Well, YEAH, You Don't Grow Up Irish In Boston Without Knowing The Old 'Irish Republic' Flag...

"Why are a bunch of IRA agents surrounding this vehicle?!" I ask in alarm.

"Don't worry, those aren't IRA, they're a detachment of The Wild Geese we hired to provide security. We're not taking any chances: there are entire governments that could potentially try to stop you getting to Ireland if they realize that you are one of only ten known people who can put a stop to this spate of murders: and that is a risk we simply cannot allow."

This, naturally, is rather alarming and I think briefly of throwing myself from the vehicle, I instead ride to the airport and let them hustle me into the plane waiting on the tarmac along with a half dozen of the mercenaries, two of which turn out to be female, including their commanding officer...

"Name's Seargent Kelsy McDonald," The fair-faced but grim woman of about 25 years who is leading the security detachment says extending her right hand, while her left hand never strays from the USP she wore on her belt.

"Thomas Peter O'Malley," I say, shaking her hand and taking a seat.

"You've got a nice strong grip, Tom." Kelsy says, and I have to admit hers is pretty firm as well, in fact, the arch between my thumb and index finger still smarts a bit, "how much has Miss McIlvaine told you?" She asks, and I shrug.

"Not Much Actually, somehow my Great-Granduncle Twice Removed's **** has caused a spate of ****'s in Ireland that my showing up to inherit the estate will somehow end, but nothing more than that..." I Explain.

"Alright, let's begin at the beginning..." Kelsy Says...