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Adam paced to the far end of the small, hot room and turned. A tiny brown lizard scurried up the wall and disappeared through
a crack. “I suppose you’re right.” He knew that Kendrick had been born in Donegal, moved to California for a while, attended
college with Wayne Parker, then returned to Ireland after his brief marriage ended in divorce. “It’s too bad you got Wayne
and the girls involved in what is basically a civil war.”

Kendrick scratched his scruffy beard. “Wayne needed background for his book. We were just riding around. I wasn’t
thinking that Jamie would grab them, you know. He’s not the sort that means to harm people. Out for himself, is all.”

Adam wondered if Kendrick were as naive as he appeared, or just plain stupid. Or perhaps he was in on the whole thing with
Hogan. Restless, he walked back, resisting the urge to check his watch again, knowing only minutes had passed since the last
time he’d looked. Where the hell was Jamie Hogan?

He peered out through the doorway of the thatched-roof hut surrounded by thick, overgrown vegetation and saw the two Secret
Service men standing guard, their eyes constantly scanning the area. He listened to the tinkle of cowbells and an occasional
lowing of cattle from a nearby field. Otherwise only the droning of bugs and a random birdcall could be heard.

This waiting was driving Adam nuts.

Since their arrival they’d done little more than get to a designated place and wait. It had taken Kendrick Ryan two days to
come to them, even though he’d left word he’d meet them in Donegal when their plane landed. Then he’d led them for two more
days along a circuitous route, changing vehicles often, visibly worrying the Secret Service men. Kowalski had said that their
best protection was the worldwide publicity. Finally they’d arrived at the small hut this morning. They were deep in the woods,
accessible by foot only.

It would seem that Jamie Hogan was indeed a cautious man.

In the corner, lounging on a sagging cot, Kowalski rested as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Adam envied the man’s lack
of nerves.

“Have you known Jamie long?” Adam asked, wondering just how this seemingly innocuous man had become involved with a dangerous
renegade.

“Long enough,” Kendrick answered enigmatically.

“What’s he like?” Adam tried again.

“Neither fish nor fowl, I’d wager,” Kendrick said, the
front legs of his chair hitting the floor with a bang. “He goes with the wind, that man.”

A hell of a lot that told him. As Adam wondered what else to ask, he heard voices outside and moved to the doorway. Two men
stood by a flaming yellow bush, each with a rifle resting on one arm. The weapons were stark reminders that they were in a
dangerous situation that was far from over. The Secret Service men, glaring standouts in their dark suits, guarded the entrance
stoically. In a moment a tall, rugged-looking man stepped through into the small clearing. His hair and beard were more red
than brown, and he had on a khaki shirt and pants tucked into boots that laced halfway up his legs. He appeared to be unarmed.

He grinned at the two guards. “Pat me down, if you wish, lads. You’ll not find a weapon on Jamie Hogan.”

The Secret Service men obliged and found nothing. They nodded to Adam inside the doorway and to Kowalski, who’d moved silently
to his side. Still smiling, Jamie walked into the hut, his hand extended. “Pleased to meet you, gentlemen.”

Cautiously Adam shook his hand while Kowalski kept both fists on his slim hips. “I believe you have something we want,” Adam
said.

Hogan nodded. “And I believe you have something I could use. Why don’t we sit down and see if we can come to a meetin’ of
the minds?”

In a mere twenty minutes of tense conversation seated around a rickety scarred wooden table, they accomplished that. Fortunately
they were prepared.

Before they’d left the States, Kowalski had told Adam that the captors would probably ask for one of three things: an even
exchange of the three Americans for some of their pals currently held on foreign soil, assorted weapons, or money. Since they
suspected that Jamie Hogan was a rebel and not really connected to either the English side or the IRA,
Kowalski didn’t think he’d demand a prisoner exchange. Delivering arms would be out of the question for a U.S. senator. So
the probability would be money.

Now, Adam reached for an attaché case that hadn’t left his sight throughout the trip. “You asked for half a million pounds,
Irish,” he told Jamie. “I don’t have it.” He placed the case on the table and popped the lock. “But I do have this.” He lifted
the lid. “Half a million dollars, American, cash.”

