The Return: Bathville Books

By Carol Kravetz

A chance to return to their home country to work on a top-security case is a chance Cathy and Krista don't want to pass up.  But within a short time of arriving in Northern Ireland, they are thrown back into the seedier side of the country's long, tumultuous history. The Police Service of Northern Ireland police officers are being murdered simply because of their religion, by an up-and-coming paramilitary organization. It is the leaders the detectives must find and put an end to their reign of terror. A chance to return to their home country to work on a top-security case is a chance Cathy and Krista don't want to pass up.  But within a short time of arriving in Northern Ireland, they are thrown back into the seedier side of the country's long, tumultuous history. The Police Service of Northern Ireland police officers are being murdered simply because of their religion, by an up-and-coming paramilitary organization. It is the leaders the detectives must find and put an end to their reign of terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol Kravetz
• Release date: Aug 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201454371

Carol Kravetz

I was born and raised in Northern Ireland, near Belfast. I emigrated to Canada in my mid 20s and while there, started writing. My daytime job was as a medical secretary to various health care professionals, but my spare time was dedicated to my writing. I lived in Canada for 12 years and during that time had almost completed seven novels in a series. After living at home for a year, I moved to the United States and continued my career as a medical secretary. My writing was shelved for just a little while during my time in the States but, since returning to Northern Ireland upon my husband’s retirement 8 years ago, I have been able to resume my writing. I currently live in Comber and work full time within the Education Authority and dedicate as much time as possible to my family and my writing.

Book preview

DEDICATION

My dad passed away while I was writing this instalment of the series. I know he would have been proud of me that I was able to write about my country to share with the rest of the world. My mum has dementia but still has moments of clarity. They both love me and I hope they know I will always love them.  This book has been set in my country, Northern Ireland. Because of that, my mum knows this book means a lot to me and she has always encouraged and cajoled me to get it written. This book is for them.

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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There are a lot of people to thank for this book. I was involved in an accident a couple of years ago and one of the aftereffects took away my ability to concentrate on what I was trying to write. As a result, this book has taken longer to complete than the previous four books. I hope I have done it justice.

I couldn’t do this without the huge help of my editor, Daniel Diehl. He has been with me since Book One, Murder is Just the Beginning. His work is top notch, his input and guidance greatly appreciated and his suggestions to change a word or a phrase always spot on. Thank you, Daniel. See you for the next one.

To my sister Shirley, for her support and snippets about the layout and protocol of the everyday running of an ICU ward. Still my favorite sister.

To SE and PC Ian. I apologize for all the questions about the PSNI but your patience and understanding are greatly appreciated. Thanks for relaying everything accurately and swiftly and helping me get a better handle on how the PSNI operates. I honestly couldn’t have written what I did without you both.

To Graham K. Many thanks for having the patience to supply all the information on the many, many random questions I shot at you. The advice about firearms, locations, intel, and security was invaluable and I hope I have quoted you accurately. Two bottles of Buckfast are on their way to you.

To my nephew John H and his lovely lady Alison O’N. Thank you both for the keeping me right on the layout of the PSNI and, Alison, for the input about the Security team at the RVH. Even if it was just a random comment, anything you offered me was taken on board and, I hope, used properly.

To Dr Melissa Cunningham, MUSC, thank you for your invaluable input about the treatment of a deeply distressed patient. I hope I have relayed your words appropriately and accurately. Next time we’re stateside, dinner is on me.

To Sarah, Stacey, Diane L, Bernie, Mandy, and Ann H, your continued support is more appreciated than you’ll ever know.

To my beautiful niece Lucy and her lovely husband Stephen. Thanks for the support and for the input about the court/justice system in Northern Ireland. You gave me information I would never otherwise have known about.

As always lastly, but by no means less importantly, my heartfelt thanks go to my darling husband, Mark. Your undying support and encouragement, your understanding to stop talking when I'm in typing up a storm and for organizing dinner when I’m otherwise occupied will never, ever be forgotten. Your ability to learn new techniques and work on getting public appearances for me is astounding and you always seem to make it seem effortless. You know I couldn’t do this without you and I wouldn’t even want to. Thank you, for everything, but mostly just for being you.

