Hearts of Stone is a love story that starts before WWII. It is also about terrorism and religious fanaticism. Not Moslems in the twenty first century but the Christian Irish in the twentieth century. Whether Terrorist or Freedom Fighter, the 'cause', is as old as Ireland itself
Brendan McGonigal exciled from Ireland as a student for his political views becomes a wealthy cattle dealer in North Wales and falls in love with Phyllis a medical student and daughter of a Welsh hill farmer. Their love further binds the anciant culture of two great Celtic nations.
Thirty Years onDavid McGonigal, the only son of Phyllis and Brendan, serves witht the SAS in Northern Ireland and later with a Home Office Counter Terrorism Unit. He leaves the army and tries to forget his former life - then one placid Saturday night in Wales, hooligans threaten the landlord of his local pub. David goes to his aid and finds there is another sinister and dangerous agenda. The pace is frantic to stop the killing, this time in the name of God, from starting all over again.
Excerpt
Prologue
Early September 1969
St Asaph Cathedral, North Wales
I
It was fitting, he thought, that God’s work should start in God’s house. The Bishop of St Asaph; a tall, heavily-built man who had recently lost his wife, was doing what he usually did most fine mornings – walking his cocker spaniel in the grounds of the small cathedral while contemplating his day’s work. He would let himself in to the cathedral while his dog waited outside, say his morning prayers and then bishop and dog would repair to his house where they would share breakfast.
The Bishop was just emerging from the cathedral as Flynn pulled up at the gate and got out of the Volkswagen. As he walked up the path, the Bishop, on seeing his cleric’s collar, smiled broadly. ‘Good morning, Father. What brings you out on such a fine morning?’
‘Good morning, Your Grace,’ said Flynn. ‘I’m on what I believe is the first holiday I’ve had for almost five years. I’ve been abroad and I’m on my way to Ireland to see my mother, God bless her. While I was away, I read about your lovely cathedral and vowed that if ever I got the chance, I would visit. So, here I am.’
‘Father, it’s a real pleasure to see you, and as luck would have it, I have some time, so come let me show you around.’
Flynn followed the Bishop into the cathedral. The morning sun danced through the colours of the leadlight windows; it was cool and calm inside.
Flynn faced the altar and crossed himself then followed the Bishop down the centre aisle as he pointed to features in the small cathedral. Soon they were both standing in front of the altar, the Bishop pointing to the work of the fine Welsh stonemasons who had constructed one of the high arches. When he received no response from Flynn, he turned and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol.
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