Adam guessed that the soldier of fortune beside him with the fire-breathing dragon tattoo running down his right arm was a
master at hiding his thoughts. Yet at the sight of all that money in neat piles in the suitcase, his eyes lit up. Adam and
Kowalski watched closely as Jamie’s freckled hand reached out to riffle through a stack.

The man was quiet so long that Adam grew impatient. “I’ll hand this over as soon as all three hostages are brought to me unharmed.”

Squinting across at Adam, Jamie appeared thoughtful. “How do I know you won’t sucker me into a skirmish with the law? Those
two out there aren’t along to carry your bags, now are they?”

“Not any more than your men with the rifles are. Let us leave quietly with all three Americans and you can keep the money.
No one outside this room need know any of this. You have my word.”

Jamie threw back his head and laughed long and loud. “A politician who wants me to take his word. That’s a good one, that
is.”

Kowalski stood slowly, as formidable looking in his way as the renegade was in his. “You have my word, too. You can take both
to the bank.”

Jamie took a long look at them, then shoved back his chair and rose. “Aye. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

It was the longest half hour of Adam’s life.

The air was cool in Dublin as Adam and Kowalski, two
tired young girls, and Wayne Parker stepped from the plane, followed by two Secret Service men. The wind whipped about them
as they walked over to the limo waiting to drive them to the connecting plane that would take them home. Also waiting were
a group of reporters, photographers, and television cameras, with a battery of microphones set up by a makeshift podium.

“I’ll get rid of them,” Kowalski said, stepping forward.

Adam touched his arm. “Let me answer a couple of quick questions. It’s better to keep them happy than to get them mad.” That
was a fact of life he’d had to learn during his years in public life. He stepped up to the microphones and blinked as the
bulbs began popping. “Good of you to meet us, gentlemen.”

“Senator McKenzie,” one called out, “congratulations on freeing the hostages.”

“Thank you.” He answered several direct questions, telling them the hostages were unharmed but exhausted and that he really
couldn’t discuss the details just now.

A female journalist stepped forward. “This question’s for Wayne Parker. How’d your little party wind up in Northern Ireland
when you’d been warned that that part of the country was off limits?”

Wayne moved alongside Adam. He’d been as upset as a man could be about the whole ordeal and had apologized repeatedly to Adam.
He also knew he’d have a lot of explaining to do back home, not only to his bosses at Associated Press, but to Liz Fairchild.
“It was my fault. I met an old friend I’d gone to college with who’d moved back to Ireland years ago. Apparently he told the
wrong man I was with AP, and they duped him into taking us to see them. That’s when they grabbed us.” He’d been briefed by
the Secret Service to say no more. He hoped he’d said it right. He was so weary that it was hard to think clearly.

Adam held up his hand to fend off more questions. “I know you can appreciate how tired we all are. Thanks for
your interest, but we’d like to get going.” He signaled Kowalski to shepherd the others into the limo and turned to follow.

“Just one more question, Senator,” insisted a man from the
London Times.
“Can you tell us how Sara Fairchild reacted when she learned you were her father?”

Scowling, Adam saw that Sara was just ducking into the limo and wondered if she’d heard. At Donegal Kowalski had bought a
paper, and they’d both read the wire services report detailing Harlan’s article, which had started worldwide speculation about
how this revelation would affect Adam’s vice-presidential candidacy. He’d hoped to spare Sara the news until she was safely
home with her mother. “No comment,” he said hastily, and walked quickly to the limo.

Climbing aboard the Aer Lingus DC-10 headed for New York, with the Secret Service close on his heels, Adam was grateful that
the flight was sparsely occupied, with only two other passengers in the first-class section. The flight attendants offered
cold drinks and coffee before takeoff and handed out pillows and blankets. Kowalski was sprawled on his seat across the aisle,
and the Secret Service men were at the rear just in front of the dividing curtains. Justine settled down next to her father,
her eyes closing almost immediately.

Alongside Sara’s window seat, Adam buckled his seat belt as requested, then turned to look at his daughter. Up to this point
he really hadn’t had much opportunity to study her, much less talk with her. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

Her large blue eyes turned to him. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’m sorry it took us so long to get you out of there.”

