The Bloomsday Dead: A Novel

The Bloomsday Dead: A Novel

Adrian McKinty

Language: English

Pages: 304

ISBN: 1451613237

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

In this intensely riveting, action-packed novel, "virtuoso mayhem machine" ("Booklist") Michael Forsythe returns to his native Ireland -- where a dangerous and beautiful old flame causes way more trouble than he bargained for. Running hotel security at a resort in Lima, Peru, Michael has been lying low and staying out of trouble -- until two Colombian hit men hold him at gunpoint, and force him to take a call from his ex-lover, Bridget Callaghan. At that moment she offers him a terrible choice: come to Ireland and find my daughter, or my men will kill you -- now. Once in Dublin, in the span of a single day, Michael penetrates the heart of an Ira network, escapes his own kidnapping, and then worms his way into a sinister criminal underground in search of the missing girl. But before the day is out, Michael once again finds himself face-to-face with his kidnappers -- as well as the lovely and murderous Bridget. There he must confront a series of shocking truths about himself -- and do whatever it takes to stay alive.












couldn’t hear. Lights. Blood. Silence. Blackness coming down like the fucking guillotine. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Trade seconds for years, I wouldn’t have known. Bridget shaking me. Her face bruised, her lip bleeding. “What the fuck?” I moaned. I sat up. Two dead bodies in the cave. Marty and Cassidy. “Scotchy?” I asked. “Gone, grabbed Siobhan, I shot him in the back. Come on.” She pulled me up. “What happened?” “I jumped him, he punched me, I grabbed the gun and he

hurt you, Michael,” Bridget insisted. I laughed out loud. “Oh, Bridget, the times we had, you make me smile, and I suppose the men in Los Angeles last year wanted to take me to a surprise party in Malibu.” “No, they were there to kill you. They were there to kill you and cut your fucking head off and bring it to me. But the two men today were there to make sure you flew to Ireland. My daughter has gone missing and I need your help. For God’s sake, I’m a mother and my only child has vanished. I

hit man, Jesus Christ, have you some imagination. I wanted to check me tires.” “Oh, shit,” I said and groaned. That was my problem all over—I knew how to go from zero to a hundred, but I didn’t know how to dial it down. “Shit is right, I’ll be taking you to the Garda, me bucko. I think you broke my nose. Sue you, I will, and I’ll press charges.” “Jesus, I’m really sorry, mate, I read the situation all wrong. Usually I get it right but this time—” “Save it for the judge. Don’t know what your

me, I killed Darkey White in America.” Deasey nodded. “Aye, I heard of you. You’re the rat Bridget Callaghan’s been looking for.” “Aye, well, times have changed. Bridget Callaghan needs my help to find her missing wean. She’s called me to look for Siobhan. The last place she was seen was the Malt Shop with a ginger-haired kid. It’s one of your places and that’s why I’ve come to see you.” “Great fucking story. You’re a regular raconteur,” Deasey said and winked at his mates, who dutifully

since a third of all marriages in Ulster are across the sectarian divide. Nah, I knew it because the curbstones had been painted red, white, and blue, there were murals of King Billy at the ends of the street, there was a painted memorial for the battle of the Somme on the side of a house, and the flags flying in this neighborhood were the Scottish saltaire, Old Glory, the Union Jack, the Ulster flag, and the Israeli Star of David. If there were Catholics on this street, they kept bloody quiet

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