Night of the Blackbird Read online

  “Back off!” she heard again, and then there were more hands, grabbing her, angling for a good grip. She was lifted off the platform.

  The train whizzed by her, groaning and screeching as it came to a halt, the nose a hundred feet beyond her. She felt the wind it created on her face, so close that it was like facing a twister. Her hair tangled before her eyes. She swept it back, blinking, balancing, turning into the hands that still held her so strongly.

  “Danny!” she gasped with shock.

  His hair was as windswept as hers. The look on his face was dark and strained. His teeth were clenched.

  “Are you all right?” the heavyset man asked, catching her arm. Despite her brush with death, people were still pushing around them to get on the train.

  “Fine, fine.”

  “You shouldn’t be allowed on the streets,” Danny muttered.

  “Don’t get mad at her because other people are so rude,” the woman gasped.

  Danny didn’t seem to notice the people around them, either those brushing by to get on the train or the two who had risen to her aid and now her defense.

  “You could have been killed,” he said.

  “You could have killed her,” the big man said.

  Danny turned and stared at him. Whatever the man saw, he didn’t like. He hurried past them to get on the train.

  “You tell him where to go, honey,” the woman said, stepping on the train, as well.

  Moira was shaking too badly to move, to do anything other than stare at Danny. What the hell was he doing there?

  She’d fallen on the ice. And he had been there.

  She’d tripped—or been pushed—in the pub, and he’d been there.

  And here…now…

  How could one man orchestrate such a mob scene?. How could he zero in on her? Any one of the people close to the edge of the platform might have been killed.

  “Moira, are you all right?” The question didn’t seem to be voiced with concern. He was still angry. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be all right.

  She pulled away from him. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine. I’d just as soon get off this platform, though.”

  “Let’s go out and get a cab.”

  They exited the T station. She tried to keep from shaking, from giving away any of her thoughts or feelings. He had taken her arm again. She wanted to scream and wrench away from him. But that wouldn’t be acting normally. Since he was holding her, he could surely feel her shaking. That was all right. She might have been decapitated. Or sliced cleanly in half.

  It would only be normal to be shaking.

  They came to the street. The sun was blazing. Danny still held her arm as he shook his head with disgust. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he breathed. “Where were the T attendants? There should have been someone down there, stopping that kind of mob crunch.”

  She looked at him. “It all happened in a matter of seconds,” she said.

  “There should have been someone there. In fact, a report should have been filed. And people should have been arrested.”

  “Which people?” she asked, staring at him. “There’s no way to tell who started pushing and no one to arrest.”

  He didn’t answer but took her elbow, hurrying her along the main street. “I guess the best place to get a cab is over by the aquarium,” he said.

  “Danny?”

  “What?”

  “How the hell did you happen to be in that T station?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  “That should be obvious.”

  “Because you think I’m in danger? Not just ‘Shut up and don’t speak Gaelic’ danger but real danger?”

  “You seem to be having a lot of strange difficulties these days.”

  “All explainable, of course. A slide on the ice, tripping over my own purse, which I had somehow lost and not seen by the bar. And now…a crowd in a subway.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  “Yes, this time. But you were there to save me. Pretty incredible.”

  He cast her a sideways glance. “You think I would push you under a train?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just said it’s incredible that you were there. How in God’s name would you think to look for me at that T station?”

  “Well, let’s see. No one knew where you were, but your mother was talking earlier this morning about Brolin wanting to talk about an interview with you. That’s his hotel.” He pointed.

  “How did you know that?” she inquired.

  “I read the newspaper. The entire city knows where he’s staying. I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes. Neither did you.”

  “Your timing was convenient.”

  “My timing was heaven-sent. That fat man would have had you both in the gulley in his gallant efforts.”

  “Hey, he was a stranger who was trying to save me.”

  “Right. A good man. But also an incompetent one.”

  They were nearing the aquarium, and as Danny had suggested, there were plenty of cabs. He started to hail one, then hesitated. “Do you want to go back? Do you want to get a drink somewhere first?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I have to get back. I have work to do.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Work must go on.”

  He lifted his hand, flagged down a cab. Moira slipped into it; Danny followed. “So what’s your plan?”

  “My plan?”

  “You said you had work to do.”

  “Yes.”

  “So…what’s on your taping schedule for what’s left of today?”

  She didn’t have a schedule, but as she stared at him blankly, she came up with one. “I’m going to be out of the city.”

  “I thought your show was on how Boston celebrates Saint Patrick’s Day?”

  “Actually, my plans have changed. But it’s great that you’re here, Danny. In Boston. I’ll be able to leave for the rest of the day and know that you’ll be here with Dad. He’s going to need a lot of help today. The morning was hard for him, making the arrangements for Seamus.”

