Chapter 16 – The Shadow Alliance

Chapter 16 – The Shadow Alliance

The SUV roared south along the M50, rain hammering the windscreen as the city lights blurred behind them. Karen drove with silent focus, eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Sarah sat in the passenger seat, tablet open, scanning news updates as Salty leaned back in thought.

“Where are we going?” he asked finally, breaking the tense silence.

Karen flicked her eyes to him in the mirror. “Somewhere safe. And somewhere important.”

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🏰 One Hour Later – Wicklow Mountains

They pulled off the motorway, winding up narrow forest roads until they reached an imposing stone lodge, half-hidden by mist and oak trees. The iron gates swung open silently as they approached, as if by unseen hands.

Inside, the lodge was warm and dimly lit by flickering antique lamps. Plush carpets muffled their boots as Karen led them down a long corridor lined with oil paintings of Irish landscapes and stern-faced nobles.

Finally, she stopped before a mahogany door and knocked twice.

“Enter,” came a calm voice from within.

Karen pushed open the door. Inside, a man sat behind a wide oak desk, a roaring fire crackling to his left. He was tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps in his late forties, with neatly trimmed black hair streaked with silver at the temples. His charcoal wool suit was tailored to perfection, and his piercing steel-grey eyes studied Salty with quiet intensity.

“Mr. O’Sullivan,” he said, his voice smooth and deep. “Please, sit.”

Salty remained standing, arms folded. “Who are you?”

The man gave a faint smile. “My name is Ruairí O’Donnell. I… represent certain interests within the Irish nation. Interests that no longer align with Brussels or Horizon Network.”

Salty narrowed his eyes. “You mean rich people scared they’re next when the truth finishes burning through the system.”

Ruairí chuckled softly. “Not just rich people, Mr. O’Sullivan. Patriots. Business owners. Former Defence Forces officers. Judges. Garda superintendents. People who remember an Ireland that didn’t bow to faceless Eurocrats.”

Sarah and Karen exchanged tense glances.

Salty tilted his head. “And what do you want from me, O’Donnell?”

Ruairí leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. “I want… what you want. Horizon gone. Brussels out. Ireland sovereign again.”

He gestured to a folder on the desk. Karen stepped forward, picking it up and handing it to Salty. Inside were blueprints, network maps, and personnel rosters.

“Horizon Network HQ,” Ruairí explained. “Port Tunnel Control Complex. Their real servers are there, under EU diplomatic protection. You take those down… and Horizon collapses overnight.”

Salty studied the pages silently. Finally, he closed the folder and looked up, his eyes dark with resolve.

“What’s the catch?” he asked.

Ruairí’s faint smile faded. “No catch. Just… an understanding. When this is over, Ireland must stand united under real leadership. Leadership that knows how to rebuild from the ashes.”

Salty snorted softly. “Meaning you.”

Ruairí met his gaze steadily. “Meaning us. Together.”

For a long moment, silence filled the room. The fire crackled. The rain battered the old windows. Finally, Salty extended his hand.

“Deal,” he said gruffly. “But know this, Ruairí. If your idea of ‘rebuilding’ is just another empire under your name… I’ll tear you down too.”

Ruairí chuckled, shaking his hand firmly. “That’s why we need men like you, Mr. O’Sullivan. Now… let’s end Horizon.”