He put the shotgun on the table and followed her out. THE CESSNA 310 CAME IN FROM THE SEA AT
four hundred feet and banked to starboard. A few
moments later it dropped in at the end of the runway
at Laldale and taxied toward the far end. McGuire
turned into the wind and switched off the engin, es.
Kathleen reached for the door handle.
.
He said, “I’ll get that for you,” and opened it.
“You first.”
She went out over the wing, put a foot on the little
passenger ladder, and reached the ground and Me-
Guire followed her. The mountains were shrouded in
mist, and the rain was a persistent damp drizzle.
“You know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I can walk.”
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“It’s just three’or four miles.”
“Only I was thinking about all that money in your
shoulder bag. I mean, anything might happen.” He
reached and grabbed it from her.
He stood there beside the plane s.cbbling in the
bottom of the bag and found the rest of the dollars.
“Jesus Christ!” he said.
“Bastard,” Kathleen Ryan told him. “You’re all
bastards,” and she took out the Browning and shot
him twice in the heart.
McGuire bounced against the wing and fell to the
ground. She picked up the bag, slipped the strap over
her shoulder, turned, and walked away.
AT FOLLY’S END, BENNY WAS FORKING HAY IN the loft of the barn when Mary Power went in search of him. “I’ve done lamb stew. Do you want dumplings?” ‘
Benny nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”
Suddenly the air was filled with noise, an incredible roaring. Mary turned in alarm and ran into the yard, Benny following her, and the Sea King helicopter descended into the meadow beside the farm.
The rotors stopped and Charles Ferguson, Hannah Bernstein, and Dillon got out.
Dillon ran forward and Mary said in amazement, “Martin? Martin Keogh, is that you?”
“As ever was, Mary. Has Kathleen been here?
Kathleen Ryan?”
She looked bewildered. “No, should she be?” Dillotl turned and shook his head to Ferguson, who still stood by the helicopter. Ferguson leaned in and spoke to the pilot, then stood back and the Sea King rose into the air and banked away.
Ferguson came -vard and smiled at Mary Power, who stood outside the barn door, Benny at her shoulder.
‘
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What’s happening?”
“Brigadier ‘Charles Ferguson, Mrs. Power. Is the track still in the barn?”
She went very pale. “The truck?” she whispered.
“Yes, is the truck still in the barn?” he said patiently.
It was Benny who answered. “Oh, yes, truck in the barn till Uncle Michael come back. Benny show,” and he turned and ran inside. IT WAS RAINING HARD NOW AS KATHLEEN RYAN tramped along the Eskdale Road, a strange forlorn figure in her raincoat and beret, hands thrust into her pockets. She reached the gate with the sign Folly’s End, paused, then turned in and approached the farmhouse.
It was almost dark, fading fast, and there was no light in the house. She stood there in the yard remembering this place ten years ago, her uncle and Martin, and she ran a hand over her face. Was it then or now? And then she saw a glimmer of light at the door of the barn.
MARY POWER AND BENNY SAT AT THE TACKLE table. Benny was polishing an old pony saddle, Mary watching him. The door creaked open, a small wind lifted straw in the hay bales. My looked up and found Kathleen standing there.
“So you’ve come back, Kathln Ryan?” “I had to,” Kathleen told her. “It was meant to be from the beginning. Is the truck still here?” ‘7oh, yes, it’s always been here. Your uncle Michael changed his mind. Told Benny not to dump the spare truck on the coast road after all. He came here after the robbery and exchanged them.” “I know about that, he told me. He was afraid the crew of Irish Rose would try to steal the bullion.
More than that, he was afraid he would have problems with the Army Council in Ulster. There was a man called Reid.” Kathleen shrugged, looking very