long march to the airport continued down the Galway road and eventually was lost from view. Large crowds, with flags flying, lined the streets of Galway waiting to cheer on the undignified retreat.

Paulo stepped forward and called out in a loud voice.

‘Tonight, when you drink, everyone drinks: and when you pay, everyone pays.’

*

T
he celebrations continued long into the night. Now that it was all over, Ulick sat on his usual seat, looking pensive as he sipped his drink. After consuming three pints of Guinness, Ozzy and Setanta were more than half pissed; they left together and it would be hard to say who was helping whom.

A devastated Toby arrived and took his place beside Ulick. Paulo put a pint before him.

‘They’re gone, Ulick, flew out of Clifden this evening and they’re not coming back.’

‘I know,’ he replied glumly.

‘How the hell do you know?’

‘It’s a long story, and one we have to keep to ourselves.’

Straight from a live interview on HBTV, Frankie Carney entered Paulo’s. A great porter laden roar of welcome greeted him; he joined Ulick and Toby. Paulo put a large brandy before him.

‘This one is on the house, Taoiseach,’ he grinned.

Frankie smiled. ‘Now that’s proper respect for the Taoiseach.’

Paulo grinned and left them.

Frankie raised his glass.

‘How did you do it, Ulick?’

He put down his glass.

‘It’s a long story. Before Gina and her friends came here, they operated what you would call a high class comfort home for USE top dogs, somewhere in the north of Italy. Nothing wrong with that except that the dogs were using USE funds—very considerable amounts—to pay the girls. This they achieved by setting up dummy untraceable contracts, but Gina knew what was going on. Somehow, a nosy newspaper man became suspicious; so they moved their operation to Connemara.

Gina was smart enough to know you can’t trust these people, so she kept documentary evidence as a form of insurance. The nosy newspaper man kept on digging; two days ago he called at the Haven and offered Gina a very large sum of money for her story. She gave him no information and doesn’t intend to; she asked him to come back next week. It was time for them to move on.

They can now afford to give up the game and start new lives, somewhere outside Europe. Before she left, Gina gave me enough information to force the DG to call off his troops. Would you believe it? These bastards were prepared to screw the poor farmers of Connemara whilst lining their own pockets!’

Toby called for two more pints.

‘I’ll miss Ali, I love that little beauty. She promised to keep in touch with me. They left me the car and Woofy; that will please Setanta.’

They sipped their pints in silence for a few moments. Then Toby asked.

‘Were they really nuns?’

Ulick put down his glass. ‘What do you think?’

They were joined by a happy looking Martin Sandys, who called out to Paulo.

‘Large brandies over here, Paulo.’

He turned to Ulick.

‘I don’t know what you did, but it worked; I got the Dublin job.’

‘I’m delighted, Martin.’

Ella entered the bar and made her way to Ulick. She put an arm around him. ‘Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?’

He smiled. ‘I am that, love,’ raised his voice, ‘Garson.’

*

I
n an unexpected development, it was announced the following day that DG Derek Walden-Smyth would not be seeking reappointment for a further term, but he would get his knighthood. Georgio Caplio would be the next DG; Jose De Laka would be the new Deputy DG. Some things never change.

*

T
wo days later, Ulick received a letter from the Contessa; it contained instructions to dispose of the Haven and where to send the proceeds. It finished with the following paragraph:

“I dreamed for a while,

I knew it was a dream,

I knew it would end,

Farewell, my friend.”

Ella was much happier; life returned to normal. She didn’t tell Ulick that, on that fateful Saturday, she also received a phone call from Gina.

T
HE
E
ND.

T
he lone early morning watcher waited patiently, as he did most mornings, a top a little clover covered hillock and looked out towards the lakes and mountains of Connemara. It came as he knew it would; the bright sun appeared in the clear blue eastern sky and, as it revealed itself, illuminated the rugged landscape. A unique event, taken for granted now, but welcomed with joy by the people who lived here thousands of years ago. Robins, linnets and swallows began to sing and skip through the morning air, while sleepy rabbits shook themselves and moved around slowly. A new day.

Still wrapped in the ecstasy of the moment, the watcher became aware of a distant sound coming out of the west. He looked up; high in the sky, a huge machine—at least, that’s what he thought it was—was coming towards him. Reducing height, becoming noisier, it charged through the morning air. The noise was deafening; it began to lose height rapidly; it was going to crash.

Transfixed, he watched while the machine, whatever it was, plunged towards earth. It was long, not really like a plane. He put his hands over his ears; threw himself to the ground. It plunged into the deep waters of the lake about half a mile away. This wasn’t a normal morning.

*

I
n pensive mood, Ulick Joyc—accompanied by his famous wolfhound Setanta—walked down the Main Street in Conna to his office. He nodded and smiled to those he met along the way but his thoughts were elsewhere. The leading solicitor in Conna and one time President of the state of Hi-Brazil, he was still addressed as “Mr President” and much revered by his people.

Dressed in an open necked blue shirt over grey cords, he would not be going to court today. In his early forties, in his prime he would say, with rugged features and sharp blue eyes, his fine head of black hair showing tinges of grey. Setanta ambled along quietly beside his master, aware that Ulick was having problems: woman problems.

Arriving at his office, a small two storied non descript once private house, he greeted his staff and, with Setanta at his heels, entered his private office where the opened post was awaiting him. Setanta stretched himself out in his usual spot by the window. Ulick glanced through the post, divided it, handed one batch to his secretary to pass on to his commercial partner, Annie Clarke and the second one to Marty Walsh, his general manager. His own role in the firm, as he saw it, was advisory; he only handled cases that interested him. And right now there was one case that was getting all his attention.

