Ryan leaned forward in his chair and started the process.
“Yoda,” he summoned his AI system.
“Ready, Ryan,” was the response.
“You have the photo of Niall Dempsey I uploaded to the server.”
“I do.”
“I want you to run a reverse age progression on him. Search all the Irish newspapers, primarily the ones in Northern Ireland. He’s now fifty-five. Focus on 1980 and 1981, when he was fifteen and sixteen. Only go back as far as 1978, when he was thirteen, and stop when you hit 1985, when he was twenty. That’s the year he immigrated to New York and when Niall Dempsey suddenly came into being.”
“Very good,” Yoda said. “Are there any other parameters I should adhere to when searching for a match?”
Ryan pursed his lips thoughtfully. He had to narrow this down as best he could, otherwise Yoda’s search could take days. “For now, let’s stick with sports references in local newspapers. Concentrate on pre-sixteen hurling championships. That’s a big deal in Ireland, so I’m counting on there being team photos of the winners and maybe an article to go with them, or even just a list of names from, let’s say, left to right.”
“I’ll begin immediately.”
“Good,” Ryan replied. “And keep me posted along the way.”
***
Hours passed.
It was after one in the morning when Claire showed up at the lair.
The door was partially ajar and she peeked inside, scanning the room to see if they were alone.
Ryan had just finished his umpteenth update from Yoda and was feeling frustrated and impatient. He dragged both hands through his hair, swearing under his breath.
“Bad time?” Claire asked.
He glanced up and swiveled around in his computer chair. “I suck at waiting,” he replied.
“That’s not exactly a surprise.”
“Yeah, I guess not.” Ryan eyed her more closely and frowned. “You look like hell.”
“Thank you.” Claire stepped inside the room. “Where’s Fiona?”
“Upstairs, supposedly asleep, which I highly doubt is what she’s doing.” He took in Claire’s tear-stained cheeks and visible agitation. Judging by her question and her ragged appearance, he realized that she wanted it to be just the two of them.
He also realized this was no booty call.
“It’s just us,” he said simply. “Even Yoda’s tied up now. He’s got a major assignment to tackle. So lock the door and have a seat.” He paused as Claire did just that, settling herself on the well-worn futon that they’d made use of many times, for far more pleasurable reasons than the one she was dealing with now.
“I probably should have gone to Casey.” Claire gave a baffled shake of her head. “It’s absurd that I’m coming to you when you doubt everything I say. But here I am, nonetheless.” She gave Ryan a belated quizzical look. “You said you’re working on something with Yoda. Are you deep into finding something out about Dempsey? If so, I’ll go radio silent and pray that you come up with answers.”
“It’s still a work in process and Yoda and I haven’t turned up anything—yet. But that could change at any given moment. And by the way, I don’t doubt everything you say. I just question it. That’s the way my mind works.”
Ryan rose and went over to sit beside Claire, wrapping an arm around her and pressing her head to his shoulder. “You’re freaked out. What happened?”
“It’s what keeps on happening. Every time I touch those pages Casey gave me, I sense death, explosions, gunfire. I see bodies, bloodied and mutilated.” She paused. “And I see silver bullets fired with precision, one after the other. Like people are being targeted and killed. And just now”—she shuddered—“I got a quick glimpse of Rose with terror on her face, backing away from something… somebody…”
“Do you sense that Niall is there?” Ryan asked quietly.
He felt Claire shrug against his arm. “I don’t see him. I don’t sense him. I don’t know. And it makes no sense. Rose wasn’t shot. Her shop wasn’t blown up. And yet the aura of danger is so acute it’s painful. But it’s like a parallel line drawn next to the other connections.”
“Maybe what you’re sensing is Dempsey’s past and present traveling side by side but not overlapping?”
Claire looked up at Ryan in surprise. “That was very astute or, dare I say, intuitive.”
Rather than being irked, Ryan felt a grin tug at his lips. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me… which is an image I kind of like…”
His answer was a small smile and a slight easing of the tension that was knotting Claire’s shoulders. “I think that’s why I came down here instead of going to our boss. You have a way of taking me down a notch. I have nothing concrete to share, but I’m a total mess from this.” She raked a hand through her hair, which was damp with perspiration. “I actually had to race to the bathroom at one point, because I knew I was going to be sick. So much blood… so many bodies… so much death…”
“Sh-h-h.” Ryan kissed the top of her head. “Try to let it go—at least long enough to regroup.”
