Chapter 6

The following character appears in this chapter and others:

Gra’inne Ni’ Mha’ille (Grace O’Malley)

Gweneth’s birth name, her appearance on their first night together: a 36DD-24-37 figure, long lustrous fire engine read hair, alabaster skin as smooth and creamy as a young girl’s, long legs and deep green eyes

While Thorne and Gwen were having lunch, collecting his things, and moving to her house, those at the Headquarters of the CIA weren’t as relaxed or enjoying themselves.

Assistant Director of Operations for Covert Operations (ADOCO) Mr. Hill had returned to his office as quickly as possible following Saint Cirq’s departure.

“Cancel all of my appointments for the rest of the day and possibly for tomorrow,” he told his secretary as he passed through her office to his, where he immediately poured himself a very large stiff drink and downed it. Sitting behind his desk following that, he phoned his boss, the Director of Operations (DO) for an immediate appointment.

The Director’s secretary didn’t take him seriously until he told her that it was a Level Two National Security Emergency, at which point she immediately put him through to the Director of Operations.

“What the hell is so important, Hill?” the DO asked in an annoyed voice.

“I just came from a meeting with Thorne Saint Cirq,” Hill told him as calmly as possible.

“Don’t say anything more over the phone. Come to my office in a bit. Is this something that the Director needs to be informed about?” the DO demanded.

“Yes, he is going to have to be told about what happened,” Hill admitted, grudgingly.

“Who else was there?” the DO demanded.

“It was only Trent and me,” Hill told him.

“Trent knows how to keep his mouth shut. Still remind him unless you think he needs to be brought into this,” the DO told him.

“No, he wasn’t there for the most important part and I’ll remind him,” Hill assured his boss.

“It will take me a few minutes to get the Director down here. Be in my office in fifteen minutes; no make it twenty minutes. I’ll want to talk to him first,” the DO told him before hanging up.

Hill called Trent into the office, and they both had a stiff drink before Hill turned to him to talk.

“Did you get a clean up crew out to the Conference building?” he asked.

“Yes, but it’s going to be a nasty job. There are bound to be rumors, and who the hell is going to take over guard tonight?” Trent asked.

“Let the Protective Service worry about that for now. We’ll have enough questions to answer shortly. Listen, this thing is a lot bigger than you are aware of. Don’t say anything or tell anyone about what happened, or what we saw at the house. The DO will get things taken care of. I’m meeting with him and the Director in a few minutes. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hill told his long time assistant. They each had another stiff drink before leaving the office.

When Hill arrived at the office of the Director of Operations (DO), both his boss and the Director of the CIA (DCIA), a political appointee, but an old hand at both the CIA and the NSA, were there waiting for him. Neither appeared to be in a good mood.

“What’s this about a meeting with Saint Cirq?” the Director demanded. “Why wasn’t I informed before this?” he added.

“We weren’t even aware that he had been captured until Agent Holiday from Bangkok arrived this morning ... alone,” Hill stated.

“Where was the prisoner?” the DO asked.

“That’s what we asked Holiday,” Hill told them.

“What did he say and where is he?” the DO demanded in an angry voice.

“He is apparently dead as is our Chief of Station at the Embassy in Bangkok. It turned out that the person who appeared to be Holiday, and had all of his papers and ID, was in fact Thorne Saint Cirq. He actually changed appearances in front of me and Trent, who he knocked out with one punch. The gun that I had drawn from my desk wound up floating just below the ceiling. He also changed to look like Roberts, the Bangkok Chief of Station before turning back into Saint Cirq. I swear he looked not a day older than those pictures we have of him from thirty-three years ago.

“Have we heard anything from those in Bangkok?” the DO asked.

“No, nothing,” Hill answered.

“He wanted to know where the hostage was next. When I wouldn’t tell him, he read my mind. He placed his fingers on my forehead, and I felt something going through my mind. I have no idea what he learned beside where the hostage was. Following that, he took control of Trent’s body and mine, walked us out of the building, and drove over to the Scattergood house, where he released the woman.

“Somehow the Security Protection Officers (SPOs) of the K-9 unit learned that we were in the house, and they had a dozen dogs and nine or ten officers surrounding the house when we came up from the basement.

“God help me, but what happened next was a nightmare, but we were all awake for it. When I demanded that he surrender, Saint Cirq just smiled and a minute or so later this fog formed there on the porch of the house, and these creatures appeared from it. They were a cross between a wolf and a man at 6’-0’’ tall with gray fur. There were about twenty of them that eventually came out of the fog, and he sent them out the porch doors after the dogs and their handlers,” Hill paused for a breath here.

“Well, what happened next,” the DO demanded, impatiently.

“It was a slaughter. Neither the dogs or the men had a chance.”

“What do you mean, neither the dogs or the men had a chance? Those dogs are vicious, and the SPOs are always armed,” the Director demanded.

“The creatures, Saint Cirq called them Grroz, were alarmingly quick and ferocious. The men fired at them, but it didn’t do any good, and it didn’t stop them at all. The creatures were incredibly fast, and the few shots the handlers managed to fire didn’t seem to affect them. I personally saw one shot several times before it killed the officer shooting it, but it showed no wounds when it returned. None of them were wounded when they returned to the porch. The creatures not only killed all of them but ate part of them also. It was finished in about ten minutes or so, and they all disappeared into the fog again. Saint Cirq and the woman left after I had explained why we wanted him. He said he would think about it and call me, before they left in one of the vehicles of the K-9 unit.

“Do you have people tracking the vehicle and him?” the Director (DCIA) demanded.

