"I'm going to finish this."

Donal nodded and pressed his forehead against Killian's forehead.

"G.o.d and Mary and Patrick," Donal said.

"Aye," Killian replied.

He walked over to Rachel.

She was hugging her girls and crying. He kneeled beside her and wrapped his arms round all of them.

"I can't take much more of this," she said.

"Don't worry," he said. "You're not to going to have to."

Rachel looked at him and she looked at the gun. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to end it. Tonight."

"Tell me."

Killian shook his head. "It's best that you don't know."

Killian knelt next to Claire and Sue. "Goodbye girls," he said and kissed first Claire and then Sue on the top of the head.

Claire politely said goodbye and Sue looked at him oddly and hugged his legs.

"I'm going to miss you, little one," he said in Irish.

"Me too," she replied in the same language and burst into tears.

He could feel his throat crack. "Now, now child," Killian said and to Rachel: "Go easy on this one and she'll be just fine."

"Girls, give me one moment," Rachel said, stood, took Killian by the arm and walked a little bit away.

"Where are you going?" she asked when they were out of earshot.

"It's like I said, I'm going to finish this."

"You're going to see Richard? What are you going to do, Killian?"

"I'm going to take care of it. Come on, Rachel. Trust me," he said and smiled.

She looked at him. Those dark eyes, that lunk jaw. He looked like a B-movie villain.

But he wasn't a villain.

He had brought the best out of Sue.

And Claire liked him.

And he had saved their lives.

And now he was going to go and risk his life again.

For what?

"What have you got from all of this?" she asked.

Killian breathed deep and looked at her and the girls and he thought of the photo in his wallet. "I got plenty," he said.

"I don't think I understand," she said.

"That's okay," he said.

"Kiss me," she said.

"I can't, I'm bleeding," he said.

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close and kissed him and held him and burst into tears.

She knew that this was it for them.

One way or another.

But then it didn't matter.

He had already given her everything he had. He had given her his time and his patience and he was offering up his life on the altar of her and the children's future. And she was changed by him, changed for ever. Never again would she put the gun barrel in her mouth, never again would she surrender to despair or to fear.

As he said the great enemy was death.

The great enemy was death and as long as you breathed you were his master.

You could never forget that.

To live at all was miracle enough.

"I'm never going to see you again, am I?"

"If it all works out...no," he said and kissed her on the cheek and walked to the car park, hot-wired the Merc, and headed south with the burning caravans and the crowd on the beach and the men loading horses into horseboxes fading quickly in the gla.s.s of the rear-view mirror.

CHAPTER 18.

ONCE UPON A TIME IN BELFAST.

In Pavee society, like at Ilium, a man and his actions were identical. You didn't think one thing and do another. If you ran, you were a runner. If you abandoned someone to their fate, you were a coward. You acted and the G.o.ds observed and Fate turned her wheel.

It was time to act.

Killian drove the Merc to Belfast along the A2.

He pulled into a BP station and bought paracetamol, a balaclava and WD40. He gulped the paracetamol and cleaned and oiled the .45, being careful to leave Markov's fingerprints on the grip.

He drove to the Malone Road in leafy, wealthy south Belfast. He parked the Merc a street away from Tom Eichel's house and put the gun in his pocket.

It was a comparatively modest Georgian three-storey affair with black, cast-iron railings and a door that opened onto the street. It was all location of course and around here it was two million five, easy.

Killian walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.

There was a pause before Tom opened it. He was dressed in a purple nightgown and holding a cup of tea. He should have thrown the tea and slammed the door immediately - his only chance, Killian thought.

Killian pointed the .45 at him. "Turn slowly, and put your hands up."

Tom's eyes were yellow and glazed. He seemed out of it.

"Turn slowly and put your hands up," Killian repeated.

He set his teacup on the hall table and put his hands in the air.

Killian closed the front door behind him.

Tom was unmarried but you never knew who might be around. He made Tom walk him through the house and they finally retired to a book-lined living room where a peat fire was burning. They sat in leather armchairs on either side of the hearth. Killian made sure Tom was well away from pokers or fire irons.

There was a strangeness to Tom's face and his movements were like a man drowning in mola.s.ses.

Killian looked into those yellow, beady eyes and noticed that the pupils were dilated. His face was flushed and there was sweat on his upper lip.

"Are you high?" Killian asked.

"Yes," Tom said simply.

"On what?"

"H. Dragon chasing. Over tinfoil. Nothing too serious."

"You're a drug addict?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I have rigid discipline. Only in times of great stress or on special occasions. Half a dozen times a year at the most."

"Which one's this? A time of great stress or a special occasion?"

"A little of both."

Killian leaned back in the chair and examined him. He wasn't on top form. He was like a melted candle with his hair draped over his face and perspiration on his face. He looked haggard, tired.

"So," Tom said at last.

"I need to ask you something, Tom," Killian said.

"What?"

"It's about Richard. I know that you'll never stop but I would really appreciate your honest a.s.sessment of Richard. I've killed Markov and I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you but what will Richard do? He's an unknown quant.i.ty. Can I let him live or will he keep going after her?"

Tom's eyes widened but he didn't flinch.

He thought about it.

"I've put the fear of G.o.d into him. She's a junkie, Killian. She's capable of anything. If she told the cops or the papers there would have to be an inquiry. It took a while but I finally explained just how serious this all was to him. One of the girls in the house died during an abortion. She might be one of the ones in the tape. Jesus! It would be the end of everything."

"So you think Richard will try and top her?"

"I do. There's so many angles. We could blame her junkie pals, the IRA...And she's silenced."

Killian nodded. "That's what I thought. It's a real catch-22. If she says nothing she'll never feel safe from Richard, if she goes to the police, the IRA will see to it that she never makes it to trial. At the very least she'll never feel safe."

Tom shook his head. "No," he agreed.

"The only way is to take Richard out of the picture, you out of the picture and never mention the laptop or what was on it to anyone."

They sat while the turf logs cracked and spat and the grandfather clock in the hall ticked.

"I suppose there's nothing I can say to dissuade you," Tom offered with a thin smile.

Killian shook his head.

"She got her hooks into you, huh?"

"It's not like that," Killian said.

"What about money? I have a lot of money," Tom tried.

"No."

Tom swallowed hard.

"So you're just going to kill me?"

"I have to kill both of you."

Tom nodded.