  Danny fell silent. She felt his presence so close to her in the cab. He still looked just like the man she had known for so many years. Tall, straight, striking in his long leather coat, hair smoothed back, face somewhat taut, eyes enigmatic as he trained them out the window on the scenery they passed. She saw his hand where it lay on the seat between them. The long fingers, neatly clipped nails. He had powerful hands. Watching his hand where it lay, she was tempted to reach out and touch it. She bit her lip. She knew him far too well in that regard. His shoulders appeared broad in the coat. He had an exceptional build, lean, wiry, not an ounce of fat on his frame. He possessed a very strong jawline and striking features. Those eyes, hazel, not hazel, amber, gold. In the cab, she could breathe in the scent of his cologne. She knew what lay beneath the clothing; the problem was she hadn’t really known the inner man. It chilled her to think what he must still feel in the lonely dark of night. He had watched his father and sister shot down. That would surely create a wealth of bitterness in a man’s heart. He had to want revenge. How far was he willing to go to take it?

  He turned and stared at her suddenly, as if reading her mind. “I wish you would trust me,” he said quietly.

  “I do.”

  “You’re a poor liar, Moira. You always were.”

  “There’s something going on, Danny, and we both know it.”

  “Isn’t it a pity we don’t know more?”

  “I think you do know more.”

  “And I think there’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

  “There’s nothing I could possibly tell you, Danny.”

  He turned his gaze to the window again. In another few minutes they were outside the pub. Danny paid the driver, and they exited the cab.

  “Thanks,” Moira said briefly, heading for the door.

  “For the cab ride, or for rescuing y
ou from dismemberment?” he asked dryly.

  “Both,” she murmured, and escaped through the doorway to the pub.

  The dining area was still half-filled with the end of the lunch crowd. Liam was on his stool, with Eamon leaning on the bar from the opposite side. They smiled and waved as she walked in; she still thought that her father looked terribly sad, and older today. He was going to miss Seamus so much.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, daughter. Everything all right?”

  She nodded, coming to him, hugging him. “And you? How are you holding up?”

  “Well. Very well. You know, it’s best to talk to people. And talk about people. And keep moving, keep going.”

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m where I should be. Working. And with friends. My friends, Seamus’s friends.”

  “Moira Kathleen,” Liam said, “don’t y’know? That’s the way of the old Irish wakes. Sitting with the one passed on, right by the coffin, lifting pints as we gathered round, just talking. The waking and the funeral have never really been for the dead but for those left behind.”

  “Of course, Liam.”

  “We should have had two nights of waking, Eamon,” Liam said.

  “Seamus told me what he wanted, and wrote it down, as well. I’m following the man’s wishes, Liam, nothing more.” Eamon turned his attention back to her. “If you have work to do, Moira, you go ahead and do it.”

  “Dad, I’ll be here with you tonight when it gets busy,” Moira said. “But may I borrow the car? I’m thinking of taking a camera up the coast a bit, to Salem. Tomorrow I’ve got to edit and get the main tape out, then coordinate with Michael and Josh regarding the live feed we’re going to do of the parade.”

  “He’s called twice,” Eamon said.

  “Who?”

  “Michael. Best give him a call.”

  “Can I use your desk?”

  “Of course.”

  Moira went into her father’s office and sat behind his desk. She wasn’t sure that what she was doing was right—perhaps she should remain at the pub during the afternoon, as well. But she really needed to get away. Danny would be at the pub.

  And Patrick…

  Well, it didn’t seem that anyone ever really knew where Patrick would be.

  She put a call through to Sally Adair at the Magik Maiden, her friend’s shop in Salem. Sally answered, delighted to hear from Moira and glad that she was coming up.

  “But are you sure? I read in the paper today about your old friend Seamus. This must be a hard time for you.”

  Harder than you can imagine, Moira thought.

  “That’s partly why I’d really like to come up today. I need to get away. I’m not bringing a crew, just a handheld camera. If it’s all right with you—and you’re willing to sign a waiver, of course—I’ll film a bit in the shop, and then you can escort me around to see the town’s Saint Patrick’s Day decorations.”

  “I’d love it.”

  Sally extended her sympathy to Moira’s dad and family, and they chatted a minute longer, then Moira hung up and tried Michael in his hotel room. He wasn’t there, but she hadn’t really expected him to sit around all day waiting. She called his cell phone and found him.

  “Hey, beautiful, I’ve been looking for you.”

  “You knew I was going with Dad, and then I had a few errands. And I went to see Jacob Brolin. He’s going to come to the pub after the parade and let me interview him here.”

  “Fantastic! I knew you could get him.”

  “I’m delighted, but we won’t have him for the original airing, since we need to get the tape we have in tomorrow if we want to show it with the live feed. They’ll have to edit him in for the repeat of the broadcast at night.”

  “I’m sure that will be fine. So…were you planning on staying around to help your dad today?”

  “Actually, no. How soon can you meet me here?”

  “Ten minutes, why?”

  “I want to take a trip up to Salem.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’d like some tape from Salem to compare to Boston’s festivities. Nothing major, just the handheld camera.”

  “Moira, whatever you want. I’ve been reviewing what we’ve got and made arrangements to get the tape out tomorrow once we’ve finished up. Plus I made the last of the arrangements for the live setup.”

