“Where is it?”

  “This house used to belong to a smuggler in the 1800s. There’s a tunnel that leads from my kitchen to one of the local houses. A pub, I think.”

  “Barry, listen to me. I want you and Kim to take that tunnel and get help!”

  “And just what the hell are you going to do?” demanded Kim.

  Connor grabbed a wooden bat with a metal ball covered in spikes from the wall. “My job. Now get going!”

  Kim looked into Connor’s eyes. She wanted to say something but turned, grabbed Keeley’s hand, and ran into the kitchen. Keeley dragged his table aside and knelt to yank an old rug aside, exposing a trapdoor. Keeley struggled to lift the door, and Kim jumped in to help. She picked up an old silver flashlight and shone it down into the tunnel. Thankfully, there was a sturdy-looking ladder leading down into the darkened shaft. Kim gave Keeley a hand to steady himself as he climbed down the ladder. She turned and gave a quick wave at Connor before joining Keeley.

  “Hey, you in the house,” yelled a man with a Hispanic accent outside the cottage. “Come out with your hands on your heads, and no one will get harmed.”

  “How original,” quipped Connor.

  “Don’t be stupid, man. Come on out!”

  Connor crept to the front door and got down on one knee. He gripped his medieval weapon tight in his right hand. He had one chance to get out of the cottage alive, and he knew it. Connor held his breath as the doorknob inches from his face started to turn. The familiar mix of fear and adrenaline surged through his body. The door creaked as it was slowly pushed open. Connor saw the barrel of an MP5 appear and tensed.

  “This is your last warning!” yelled the Latino team leader, activating a slender flashlight attached to his submachine gun. “Give yourselves up, or pay the consequences.” The intruder stepped into the cottage and shone his light all around, trying to find his quarry.

  Like a coiled viper, Connor struck. He brought his club down with all his might onto the man’s right arm, easily shattering the bones in his forearm. The assassin cried out in pain and dropped his MP5. Connor pivoted and smashed his weapon into the wounded man’s closest knee, crushing the bone and muscles to a pulp. A pained moan escaped the intruder’s lips as he tumbled to the floor. In a flash, Connor dropped his club, scooped up the dropped SMG, and fired a burst out the door, hoping to wound or at least pin down the other assailants. Then, for good measure, he smashed an elbow into the injured man’s face, knocking him out cold. Connor hurriedly helped himself to the man’s extra ammunition and two stun grenades.

  Crack!

  Connor spun and saw shattered glass falling to the floor. He didn’t have to be told what was about to happen next. He instantly threw himself flat on the floor and covered his ears. Two flash-bang grenades went off a split second later. A blinding light lit up the tiny hovel. The blast from the grenades knocked pictures and memorabilia from the walls. The lamp above the fireplace fell and shattered on the floor, leaking kerosene. A fire burst out in seconds and quickly spread to a packed bookshelf, setting it alight.

  Intended to disorient a person, the grenades were wasted on a man as well-trained as North. He quickly rolled over, aimed his MP5 at the door, and waited. A heartbeat later, a man kicked in the door and went to rush inside, only to be cut down by a hail of bullets.

  Connor jumped to his feet and ran for the smoke-filled kitchen. When Connor was mere feet from the trapdoor, he dropped down like a baseball player sliding into home and vanished into the darkness. Connor landed on the cold, rocky ground and was relieved to see that he’d made it this far in one piece. He turned around and yanked the ladder away, letting it fall. Above him, he could hear voices calling out and see the smoke and flames from the growing fire. Connor knew that it wouldn’t take them long to figure out where he had gone. He moved his light up and down the tunnel, looking for something he could make into a bomb. Unfortunately, aside from a couple of dusty old wooden boxes, the passageway was empty.

  From above came the sound of something rolling across the floor.

  The hair on the back of Connor’s neck shot straight up. He spun on his heel and sprinted down the tunnel just as a fragmentation grenade fell to the ground. In less than a heartbeat, the grenade exploded, sending thousands of razor-sharp metal shards hurtling through the air.

