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〃But you knew what to do on Tuesday；〃 the Times pointed out。 Ryan shrugged。
〃Yeah； I guess I did；〃 Ryan said on the television screen。
〃You clever bastard；〃 Kevin Joseph O'Donnell muttered into a glass of dark Guinness beer。 His base of operations was much farther from the border than any might have suspected。 Ireland is a small country； and distances are but relative things particularly to those with all the resources they need。 His former colleagues in the PIRA had extensive safehouses along the border； convenient to a quick trip across from either direction。 Not for O'Donnell。 There were numerous practical reasons。 The Brits had their informers and intelligence people there； always creeping about and the SAS raiders； who were not averse to a quick snatch or a quiet kill of persons who had made the mistake of being too well known。 The border could be a convenience to either side。 A more serious threat was the PIRA itself； which also watched the border closely。 His face； altered as it was with some minor surgery and a change in hair color； might still be recognizable to a former colleague。 But not here。 And the border wasn't all that far a drive in a country barely three hundred miles long。
He turned away from the Sony television and gazed out the leaded…glass windows to the darkness of the sea。 He saw the running lights of a car ferry inbound from Le Havre。 The view was always a fine one。 Even in the limited visibility of an ocean storm； one could savor the fundamental force of nature as the gray waves battered the rocky cliff。 Now； the clear； cold air gave him a view to the star…defined horizon； and he spied another merchant ship heading eastward for an unknown port。 It pleased O'Donnell that this stately house on the headlands had once belonged to a British lord。 It pleased him more that he'd been able to purchase it through a dummy corporation； that there were few questions when cash and a reputable solicitor were involved。 So vulnerable this society all societies were when you had the proper resources 。 。 。 and a petent tailor。 So shallow they were。 So lacking in political awareness。 One must know who one's enemies are； O'Donnell told himself at least ten times every day。 Not a liberal 〃democratic〃 society； though。 Enemies were people to be dealt with； promised with； to be civilized； brought into the fold； co…opted。
Fools； self…destructive； ignorant fools who earned their own destruction。
Someday they would all disappear； just as one of those ships slid beneath the horizon。 History was a science； an inevitable process。 O'Donnell was sure of that。
He turned again to stare into the fire burning under the wide； stone mantel。 There had once been stag heads hanging over it； perhaps the lord's favorite fowling piece from Purdey's； to be sure。 And a painting or two。 Of horses； O'Donnell was sure they had to be paintings of horses。 The country gentleman who had built this house； he mused； would have been someone who'd been given everything he had。 No ideology would have intruded in his empty； useless head。 He would have sat in a chair very like this one and sipped his malt whiskey and stared into the fire his favorite dog at this feet while he chatted about the day's hunting with a neighbor and planned the hunting for the morrow。 Will it be birds again； or fox； Bertie？ Haven't had a good fox hunt in weeks； time we did it again； don't you think？ Or something like that； he was sure。 O'Donnell wondered if there was a seasonal aspect to it； or had the lord just done whatever suited his mood。 The current owner of the country house never hunted animals。 What was the point of killing something that could not harm you or your cause； something that had no ideology？ Besides； that was something the Brits did； something the local gentry still did。 He didn't hunt the local Irish gentry； they weren't worth his contempt； much less his action。 At least； not yet。 You don't hate trees； he told himself。 You ignore the things until you have to cut them down。 He turned back to the television。
That Ryan fellow was still there； he saw； talking amiably with the press idiots。 Bloody hero。 Why did you slick your nose in where it doesn't belong？ Reflex； sounds like； O'Donnell judged。 Bloody meddling fool。 Don't even know what's going on； do you？ None of you do。
Americans。 The Provo fools still like to talk it up with your kind； telling their lies and pretending that they represent Ireland。 What do you Yanks know about anything？ Oh； but we can't afford to offend the Americans； the Proves still said。 Bloody Americans； with all their money and all their arrogance； all their ideas on right and wrong； their childish vision of Irish destiny。 Like children dressed up for First munion。 So pure。 So naive。 So useless with their trickle of money for all that the Brits plained about NORAID； O'Donnell knew that the PIRA had not netted a million dollars from America in the past three years。 All the Americans knew of Ireland came from a few movies； some half…remembered songs for St。 Paddy's Day； and the occasional bottle of whiskey。 What did they know of life in Ulster； of the imperialist oppression； the way all Ireland was still enslaved to the decaying British Empire； which was； in turn； enslaved to the American one？ What did they know about anything？ But we can't offend the Americans。 The leader of the ULA finished off his beer and set it on the end table。
The Cause didn't require much； not really。 A clear ideological objective。 A few good men。 Friends； the right friends； with access to the right resources。 That was all。 Why clutter things up with bloody Americans？ And a public political wing Sinn Fein electing people to Parliament； what rubbish！ They were waiting； hoping to be co…opted by the Brit imperialists。 Valuable political targets declared off…limits。 And people wondered why the Proves were getting nowhere。 Their ideology was bankrupt； and there were too many people in the Brigade。 When the Brits caught some； a few were bound to turn tout and inform on their rades。 The kind of mitment needed for this sort of job demanded an elite few。 O'Donnell had that； all right。 And you need to have the right plan； he told himself with a wispy smile。 O'Donnell had his plan。 This Ryan fellow hadn't changed that； he reminded himself。
〃Bastard's bloody pleased with himself； isn't he？〃
O'Donnell turned to see a fresh bottle of Guinness offered。 He took it and refilled his glass。 〃Sean should have watched his back。 Then this bloody hero would be a corpse。〃 And the mission would have been successful。 Damn！
〃We can still do something about that； sir。〃
O'Donnell shook his head。 〃We do not waste our energy on the insignificant。 The Proves have been doing that for ten years and look where it hap gotten them。〃
〃What if he is CIA？ What if we've been infiltrated and he was there 〃
〃Don't be a bloody fool；〃 O'Donnell snapped。 〃If they'd been tipped； every peeler in London would have been there in plain clothes waiting for us。〃 And I would have known beforehand； he didn't say。 Only one other member of the Organization knew of his source； and he was in London。 〃It was luck； good for them； bad for us。