Leon Uris Read Online Free PDF Page B

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 point of view. I met him when he was here ten years ago. He was a gentle man unable to escape the curse he was born into.”
    “Thanks, Wally.”
    “Now, what about the squire?”
    “Oh God, my da’s brains must really be unhinged now. We—he and I—are like one of his fine pieces of Waterford crystal. Ever see one of those things smash? It’s not intochunks and slivers but a billion little flakes that can’t be put together—not by the two of us, anyhow.”
    “Have you got the guts to stay in New Zealand?”
    “Stay? Hell! Don’t you understand, Wally? Conor was so tall he cast his shadow halfway around the world. Now it’s settling like a black cloud. Ballyutogue and Ireland and Uncle Conor have been left unspoken through the years except in snippets of fear. The ghosts of Tomas and Kilty and Ireland have been rankling every corner of our land and every inch of our house. Uncle Conor’s unseen presence can fairly choke you at times.”
    “Your da is a good man,” Wally said.
    “So am I,” Rory answered. “Don’t worry, between the squire and Mom Larkin that station will prosper till eternity.”
    “Ah, jumping Jesus,” Wally moaned.
    “Let’s heist a couple,” Rory said rising.
    “There’s a bunch of beasts in there from the mine including Oak Kelley.”
    “Good,” Rory said, “Oak is just the ticket.”
    “Wait, I’m coming with you.”
    “‘S’truth, Wally, take my word, I’m sober as the Virgin.”
    “That’s not what I’m worried about. Your face isn’t cleaned up from your last donnybrook up in Wellington. I don’t want a homicide on your record as well.”
    The barroom had a certain raunchy stateliness to it. It was sturdy and its walls told of the hunting and fishing glories of the South Island in heads stuffed and fish embalmed in fighting poses. It was aged and sturdy and reeked lovely with a magnificent blend of ale, whiskey, tobacco, and various aromas from the pens outside.
    Wally nodded to his big Maori bartender to be alert. Times like this were why Wally kept the furnishings simple. The lowering of all voices and the entry of tension was automatic as Rory found a space at the end of the bar