  “What the hell was that?” asked Keeley, struggling to catch his breath.

  “A grenade, I think,” replied Kim, helping the aged scholar to remain on his feet.

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it does not.”

  They turned a sharp corner and almost ran into a ladder leading up to another trapdoor.

  “Catch your breath while I take a look,” said Kim, shining her light up at the closed door. She passed the light to Keeley and climbed up the creaky wooden ladder. She heard music and laughter and took it as a good sign. At the top, Kim reached for an old padlock, barring their escape.

  “Oh my,” said Keeley, shining the flashlight on the lock. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Don’t worry. I came prepared,” Kim said, extracting her lock-picking tools from a pouch around her waist. She slipped the slender metal sticks inside the padlock and activated the tumbler, quickly opening the rusty lock. Kim tossed the padlock to the floor, climbed up the last rungs on the ladder, and pushed the trapdoor with her shoulder. With a loud creak, the door rose, and light from above flooded the tunnel.

  “Oy, what the bloody hell is going on?” demanded a surprised bartender, looking at Kim’s smudged face.

  “Is that you, Liam?” called out Keeley.

  “Barry?”

  Keeley waved up at his friend. “’Tis I, as I live and breathe.”

  “What the heck are you doing down there?”

  Kim climbed up into the pub and turned to help Keeley.

  “It’s a long story,” said Keeley, slowly making his way up the rickety ladder. “But dial 9-9-9 and tell the Garda to go to my place ASAP.”

  Liam dug out his cell phone. “Why does the Garda need to go to your house?”

  “Because there are four armed men there.”

  The ringing in Connor’s ears wouldn’t stop. He went to take in a deep breath to clear the fog in his mind and moaned. His chest felt as if a horse had kicked it. A dust cloud filled the air, making it hard for Connor to see.

  A burst of automatic gunfire near his feet was all the incentive he needed to get to his feet. Disoriented, Connor looked like a drunk staggering home from the bar as he swayed back and forth down the passageway. He hadn’t gone more than a few yards when he heard the sound of a man landing on the rocky ground. Connor looked back but couldn’t see anything through the haze. Just to be careful, he emptied what was left in his MP5’s magazine into the dust cloud and then switched magazines.

  “Jesus, that sounded like gunfire,” said Liam, staring into the tunnel.

  “It was,” replied Kim. “Please tell me you have a gun?”

  “This isn’t America, lass. Not everyone is armed in Ireland.”

  “I’m not American!” Kim’s patience instantly evaporated. “Do you, or don’t you have a damned gun?”

  “Aye, I have a shotgun in the back but haven’t used it in years.”

  “Get it! And be quick.”

  Liam nodded and hurried off to retrieve his shotgun, closely followed by Kim, leaving Keeley and a handful of interested pub onlookers staring at the open trapdoor.

  Connor fought to catch his breath. Each breath he took felt like fire in his lungs. Connor was sure he’d bruised or broken a couple of ribs when the grenade had sent him flying. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting a man standing there, but so far, whoever was left was keeping their distance. Then, finally, Connor turned a corner and saw a ladder and light shining down from above like a welcoming beacon. In an instant, his spirits lifted, and he ignored the pain and started to jog for the ladder and safety.

  “Stop where you are!” yelled a man from behind with a Scottish accent.

  Connor swore and came to a halt.

  “Drop your weapon and then turn around with your hands in the air. And don’t try anything stupid. I couldn’t possibly miss from here.”

  Connor let his MP5 drop to his feet and raised his arms. He gritted his teeth and begrudgingly turned to face his opponent. The gunman was slightly shorter but stockier than Connor. “Okay, you got me. Now what?”

  “The book translations. I know you have them. Now, give them to me?”

  Connor stalled, trying to buy time to think of a way out of his dilemma. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What translations?”

  The man fired off a shot that echoed down the passageway. “Don’t play dumb, Mister North. I know you came here with several books that didn’t belong to you so you could get them translated. You’ve had plenty of time to get the job done. So, hand over the translated copies, or I’ll be forced to kill you!”

