"Yes, I'm sure," Cosgrove said. "You know the IRA came out of the Irish Volunteers and other groups involved in the rebellion and the subsequent Anglo-Irish War-"

"You mean the Irish War of Independence," I said.

"As you wish. All water under the dam now, Boyle. The treaty between Great Britain and Ireland was signed in 1921-"

"Leaving Northern Ireland in the hands of the British."

"Precisely. The Irish Republican Army split, those who supported the treaty forming the new Irish National Army and those who opposed it fighting on, against the Irish government, Great Britain, and often each other."

"What's the point of the history lesson?" I asked, steamed at having to listen to Cosgrove's version of recent Irish struggles.

"To be certain you understand the importance of what we are about to tell you. I assume you've been raised on tales of valiant IRA lads fighting against English tyranny. With your American distance from the actual events, I daresay you have a rather romantic notion of this conflict, one that has little basis in reality."

I didn't like how this was going. I got up and walked away from Cosgrove, cramming my hands in my pockets to keep from making a fist.

I stared out a window in the direction of the Golden Gate, the gate through which the Jews believed the Messiah would enter Jerusalem. A few hundred years ago, the Turks had sealed it up, and it was still sealed up tight this morning with the English running the place. That was how empires worked, no matter if it was the Turks or the Brits. Grind the dreams of the people into nothing. Brick up the wall. Sneer at the stuff of legends.

"Are you still with us, Lieutenant Boyle?" O'Brien asked.

"I am," I said with an effort.