The man with the beard looked down.
She said, “I can stop Ronan from coming fer ya in the future. He’s not gonna have a fecked-up childhood where that’s gonna make a lick of sense to him. I can promise ya that. But Icannotstop Campbell from coming fer you now.”
Now the man looked back up. “I’m here because Iwanthim to do that. We were close, he and I. Not much farther away than I am to that street out there, and we were armed, but it didn’t happen, and then he left. I think he’s come back to Northern Ireland to regroup.
“I just need you to tell me where he is.”
She thought a long time, then said, “The second to last thing I want to do in this world is protect Campbell Coyle.”
The man seemed to understand immediately. “And thelastthing in the world you want to do is help the man who killed your husband.”
“Ya may be a monster,” Deirdre said. “But yer not bloody stupid.”
She added, “ ’Ere’s what I’ll do. I’ll call him. Campbell. I’ll tell him to call ya. Tell him yer here. Ya didn’t come for Ronan, though God knows ya could have done us both right here and there was nothing to stop ya.”
The man shook his head. “That won’t change anything. Coyle killed my father the other day. He and I are on a collision course. I’m not coming here to talk him out of anything. I’m here to kill him.”
The young woman stared at the American for a very long time. Finally, she said, “I feel sorry for all you lot. You know no other way. But rest assured, Ronan will know another way. He won’t grow up in your world.”
The American said nothing.
“Charlie killed some people in Africa. He didn’t talk much about it. But he drank, and he blamed himself fer something. I think he knew what he did was wrong.”
“Even if what he didwasn’twrong, in this line of work, it’s thedoingit that gets to you.”
He then said, “Please. Tell Campbell to give me a place to meet him. We’ll end this. He doesn’t do that, and I’ll keep looking. Just like he did to me in America. Sooner or later, this will end. But we might as well settle it sooner.”
She nodded; the wind blew her red hair in her face.
The American rose to his feet. “Thank you. I wish you both a long, peaceful life.”
“I can’t say the same for you, sir. God forgive me, I know I should…but I just can’t. Charlie meant too much to me.”
There was a sadness in his voice. “I get it.”
The man turned away, stepped out through the gate, shut it behind him, and walked out onto the street, as Deirdre Coyle stood, hefted her son, and held him close, warming him from the cold.
Protecting him from the world.
Fifty-Four
The town of Ballycastle in County Antrim, Northern Ireland, sits on the dramatic north coast of the island, and on this morning the cold breeze blew in from where the Irish Sea met the North Atlantic, making the prevalent sunshine all but irrelevant.
Campbell Coyle had driven up here the night before and taken lodgings, woken early, and had his tea and toast, then dressed in his Sunday best, though it was a Wednesday.
The last thing he did before he left the guest house was slide a long knife into a sheath on his belt, and a Makarov pistol into a holster on his hip.
His jacket came on over this; he positioned his cap on his head in the mirror, and he left his room, promptly at eight thirty in the morning, heading to a church nearby.
Thirty minutes later he knelt alone in a pew at the Church of St. Patrick and St. Brigid, prayed, took a moment to appreciate the beautiful building, and then he walked back to his car.
Fifteen minutes later he parked again, this time next to St. James Church. St. James was not Catholic, it was Church of Ireland, but Campbell was not here to pray.
He stood alone in the cold morning sunshine for a long time, still asthe tombstones in the cemetery around him, and then, shortly after ten a.m., he walked back to his car.
It was time for an early lunch.
—