CHAPTER ONE

Belfast, Northern Ireland – June 2019

Walking through the backstreets of west Belfast late at night, thirty-seven-year-old Padraig Quinn squared his shoulders against the damp that was seeping through his jacket. It had been raining non-stop since four that afternoon, typical British summer rain that hung like a fine mist until it penetrated everything. It didn’t usually feel this mild and sticky this late at night, but Padraig had lived his whole life in Belfast and was more than accustomed to the peculiar weather the British Isles endured at every season.

But being accustomed to it didn’t mean he enjoyed getting soaked and Padraig quickened his step along the long row of terraced houses. He was moving through a quiet, residential area and only a couple of houses had lights on in the front rooms. He could hear a dog barking somewhere in the dark behind him and from one particular house he heard a raised, angry male voice say something disparaging to someone Padraig assumed was a female. Or a child.

He turned left at the top of the street and walked down a shorter one similar to the one he had just left. A few of the houses here were bricked up, sorry looking dandelions, weeds and wildflowers growing bravely through the cracks. There were few cars parked on the narrow street, most of them older models but a couple of relatively new ones. Old or modern, the fine mist-like rain left pearly droplets on the windscreens and beaded on the paintwork.

Half-way along the street, at a black door with the number 54 in brass numerals on it, he knocked once, sharply, then twice more in rapid succession as a signal. Seconds later the door opened onto a darkened hallway, the feeble light outlining a tall man.

Paddy, come on in, lad, came the gruff but friendly greeting in the long, hard accent of west Belfast.

Padraig crossed the threshold, immediately taking off his jacket and giving it a good shake. He hung it on the post of the stairway and ran a hand through his sleek, dark hair. That’s a miserable night out there, so it is, he stated unnecessarily to his friend. Any chance of a wee cup of tea?

Sixty-five-year-old Ciaran Maloney ushered him into the kitchen. Kettle’s just boiled, help yourself. Should be some biscuits in the tin too if you want.

Five minutes later, a cup of tea and a ginger snap in his hand, Padraig followed Ciaran into the living room. He was mildly surprised to see two other men sitting quietly chatting, each with a half-consumed mug of tea in their hand. At first, Padraig experienced a brief moment of fear. Having been summonsed here tonight, out of the blue, with no reason given for the meeting, he hadn’t expected anyone to be there other than himself and Ciaran. He didn’t know these two men, both roughly in their mid-forties, but he figured if he’d been brought here to be killed, they wouldn’t be sitting here calmly drinking tea, a plate with a variety of biscuits on it between them on the coffee table.

Gentlemen, this is Padraig Quinn, Ciaran introduced. Padraig, I’d like you to meet Kevin Gallagher and Daniel Mullen.

There was a brief flurry of firm handshakes and a few words of greeting. Padraig thought he detected an accent from both of them but couldn’t be sure. Pleased to meet you both, he offered.

Paddy, these two gentlemen are from our organization in Bathville, USA.

Padraig, the Irish spelling of Patrick is pronounced Pa-dreg. He was proud of his Irish culture and name and he hated being called Paddy but would never say so to Ciaran, nodded amiably. That’s nice. What brings you to Belfast? he stopped and chuckled. And please don’t say an Aer Lingus flight.

The one called Daniel, who had smooth features but cold, brown eyes seemed a bit mystified but then he got the joke and allowed himself a smile. There aren’t too many direct flights from the US to Belfast anymore, he said in his native Massachusetts accent. I thought Ciaran here would have told you why you’ve been called here tonight.

Ciaran, who was watching the exchange with a mild disinterest, shook his head. Nah, thought it best to throw him straight in, boys. He turned to Padraig and saw the young man was eyeing the Americans as calmly as possible over the rim of his mug. Paddy, we have a new assignment and Daniel and Kevin want you to carry it out because they were told you’re the best in the business.

Padraig nodded slowly. Aye, I suppose I am. What is it I can do?

The man called Daniel reached inside a briefcase at his feet and took out a large envelope. He opened it and extracted several photographs which he laid out on the coffee table and Padraig leaned closer for a better look. This, Paddy, Daniel said, tapping a finger against the top photo, is your next assignment.

Padraig examined the picture for a long moment. It showed a beautiful young woman in her mid to late twenties, dressed in the women’s police constable uniform of a few years ago. Although she was clearly on duty, she was smiling away from the camera as she chatted with another female police officer. Would love to give her one, so I would, he remarked candidly. What’s she of interest for? He leafed through the rest of the pictures, all of the same woman and he nodded appreciatively. Yup, I’d give her one and have her begging for more, he stated smugly. Some of the photos were of the woman in uniform, others in plain clothes. In some she was alone, in some she was with other police officers. In all of them, she was striking.