“The tracking unit of the vehicle is no longer working, and we have no idea where to look for it. Since he can apparently change his appearance and body type at will, we don’t know who to look for. I’m not sure about the woman, but he can probably disguise her also. There is an aerial search in progress for the vehicle, but we have no idea where they have gone,” Hill admitted.

“The SPOs are going to be in here wanting replacements,” he added. “We are going to need to check on our people in Bangkok also,” he finished.

Neither the Director of Operations or the Director of the CIA were happy on hearing any of this, but quickly came to realize that their usual methods of tracking things and people wouldn’t work this time.

“With all of our computers and tracking capability, we still need to know what our quarry looks like and where he started from. We currently know neither,” the DO said.

“Have your people start checking the traffic cameras to see if we can track down the K-9 vehicle. Maybe we can get a lead from that. Also check the airport where Holiday came in. There have to be clues out there, we just need to find them,” the Director told his underlings, setting them to work, but he had his own problems to worry about, namely the people who he reported to.

Finishing in the garage, we moved into Gwen’s house, which was a tidy two story place with four bedrooms. It was decorated in mid 19th century Victorian style. I immediately noticed the many old but apparently still usable and functional firearms hung in the various rooms. There were also numerous edged weapons on display.

“Are you a collector?” I asked pointing to the various weapons on display.

“Collector?” she asked somewhat confused, but a light soon appeared in her eyes.

“Certainly not, these are all functional,” she assured me with a smile. “But they are not all that I own. These are the ones with memories,” she continued stroking a particular dagger with care.

“There is something that I need to tell you. Promise that you won’t laugh,” she asked, moving very close to me. Close enough that I could feel the heat coming off of her and smell her sweat. My most ancient of instincts wanted to kick in and take this female, but I resisted, as I was determined to learn what she appeared so desperate to reveal to me.

“All right, shall we be seated first, or is this something that needs to be said standing while facing each other?” I inquired.

“It might be best said seated at a table over wine or ale, but not anything stronger,” she told me, but remained as close as she had been.

“Do you have any wine or ale here?” I inquired.

“Oh aye, I have some fine French wine from 1890 and several bottles of ale that are not nearly as old,” she answered with a giggle and moved further away.

“Well then, my lady, let us be seated and taste this vintage French wine,” I told her with a bow.

“Come into the dining room,” she said and led the way.

In the dining room, she produced a bottle of Burmestor Port Reserva Novidado 1890 and a cork screw. I soon had the bottle open and poured each of us a glass before we sat at the large table there.

“To Eternity!” she proclaimed, and we touched glasses and then sampled our wine. It was a very good wine, but I am no wine authority, since alcohol has little or no effect on me, as my system burns it off much too quickly. Gwen soon began to talk while holding tightly to her glass.

“As I told you in the restaurant, I was born in April of 1530, and was named Grainne Ni Mhaille, or as the English have recorded it ‘Grace O’Malley’. My father was Eoghan Dubhdara O’Maille, and my mother was Maeve Ni Mhaille. I had a half-brother, Donal na Piopa, from my father.

“Our clan was based around Clew Bay, County Mayo. We were one of the seafaring families of Connacht and had a row of castles facing the sea to protect our territory. I always had a passion for the sea and eventually persuaded my father to take me on a trading expedition by cutting my hair short like a man.

“At sixteen, I married Donal an Chogaidh O’Flaithbheartaigh, the heir of the O’Flaithbheartaigh (O’Flaherty) title. He expected to one day be the ruler of Connacht. We had three children, but Donal was killed in an ambush while out hunting. We had been married for seventeen years.

“The following year, I married Risdeard an Iarainn (Iron Richard) Bourke, who had an iron works at Burrishoole. We had a child, a son. However, I wasn’t satisfied and took revenge on those who I thought had wronged me both on the land and on the sea. I showed no favoritism, attacking the English and the Irish alike.

“In 1593, I visited Queen Elizabeth in England to petition her to release two of my sons, Tibbot Burke and Murrough O’Flaherty plus my half-brother Donal na Piopa from prison. They had been captured by Richard Bingham, who was the English governor of Connacht. She had my relatives released, but never addressed my request to have the property Bingham had stolen returned.

“Bingham was always a thorn in my side. He was away from Ireland several times, but always returned. He hated me and those in my family, the Burks, who were never ready to obey the English. He was to be tried several times for the murders he and his men committed but always managed to wriggle out of it somehow.

“In 1598 there was great unrest in Connacht and Donegal. Bingham was sent back to Ireland with a large army. He arrived in Dublin in mid-January of 1599, and the record says that he died there soon after arriving. What it doesn’t say, was that a young girl plunged a dagger into his breast while he was using her for his pleasure. I know because I was that girl and had been advised of his arrival. They never learned who I was or where I went, because I had changed my appearance back to reflect my real age. I had my revenge, and he would never bother me or mine again.

“The English had been encroaching on my lands and power for years and by 1603, I was seventy and nearly poor because of what they had stolen from me. I was also tired of appearing to be old. So I arranged for my demise, changed my appearance, and left Ireland with a ship and a crew that I had gathered plus what I could manage to steal from the English before leaving.

“I’ve been many places and used many names in the four hundred plus years since then. There have always been wars and feuds, and I took advantage of those, especially against the English. I’ve been richer at times and poorer at other times since then, and I’ve outlived all of those around me. I bought several cases of this wine in 1913 and have managed to hold on to a couple of bottles since then,” she finished and swallowed the last of the wine in her glass.