  “Oh, those translations,” Connor replied theatrically. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to forgive me. I don’t have them on me.”

  “Then who does?”

  “No one. They’re back in Professor Keeley’s home on a table next to the fire. That’s if they aren’t incinerated along with the rest of his cottage by now.”

  The gunman raised his MP5 to his shoulder. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t leave them behind. Who has them? I’ll give you a count of five before I shoot you in the right knee. Then, if you still won’t tell me, it’s on to your left knee and your groin. You’ll soon be begging me to kill you, but I won’t, at least not until I have the translations.”

  “No, wait!” called out Keeley from above. “I have what you’re looking for. Give me a few seconds to climb down the ladder, as I’m not as young and spry as I used to be.”

  “Quit flapping yer lips and get down here, old man.”

  Connor heard Keeley slowly climbing down the creaky ladder until his feet touched the hard, rocky ground. “I’m here. Let the American lad go, and I’ll give you what you want.”

  The assassin snorted. “I don’t think so. Give me what I want, and I’ll think about only kneecapping the bastard.”

  Keeley struggled to swallow and glanced apprehensively at Connor and then at the gunman. “There’s only one slight problem. I lied. I don’t have the translations. Ms. Swiftwater does.”

  “Who?”

  “Me,” said Kim, standing ten yards behind the shooter. “Now, it’s your turn to drop your weapon.”

  The assassin snarled like a trapped animal, pivoted on his heels, and opened fire, as did Kim. Surprised by her opponent’s sudden move, Kim fired both barrels of her shotgun. The first blast of buckshot flew right over the man’s head. His luck ended when the second shot of fifty tiny balls struck him in the right shoulder, sending him flying onto his back.

  Connor leaped at the gunman’s weapons and tossed them aside before slamming his knee onto the assassin’s neck. “Who sent you?” he growled.

  “Screw you,” the man defiantly replied.

  Connor pressed harder. “A name. Give me a name, or I’ll break your neck.”

  Surprisingly, the man smiled and then bit down on one of his back molars, releasing a deadly poison into his mouth.

  Connor cursed and pulled his leg off the dying man’s neck. White foam spilled out of the gunman’s mouth for a few horrible seconds as his body convulsed violently. Connor got a whiff of almonds in the air and stepped back. “Cyanide! What would make someone take cyanide rather than be arrested by the Irish police?”

  Kim tossed Liam’s antiquated shotgun on the floor and slid to the ground. She pulled her knees to her chest and fought back the tears. “My God, who were these people?”

  Connor walked over and sat beside Kim. “I have no idea. But I bet Jason and Knox do.”

  Kim held up a shaking hand. “Look at me. I’m a wreck. I’ve never had to shoot anyone in my life. Thankfully, the pub owner’s gun was similar to my grandfather’s one at home, or I would never have known one end from the other.”

  Connor took Kim’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And speaking of that. Thanks for saving my life.”

  “I figured I owed it to you.”

  Connor looked back down the darkened tunnel and smelled smoke. “How the heck did you get in here?”

  “I asked Barry to stall the gunman while I ran next door to an old church and got in the tunnel that way. It would appear that this place is absolutely riddled with tunnels.”

  Connor let go of Kim’s hand. He shook his head at Kim’s ingenuity and bravery. “Good thinking. Crazy, but good.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Kim tilted her head. “Connor, how did you know to ask Professor Keeley if there was another way out of his house?”

  Connor’s lips quirked. “I knew running wasn’t an option with Keeley. Besides, while I was waiting in line for our tea, I read a tourist brochure that said the island used to be a haven for smugglers and put two and two together.”

  “Thank God Keeley’s home was connected to these tunnels, or we’d all be dead.”

  “Oy, Barry, the Garda’s here,” yelled Liam.

  The elderly scholar placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “These are my people, so let me do all the talking. All right?”

