Kevin O'Malley & The Oxford Connection

Introduction

This is the story of how Kevin O’Malley, the mild mannered son of Luke O’Malley and Mary Elizabeth O’Malley became the CEO extraordinaire of the family spy agency in The Secrets of Nine Irish Sons.

The remarkable and prominent place in the family is not revealed until his father is found and overwhelmed to discover that the one son he considered a weakling rises to exude tremendous strength and intelligence.

This book could be called a back story at times, but I think of it as parallel work to The Secrets of Nine Irish Sons. It explains how Kevin’s grandmother secretly prepared his leadership skills by exposing him to a rigorous education, frightening and dangerous missions, and astonishingly capable spies.

Chapter One

1996

Kevin Meets His Future Head On

My stay in Istanbul had been somewhat uneventful and I’ve had no complaints. Still, I didn’t like staying alone even if it was in a ritzy hotel. For some reason my grandmother, Madeline Quinn O'Meaera Fitzgerald McStanish, insisted that I fly from Oxford into Istanbul and visit a few historic sights, especially a small spot of beach near the Anatolian lighthouse Mosque. She had said, Someone very important to me was conceived there. I had no idea who she was talking about and so asked the man named Zane who was my temporary guide and a friend of hers. I did as she instructed, but all the man said was Important people are conceived in many unusual places. I was a little pissed, and while I found the man credible, felt like I was being mocked. But Zane always knew exactly what I was thinking and would say something extraordinarily kind to show me he had no motive except to make me think.

His riddles were merely a minor irritation, and I would stop and think . . . and yet, the answer to each and every conundrum wouldn’t come for months, and when it did, I would wonder what kind of mysteries I would have to face next.

I didn’t misinterpret Madeline’s intent when she sent me off on my own. She wanted me to get used to travelling to strange places without her, and since this was my first such trip, she just assumed I would need a trusted guide. But she insisted I carry out my first assignment alone.

I had been going on missions with her for years---at least from the time I was ten, which was when I started noticing her constant interrogations and aggressive behaviour with strangers. Finally, I just asked her what she was doing, and she had assumed I knew why I was occasionally dragged along on one of her many trips around the world. I didn’t know why I was the one she took, but then she could have been taking one of my brothers---or all of them on occasion, and I would never know. I didn’t understand it. I just knew I liked it when I was with her.

I thought you were interested in espionage, she said. You asked your uncles for some very specific detective’s equipment and books. Do you want to be a spy without a moral compass? she asked.

I had no idea what she meant, but because I assumed she wanted me to agree, I said, of course not. The truth is, I wasn’t sure I wanted to become a spy . . . in fact, the idea of spying for the benefit of someone else horrified me. I just wanted to find my parents---and especially my mother whom I worshipped. But it was then that she started putting me to work.

I can’t figure out what you are doing if I can’t understand the languages, I said thinking that she would allow me the same privileges without pressing me into some job I didn’t want.

Then you should be learning them. I thought you were.

There are too many.

No, there are not. You have been learning Latin in school for years. It will help you with every other language you will need as most countries I visit speak English, French, or Spanish. Those will be easy for you to pick up---at least all the basic sentences you will need to travel alone. Learning those will do for now.

From that day forward, I have nearly driven myself crazy learning different languages. I listen to her and write everything down I hear. I check my dictionaries and try to translate what I heard and then ask her some question about the topic I think she was talking about. She caught on right away, but indulged me with corrections and long explanations.

On my seventeenth birthday, she took me to dinner at an exclusive restaurant where we ate in a private room.

I have something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been watching you very carefully. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on in that mind of yours. Now it’s time to ask you straight out.

I’ve not anything mysterious going on, I promise you. I would tell you.

I know your main goal is to find your mother. I can tell by the way you talk about her that you have been hurt even more than your brothers over her disappearance.

She was the only one who loved me---truly loved me. I’m not saying my brothers or father didn’t care about me, but I always felt like I was a second thought. If they all decided to do something and ran out the door, then Matthew or Teddy might come back in a few seconds later, saying I should come along, but I knew they really didn’t want me around.

Did you think they were being unkind? Or were you merely feeling sorry for yourself?

No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just that they see me a little differently. And I’m so average at everything they do so well. I’m no good at sports, can never keep up at the quarry, can’t fish . . . you know. I feel like I hold them back.

We will fix that. Remember that just because you can’t compete with them physically right now, you are still way more able than the average man, and have a brilliant mind.

They are all so tall---heads above me and so good looking. The girls chase all of them---well except Teddy. I don’t think his red hair helps.

