Ailbe met Declan Knowlan six years earlier at a party, and mutual attraction pulled them together. They share a home in an upscale neighborhood of Salthill, a suburb of Galway, where they enjoy a beautiful view of Galway Bay. Having earned his doctorate a decade ago, Ailbe became a full professor at the Galway-Mayo Institute of Technology. Declan earned his Master of Fine Arts, the terminal degree in his field. He specialized in graphic design and held an Assistant Professorship at Galway University.
Declan maintained a handful of underworld contacts forged when he ran with gangs during his late teens. He avoided direct connections with any specific group, instead maintaining a covert profile and reaching out when necessary. For Ailbe, he provided the muscle and, if needed, eliminated anyone who stood in the way.
Ailbe and Declan finished their breakfast and rose to clear the table.
“Is your target date still the end of November?” Declan rinsed the dishes to load the dishwasher.
“No. I moved it to October 29th, the Friday of Samhain weekend.” Ailbe placed coffee mugs and silverware on the counter next to the sink. “My little trick and our rewarding treat.” He chuckled, his sly scheme rolling around in his mind. His mark would be made on the world. “The withdrawals will occur over the weekend, so most won’t realize the problem until sometime the following Monday. And most account holders won't complain as they don't monitor the accounts daily. Weeks may pass before the entire scheme unfolds.” A huge smile crept across Ailbe’s face as he pondered the enormous impact of his scheme.
“The computer science instructor at the university mentioned Garda is snooping around,” Declan said. “He didn’t say what they snooped for, though. I’m hoping it’s not related to your plan.”
“I doubt it, Dec. The same rumor floated around at GMIT,” Ailbe said. “I committed no crime, only a minor breach. If I took the money, Garda would have something to go on. I’ll do nothing else until our target date. Everything is almost ready for my Samhain surprise.”
“Don’t make a fekkin’ mess of this, Ailbe.”
“Trust me. This scheme is foolproof.”
CHAPTER NINE
Ailbe sat in his campus office after class Tuesday morning, reviewing lesson plans for the month. He wanted to be sure his lessons coincided with the Samhain weekend surprise. As of today, October 4th, a third of the semester elapsed. A soft knock caught his attention.
“Dr. MacGowan, may I speak with you for a moment?” One of Ailbe’s best students, Keenan Moynihan, stood in the doorway.
“But, of course, Mr. Moynihan. Come in and have a seat.”
Keenan stepped in and sat in one of the chairs before Ailbe’s desk, not relaxing into the chair.
“What can I do for you?” Ailbe asked.
“Dr. MacGowan, as we worked on our projects, I realized the projects may be related.”
“Oh?” Ailbe feigned surprise so the student wouldn’t observe his shock. Feck! Perhaps Declan had a point. “How so?”
“As I helped the others, I detected our projects may dovetail. One leads to another, creating a much larger scheme.”
Ailbe coughed out a nervous chuckle. “You raise an interesting concept, Mr. Moynihan. Are you certain your conclusions are accurate?”
“Oh, yes, Dr. MacGowan. A distinct and detectable connection emerged. Is part of the assignment something you have not shared with us?”
Ailbe’s gut wrenched over such a discovery. This could ruin everything. An idea flashed into his head. “Mr. Moynihan, you receive extra credit on your project for discovering this connection. I assigned overlapping projects as a test to determine if students are capable of thinking outside the parameters enough to realize the commonalities. You have done well.”
Kennan relaxed. “Thank you, Dr. MacGowan. It makes sense and clears up a lot of confusion. I will share the information with the group.”
“Can we keep this between us, Mr. Moynihan?” Ailbe held Keenan’s gaze. “If you tell your classmates, they will not have an opportunity to earn the extra credit on their projects.”
“I understand, Dr. MacGowan. I won’t say a word.” Keenan hesitated momentarily as if another question came to mind, but he sighed. “Thank you for your time.”
“You are most welcome, Mr. Moynihan.”
Keenan left the office, and Ailbe picked up the phone and dialed Declan’s office. Their regular routine included talking at two o’clock in the afternoon to provide a break from classes. Still, a sense of urgency drove Ailbe to call straight away.
“Declan Knowlan,” Declan answered.
“We have a problem.” Ailbe’s gruff voice shook. “And we need to eliminate the problem.”
“Give me the information when we meet for drinks as usual. I’ll take care of it,” Declan said in a hushed, business-like voice before he disconnected.
Ailbe sighed as he cradled his handset. Everything went so well, and wham! It’s smart he kept Declan around. He needed Declan’s connections, a need ending once he implemented his plan.
* * *
Ailbe and Declan met at O’Connell’s at 4:30.
“What happened?” Declan sipped his Guinness and glared at Ailbe. “Did the master feck up? Student involvement got you in trouble?”
“Shut up. This isn’t my fault, Declan.” Ailbe spat the name, masking his anger. He leaned across the table. “A group of students worked on their projects together, and one of them figured out the projects dovetailed.”
“This is disastrous.” Angry darts flared from Declan’s glare.
“He must be stopped. It might put fear in the rest of them if he should disappear.” Ailbe feigned an expression of need, eyes pleading with Declan for cooperation.
“I assume you have the information,” Declan took a pull from his pint, ignoring Ailbe’s faked expression.
“This should do it.” Ailbe handed him a slip of paper. “Most evenings the students work until around 8:00. He’ll walk back to his flat after.”
Declan downed his Guinness. “I’ll make the call now.” Declan stood. “The issue will be resolved tonight. I’ll meet you at the car in fifteen minutes.” Declan left the pub.
* * *