For joining the PSNI to begin with, which, although not unheard of anymore compared to your country’s outlook thirty years ago, is totally unacceptable to the Free the North Party.

Padraig raised his eyes briefly to look at Mullen, then returned his scrutiny to one of the pictures. Aye, but what’s so special about her?

She’s one of us, Paddy, Gallagher informed him. She was raised right, a good Catholic girl in a good Catholic family. He swallowed a mouthful of tea as if it suddenly tasted sour, his eyes full of contempt. Only good Catholic girls shouldn’t join the Police Service of Northern Ireland.

A brief semblance of acknowledgement flicked over Padraig’s face. There’s too many of them doing that nowadays, that’s for sure, he murmured. What’s her name?

Shauna Burns. She’s twenty-eight, engaged to be married, no children. Lives in North Belfast mostly on her own because her fiancé is a long-haul driver all over Europe and is therefore away a lot. She’s been a copper for seven years. Ciaran had memorized all the information on their next victim, the third this year. The previous, random killings of police officers – one man, one woman - had been undertaken to teach the PSNI a lesson, that the Free the North Party was still here and had no intentions of going away anytime soon.

Padraig studied the pictures for a few more moments then shuffled them together and slid them back in the envelope. How do you want me to do it this time? Same as before?

Mullen flicked a glance at Gallagher. He was suitably impressed with this young man who Seamus McDermott, the revered leader of the Free the North Party, had assured him would carry out his orders to the letter. Padraig hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid at the prospect of another killing. Mullen nodded. Yeah, sooner rather than later. Mr. McDermott is due a trip back to the States soon. I know he wants to tell his supporters over there how well run his party is on this side of the Atlantic and I’m pretty sure he’ll be exalting your capabilities, Paddy.

Padraig nodded, feeling his chest swell with pride. He didn’t dwell on it though; he was used to congratulatory remarks from Ciaran and Ciaran’s peers. However, he did admit to the thrill of knowing that his esteemed leader would be spreading a good word about him in America. He had first heard about Seamus McDermott five years ago and had been immediately mesmerized by McDermott’s passion and zeal to release Northern Ireland from the clutches of the United Kingdom and return it to the south of Ireland. He had fanatically followed any blog, news item, tweet, Facebook post or other online article he had been able to find on him ever since. It was Padraig’s ambition to raise quickly in the ranks of the FNP and become McDermott’s right-hand man. He didn’t care how long it would take but he knew the more orders he executed to perfection the more likely McDermott would take notice.

I’ll have it done by Thursday, he said smoothly, as easily as if he’d announced he’d have the fence painted by then.

Good man, Paddy, Gallagher said and, reaching out, shook his hand.

CHAPTER TWO

Bathville, Massachusetts, USA – July 2019

Captain Bob Hamilton of the 7th precinct in Bathville, Massachusetts leaned his heavy frame against the wall of his office. Above his head the double-paneled window let the early morning sunlight stream in. It was a beautiful late July day and following an unseasonably cool start to the month, the temperature had rebounded and was now a sizzling ninety-five degrees.  The whole country had been baking in unusually high temperatures for most of the summer and Massachusetts had certainly not been left out. The air conditioning was on full blast, keeping his office at a respectable, and much appreciated, seventy degrees and the captain hoped he wouldn’t be called out for any unexpected meetings across town. Not in this heat.

He looked at his two best detectives seated across from his desk. They were deep in thought, digesting what their superior had spent the last half hour talking to them about.  A matter they had never once envisioned now suddenly involved them. They hoped they had asked all of the appropriate questions at what they’d hoped were at appropriate times. But they had been uncertain, even apprehensive, at the answers they had received.

Captain Hamilton’s warm brown eyes flitted briefly to the doorway. He intended to involve two more people in the matter but he’d chosen to deliver the news to these men first because he knew they would have the most objective view of what he’d just told them.

Well? he said, after a few long moments of a heavy silence. Do you think they’ll want to do this?

Detective Paul Cameron shot a glance at his partner, Detective Dave Andrews, who did the same to him. Each gauged the other’s reaction, neither sure how to respond. Uh, well, captain, Paul began, deciding to take the lead, I think they might, but I’m still not entirely sure why, or how, Dave and I can get involved.

The captain nodded in acknowledgement. I hear you, Cameron, it was my first question too. However, with the American involvement, in our own city, and you both being married to whom you’re married, it actually makes the most sense.

