From the beginning. ********************************* Bridget O’Brien was sitting in a bar in Arlington, Virginia. The calendar on the wall said 198... – no one had bothered to change it for five years, then. There was a man singing on the small stage, his voice wizened beyond his years by whiskey and cigarettes. He was singing the cheesier of the Irish ballads, Americans would rather hear of Molly Malone and her cockles and mussels than Pádraic Pearse and his butchered schoolboys. They would. He gave a long, sharp whistle and watched Alyson scramble to her feet. He held the spare vest at arm's length and swept it from side to side overhead: once, twice, three times, stopping with it overhead and then lowering it straight down. She waved and scrambled to the cabin to tell her mother that he'd given her the signal that the boat was found and reachable. He was going to dive to it.He began breathing deeply, preparing the rope to coil out as he descended. He slipped out of his vest and. More

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