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“Mr. Kelly, we need you to step outside,” Margaret said.
“No!” Bridget protested. “I want him to stay.”
“Darling, shhh.” Lucy’s face appeared right above hers. “He’s exhausted and freezing in shirtsleeves. We’ll bring him back once you’re decent.”
“Out now, Mr. Kelly.” Margaret shooed him out the door. Bridget caught his gaze one last time as he was ushered out and her clothing was cut away. The expression on his face was regretful, and she wanted to ask him what he regretted. She wanted to ask when she would see him again, but she thought she already knew the answer.
***
“WELL, SHE’S SLEEPING soundly and should make a full recovery,” Baron said several hours later as he and Cal sat before the fire in his office. “Thanks, in no small part, to you.”
“I did what any man would do.”
“You did what any of my agents would do, Kelly. We never leave one of our own behind.”
Cal didn’t point out that if he’d been with anyone but Bridget he might very well have left that agent behind. There were any number of perfectly pleasant farmhouses he’d passed where he could have left a man or woman in good hands until Baron could send men back for him or her.
“What about her fever?” Cal asked.
“It’s down, and the surgeon says unless it spikes, it’s quite normal. She’s been given a sleeping draught, which will help with the pain too. I’m told she’ll have a scar on her arm when the stitches come out, but that can’t be helped.”
“I suppose it can’t.”
Baron sat back. “Do you want to tell me what happened? In detail, I mean.”
Cal had already given him a cursory explanation of events. But now that he was warm, clean, and had been fed, he should have expected Baron would want the entire story.
“If you’d rather write it out, I’d actually prefer that.”
Cal almost laughed. “Me writing skills are rudimentary, and I don’t think there’s time for that.” Cal gave his version of events from their arrival in Dublin until their return to The Farm. Bridget had obviously kept Baron somewhat informed because he knew the details of earlier parts of the mission and filled them in when Cal didn’t elaborate. Cal left out all mention of the more personal aspects of his relationship with Bridget, and as Baron didn’t insert those into the narrative, he could only assume she hadn’t elaborated on those in her missives either.
“I’ve already sent agents to collect the body of MacDonald and to search for his men, but that’s not my true concern.”
Cal nodded. “Your concern is Innishfree’s next action.”
“Precisely.”
“You don’t think now that Sean MacDonald is dead, there’ll be no one to carry out the mission?”
Baron tapped his fingers. “Is that what you think?”
“No. I think MacDonald sent someone to England to complete the mission even as he left to come after me.”
“I agree. Which means our main concern is the map and the meaning of these colored wax markers.” Baron withdrew the map from a drawer and smoothed it flat on his desk. Cal rose and peered at it.
“Do you understand the meaning of the colors?” Cal asked. “Bridget and—that is to say, Miss Murray and I couldn’t make out rhyme or reason.”
Baron looked up at him then back at the map. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say the blue dots might show landing points. You see they are near the coast. These are locations where Innishfree might cross the Irish Sea. You see there is one at Liverpool and one at Portsmouth.”
“Sure and it might also be advantageous for them to strike a port city. They could disrupt trade or travel to and from Ireland.”
“That’s a reasonable assumption. As for the red dots, I can confirm they are locations of previous attacks.”
Cal leaned closer. Bristol, Leeds, Leicester. “Are you saying Innishfree has attacked in all of these cities?”
“Their preferred method seems to be setting off explosives in a public place—a government building, if at all possible.”
Cal gaped at him. “I haven’t heard of these incidents. Was anyone killed?”