Once again, you are letting your emotions rule your thinking. All of these minor complaints will evaporate over time. And you will grow much taller. Men often gain most of their height after seventeen.

I had never had a personal conversation like this with her before, and was hoping the meeting in the private room meant it was going to continue for an hour. I wanted to hear about all her mysterious adventures around the world and all about my grandfather---the man she called, The Druid.

Now, this is your birthday and I am hoping that you are old enough to understand what I am going explain. Long before your parents were kidnapped, my mother and I started an organization that I need to explain to you. Something terrible had happened to me. It was so dreadful that I wanted to commit suicide.

I audibly gasped---something I had never done before. Then when I looked into her eyes, I saw the image of a beautiful naked fifteen year old girl with mounds of shimmering black hair, violet eyes with tears in them, and outstretched arms. I put my hand to my mouth and leaned on the table. I know I looked shocked. I never imagined that anything terrible had happened to Madeline. She lived the life of a queen. But worse, I had never had a vision like that before. It frightened me.

Elbows off the table please, and don’t let your emotions show when you are having a conversation in public---no matter who it is. You must practice looking completely detached and take in information without making facial or verbal expressions, she said. "I was fifteen and fell in love with a man who was a priest. He had been sent out of his seminary to isolation---to a place in the wilderness, one might say. I had never felt such love because it wasn’t just a physical attraction to him. I was a lonely child who worked all day every day of my life and had no one special . . . no one to love me. Of course, my mother loved me enormously, but she had many other children and had no time for me. It wasn’t her fault. I always acted grown up---from the time I was seven. I think she saw me as an equal, and she had all her children to love her. I had never even had a friend to chat with and my siblings were much younger and in school.

I had been working twelve hour days for so long; I guess I thought of myself as an adult. I ran my own business as a flower girl and helped support my family. When I met this man, I knew instantly that he had to have been the kindest man ever born. I was head over heels instantly.

We made love and then we made secret plans to have him run away from his seminary within a couple of weeks. He simply needed to communicate his plans to his mother first. Meanwhile, I became pregnant. As soon as I guessed, I ran back to his barren shack by the sea. Not only was he gone, but he had been murdered by a paedophile in his Church. It took me several years to find out what had happened, but to summarize, the man I loved had been sexually abused by a priest when he was very young and the abuser used his control over him---over his religious beliefs and conscience to make sure he ended up in the same seminary. You may think that sounds like an unreasonable manipulation. But I have had an extensive education in the power of sexual lust and it is by far, the most dominating of all mental obsessions. In short, in my mind, my Fr. Fitzgerald was enslaved. A week later, I had a miscarriage. My mother and I agreed that I could never be married to a nice man---it was 1945."

Why? Surely there were many nice men who would marry you. You are so beautiful.

Madeline smiled. "Thank you, but in Dublin in 1945 there were enough pretty women around to marry one that was a virgin. That was the reality. What was worse, there was no way to confront the man who was the murderer. I know I could never adequately explain a situation like mine to a prospective spouse. People tend to judge victims quite harshly and because my youth was also an issue, there was no sympathy for me. I felt like a giant wall had risen from out of the ground and stood in front of me. To me, my entire future was lost, and there was no way to get through it.

Chapter Two

Kevin’s Heart and Mind

Are Torn by History

That is when Jeremy McStanish entered my life. He was your age. He was as inexperienced as you are now."

It was these little remarks that made me shrivel. How could she know how experienced I was?

Jeremy wouldn’t have cared if I was a virgin if it had been an issue. He married me almost immediately, because he believed I was industrious and had good business sense . . .

I didn’t believe that for a second, and made a doubtful face.

Yes, she said, "he thought I was pretty---his ego ideal . . . and he thought himself very handsome as well. But he was a thief and a debased human being and wanted to use me. Of course, I knew he was arrogant and stubborn when I first met him. But my hope for normal happiness was so dead inside, I didn’t care. And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t imagine him evil.

By the end of that year, I had given birth to Jeremy’s son---the man you know as Chris Martin. He was a difficult baby and so completely consumed my attentions that Jeremy gave up on our relationship rather quickly after that."

That seems impossible. Martin looks years older than you. How can you be his natural mother?

"He is prematurely grey. The white hair and somewhat awkward movements of his make him seem old. Actually, he seemed old even when he was a child of ten. And the truth is that I’m not that much older than him. I was still fifteen when I had gotten pregnant on my birthday, miscarried, and married all within a couple of months, and Chris, my second child was born early---on New Year’s Eve 1945, right before I turned sixteen.