“It’s all right. I’m just glad you did.” She struggled with a yawn.

The plane pushed back and in moments was taxiing down the runway. “I’ll let you get some rest.” He watched as she pulled down
the window shade and laid her head on the pillow. Poor kid was beat. He was tired, too, but his nerves
were still taut, his system unsure if it was night or day. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Not yet.

He wanted to stay awake and just look at his daughter.

Liz turned on the television with a trembling hand. She’d just spoken with Fitz, who’d received the call from the Associated
Press. All three hostages were safe with Adam and his party. She’d laughed through her tears of joy as she’d recognized the
relief in Fitz’s voice. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll have both Adam and Sara back with you,” he’d said. It was music to
her ears.

Then he’d told her to watch CNN and she’d catch the impromptu press conference in Dublin. Adam had tried to phone her directly,
and Fitz, too, but hadn’t been able to get through from Donegal, so he’d wired AP. Liz would have liked to hear his voice—and
Sara’s—but she could wait now that she knew they were safe.

“There they are,” Molly said as the plane came into view on the screen.

Choking back her tears, Liz watched Adam help Sara down the steps of the plane onto the tarmac, followed by Justine and Wayne.

“She looks so pale and tired,” Katherine commented, leaning forward.

“She looks
wonderful,”
Liz said. She saw the newsmen gathered around and watched Adam signal the Secret Service men to take the girls to the waiting
limo as he and Wayne stepped up to the microphone.

“Who’s that scruffy-looking fellow behind Adam?” Katherine asked.

“Kowalski, the California undercover police detective I told you was going along, sort of as a bodyguard.”

“He looks the part,” Katherine commented.

They listened then to the entire question-and-answer session. When the reporter mentioned Sara, referring to Adam
as her father, Liz drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, no. She knows.
Damn
those newshounds.”

Molly sighed. “I had a feeling the wire services would spread the story overseas.” She touched her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t
worry. Sara will handle the news. The important thing is that she’s safe.”

Liz got herself under control. “Yes, you’re right. That is the important thing.”

The phone rang, and Katherine answered it. Frowning, she turned to Liz. “It’s Palmer Ames. He says he knows it’s late, but
he’d like a word with you.”

Bracing herself, Liz took the phone. “Hello, Senator.”

“Mrs. Fairchild. We’ve never met, but I look forward to the pleasure. I assume you’ve heard that Adam McKenzie has freed your
daughter?”

“Yes, we were just watching their arrival in Dublin on television.”

“Yes indeed. Adam’s quite a man. We’re all very proud of him, as I’m sure you are.” Palmer reached to take a sip of his brandy
before continuing. A pragmatic man, he understood that there were times when you had to switch gears. He hadn’t wanted Adam
to go, had thought he’d screw up, being so emotionally involved. However, McKenzie had turned into the hero of the day. The
press were praising him from shore to shore and overseas, too. Palmer decided only a fool wouldn’t capitalize on such a windfall
of good publicity. When he got in office there’d be time enough to put the maverick senator in his place.

“I’ve always been proud of Adam,” Liz said softly. She couldn’t help wondering what the real purpose of Palmer’s call was.

“I know you must be anxious to be reunited with your daughter, so I’ve arranged for a special plane to take you to Washington
and be there when their flight arrives at Dulles. I hope that’s all right?”

It was funny how things turn out. Palmer had been furious
at Adam for going in the first place, and Liz knew they’d had words over the McCaffrey-Davis plane crash. She was also certain
he’d read Harlan’s suggestive article by now. Why, then, was he suddenly being nice? Because he needed Adam, she decided.

But right now she needed Palmer to get to her daughter and Adam, so she’d take him up on his offer. “Thank you, Senator. That’s
very good of you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Quickly he told her where to catch the plane and when. “I’ll get in touch with Fitz, and he’ll
escort you.”

“Thank you again,” Liz said, then hung up. She could only imagine Adam’s reaction to Palmer’s phony solicitous behavior; but
if it took her to the two people she longed desperately to hold in her arms, she didn’t care about Palmer’s ulterior motives.