He eased away from her and stood up, handing her the blanket that was draped over the back of the futon and then heading over to a cluttered tabletop that contained mostly crumpled granola bar wrappers plus a few basic kitchen-like essentials.
“I’m about to do the unthinkable,” he announced. “And that’s to make you a cup of herbal tea. You’re going to drink it and lie down for a while. I’ll keep working and I’ll wake you if I come up with anything.”
“Thank you,” Claire said softly.
“No problem. But if you ever tell anyone I poured you anything other than wine, I’ll deny it.”
“Your secret is safe.” Claire inclined her head, more in interest than in question. “Do you even know how to brew herbal tea?”
He gave her a horrified look. “I said make not brew. I’ll use my coffee pot to produce hot water and rip open one of those packets I keep stored for you down here. I hope brewing tea isn’t a deal breaker.”
This time, Claire actually laughed. “No, I can handle the tea brewing. Just don’t expect me to chug a beer from that scary-looking machine your father has.”
“A kegerator. It’s a fridge for his Guinness. My dad has it rigged up to dispense draft beer straight from the attached faucet. It’s the real deal. But not to worry. I won’t suggest that he brings you into the fold. My mom’s not a big beer drinker, either.”
“Ryan.” Claire stopped him before he’d filled up the coffeemaker. “You and your dad need to talk. He’s ready to let the past go. You need to be, too.”
That came out of left field, and Ryan slowly lowered the coffeepot, staring straight ahead as he processed Claire’s words. “Is that a guess or some kind of metaphysical awareness?”
“It’s a gut feeling. A strong one. Once this case is solved, I want you to sit down with him. Speak your mind. Listen to what he has to say.” A small pause. “Do it for me.”
The significance of Claire’s stipulation wasn’t lost on Ryan. Do it for me. That took things to a whole new level.
Surprisingly, he didn’t feel boxed in. He felt… touched.
He turned to meet her gaze. “It’s that important to you?”
“Yes.” She kept her gaze locked on his, clearly aware that she was pushing boundaries that were still delicately being formed. “It’s essential for you and for your dad. You need emotional closure, and so does he.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and Ryan could see she was weighing her next words. “I’m asking this of you because I care.”
Ryan got it. She was stripping away a layer of her own emotional protection, giving back what she was asking for.
“Okay, Claire-voyant.” He winked at her, intentionally lightening the moment. “If it means that much to you, I’ll give it a try. But no promises. Years have passed and the differences run deep.” He resumed his task of tea making.
“Fair enough.” Claire settled herself on the futon and tucked the blanket around her. “I’ll drink my tea and try very hard to relax. But promise to wake me if you find something.”
“You’ll be hearing a lot of back-and-forth between Yoda and me for a while. But when this research of mine pans out, you can bet your life I’ll wake you. Hell, I’ll scream the house down until everyone comes running. Trust me.”
“I do.”
***
Niall lay on his back in bed, his arms folded behind his head.
Tomorrow, while Blythe was meeting with Fiona, he had to get down to Kelly’s and talk to Donald. He’d pushed the other crisis situation in his life away for the past few days because of all he needed to accomplish, but it was time to take precautions. His past may have been erased, but his sharp instincts hadn’t.
Someone was following him, keeping eyes on all his activities. And that someone had to be Cobra.
Clearly, the traitorous bastard didn’t plan to kill him right away. Which meant he wanted to get his hands on the hoard first. It would be the ultimate victory, getting hold of the treasure Niall held dear and then finishing what he’d started thirty-five years ago.
Niall thought of Kevin, bleeding to death in his arms, and he gritted his teeth so tightly his jaw nearly snapped.
Oh, someone will definitely die, you sick fuck.
But it isn’t going to be me.
***
It was nearly dawn when Yoda issued his final report.
Ryan scrutinized it, leapt up, and pumped the air, shouting, “Yes-s-s! I’ve got you, you miserable prick.”
Claire scrambled to her feet, all semblance of restless sleep having vanished. “What is it? What did you find?”
“Exactly what we need.” Ryan was practically vibrating with excitement. “Yoda, start a search with that name. I want anything and everything that turns up, starting with birth records and working your way up.”
“I’ve initiated the search, Ryan,” Yoda responded.
