"They Thought You Might Say That..."

"They thought you might say that," Margaret Begins. Opening a laptop that she had in her hand she punches in a code and hands it to me. Pulled up on the screen is a browser window with four tabs. Each one is an article from a major Irish newspaper remarking on the unnaturally high and steady rate over the past two weeks, starting on the 29th of August 2017 and holding at 1 per day for the next 6 days, then jumping to two murders a day for the next six days and now, for the past two, three! At this point, I'm still skeptical so I pull up the Boston Herald (I had a subscription then...) and search for a mention of this. It's buried in 'international', yesterday, but it's there...

"Strange Spree Of Murders In Ireland: 39 Dead And Counting!" the headline reads.

"OK, I'm in, you've convinced me. I assume you have a car and a jet waiting?"

"Yes. If you'll just follow me, we'll head to Logan Airport and be on our way."

I head towards my room to pack for the trip, but Margaret seizes me by the arm.

"Mr. O'Malley there's no TIME to pack! Every second we delay risks someone's !" She cries, dragging me out of the door! (She's surprisingly strong for a woman her size...) She does let me take the three or four seconds to lock up, but then she basically drags me down the stairs at a run to the waiting limo out front. As we pull out I suddenly realize it is being surrounded by some kind of mercenary army. They are all dressed in bike leathers but they have this weird patch on their shoulders: a gold harp that looks like a naked woman on a green background...