Redemption - Leon Uris [13]
Rory could hold his feelings in like his da, Liam. The lad was always much of a loner except for the girls who couldn’t keep their hands off him and their legs crossed.
Likewise, there were many differences between father and son, but the greatest of these was Liam’s ability to stuff in his rage, no matter what.
Rory was able to contain himself for only so long, and when he erupted it could be monumental and he could be dangerous.
RumRunner stopped at the corral gate. Rory whistled. Old Glenn the stableman limped over from the bunkhouse and let them in. The journey ended, the whiskey hit with a delayed punch. Rory needed a hand to dismount and he leaned against the fence, blurry.
“My, my,” the old man said, “get your ass to the bunkhouse, I’ll sack you down as soon as I take care of your horse.”
The intensity of pain was stronger than the effects of mere alcohol. Rory came together in a fuzzy sort of way. “I’m not after sleeping yet,” he said. “Night’s young and I’m wasting good drinking time.”
“You’ve got enough in you to keep the House of Lords drunk for a month.”
“Glenn, just take care of my fucking horse.”
“All right, but mind your manners. There’s a foursome of thugs down from the copper mine just dying to get into a piss-up. And see Wally before you go into the bar. He thought you might be coming down.”
Rory heaved in a sigh to prove he was absolutely sober, thanked RumRunner, and started across the corral.
“Rory. We’ve heard about Conor Larkin. I’m sorry, man.”
Rory stopped for a moment and surveyed a landscape of pens bulging with sheep and three ships at dockside. The bar would be full. A tinderbox.
Rory knocked and entered Wally Ferguson’s office, slumped into the chair, and hung his head. The feel of Wally’s two strong hands tightening hard on his shoulders helped so much.
“Glenn says they know about it here already. How did they get the news so quick?”
“I think your ma must have held the cable for a couple of days. I called her and told her it was in the newspaper today. Some of the republican journalists in Dublin must have put it on the wires before it could be censored.”
Rory lifted his head to see a newspaper on the desk. He closed his eyes and bit his lip.
“You’ll have to read it to me.”
“‘It is confirmed that the Ulster Volunteer Army arsenal and barracks of Lettershambo Castle in County Londonderry was destroyed by a raiding party of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, reversing an earlier report from His Majesty’s Spokesman that the explosion was an accident.
“‘Details now emerging seem to indicate that a small raiding party crossed Lough Foyle and was able to enter the castle by a series of hidden caves and tunnels.
“‘The explosion which occurred at 4:22 A.M. was so great that it could be seen and heard from Scotland down to Londonderry City. No figures of casualties have been released but informed sources say that over a hundred officers and men in the garrison have not been accounted for. Damage has not been made public, but from the power of the blast it is believed that tons of dynamite stored within the Castle were ignited and that tens of thousands of weapons along with millions of rounds of ammunition were destroyed.
“‘Only two bodies of the IRB raiding party have been recovered and identified. One was Daniel Hugh Sweeney known in the republican movement as “Long Dan” and believed to be in command of the illegal organization.
“‘The second body was that of Conor Larkin, a longtime Brotherhood operator whose whereabouts had been unknown since a jailbreak from Portlaoise Prison almost six years ago. He had surfaced in America for a time then disappeared again. Larkin won national fame for an earlier gunrunning exploit that culminated in his capture at the well-known ambush at Sixmilecross.
“‘Sweeney and Larkin were killed manning a machine gun, apparently covering the retreating raiding party…’ and so forth and so forth,” Wally said. “He sure went out in style, Rory. I guess you might consider me to be a royalist,” he continued, “but if I were Irish I’d probably have another