Knowing his captain understood their reticence helped put Paul and Dave at ease. After another silent communication with one another, Dave said, Let’s ask them now, rather than just guess.

The captain smirked and strode to his office door. He stood on the threshold for a moment, looking at the other two detectives who had desks in this section of the precinct. There were only four desks here, two for them, the other two for Paul and Dave. The 7th precinct housed twelve detectives, and it was only because of the physical layout of the office that these four desks were separate from the rest of the squad. It certainly wasn’t a show of favoritism on the captain’s part, nor was it a question of rank. Still, having these four detectives in proximity to his own office suited the captain fine.

Cathy, Krista, my office please.

The women looked up from their monitors. They knew the captain had Paul and Dave in his office and, thinking the meeting had something to do with a new case, they hadn’t given it a second thought but they couldn’t conceal their surprise at being called in too.

Once they were all inside, the captain closed the door. He had an unwritten rule that if the blinds covering three of his four walls were closed, as well as the door, then no one was to disturb him. Cathy and Krista knew all about the rule and, when they saw the look on Paul’s and Dave’s face, they knew something was brewing.

What’s going on, Captain? Krista asked in concern, her startling green eyes wide and alert, her Northern Irish accent softly noticeable.

The captain had known her and Cathy for over two years and had long since gotten used to their accent but sometimes, like now, he noticed it as if hearing it for the first time. He had just had a lengthy Skype conversation with Detective Chief Inspector Billy Clarke of the Police Service Northern Ireland so he assumed that was what drew his attention to Krista’s accent. Just had a talk with someone both of you ladies know very well, he began.

Oh? And who was that? Cathy asked with an inquisitive smile.

Detective Chief Inspector Billy Clarke.

"Detective Chief Inspector? Krista cried. He never said he got promotion."

It just came through within the last couple of months, Captain Hamilton said. He emailed me about it when you were all up in Vermont hunting bad guys and getting yourselves kidnapped. Sorry, I forgot to share the news with you but from what I can gather, the promotion is well deserved.

It certainly is! Cathy said happily. She turned in her seat towards Paul and Dave, her blue eyes sparkling in good humor. "DI Clarke...oh, excuse me, DCI Clarke was Krista’s and my boss when we were in the PSNI."

Dave chuckled at his wife. We know, Cath, we remembered you talking about him way back when.

What were you Skyping with him about? Krista asked.

He’s been in talks with myself and the commissioner over the last few weeks. I wasn’t able to say anything to you before because we had a lot of groundwork to lay down first before we could even get a game plan up and running.

Er, game plan? Cathy asked.

Yes, game plan. The captain looked in turn at Krista and Cathy. I can assume you two ladies have heard of the Free the North Party, operating mainly in Northern Ireland?

Sure, Krista said. The FNP. IRA wannabes, but no less as dangerous. I thought they’d been disbanded. Not enough funding and recruits dropping out, that sort of thing.

They disappeared without actually going away. The leader refused to give up and has been actively recruiting on both sides of the Atlantic since September 2017.

Cathy groaned. "Both sides of the Atlantic? Please tell me he’s operating in some tiny South American country I can neither pronounce nor have even heard of?"

The captain smiled in amusement. No such luck. He’s got US headquarters now... right here in sunny, sizzling Bathville, Massachusetts.

Cathy groaned comically again. That’s just...not so wonderful. Okay, so what does this have to do with us?

The captain looked from her to Krista. He knew they sensed something was going on but he also knew they would never guess in a million years what it was. How would you like to return to Northern Ireland for an undetermined length of time?

Cathy and Krista looked at their boss as if he had lost his marbles, then they looked at each other, an identical expression of bewilderment on their faces. Not sure I would want to be away from Paul for an undetermined length of time, Krista said slowly.

Nor I Dave, Cathy said.

You won’t have to be. They’ll be going with you.

Two pairs of eyebrows shot up simultaneously. Paul chuckled at his wife’s bemusement and reached out to pat her arm. It’s okay, Kris, this isn’t as shocking as it seems. Let the captain explain.

Krista and Cathy shared a frown of uncertainty. If we return to Northern Ireland, will we be allowed to come back here eventually? Krista asked.

Absolutely, the captain answered. Tell me what you know about the Free the North Party?

