Chapter One Thousand Three Hundred Eighty-Nine
11th August 1960
Dublin, Ireland
Why after twenty years had Kat Mischner suddenly decided that she needed to open her mouth over her role in the Cambridge spy ring? Worse of all she had said that she had needed to show the boys how it was done and seen fit to mention that it had been Ian Fleming and Jack Kennedy who had been the ones conducting the mole hunt that had ended with Harold Philby having his little tumble into the tiger cage.
The London Zoo was still upset about that little episode. Their tiger had been forced to live the remainder of its life with the reputation as a maneater and they ignored the fact that reputation had drawn crowds. The SIS had made sure that no harm came to the tiger and had even gone so far as seeing that the animal was fed choice cuts of beef and milk to wash the terrible taste of that treasonous bastard from its mouth.
Ian Fleming had been indifferent about that story coming out. “That is what happens when you play the game and lose” He had said when reporters had caught up with him in Spain. He also had a new book out and a movie in production, so the timing of the real-life Andrea Herzog telling a story of one of the adventures that had inspired Ian’s novels suited him perfectly.
All that did however leave Jack out in the cold. He already had a questionable reputation having provided legal defense for men who had been on both sides of the troubles following Ireland’s separation from English rule. Having the IRA learning that he had worked with a British Agent before the war was exactly the sort of thing that could get him killed. He would have been on the first plane out, but he realized that he really didn’t have anywhere to go. Could he stand going to Berlin to work full time keeping Kat’s secret empire secret? Boston where his father’s bad reputation still lingered like a bad smell? Those didn’t seem like great choices.
Jack also had personal reasons not leave Dublin, Bridget Ó Luain to be exact. She had been hired to be his secretary and stupidly he had gotten involved with her. Next thing he knew she was talking marriage and his entire family was telling him that it was long past time that he stopped being Dublin’s most notorious playboy. A proper Irish woman like Bridget who wouldn’t hesitate to put him into his grave if he stepped out of line was exactly what he needed. Joe Junior had even gone so far as to call into a Dublin radio station to have the Corky Robins song “Conquest” dedicated to him just to rub it in.
That was why it wasn’t a surprise when the van slammed to halt on the street in front of the building that held his Law Offices and the doors swung open. A half dozen rough looking men were inside. “Our Commander wants a word with you Mr. Kennedy” The one who seemed to be the leader said.
Not wanting his partners to have the spectacle of him getting stomped into the paving stones and then dragged off, Jack wasn’t left with many choices here.
Seeing two of the firm’s Associates walking up the street, Jack looked at them and said, “Tell Sean Doren that I’m going to meet with a client.” Before stepping into the van with as much dignity as he could muster. Neither of the two Associates looked too surprised.
“It took a lot of sand to say that” The lead thug said.
“Will it matter a whole lot where I’m going?” Jack asked in reply.
“What do you think?” The lead thug said with a smirk.
That was the answer that Jack had thought he was going to get.
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After riding in the van for a considerable length of time. It stopped and pulled into a garage. As Jack was led up and down stairs and through hallways, he knew that he was still somewhere in central Dublin. The men in front and behind him were clearly not taking chances. The Irish Republican Army had been officially disbanded decades earlier with the establishment of the Republic, its units folded into the regular Irish Army. The unofficial story was extremely different. The IRA had never gone away, it had only gone underground maintaining itself with the Government looking the other way against the day that the British ever returned. The room that Jack was led into looked like the back room of one of Dublin’s many bars. The man who was waiting, shouldn’t have been a surprise to Jack. It had been years and even when they had been in the Reisimint Ilchríochach together in the Soviet War everyone had known that most of the Regiment were also secretly members of the IRA. The man who the men who had picked Jack up and deferred to was Jack’s former subordinate Patrick Berne.
“A bit of a misunderstanding here Patrick” Jack said.
“No misunderstanding” Patrick said as he poured a measure of whiskey into a glass, “You helped the thrice damned MI6 root out a collaborator who got what he richly deserved.”
What did that say about what these men were about to do to Jack?
“Don’t worry Jack” Patrick said, “You were on the side of the angels with that one. We were on the same side as the Brits against the Russians, you were just faster on the uptake than most.”
Jack was relieved, but he had also lived with Patrick for two years during the war, so he knew him better than he would have liked. What was going to be the catch?
Patrick handed Jack the glass before pouring himself one.
“I’m glad we got that out of the way” Jack said, knowing that it would force Patrick’s hand.
“What I wanted to talk to you about was that some of our lads got jammed up recently” Patrick said, “Armed robbery, weapons charges, all a complete load of bullocks, of course.”
“Of course,” Jack repeated. He understood that those “lads” were probably hardened criminals who were guilty as sin of what they were accused of. Patrick was basically telling Jack to get them off if he could because he knew that they had him over a barrel. Jack would need to thank Kat for getting him into this mess the next time he saw her, if he lived that long.