'Did she say where she was?'

'She's at yer ma's. Says she's not going back to her house, "till you stop doin whatever it is you're doin",' answered E.I. 'She sounded in a bad way, Danny. Told us what had happened last night. Bastards, eh? D'you know who they were?'

'SAS without a doubt,' answered Danny.

'D'you think they're on to you?'

'No. I've got a close-surveillance team on my hole. Caught one of them in church the other day with a microphone up his sleeve on a fishing trip: putting pressure on me, hoping I'll do something stupid which I duly did, of course. I pulled a gun on him. I think they were letting me know it wasn't a smart thing to do. I need to lay low for a bit.'

'E4A?' asked E.I.

'I think so,' replied Danny.

'What are they up to?' asked E.I. 'E4A are police, not army. D'you think they're getting the SAS to do their dirty work for them these days?'

'Possibly,' replied Danny. 'Since that list went missing they're expecting me to get busy . . . could be that as well.'

'How did you suss him out?'

'He forgot to cross himself.'

'Aye, it's always the silly things that fuck you up, am I right Danny?'

E.I. was sly: he liked to unsettle people by making them think he knew more than he was letting on. His small, dark eyes were difficult to read and reminded Danny of a shark. Let your guard down for a second and he'd bite. But Danny was ready for him.

'I don't do silly things,' he said adding 'generally.'

'What were you doing in church?' asked E.I.

It crossed his mind that rlaith might have mentioned to E.I. about the meeting with Lep McFarlane, but Danny was fairly sure she hadn't. Either way he wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. 'Confessing my sins,' was all that he said. 'Priest said if you ever fancy going, he'd get the Guinness Book of Records there to time it.'

E.I. only ever laughed at his own jokes, but he did give Danny a smile. '"Pure as the driven snow", our lad. "Pure as the driven snow".'

He banged his hand on the arm of the sofa, signalling the end of the small talk.

'I have a wee proposition for you, Danny, that could suit all parties involved: get you out of Northern Ireland for a while, away from the Snoops, the SAS, and give me an enormous amount of satisfaction.' E.I. was staring at him now. 'Before I start: did you happen to get a look at the list?'

Danny shook his head.

'You sure?' pressed E.I.

'I never even touched it. Eamon dropped round to my place for a beer after the operation, but as far as I'm aware he'd already passed it on to Quig. Why?'

'Are you sure?'

Danny wondered why E.I. was asking. 'Positive,' he replied.

'Did Eamon look at it, or Quig, d'you think?'

'Possibly, I've no idea,' said Danny, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. 'I never spoke to Quig. They might have had a look to check it was the right thing, but that's about it, I really don't know. Is there a problem?'

E.I. deflected him with another question.

'How's yer ma, Danny? You looking after her all right?'

Danny wasn't interested in talking about his mother: he wanted to find out why E.I. had asked to see him, then get the hell out of there.

'She's fine.'

'I know how she feels about us, Danny, but you tell her the door here is always open if she needs anything.'

'I will.'

E.I. lowered his voice. 'I tell you, and I've never said this to anyone, but I have nightmares about what happened to your Sean. The explosion was the size of a fuckin mountain in my rear-view mirror; I can still feel the heat on the back of my neck. I've had people swear they saw it light up the sky as far away as Dublin. There's no consolation in it, but your Sean wouldn't have felt a thing.' E.I.'s monotone voice betrayed no emotion as he spoke. 'If we'd detonated that bomb where we'd intended: not only would it have taken out the Prime Minister, but half of Belfast as well . . . Aye, your Sean wasn't a soldier, he was an army, our lad. A terrible loss.'

E.I. paused and took a drink of beer before continuing. 'Anyway, the reason I bring it up is, we've had a few sightings of Lep McFarlane cutting around his old haunts. Would you believe the fuckin cheek of the dirty little tout: daring to show his face in Newry again?'

Danny wasn't sure if he was being paranoid or just over-sensitive, but once again it looked like E.I. was watching him for a reaction.

'Anyway I thought you'd want to know Danny . . . He's a kill-on-sight job.'

'Is that what you wanted to see me about?' asked Danny.

E.I. looked like he was expecting more of a reaction from Danny: his eyes narrowed, but Danny was giving nothing away. 'It was one of the things, the support act if you like, but here's the main event,' said E.I. 'While we're on the subject of treacherous little bastards who deserve to die, there's something I want to ask you. I know you like to set your own agenda Danny, but how d'you fancy a wee trip to the States courtesy of the Irish Republican Army?'

Danny looked at him and shrugged. 'Work or pleasure?'

'Depends how you look at it, our lad,' replied E.I. with a crooked grin. He leant towards Danny and whispered under his breath, 'Would giving the Thevshi an OBE be regarded as work or pleasure?'

'One Behind the Ear': Jam a gun behind some poor fucker's ear and pull the trigger. It was a traitor's death, an informer's fate . . . an OBE.

Danny let the question settle before answering.

'Have you found him?'

E.I. nodded. 'We have his name: the one they gave him when they changed his identity, that is, the address they relocated him to and would you believe it . . . a bloody telephone number. I don't have to tell you Danny what it would mean to the republican movement to have the bastard's head on a spike. You'd be a hero, I tell ye.' E.I. had something else to say that he didn't want anyone else to hear. He leant forward again. 'I'll be honest with you, Danny. It's not a question of who has the biggest army, or the best weapons or the just cause: information is the key. We've been infiltrated up to our bloody necks: if we lose this war that'll be the reason. They have all the information. You don't know who to trust these days. We have to make an example of the Thevshi to show any other fucker thinking of grassing on us that no matter how long it takes we'll find them, and execute them without mercy. It's essential to our survival. And all those bastards who have informed on us in the past are now shitting themselves in case they're on that list. I know you're not an active member, Danny, but I'm sure even you can see what a coup it would be for us.'