My mother was smart enough to know exactly what Jeremy was when she met him. She visited with me every week to make sure my circumstances were tolerable. I never told her everything about his bizarre behaviour, but I think she guessed details. I don’t know how, but I think she knew everything when I asked her, Mother, have you ever lived around a person whose mood changes from ice cold indifference, to intense hot passion, and then to raging violence in a matter of minutes? No, she had said, but I have seen it. You must tell me when there is violence.

I never did until I knew my life was in danger. After three years, I told her quite a bit about Jeremy’s strange violent behaviour and his business success. His violence at home had moderated, but it was mostly because his time at home was nearly non-existent. The business success was a puzzle. I had figured out how to ask for things I needed. I said his reputation was dependant on what others thought, and that they would judge him by his taste in clothes and in the condition of his home. That was the most important thing in the world to him. Even at your age you could guess that one of the most important things in Jeremy McStanish’s life is his mansion in western Ireland. So when there were things that I had asked for, such as the Georgian I still live in, these expenses were nothing to him and he would pay cash for them. He said he didn’t trust banks and yet had so much money. That is when I started to watch him. I was suspicious about the possibility of his hoarding money in the house. That is when my mother’s plan was ready, and she walked me through a process of gaining evidence. She arranged a very lucrative separation and that is when she finally told me that she had hired a detective to look into Jeremy’s history and financial dealings and had been prepared for the moment I wanted out."

No one has ever understood why I didn’t get divorced. There was much more to the story than anyone knows, but the truth was that Jeremy was not a citizen of Ireland. We had married in the Church, but he lied and said he was born in Dublin. And they never did a background check on him. But if we had to go to divorce court, they would have checked, and then his lack of citizenship would have surfaced and he would have been deported. He would have done anything to avoid that kind of catastrophe to his business, including killing all of us. I didn’t know that at the time, but my mother did.

Besides, I would not have received a settlement. My mother’s main goal was to make sure that at least a portion of the money he made stealing was used for some humane purposes. I am sure I never would have figured out any of it---she completely trapped him by having him investigated over time.

I’m not going to embarrass you by going into the details, but know that I was as much a prisoner with McStanish as my first love, Fr. Fitzgerald was in his seminary.

My mother knew this and had been making plans---she was going to free me for the rest of my life. And that was how my mother and I conceived our present organization. She had hired a detective to investigate Jeremy’s background and business dealings. That is when she uncovered his criminal activities and made sure the partners Jeremy used were found out. At that point he didn’t care. He never did repeat business with anyone. He knew his partners in crime couldn’t be trusted.

But no one would ever know how deeply he was shocked when she confronted him with everything thing she knew. He was making millions, but ironically, off of other rich criminals---and now had to share his ill-gotten money.

In the end, we were guaranteed fifteen per cent each of his earnings and that amount was based on income increases every six months. We were receiving millions within a year. By the time I was thirty I had several hundred million pounds. My mother used her money to take in orphans, and to feed the hungry in our neighbourhood. The rest of it I used to start a business that also makes a lot of money---my couture. Once that started to secure an income, I was free to use my mother’s detectives to start my own private investigative organization."

Does it have a name?

No not yet. It will when I decide on a permanent business front for it. Much of my decision will depend on you.

Why me?

Because I think you are the most suited to run it. Your brothers have other gifts and other goals. You do not have a clear vision of your future . . . of your skills.

What skills?

You’ll learn about them over time. But meanwhile I want to know if your heart would be in it---I want to know if you think a secret life of espionage is compelling---do you have ambitions to be heroic? Or is there something else that tugs at your soul?

I don’t think I could . . .

"I’m not asking you that . . . I want to know if it is a dream---if fighting crime is appealing to you?

I’ve always loved doing my own little detective work because it meant that someday I would be using what I learned to find my parents.

There are many more things going on with my team besides looking for your parents. Of course, they are our first priority, but as other things surface, we get involved.

Are they the same kinds of things you do---I mean the same kinds of things I have seen you do?

Yes, for the most part. Why don’t we try it out for a year so you can get your feet wet, and then you can tell me how you feel about what you are doing?

I think I’ll like it even if I don’t turn out to be very good at it.

That’s all I wanted to know.

After that lunch with Madeline, my opinions about everything in life had changed. She had needed protection. My missing mother had needed protection. Probably, other people in my family needed protection. And now, someone was telling me that I was capable of protecting someone else. I couldn’t believe it.

Now, I was excited about being a part of her organization, but still was unsure about what it involved. Then one day she asked me to listen to one man in particular---a big fat man with a goatee who was speaking French, and tell her if I thought he was lying. I watched him very carefully---the way his mouth moved and when he licked his lips. I watched his eyes and how they darted around as if he was looking for someone while he was talking. I didn’t understand the language, but knew he was lying.

