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think?”
    “He wants to get ahead in the army. The only way he knows how is to kiss up to anyone above him and kick down.”
    “Glad Thornton isn’t one of those. I couldn’t stand two in a row.”
    “If you’re not with Heck, why are you asking questions about the BARs?”
    “I see not much escapes the I&R Platoon.”
    “Intelligence is our first name,” Masters said, tapping his head.
    “I am here to look into the theft. At the request of a command higher than Heck. The Brits are nervous about the IRA working with the Germans.”
    “No wonder Heck tried to toss you in the slammer. You might make him look bad.”
    “What did you say your name was, Lieutenant?” asked the GI next to me.
    “Boyle.”
    “Mine’s Callahan. Funny you didn’t say anything about the Brits being nervous about the Red Hand. With a name like Boyle, I mean.”
    “The thought has occurred to me, Callahan. But the Red Hand isn’t likely to be in league with the Germans.”
    “No, they don’t need the Nazis. They have the English.”
    “OK, Callahan, can it,” Masters said. “Remember the lecture. We’re guests in this country. Guests don’t discuss religion or politics.”
    “Kinda leaves us speechless around these parts, Lieutenant.”
    “ Erin go bragh ,” I stage-whispered to Callahan as I got up.
    “Go get our BARs, Billy,” Masters said. “Good luck.”
    “I’ll do my best,” I said as I waved to the group and left to clean out my mess kit.
    I liked Masters and his easy way with his men, and how he pushed them beyond regular training to prepare them. An I&R platoon was likely to be sticking its neck out far into enemy territory, and I could see how even one more BAR could make a difference in giving covering fire when they needed to skedaddle. What I didn’t like was Callahan reminding me of everything I thought was wrong with this assignment. I wondered if I would still be sitting in a Jerusalem hotel arguing with Diana if it had been clear that it was the Red Hand who had stolen the Brownings. Would MI-5 be as worried if those weapons were aimed at the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland? Especially if they might be used against the IRA active in Ulster?
    Erin go bragh , I thought as I wiped down my kit. Ireland forever. Except it wasn’t true. How could it be, with six of the Ulster counties still ruled by England? What would it be like if the English had held on to New England at the end of the Revolutionary War? Would we have accepted that, said it was enough, and abandoned six states to be ruled by our former masters?
    Liam O’Baoighill had left this island with a note pinned to his coat, charging his descendents with revenge upon the English for what they had done to his family. O’Baoighill was the Gaelic spelling of O’Boyle. We’d dropped the O along the way and become Boyles, making our way in the new world while forgetting the worst of the old and remembering the best as if it were everything that had ever happened. Now I was back.
    It was a helluva war.

CHAPTER • SEVEN
    “AT EASE, BOYLE.”
    Major Thomas Thornton had been at a desk too long. He had soft, pudgy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes with dark bags beneath them. He wore a mustache, which suited him, and had his black hair slicked back with too much Brylcreem, which didn’t. His ashtray was already half full of ground-out butts, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he read through my orders, spitting a bit of stray tobacco onto his desk, where it landed, a tiny brown speck lost amid a pile of requisitions, files, manuals, and all the tools of a division’s executive officer. In the corner behind him, three cases of Jameson Irish whiskey were neatly stacked. Liquor was also a tool of the trade, bartering and smoothing the way for whatever your commanding officer needed.
    “Ike and the British chief of staff? Jesus Christ, Boyle, you move in exalted circles. Are you any good? Can you find my BARs?”
    “I don’t exactly move in