Annie Clarke, two years with the firm, was a beautiful petite blonde in her early thirties. A first class solicitor, with green eyes, clear skin and a perfect figure, she usually wore a dark business suit, white silk blouse and very high heels. Being the youngest daughter of two university lecturers, she was not lacking in ambition or confidence. On completion of her apprenticeship, in Cavanagh’s office in Galway, she practiced there for six years. When she moved out to Conna, she rented a luxury apartment in a modern block overlooking the lake.

Setanta jumped up when she entered the room, carrying a file. The aroma of that perfume was overpowering! She fancied Ulick and she wasn’t the only one. Setanta knew a lot of things he wasn’t meant to know, but he wasn’t talking. She stood in front of Ulick’s desk showing off her perfect figure.

Ulick smiled. ‘Morning, Annie.’

She grinned cheerfully. ‘Morning, Mr President. What do you think about the Harny case?’

He could do without the Mr President, but he let it pass.

‘I think we should settle but, if she wants to go ahead, I don’t suppose we have much option.’

She smiled. ‘That’s what I was thinking. If she insists, it will be the High Court.’ She paused and smiled. ‘Would you lead the defence; Miss Justice Walsh doesn’t like lady advocates.’

‘Certainly, keep me posted.’

She smiled and departed.

Setanta shook his head knowingly; she’s ignoring me as usual. That bitch means business. Here we go again. The last time Ulick appeared with Annie in the High Court in Galway, they stayed overnight in the Ardilaun hotel. Ulick met many of his old friends, including some appointed by him during his term as President. The wine flowed freely; he dined with Annie and spent the night with her. Should she replace Ella as Ulick’s mistress, that would adversely affect his comfortable life style. That wouldn’t do.

Ulick’s relationship with Ella was at a crucial stage; there was a lot of tension between them. Ella had purchased a big restaurant in Galway city, which was taking up all her time; her Conna shop was currently up for sale. Ulick didn’t mind, in fact he helped out in his spare time. But she wanted him to move into the city and buy a house in Salthill. That wasn’t on. Setanta was pleased that his master wouldn’t move out of Conna. Imagine trying to make his way through the crowded, noisy streets!

Added to all this, Ulick’s great love of the past, his one time partner, Nodie Morris, was returning to Galway, having been appointed a judge of the Supreme Court. She and Ulick parted when she became a Circuit Court judge—later elevated to High Court—in the south eastern region. Now, she was coming back with her young son, although there didn’t appear to be a man in her life at the present time. That was interesting.

She would be living—a little way out the Maam Cross road—in the modern bungalow she inherited from her mother. It was only a few hundred yards from Ulick’s home. Setanta liked Nodie; he liked Ella too. He didn’t like Annie.

Now why don’t humans behave like the dog family; why doesn’t Ulick live with as many women as he wishes? Setanta thought about it for a while; sounds all right, but it wouldn’t work. Every woman wants to be queen of the castle! And all the chat would do his head in!

*

I
n a secret underground complex, far below the Nevada desert, the new controller, Jake Huston, an elderly balding rotund boffin type little man, was in despair. To be thrown into this unwished for position was disconcerting; he had always been number two and expected to stay that way.

His fearful mind was still trying to cope with the enormity of the crisis. He had been through the late Professor John Yang’s papers and computer records: nothing. Every detail, every note, every plan, every sketch of the new X11, was gone. What the hell was going on?

He worked with John Yang on this project for nearly ten years; in all that time he never really got to know his boss, who, at times, seemed to live in a world of his own. The X11 was John’s brainchild; no one else could understand the complexity of this awesome weapon. John wouldn’t sell out to the enemy, would he?

A mild mannered man in his sixties, devoted to his three grandchildren, he lived quietly by himself in an apartment within the complex, or at his home in Orange County, after the death of his beloved wife, Joan. A forensic search of his house and apartment had so far revealed nothing.

His body was found at his home. The 911 call was made from there. By whom? There was no one there to meet the police. Nothing added up. The area was sealed off; two of John’s colleagues continued to search in the hope of turning up some documentation, some information that would enable them to rebuild the missile. His bank accounts and safe deposit box were checked: nothing out of the ordinary.

John’s body was taken secretly to a morgue in LA, where an autopsy was carried out; although it appeared he shot himself. Whatever the outcome, this could not be permitted to enter the public domain.

In a matter of hours the complex was crawling with secret service agents; everyone was under suspicion; houses and apartments searched; staff members were even body searched. It was a nightmare.

Professor Yang, unknown to anyone, must have set up the launch of the only prototype of the X11, before he left the complex. But why? Could it be that he was murdered and his papers stolen? Impossible? Only authorised operatives had access to the complex. If security was compromised it had to be by a staff member. That was a chilling thought.

As of now, all that remained of the X11 was in that damned missile, but where the hell was it? In some way, John Yang had combined matter and anti-matter to produce enormous energy; less costly than nuclear, it would replace the fast diminishing supply of fossil fuels with clean energy. He had seen the formula once, but it made no sense to him. John Yang was way ahead of his time.

He picked up the phone and rang through to his assistant in launch control.

‘Ed,’ he asked wearily. ‘Where is it?’

‘It was near the Irish coast when it disappeared off radar.’

‘Could it have been shot down?’

‘No, it’s programmed to deflect defence missiles.’

‘Why do you think it was launched?’

‘No idea. Professor Wang was the only one with all the coordinates for a launch.’

‘Could he have set up the launch all by himself?’

‘He was the only one who could.’

That didn’t necessarily mean he acted alone.

‘Can you track it?’

‘I have an estimated site but it could be out by up to 25 miles.’