What do you think?

"I’m not sure I understood what he was saying. But think he was talking about a boat, and some kind of passage to Hong Kong. He made it sound like it was safe. He said Oh sure, in English several times, right? And when he did, I saw a picture of a freighter in my mind. It looked very bleak and old. It looked dangerous."

Yes. You have the gift Kevin. You inherited a certain insight that your mother was born with and that is why she was kidnapped. On every trip I gather information on McStanish and Chris Martin and men who are connected to them. I heard about this man---the one with the freighter---through confessions from other kidnappers that were associated with McStanish. I’m always hoping that someone will have information on your parents.

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about my own spying on Chris Martin. I didn’t feel it was right to tell on my brothers Joe and Tim who had gone with me on many occasions---of the times we snuck around the McStanish mansion and watched what was going on. But I knew plenty already.

And now---something new. I had just been trusted with information that was very private and that none of my brothers knew. What was this insight that my mother had? Was I the only son who inherited it? How did my grandmother know? That was when my confidence rose and my life changed. I felt invincible.

Two weeks and three days later, my sense of invulnerability had evaporated. I had been sent on a mission, and now felt a huge sense of anxiety I had never felt before. I felt unsure of everything I tackled alone. I wanted to call someone every time I had to make a decision. It was beyond my understanding. I had to get a grip. This was going to be an easy assignment. Madeline wouldn’t have let me go out on my own if there was any real threat to my safety. And worse, I had argued to be allowed to go on this trip. It wasn’t going to last that long. I’d been dreaming of a mission like this. She had read my mind. I started to think of myself as some kind of comic book hero.

I kept thinking I could be like her. She had a mysterious composure that stopped people in the streets as she walked by them. I had been tagging along with her for so many years I could imitate it---but only when I was with her. She was never afraid---never afraid of anyone or anyplace. Even in the poorest cities, where the streets were often filthy with garbage and varmints, she audaciously walked past the worst of humanity with ease and self-assurance.

Yet, if there had been a way for me to back out of this assignment at this very moment, I would have run. I would have gladly sprinted all the way back to Oxford to my quiet rooms that faced High Street and sat on my crusty dormer window seat watching the cyclists careen around the doubledecker buses and autos. I longed for the smell of the Queens Café across the street, and their magnificent homemade desserts. I longed for my hot tea in my navy blue mug with its gold crest that was always within my reach---and especially the smell of the clean, crisp air that breezed across England.

I had my briefcase in my hand. It carried the rare painting I was to deliver to the bank in Rome---supposedly to its proper owner, though of that, we were never sure. Thanks to our incredible technical lab, the briefcase could not be opened by anyone but me, or it would set off an alarm and release a powerful sedative. Our headquarters would have had an agent tracking it immediately.

I can’t believe I had been so over confident.

Chapter Three

A Vision in Baby Pink

I was born in 1981 to a couple who had given up on having any children. Of course, I was spoiled to death as a consequence, but also smothered with their constant presence. It was nearly impossible for me to find or keep friends for very long. If I was invited to a home, my parents would tag along and create just enough conversation with my friend’s parents to make themselves familiar. Then it wouldn’t be long before they were invited to stay---to help out with the catering---to help chaperone, or to just provide company to the parents of my friend. No one would ever invite me back---and frankly, every time I showed up looking prudish, outdated, and obvious, I wasn’t really unhappy about the outcome. It would just be a repeat of the same old thing that had been going on since I was five, and I had learned to exist as a lonely soul.

As I grew up, being alone became less painful, but was still heart-wrenching. I had been tutored at home and one or the other of my parents couldn’t resist sitting in on almost every subject---offering opinions and answers---a constant source of annoyance for each new tutor.

When I turned seventeen and had finished what was considered more than advanced work needed to complete a secondary education, I decided to become a pest to my parents until they became completely irritated with me and agreed to allow me to go to Somerville College in Oxford.

While my parents eventually approved, I suppose the reality of my moving away from Dover hadn’t sunk in. Before I knew it, they decided I should move in July so they could join me for a month before the term started. I was very frightened that they would find some way to hang out with my tutors---invite them to dinner, offer them their car, pay for class field trips, or sponsor symposiums. I knew all their tricks to stay attached---to be within fifty feet of my very existence at all costs.

They had paid extra so my rooms were spacious. I was allowed to move into them early. That was the moment when they realized they couldn’t move in with me and would have to