a place not of pain and suffering, but of hope, optimism, and betterment for all.”
The room erupted in cheers. Even Loren felt an odd sense of elation and an urge to support McKee. Once the applause quieted, McKee continued with a rising intensity.
“We cannot succeed in our quest alone. We must work together. Each and every one of you must lend a hand to your sisters. Grab hold, support one another every step of the way, and help each ascend to the top. Only by standing together can we reach the pinnacles of power necessary to make real and lasting change.”
Her voice grew soft, and her eyes took on a distant look.
“The world will soon be changing in our favor. For the next generation and beyond, the road will grow less arduous. But there must be no pause in our fight, no relaxing over gains made along the way. We must all keep climbing the ladder, shatter the ceiling, and take our rightful place at the top of the mountain. Together, we—the Sisterhood of Boudicca—will achieve the victory that awaits us. Thank you.”
As the spotlight faded to black, deafening applause filled the hall. Some women cheered, others swayed as if in a daze.
The hall lights were gradually turned up, and Loren glanced at Brown. The Australian woman had mascara streaks beneath her eyes as she openly cried with emotion.
Loren reached up a hand and felt her face. Without really knowing why, she found a stream of tears was flowing down her own cheeks.
39
The jetliner broke through a low layer of nimbus clouds on its final descent, exposing the earth to view. A patchwork quilt of green pastures and farm fields extended as far as the eye could see. Dirk glanced out a window at the verdant expanse and saw why Ireland was dubbed the Emerald Isle.
“Who would have thought we would be chasing an Egyptian princess to Ireland?” he said to Summer, seated next to him.
“Julian said we might be surprised at what we find here.”
The plane touched down a short time later at Shannon Airport in southwestern County Clare. Clearing customs and collecting their bags, Dirk and Summer picked up a rental car and drove to the cargo terminal.
“Package for NUMA?” Summer asked at the desk as Dirk made a phone call.
She signed for two boxes and wedged them into the trunk while Dirk completed his call. As she slammed the trunk closed, she noticed her brother was grinning.
“Don’t tell me. Riki Sadler?”
Dirk nodded. “Sounded surprised to hear from me, but she has some pending business in Dublin she thinks she can move up. She’ll try to hop a flight from Edinburgh and meet up with us in the next day or two. She said she looks forward to seeing us again.”
“Us?” Summer arched her brow and tossed Dirk the keys. “Since you’re so happy, you can handle the driving here.”
Dirk climbed into the right-hand seat and started the car. Keeping glued to the left shoulder, he navigated through the city of Limerick, then southeast across sixty miles of open country to the town of Tralee. A charming Irish country town founded by the Normans in 1216, it was best known for its annual beauty pageant, where the “loveliest and fairest” woman from across the country was crowned the Rose of Tralee.
Dirk followed Summer’s directions, locating their hotel between the city hall and a large town park. After checking in, they walked several blocks to a large mustard-colored building labeled KIRBY’S BROGUE INN. Inside, they found a warm and inviting pub just beginning to fill up with the early-evening drinking crowd.
They no sooner entered when a slight man approached from the back. He had salt-and-pepper hair with a matching mustache and wore a wrinkled oxford shirt beneath a herringbone tweed jacket.
“Be you the Yanks from NUMA?” he asked in a heavy brogue.
“One and the same.” Dirk introduced himself and Summer. “You must be Dr. Brophy.”
“Eamon Brophy, at your service. Brophy to my friends. Come along.” He turned on his heels. “I’ve got a quiet table in back. Any opposition to joining me in a stout or two?”
“I’m a stouthearted man,” Dirk said with a nod.
Brophy slapped a hand on the pub’s main bar and called to a raven-haired barmaid. “Noreen, a triplet of Guinness, if you please.”
He continued to a small corner table sided by framed posters of old whisky advertisements. As they took a seat, Dirk noted an empty beer glass on the table next to an antique