They were on their last legs for sure when we were there, Cathy said. Organizations like the IRA or the FNP are classed as paramilitary organizations – you’ll hear the word paramilitary a lot if you tune into any Northern Ireland or United Kingdom news channel. People think paramilitary groups in Northern Ireland are Catholic and or Nationalist but paramilitary covers the Protestant and Loyalist groups too. Clarke wanted Krista and myself to work with the detectives from all over the country, as well as with officers from MI5 and the Serious Crime Branch – the latter used to be known as Special Branch - trying to locate the FNP members. Budget cuts stopped us from being able to work with them any longer than six months. It was a job more suited for detectives anyway, which we weren’t then, but we were all anxious to get those mad people caught so we did what we could before we were pulled from the task completely. We had all the best people doing all the best investigating, using all the best technology right at our fingertips and we always came up empty. She paused to reflect and gave a wave of her hand. Not to imply we didn’t know what we were doing, of course, but that’s the way it was for everyone. We never found one of them.

You’ve more or less repeated what Clarke said, Captain Hamilton remarked. His frustration was almost palpable.

Cathy nodded her understanding. I remember the leader...Shaun...no, Seamus McDermott, was a real zealot. Return the north to the south, free the north from the tyrannical rule of the Brits, that sort of thing was his constant war cry. McDermott and the FNP were responsible for dozens of innocent men, women and even children meeting their death.

Their preferred mode of destruction was planting bombs in highly populated venues, like a shopping center, a football – soccer to you Americans – match, a parade, anything that had the public out in their droves, Krista interposed. Sometimes they went the more passive route by going into a pub or restaurant in known Loyalist areas and shooting all round them. McDermott and his men – and women – were never caught, they covered their tracks well. And, reiterating what Cathy has just said, apart from McDermott, no one even knows who they are. Or where they are.

The captain took everything in before he spoke, knowing Paul and Dave were listening just as intently. McDermott was spotted boarding a plane in Dublin en route to Boston, last week. It’s the first time the PSNI and the Gardai - He looked directly at Paul and Dave - that’s the police force in the Republic of Ireland - have got a visual on him in years. Soon as he touched down in Logan, despite the TSA being alerted, he disappeared. No one knows if he orchestrated it but there was some kind of a commotion coming off the plane when an elderly gentleman lost his footing and fell full length as he stepped on to the jetway. A few overly impatient passengers practically trampled him in their race to get to baggage claim first and that’s how we think McDermott was able to give the TSA the slip. However, McDermott was spotted on security camera at the Enterprise car rental desk. He used a pseudonym and bogus address to sign out a Ford Explorer, black, with a New York license plate. Enterprise scanned his driver’s license into their system so we now have the new name and address on file. Only problem is, we have nothing on Jakob Cannery of 2591 Kettletown Creek, Bathville in any database in the country. He doesn’t exist, neither does the address. At least the same vehicle was spotted right here in Bathville.

What’s he doing in Bathville? Krista asked.

We – as in Massachusetts law enforcement, the FBI, the PSNI and the Serious Crime Branch – have intel that he is setting up an operation right here.

Huh? Cathy furrowed her brow in surprise. Why Bathville?

Because, the captain answered, he has dual nationality. Born to a British father and an American mother, he was raised a Catholic in west Belfast until he came to Boston to go to college and often travelled on down the coast to see his maternal grandparents who lived, yup, you guessed it, right here in Bathville.

Cathy got a sinking feeling in her stomach. Don’t tell me, we’re being assigned to weed him out, and his followers, here as well as in Belfast?

The captain nodded. Exactly.

Krista shook her head. But it doesn’t make sense, Captain. This sort of assignment is usually for the FBI or the UK’s MI5 or the Serious Crime Branch. Even when we were working over there, our involvement was only minimal, on an as needed basis. The job was always done by the higher ranked detectives. Even our ranks here aren’t high enough, so why lowly detectives like us?

I knew you’d ask that, Krista. The captain nodded his head. It was DCI Clarke’s idea to involve you. McDermott and his followers wouldn’t have any idea lowly detectives will be looking for him. MI5 in the UK and the Feds here will be very much involved, but you will be also, partly because of you both come from there and know how law enforcement works over there; partly because you’ve been working in Bathville for over two years; but mostly because all four of you are top notch detectives. The combined knowledge of both the US and the UK ways are an invaluable, and unique, aspect to this assignment. The captain paused to take a drink from a bottle of water that had been sitting on his desk. It was still mercifully cold. The real reason why Clarke wants you involved isn’t just to find these people. The FNP has stepped up their attack on the police service. This year alone they have murdered three police officers. Two women, one man. They seem to have been random hits, all stationed in different areas of Belfast, no known similarities. The only thing they had in common was the fact they were all Catholic. Obviously targeted because the FNP believes Catholics shouldn’t be protecting the Crown.

