Joseph O’Donovan clutched his coffee mug in one hand and ran his fingers through his short grey hair with the other. He stood before his sixth-floor office windows, the glass stretching from floor to ceiling, and gazed down upon the Samuel Beckett Bridge below. Traffic was light for a mid-afternoon. Three cars and a delivery van headed north over the Liffey, a lone cyclist made his way southbound. From his vantage point, it was hard to discern if the river was flowing out to sea or overwhelmed by the incoming tide.
The conflicted battle between river and sea summed his day up perfectly. Earlier, he’d received a courtesy call from James Swann, senior partner with Williams & Teacher in the London office, letting him know the firm’s security team would soon be on his turf. Exactly why? Well, best not to enquire.
Though, as he enjoyed the odd flutter, he’d wager it somehow involved his friend Dominic Previti and their email correspondence the day prior. Even still, although his office’s hands were clean, it was still disconcerting to have the security folks in his backyard.
Mishaps did sometimes occur. Unavoidable really, thought Joseph, given the complexity and magnitude of the firm’s sphere of influence. Situations sometimes spiralled out of control and corrections, to put it nicely, became necessary. And when the client involved is the Holy See, well, the sky became the proverbial limit in moving heaven and earth to ensure they were appeased. He just hoped if there was any fallout it didn’t create too much of a mess.
Joseph’s gaze drifted skywards to watch a Shearwater puffin ride the currents. At a distance, the white plumage of its breast blended with the puffy white clouds above, only the black tips of the wings and tail feathers stood out in stark contrast. It circled sedately, high above the glistening river, in search of an afternoon snack. In the blink of an eye, with a target selected, it quickly picked up speed in its downward spiral.
Joseph turned from the window knowing how the scenario would end but not needing to see the proof. He drank the last of his coffee, placed the empty mug on his desk, then rubbed his palms together as if washing his hands of the nefarious thoughts racing through his mind.
In another section of Dublin, two men geared up for their own search. Their prey, he felt confident, was a man by the name of Eamonn Mahoney. And the manner in which they dealt with him? Well, as with watching the puffin, Joseph thought it unnecessarily stressful to worry one’s self with those matters.