“Good.” Ryan pressed the Contact All button on his phone, simultaneously grabbing Claire’s hand and pulling her toward the door. “Full team meeting,” he said into his cell. “Now.”
***
The conference room was full in under five minutes, everyone at their seats around the table. No one even stopped to grab a cup of coffee, despite how badly they needed it, given the whole team had been pulling yet another all-nighter at the brownstone and were craving the caffeine.
Casey had stopped on the third floor, checking to make sure Fiona had dozed off, which, fortunately, she had. So there would be no interruptions. Ryan’s urgent tone had left no room for distractions.
Emma was the last one in, and she automatically locked the door behind her and scooted over to the table. No chocolate croissant jokes were made.
“Go ahead, Ryan.” Casey didn’t waste an instant.
Ryan nodded, gesturing toward the screen of monitors that filled the long wall of the room.
“Yoda, display the visuals,” he instructed.
Instantly, two photos appeared on the screen, followed by a third photo, this one with a lengthy caption underneath.
“The first image on the left is, obviously, Niall Dempsey as we know him today,” Ryan said. “The second is the same man, as he would look at fifteen years old. Yoda and I created that second image by using a sophisticated reverse-age-progression program. And the third visual is a newspaper clipping—a photo and a caption—originally posted in a local Northern Irish newspaper, dated April twenty-ninth, 1980, but that wound up pretty much everywhere for reasons you’ll understand right away.”
As he spoke, Ryan studied the last image, ensuring it was entirely visible for the team to see and to read. He was very pleased by the clarity of both the article and the photo. Obviously, Yoda had visually enhanced them to reduce the graininess.
“What you’re seeing was captured on film during a hurling competition between two winning teams vying for the pre-sixteen hurling championship,” Ryan clarified in order to save time. “Just so there’s no confusion, the pitch is what the Irish call what we call the field. Read. Look at the photo. You’ll see why this went viral and why it gives us exactly what we need.”
The team complied.
A huge fight broke out on the pitch, the caption read. One lad struck another with his hurling stick. The savage blow cracked his skull and nearly killed him. But in an astonishing show of skill, the lad who was struck, blood flowing over his right eye, still scored and won the championship before collapsing. What a tough kid, that Sean Donovan!
The photo of a bloodied but triumphant boy, hoisted on the shoulders of his teammates, was the same boy as the fifteen-year-old Niall Dempsey in Ryan’s second visual.
“Damn,” Marc hissed between his teeth.
Casey pulled her gaze away from the monitors. “We’ve got a name. Finally. Great work, Ryan.” She gave him a questioning look. “I’m sure you’ve initiated a search for all things related to Sean Donovan.”
“Yoda’s been on it since I left the lair. By the time he’s finished, we’ll know more about Donovan than he remembers about himself.” Ryan was still flying on the significance of these results. “I’m sure we’ll get hits left and right. You can bet a crazy-ass kid like this will have a record. I’m hacking his juvies. Whatever crimes he committed as an adult will be easy to dig up. Between the two, I’ll find an IRA connection. We’re going to nail this scumbag to the wall.”
“It’s time for me to talk to Aidan,” Marc said. “He’ll get the DNA test run on the cup and the napkin. He’ll also make calls that have to be made. Getting search results is imperative, Ryan, so work fast.”
“That’s the only way I know how to work,” Ryan replied. “Tell Aidan we’ll have Donovan’s life story in an hour, two tops.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Casey’s mind had been racing, and she now gave voice to her thoughts. “Once Ryan finds an IRA connection, which we all know he will, I have no choice but to bring Hutch into the fold, even if the end results mean tipping our hand to the NYPD. I’ll do whatever I can to prevent that from happening, including reminding Hutch that the only concrete proof we have on Dempsey is his IRA connection—nothing that labels him a suspect in FI’s current investigation. But I can’t make any promises. You know how ethical Hutch is. But the point is moot. If Dempsey is an IRA terrorist, the Irish government will want him. It’s beyond illegal for us to sit on our findings.”
Marc’s gaze was steady. “That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to Aidan. You’ll call Hutch the minute Ryan turns up what we need. But the avenue I’m discussing with Aidan—let’s just say I can make Hutch’s job easier.”
“Can you call Aidan now?” Casey asked. “I realize it’s not even dawn, but…”
“I can call him.”
“Do it.”