Cathy and Krista’s eyes met. This was exactly the reason they had decided to leave their home and start a new life in a different country. They had wanted to leave the bigotry and religion-based hatred behind and the thought of returning to that kind of horror was something they’d never anticipated doing. They continued to look at each other; there was no need to speak. Their qualms at taking on such a vastly different and potentially dangerous task was evident. The fact they’d be returning to their homeland didn’t sweeten the deal. They had never assumed they’d be returning there in any capacity other than on vacation. Even though they’d lived under the threat from a paramilitary group their entire working careers in Northern Ireland, they simply did not want to get back into that lifestyle.

Dave covertly studied his wife’s body language. He could tell she was worried, perplexed, and distraught, but he couldn’t understand why. He had thought she, like Krista, would have jumped at this opportunity to go home to Belfast. He had to assume her reticence in being enthusiastic was for a good reason. He knew Paul was thinking the same about Krista, so all they could do was wait for either of the ladies to offer an explanation.

The captain also took in the displeasure in the women’s expression. He waited a few more moments and then, clearing his throat, he said assertively, It would be appreciated if you could give me an answer sometime soon. I need to get back to Clarke, today if possible.

Cathy shrugged helplessly. It just doesn’t gel with our job description for one thing, she said. I get the UK US connection, but this isn’t the sort of work we’ve been fully trained in, for another thing. Maybe, if we’d stayed there, this would have been a natural turn of events for us – especially with the murders of three police officers - but it just seems too...I don’t know, as if you’re going into this blind, expecting relative newcomers who have zero knowledge, to pull off a major coup.

Krista nodded her agreement. It’s a very risky assignment, Captain. Cathy and I know how people like the FNP operate, and it isn’t pretty. They are dangerous, anti-anything British people who think nothing of blowing up a mall full of innocent people just because it’s situated in a predominately Protestant part of the city. Everyone in the world thinks that, after the Peace Agreement on Good Friday in ’ninety-eight that Northern Ireland is now a peaceful, good-living country, where people are no longer blown up or paramilitary organizations don’t exist. But the truth is, Captain, Northern Ireland has never been at peace. Never. There’s always something going on between the two religions, always an underlying current of hate and mistrust and bigotry that will never, ever go away.

A silence descended amongst them after Krista’s impassioned speech and although she knew she had said more than she should, she wasn’t about to apologize for it. Paul and Dave, as her and Cathy’s respective husbands, knew all there was to know about the politics of Northern Ireland. But, although they were eager to learn, because they didn’t come from there, they couldn’t fully grasp the correct way of it.

The captain raised a placating hand. I fully understand, Krista. You don’t have to take this assignment but Clarke and I are in full agreement you four are the best for the job. Paul and Dave might have to come back to the States first, once they have established who the recruitment leaders who will be leaving Belfast to come here are. We can’t get a visual on anyone other than McDermott, so this is why you’ll have to start in Belfast.

Looking at Krista, Cathy jerked her head to one side, indicating the two of them should leave the room for a private confab. We’ll be right back, captain, Kris and I need to discuss this. She shot an apologetic glance at Paul and Dave. Alone.

In the outer office, Krista flopped down at her desk, her eyes wide in contemplation. Well? What do you think?

Cathy mirrored her move at her own desk but held her head in her hands for a long moment. Her mind was working a mile a minute, weighing up the pros and cons. She looked towards the closed door of the captain’s office, the door she had made a point of closing only seconds before. "I really don’t know, Krista. To go back there, amidst Brexit, and the Northern Ireland Government causing friction and mayhem and other nonsense for having been out of Stormont for nearly two and a half years? Not only that, but the UK has just elected a new Prime Minister, which won’t mean the road will ride smoothly while he’s setting up power. Not to mention every time I check the BBC Northern Ireland newsfeed, there’s been a killing, or an attempted killing, or protests that turn violent, or something. I don’t know if I have the stomach to go back amongst all that bigotry. She ran a hand through her mass of curls, her deep blue eyes troubled. But...God...three Catholic police officers killed just because they’re Catholic? The FNP are killing their own kind."