  “Great. Thanks, Michael.”

  “Hey, it’s my job, remember? Besides, in all honesty, Josh has done a lot of the work.”

  “It’s his job, too,” she reminded him. “Is he at the hotel?”

  “I believe he is. Editing the pub door thing.”

  “I’ll give him a call.”

  “I’ve got the camera. If you can’t reach him, we can just take off and leave him a message.”

  “Great.”

  She hung up and went to the bar. She looked around, but Danny hadn’t followed her in.

  “Do you know where Danny is?” she asked her father.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Eamon replied.

  “How about Patrick?”

  “Your brother went out a while ago, said he was going to meet Siobhan at her folks’ place.”

  “You’re sure you haven’t seen Danny?”

  “He took off a few hours back. Haven’t seen him since.”

  Moira wished that he had come in, that she could see him and know he was here. It was making her uneasy not to know where he was.

  “Think he’s in his room?”

  “No, I don’t think he’s there, but give a knock on his door if you’re worried.”

  Moira nodded, then walked toward the back of the pub. At Danny’s door, she hesitated, listened, then knocked. He didn’t answer. She tried the door and found it open. Walking into the room, she found that he kept it impeccably neat, bed made, clothing put away, only a jacket over a chair. A notebook computer was running on the desk, and next to it were several maps of Boston. She hesitated, then curiosity got the best of her. The file that was running was something Sara’s Night. She began to read.

  “There was only one thing to do when taken in by the Royal Ulster Constabulary under the Special Powers Act. Lie. And Sara lied.”

  Moira kept reading.

  The soldiers were none too gentle when they broke into the house. Naturally, they came in the dead of night, when the fog lay heavy over the streets. She had always thought there would be a warning, but she was wrong. She had barely lifted her head from the bed when they dragged her from it. The nightgown she’d worn was torn off her, just as the sheets were stripped from the bed. They were taking no chances that she might have a weapon hidden somewhere on her body or in her bed.

  When they finished with their search, she was shaking and humiliated, and wondering what weapon could be so minute that she might have hidden it in the orifices they violated.

  Clothes were thrown at her. She dressed.

  They took her to the “Infamous Place,” Long Kesh, with barbed wire and towers that sported machine guns. She was taken alone, which frightened her more than anything. This wasn’t a general sweep of all suspected terrorists. This was aimed at her.

  When she arrived, she was escorted to the man in charge. She knew his name. And his reputation.

  “Miss O’Malley, is it?” he asked, reading from a folder. She had been seated in a chair before his desk, and he was speaking politely. She had heard about prisoners being tortured, terrorized. This man was being courteous. Courtesy, she had learned, was deadly.

  “Yes. Sara O’Malley. And I’ve done nothing.”

  “You were recognized, Miss O’Malley, as the woman who pretended to be distressed, who lured Sergeant Hudson from his car while your friends set a bomb beneath it. Hudson and three soldiers were killed when that bomb went off.”

  She had been willing to give her life, or so she had believed. But she had never imagined what it would be like when a bomb went off, when an explosion ripped through the air, the fire, the screams, t
he smell of human flesh burning…

  “I don’t know who thought they saw me. I was nowhere near the scene.”

  He leaned forward. “Poor silly girl. I don’t really want to see you go to prison…or die. You’re a young thing, with your whole life ahead of you. You could escape, run to America. What I want from you are the names of the men who are doing the bombing. It’s very easy. You give me the names. I help you escape.”

  “I can’t give you names. I wasn’t there.”

  He nodded, as if accepting her word. “Fine, we’ll give you some time to think about it. Maybe you will come up with something.”

  She’d had no idea that a man had been standing behind her until she was blindfolded. A hood fell over her head. Arms reached for her. “Call the lady’s escort, please.”

  Her escort.

  She never knew exactly where she was taken. Or how many soldiers “escorted” her.

  She had been willing to give her life….

  In the end, they left her on the concrete, still blindfolded.

  The hours passed in a nightmare. She imagined the smell of the burning bodies once again. She shivered with the cold. Names. She couldn’t give names….

  They brought her into the office again the next day.

  “Miss O’Malley, have you thought of anything to tell me?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I’m sure in time you will. Meanwhile, let me have you escorted back to your cell.”

  She tried not to let him see the way she was shaking. Her lip trembled.

  “I’m sorry—did you think of something to say?”

  She shook her head, trying to steel herself for what was to come. The “escort” arrived. She tried very hard not to think or feel. One of the soldiers, bending over her, whispered, “Hudson was my cousin.” When he finished with her, silent tears fell down her cheeks in such a flood, she nearly choked on them.

  “Enjoying the story?”

  Moira slammed down the screen of the laptop, stepping back in horror. Danny had come into his room. He was leaning against the doorway, staring at her with narrowed amber eyes.

  “Danny…”

  He moved toward her. “I asked you if you’re enjoying the story.”

  “What do you care what I think? I’m sure you have plenty of fans.”