“Do you think any others made the same connection as Moynihan?” Declan remained concerned about student participation in the project.

“No other students have mentioned it, and now they won’t. Doing away with Moynihan achieved what I hoped.” Ailbe sounded confident. “We’re almost ready to launch the program. A few more lines of code, and we’ll be set for October 29th.” He took a pull on his cider.

“Slow down, mate,” Declan raised a hand. “Drinking too fast will mush your brain.”

Ailbe lowered his glass. “Right, you are. I’m glad you’re here to keep an eye on me.”

Declan planned to keep an eye on Ailbe. He wanted this plan to succeed and didn’t want Ailbe’s confidence in the students to screw things up. “Say…let’s go out to Galway Racecourse this weekend. I enjoy seeing the nags run, and it’s fun to bet a bob or two on one of the steeds.”

“Sounds like fierce fun. How about Saturday? We can go for lunch and the afternoon races.”

“That’d be grand!”

Ailbe and Declan finished their drinks and walked out into the chilly autumn air. Ailbe’s students would have the weekend to ponder over the death of their classmate, and Declan would have the weekend to glow in his accomplishment. The win dawned on the horizon.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

5:30 and already dark out. The Thursday afternoon shopping trip ended with a martini back in their flat. Wyl leaned over Rod’s shoulder as he scrolled through online information about Garda.

“Since we have a connection in the Irish police force, I wanted to discover how law enforcement works here.” Rod continued to scroll, sipping the Boru vodka martini, the closest the Irish offered to Tito’s. “An Garda Síochána is the national law enforcement in Ireland. The term for a single officer is Garda. Any multiples of offices or officers are Gardaí.”

“Anything interesting?” Wyl rested one hand on Rod’s shoulder and jiggled his martini with the other, making the ice tinkle against the glass.

“Commissioner Seamus Kane is the top official in An Garda Síochána. General Steinburg mentioned him in our Pentagon meeting. Somehow, we’ve connected with top officials in both countries.” Rod’s voice quivered as he spoke. “I also found information for the local Galway office where Chief Superintendent O’Brien is. I’ll send this address to our cellphones, so we have it.”

“You are getting into this mission, babe.” Wyl stroked the back of Rod’s neck with his thumb. “I like your desire to learn more about who we are dealing with. It gives me confidence about our success.” He squeezed Rod’s shoulder. “Are you about ready to go to Wilde’s?”

“Fifteen months ago, I minded my own business as a professor and college administrator and anticipated another ten years at the school, perhaps more. Until a handsome rancher strides into my classroom and lassos me. Now I’m married to him, the half-owner of a vast West Texas cattle ranch, a sensation in San Francisco, tagged by the government into service and given the rank of colonel, and shipped off to a foreign country on a covert mission with international implications.” He chuckled. “A trip to Wilde’s Pub is in order.”

They put on their coats and went out into the chilly Irish evening.

* * *

The drive to Wilde’s took minutes. Inside, they sat in an empty booth with a view of the stage.

A barman came to take their order. “What’ll you have, gents?”

“We’ll have pints of Guinness,” Rod motioned between him and Wyl. “And a couple of menus.”

“The menu is on the board above the bar,” the barman thumbed over his shoulder. “I’ll have your Guinness straight away.”

“The Irish Stew sounds tempting.” Wyl perused the blackboard menu. “And they have steak on the menu.”

“I’m up for the stew,” Rod said. The glasses of Guinness arrived.

“Two Irish Stews,” Wyl said to the barman, “and bring us water, too.”

“Excellent, sir. I’ll have your order right out.”

The barman left, and the two took in their surroundings, including the empty stage set up and ready.

Wyl inspected the crowd. “I wonder if one of these guys is James Pearson?”

“Hard to tell. We’ll figure it out when he steps onstage to begin his set.”

“Hey, a guitar,” Wyl chuckled. “I bet nobody stole an unexpected kiss at his first lesson.”

Rod laughed as they both remembered the first time they kissed. They never did finish the lesson.

Two steaming bowls of Irish Stew arrived, along with a plate of bread and two glasses of water. After inhaling the delicious stew aroma, they dug in.

As they ate, they observed a man making the rounds chatting with others in the pub. He soon approached their booth.

"Evening, gentlemen. I’m James Pearson. Welcome to Wilde’s.”

“James," Wyl extended his hand. "I’m Wyl Sterling, and this is my husband, Rod,”

James grasped Wyl’s hand with a smile and a firm handshake. “Ah…the Sterlings. I expected we might connect this evening. I’ll be back after my set, and we can visit.”

"Pleased to meet you, James,” Rod shook hands. “We're eager for your performance.”

“You lads enjoy yourselves. I’ll join you in a bit.” James strolled toward the stage.

“He's a friendly guy,” Wyl said.

“Yes, he is.”

James began his first set.

* * *

Midnight arrived before they realized it, and James completed his evening entertainment. After putting away his instruments, he joined them in their booth.

“You must be tired,” Rod said.

“Not so much, Rod. This is my workday. I performed for…what…five hours, including breaks? Compared to the average worker, that’s a short day.”

“I never thought of it, but you’re right.”

“We enjoyed your music,” Wyl said. “Rod is the expert. I learned to enjoy music like never before in his music appreciation course. You are quite an accomplished performer.”

“Thanks, Wyl,” James smiled. “I gather you met at a school?”

Rod nodded “We did. We’ll share the boring details with you sometime. Six months after we met, we married.”

“Sounds interesting.” James threw a glance at Wyl. “And from what little we read; you own a ranch in West Texas?”

Wyl nodded. “Family owned since the 1800s.”