I know what you mean. But really, when you think about it, it’s no different than dealing with the bigotry and racism right here in the US, between the whites and the blacks, the Hispanics, the Muslims. The only major difference about that and the hatred between the Catholics and Protestants back home is, there you can’t tell who you’re dealing with based on the color of their skin or the language they speak. Unless you hear them speaking Gaelic, which no one outside of the land mass that is Ireland would recognize or understand anyway.

Which doesn’t make it any easier. Cathy stared off into the middle distance for a long moment. We’ve only been gone a little over two years, do you think it will have changed much?

Politically wise, yes, with the joke of a government they have there right now. Otherwise, I don’t think so.

So, what do you want to do?

Krista blew a long breath out through her mouth. I have to admit I’m curious.

Cathy gave a half smile. Me too.

And it would be great to see Billy again.

The smile widened. Yeah, that’s definitely a deciding factor.

Maybe we can get it written into our contract we can bail if the going gets tough.

At this, Cathy chuckled. We have a contract?

Krista shared the chuckle. We wish. The two detectives, who had been close friends for many years, looked at each other for a long moment. Then they nodded at exactly the same time. Yes? We’ll do it?

I think so. Cathy still looked unconvinced but definitely more accepting than she had been a few minutes earlier. We may as well let the big guy know.

The captain, Paul and Dave looked up expectantly when the girls entered the office. They sat down without saying a word, their expressions almost identical, showing uncertainty and worry. Then, a flicker behind Krista’s green eyes gave everything away.

Studying his wife’s face for a few moments more, Paul broke into a grin first. They’re going to do it, Bob, he said triumphantly.

The captain visibly relaxed. Great. I’ll let Clarke know. Whatever cases you four are working on, either get them closed, or pass them on to Chipman and Turner, or whoever else doesn’t have much on at the moment.

Dave, who had been watching Cathy as intently as Paul had been watching Krista, caught what his superior had just said and looked at him in surprise. Does that imply we’re shipping out soon?

The sooner the better. Within a week I would hope.

Paul suddenly pulled a pained expression. Oh no, he groaned, if we’re going to be in the United Kingdom for a while, does that mean we’ll have to start following all the cricket matches?

Only if you want to bore the knickers off yourself, Krista deadpanned.

I’ll take that as a no, he said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. Hopefully, we can catch some baseball games on television.

And that would be less boring how? Cathy asked.

Captain Hamilton held up his hand to quiet the idle chatter. I don’t know how busy you’re going to be on a daily basis, if you’ll have some downtime to be able to catch up on your sporting events. What I do know is, you’ve been singled out because we think you’re the best for the job. All I ask of you is that you remain out of danger as much as possible.

On hearing that, Krista experienced a deep feeling of foreboding and she barely suppressed a shiver. She was glad no one had noticed her action because she wouldn’t have been able to explain it.

All she knew was that going home to Belfast, a city she had been born and raised in, a city she loved and missed, was going to be dangerous.

CHAPTER THREE

With the news they were being assigned a risky case in Northern Ireland, neither of the four could concentrate much on their current cases. Luckily, they were each at a point where they could easily wrap the case up but they also knew it wouldn’t be fair or professional to leave any loose ends hanging.

By lunchtime, feeling the tension roll off them no matter how they tried to distract themselves, they knew it would be wiser to distance themselves from the office for a while. Paul suggested lunch at their favorite deli, which was a short walk from the precinct.

They stepped outside into the heat. It didn’t feel much warmer since the morning but the humidity level had risen, making it sticky and uncomfortable. There would probably be a rash of thunderstorms before the week was out. Despite the oppressiveness, it still felt good to be away from the office but they were glad when they reached the air-conditioned deli.

The menu had been the same since they’d started coming here but the daily specials were always different and, regardless of what they ordered, the food was always good and plentiful.

Dave watched over the top of his menu while Cathy took a sip of the ice-cold water. He had noticed this morning, when they’d been getting ready for work, that her figure seemed to be filling out again. She had lost a tremendous amount of weight a few months before; partly because of having been held prisoner and starved for three weeks; partly because she had developed severe pneumonia and, although mostly over that, it had taken its toll on her; partly because she had been under a great deal of stress and couldn’t eat. But those dark days definitely did seem to be behind her now and he felt a warm glow knowing his beloved wife was on the mend.