  Connor was in no position to argue. “Feel free. Ms. Swiftwater and I will be in the pub. She can get plastered while I speak with a mutual acquaintance and try to get the truth out of him for once.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was more than an hour before Professor Keeley took a seat next to Kim and Connor at the back of the empty pub. The rest of the patrons had long since gone to spread gossip far and wide. Outside, the small local fire department was still sifting through the embers of Keeley’s old home. Keeley said, “Sergeant Ryan says that a forensic team and a detective are on their way over from the mainland to take statements from the three of us.”

  Connor glanced at the white-haired police officer chatting with Liam, the pub owner. “Barry, are you telling us that there’s just one policeman on the entire island?”

  “Aye, that’s right. Ryan’s been here with us for about fifteen years now. He’s plenty enough. After all, there are only one hundred and sixty people on the island. Until tonight, the worst crime ever committed on the island in the last fifty years involved a couple of drunken Norwegian students who came over here on Saint Patrick’s Day and got absolutely sloshed. The fools ended up painting themselves green and ran around naked until poor old Ryan could catch them.”

  Kim smirked and shook her head. “That’s quite some story.”

  “I know, but it’s true.”

  “Barry, we’re sorry about what happened to your house,” said Connor. “You can replace a home, but you can never replace your memories.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Last summer, Patrick, the boy I told you about, lived with me for a few weeks while he recorded all of my family’s books and journals for his thesis. He even scanned my pictures, too. I may not have the originals, but my past isn’t lost, either.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Kim leaned forward and said just above a whisper. “So, what did you tell Sergeant Ryan about us and what happened at your home tonight?”

  “I told him your cover story that you’re a couple of amateur archaeologists who were looking for information on a dig I did in Borneo in 2002.”

  “Amateur archaeologists, okay, but how are you going to explain away the dead bodies? I’m sure this will be all over the news in the morning.”

  “That’s simple. I told Ryan the men were looking for an old conquistador map I found in the Andes back in the 1980s. And when I told them I didn’t have it, they threatened to kill all of us. Luckily for me, Connor jumped into action and saved all our lives.”

  Kim shot back the rest of the Scotch in her glass and examined Keeley’s face. The man looked like he was enjoying their predicament. “I’ll give you this, professor; you’re good at spinning tall tales.”

  “Not me. All the credit belongs to Knox. When he created your new aliases, he made sure that each of you had a believable backstory. As did I in case something happened like last night.”

  “Yes, I read our backstories coming over here on the ferry. I’m a professor of Native Studies, and Connor is a retired soldier, but I know the police; they’re going to want answers. And the last thing I want is for them to see through our aliases and start digging into my past.”

  Connor’s phone buzzed. He looked and saw there was a text from Knox. “Let’s hope Henry and Jason have devised a workable plan.”

  “God, I hope so,” said Kim, reaching for another glass of Scotch. She sat in silence while Connor spoke on the phone for a good five minutes.

  “Okay,” said Connor, laying his phone on the table. “Here’s the skinny. Knox has hired a lawyer from Dublin who is already on her way here. He said we’re to cooperate with the local police until our lawyer arrives. After that, Miss O’Donnell will become our point of contact with the police.”

  “That means she’ll be here around nine forty-five tomorrow morning,” said Keeley.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” said Kim. “I’m used to working in the shadows. The last thing I need is for my picture to be plastered all over the newspapers. I’ll never get another job after that.”

  “It may not have to come to that,” replied Keeley cryptically.

  Sergeant Ryan walked over and brought his right hand to the brim of his cap. “Evening, all. May I join the three of you at your table?”

  Connor looked up and spotted a tattoo identical to Keeley’s on the sergeant’s wrist. He shook his head and pushed out a chair with his foot. “Please come join us, Sergeant.”

  Ryan sat and looked through his notes for a few seconds before placing his book on the table. “Mister and Ms. Wright, Barry tells me that you’ve had quite the evening.”

  “It’s one I’ll never forget,” said Kim honestly.

  “Nor I,” added Connor.