Among them was Sean McCarthy, one of the liaison heads of the Irish Rebels in Belfast!
He was wrapped in an old jacket, his brows furrowed. Beside him were two companions, equally tense, scanning the dark corners vigilantly as they waited here for a mysterious "Middleman," who claimed to bring "an opportunity to change the status quo."
The rusted warehouse door emitted a sharp groan, edged open from the outside. A figure slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind them, sealing out the howling wind and rain.
The newcomer wore a well-cut dark wool coat and a hat, brim pulled low to obscure the face. Steady steps led him straight to the faint light source where Sean and his companions stood.
"Mr. McCarthy?" The newcomer's voice was low, steady, with a hint of an almost imperceptible accent, like a deliberately refined London dialect with subtle differences.
