Smoked

to my mobile.
It wasn’t so much my own company I was getting sick of. It was more that I spent every waking moment thinking about Smoke. When I slept, he appeared in my dreams. Twenty-four hours a day with nothing but the Smoke channel playing in my brain, and I had to get out of the house.
I made the trek from Dublin down to Waterford, the place where I was born, just to see if being there stirred any memories of my mother.
I spent the afternoon visiting the cemetery where she was buried and sitting in my car in front of the house I grew up in. I was dismayed when neither brought back a single recollection.
The file Mansfield gave me had something in it about where my mother had spent most of her life working. The shop was located nearby the Waterford Clock Tower that sat on the banks of the River Suir.
After taking a break for a cup of tea, I decided to stay the night. There were several hotels in this part of the city, and given how reasonably priced they were, I went with the swankiest.
While I shouldn’t bother, I sent Hughes a text, informing him of my whereabouts. In Waterford for a few days.
Good, he answered a few seconds later. While you’re there, see if you can find the Irish Crown Jewels.
I knew Rory was making a joke, but in doing so, I was reminded of the story of their disappearance. I searched it up on my mobile and read the account of the jewels that had gone missing in 1907 and had yet to be recovered.
The star and badge regalia, officially known as the Jewels Belonging to the Most Illustrious Order of Saint Patrick, were last worn by the seventh Earl of Aberdeen on the fifteenth of March at a function to mark Saint Patrick’s Day.
After the ceremony, the jewels were given to Sir Arthur Vicars, the Ulster King of Arms, for safekeeping.
It was unclear why Vicars was entrusted with them, but four months later, when the jewels were to be displayed at an Irish International Exhibition in honor of a visit by King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, the jewels were discovered to be missing.
There were several theories as to who may have stolen them, but no one was more suspect than Vicars.
The stories that surfaced at the time were beyond salacious, including accusing Vicars of hosting drunken—some said homosexual—orgies at Dublin Castle.
One account read: “The police charged with collecting evidence in connection with the disappearance of the Crown Jewels from Dublin Castle in 1907 collected evidence inseparable from it of criminal debauchery and sodomy being committed in the castle by officials, Army officers, and a couple of nondescripts of such position that their conviction and exposure would have led to an upheaval from which the Chief Secretary shrank. To prevent that, he suspended the operation of the Criminal Law, and appointed a whitewashing commission with the result for which it was appointed.”
What in the feckin’ hell? They just gave up the search?
Waterford’s connection to the theft, though, came about several years later, in 1920, when James Mallory, a former employee of Arthur Vicars, confessed on his deathbed that Vicars had paid him to transport and hide the jewels in the town’s famous clock tower.
An extensive search was conducted, but of course, the jewels weren’t found there either.
After spending an inordinate amount of time and money in the Waterford bookstore, I retired to my room, from where I had a picturesque view of the clock tower.
That night, instead of my dreams being filled with images of Smoke, I saw diamonds and emeralds and rubies.
The next morning, I left the hotel in search of James Mallory, the grandson of the man who’d worked for Vicars and claimed the jewels were hidden in the tower. According to the owner of the bookstore, he stilled lived in Waterford and not far from my hotel.

21
Smoke
“You damn traitor,” said Decker when I answered his call.
I laughed. “You, of all people, should know what it’s like being independent. Not to mention, I know all about your history with Doc Butler’s family.”
“Burns Butler is the best man I know, and I know a lot of ’em.” It was well-known through the intelligence community that Doc Butler’s father, code name Burns, had mentored Decker in intelligence technology from the time he was a teenager. In fact, many were surprised that when Ashford finally joined a team, he went with the Invincibles over Doc’s firm.
“Doc made a joke about why K19 doesn’t just merge with you guys, but we both decided that was a train wreck in the making.”
“I’ll say.”
“There must be a reason you called other than to give me shit about taking an assignment from K19.”
“It’s about Siren.”
I took a deep breath. “What you’re about to tell me better be fucking good news, Deck. Otherwise, if you’ve just wasted precious time on small talk, your days on earth are numbered.”
The asshole laughed. “I got a hit in Waterford.”
That wasn’t a surprise, given that’s where she was born and raised.
“I did some other checking and don’t know what to make of what I found.”
“Get to the point, Deck.”
“She ran up a pretty big tab at the local bookstore. The subject matter is what I found most intriguing.”
“You know what books she bought?”
That shouldn’t come as a surprise, given I’d been in France less than twenty-four hours and Deck knew about my current mission.
“Several about the missing Irish Crown Jewels.”
“Several?”
“Ten.”
I had to admit that was odd. “I thought it was well known that the two pieces were taken apart and sold as individual gems.”
“It’s one theory.”
“All right, you’ve got me interested. What do you make of it?”
“If I had to guess, she’s discovered something that led her to believe she can find them.”
I was at a loss as to what to say. Sure, I wanted to know everything about Siren’s life, but I wanted to know it firsthand, not from