As if picking up on his thoughts, Cathy smiled over at him. Hey, I forgot to tell you, Dave. I weighed myself this morning and I’m now up to one hundred and nine pounds. That’s eight pounds on and only eight more to go until I’ll be back where I was before...well, before Vermont.

Dave nodded enthusiastically. Well done, baby. I knew you could do it.

Krista mirrored his action. Yes, Cath, well done. And just think, once we get back to Northern Ireland, you’ll be able to eat all those lovely fried foods again, not to mention some decent chocolate and desserts.

Cathy’s eyes lit up. Indeed! And chips with Chinese food!

Paul shook his head in bewilderment. Uh, chips...as in french fries? With Chinese food?

Krista chuckled at her husband’s expression. Don’t knock it till you try it. In fact, there’ll be loads of food you’ll be able to try and, although I’m not saying you’ll like everything, you should see it’s not half bad.

Can’t hardly wait, he said dryly. In the meantime, I’m going to stick to what I know and that is: I’m getting a Reuben on rye with extra sauerkraut and hot mustard. Anyone else?

The topic of food opened up a whole slew of remarks and questions and answers about Northern Ireland. Paul and Dave were genuinely pleased their wives were getting this amazing chance to go home and were excited they were getting to go along. They learned the infrastructure in the country was relatively good but a lot of secondary roads would probably give them heart failure when they drove on them. They listened in amusement what it was like to be tractored - in other words, caught behind a farmer driving his tractor at the top speed of twenty miles an hour on one of those secondary type roads, with little chance to pass because of the many bends and curves.

They knew already the country was very beautiful and Paul, who was an avid Game of Thrones follower, despite the series now being over, was looking forward to seeing the locations used on the show. Their excitement at getting to see their wives’ homeland was building with each sentence and even though their food had long since been finished, they kept talking well into the afternoon.

When they made it back to their desks, Krista opened up a blank Word document and typed in a heading of Things To Do Before Leaving. They all fired out items for her to type, including re-direct the mail, speak with their respective landlords, put their utilities bills on hold, check their passports were up to date, and, for Cathy and Krista, to check to make sure their Northern Ireland driving license was still valid. Paul and Dave would be able to drive for up to a year on their Massachusetts license.

Captain Hamilton called them all back in for an update on their conversation of the morning. DCI Clarke would be getting them a place to stay, a house situated in east Belfast that would be large enough to accommodate them as well as their respective bodyguards. At the mention of bodyguards, they all looked at their superior in surprise.

Why bodyguards? Dave asked.

For protection, Andrews, why else?

Does Billy really think it’s that necessary? Krista asked.

Apparently. I’m happy to let him do whatever he thinks it will take to keep you all safe. He’s also setting you up with a car, one per couple, and for Paul and Dave, he will have their equivalent of the Driver’s Manual for you to get an understanding of the road system. We both agreed you will go to Belfast without your weapons – best to keep you all under the radar and not rouse any suspicion with Customs on either side of the Atlantic. Clarke will, of course, have weapons made available to you. The necessary documents to enable Paul and Dave to work in the United Kingdom will arrive by FedEx within a day or two. By the time you go into the employ of the PSNI, you will have an office, an email address and cell phones. We don’t want you using your US cell phones after you get on the plane to the UK. We will be doing everything by the book so there can be no recourse if something goes wrong. There will be arrangements made for your pay to continue to be deposited in your respective banks here, so you don’t need to worry about changing bank cards because you will be able to access your money from wherever you happen to be. Clarke has also generously offered for the rent on your respective apartments here to be paid for you, but any expenses you accrue over there, aside from utilities, will be out of your own pocket. Sound fair?

They all nodded in agreement. Each was taking it all in, but it still felt very surreal no matter which way they looked at it. They understood the necessity for security and all that was left to do was wait for their departure date, pack, and leave.

Do we keep this on the down-low here? Paul asked.

Mixed feelings about that, the captain admitted. If you’re gone for a long time, your absence will, of course, be noticed. I’ve decided to let Jim Turner and Mark Chipman know. HR already do. Other than that, the fewer who know the better. Last thing I want is for it to get around I have four officers working a terrorist case in Northern Ireland.

I wish Jim and Mark could come with us, Cathy said wistfully. They’ve always expressed a keen interest in seeing Northern Ireland. Jim’s fifteenth anniversary is coming up and he was saying just the other day he’d love to take Beth to see Ireland. When I kicked him on the shin, he changed it to Northern Ireland.

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