E.I. suddenly sat back and smiled. 'And if all that's not enough, the job's worth a quite a few doubloons too. Shooting that dirty piece of shit in the head could be worth nearly twenty grand . . . enough to retire on.'

E.I. was staring at Danny again with the same intensity as before: scrutinising him, no doubt about it.

Danny fixed his eyes on the floor. 'So "The Ghost" really does exist?'

'He sure does,' replied E.I. 'Hopefully not for too much longer. But as you know, nothing is ever straightforward on this tiny island of ours. We have one small problem. We were a bit too eager to kill the cunt: so we asked a favour of a friend out in Alabama guy called Hernando De Garza. He's a big player: into arms, drugs, vice, you name it. Won't touch anything that doesn't carry a hefty jail sentence: likes risk. He goes and employs a couple of local tradesmen, who of course fuck it up. Missed their target. Stupid fuckers tried to hit the Thevshi in a bar. The guy lives on his own in the middle of nowhere and these eejits try and take him out in a crowded bar. Can you believe that?'

'So he knows we're on to him?' interjected Danny.

E.I. nodded again. 'Aye, course he does. If you were up for it we'd want to get you out there as soon as possible. We want it done right, Danny, and we want it done right now. You're the man for the job. What d'you say?'

Danny didn't have to think. 'I've a few things to sort out beforehand, but I'm ready to go anytime you like,' he replied.

'Grand, Danny, that's just grand. We've got a tug-of-war team flying out to Boston the day after next. It's a bit of a pain in the arse cause you'll have to make your way cross-country from there, but at least you'll have some craic on the plane. They're a good bunch of lads, and it's a half-decent cover story. Owen O'Brien's going, d'you know him?'

'I know who he is,' replied Danny. He realised then that the man he thought looked familiar a few minutes earlier was O'Brien.

Owen O'Brien used to hang around with Sean at school, but no one liked him: too argumentative. Too eager with his fists if he didn't get what he wanted or you looked at him the wrong way. He'd fought his way through the ranks of the Republican Army to become head of their internal security, responsible for interrogating suspected informers and disciplining the younger members of the organisation if they stepped out of line. If you were up before O'Brien it was already too late. Very few survived the ordeal. In many ways O'Brien and Danny did similar jobs, but Danny regarded himself as a professional and O'Brien as nothing more than a gangster.

'Nasty fucker,' continued E.I. 'Don't go near him if he has a drink in him. It was O'Brien poured a kettle of boiling water over that young lad O'Patrick's girlfriend. Sure enough it made the boy talk, but the girl was scarred for life and O'Patrick ended up dead anyway but what was I saying? Oh aye. Looks like we've qualified for the tug-of-war world championships in Oshkosh, can you believe that? We'll get things set up for you: sort you out with some cash and a passport and so on. Whatever you need just let us know.'

'Any chance of getting hold of a MSG90?'

'You going to take the Thevshi out long-distance?' asked E.I.

Danny didn't answer.

'I'll get it for you no bother,' continued E.I. 'The guy I was talking about earlier Hernando De Garza he'll sort you out. We owe him for the hit on the Thevshi, and even though he fucked it up we're gonna pay him. The guy can get his hands on all sorts of US military hardware, so we need to keep him sweet. I'd like you to take him some cash, maybe place an order if you don't mind. De Garza reckons he can get his hands on a couple of Stingers the CIA are sending to the Mujahideen in Afghanistan. You wouldn't have to bring anything back, just check it's legit, give him the deposit and leave the rest to us. Would you be okay with that?'

'No problem,' replied Danny.

'But, in terms of your own personal weaponry, you can have whatever you like, Danny, as long as you bring home the Thevshi's scalp.'

'Were the Thevshi's details on the list then?' asked Danny.

'Page one,' replied E.I.

'Unbelievable! So where's he been hiding?'

'The beginning, middle and end of nowhere: ever heard of Tuscaloosa, Alabama?' asked E.I.

Even though he had, Danny shook his head.

Danny was sure he knew the answer to the next question, but he asked it anyway. 'What's he call himself?'

'Finn O'Hanlon,' replied E.I.

Danny didn't know why he decided not to tell E.I. that it was the second time in as many days that he had heard of Tuscaloosa, and the second time he'd heard of Finn O'Hanlon. Danny wasn't sure either why he didn't mention the meeting with Lep McFarlane.

He just had a feeling.

'You want a lift home Danny?'

The meeting was over.

Danny eased himself painfully up from the sofa. 'I'm fine E.I. I've got a car.'

'I'm surprised you can bloody walk, never mind drive a car. You sure you're all right?'

'Fine. Really. One last thing E.I. Does Bap still work at the DVLA?

'That bollock has never done a day's work in his life, but that's who pays his wages.'

'Could he check out a number plate for me?'

'Sure, if the vehicle's in Northern Ireland he'll find it for you. Fire away.'

'KIB 1024.'

Chapter 15.

UTV studios, Belfast Maundy Thursday evening

'That greasy, back-stabbing little bollock doing the interview was getting my blood up,' said Frank. 'When he asked if the break-in was "down to the Special Branch's incompetence or the IRA's cunning" I seriously considered knocking him out. Cheeky bastard. If only he knew the bloody truth!'

Detective Inspector Holden, Detective Sergeant Warren and Frank Thompson were walking past the large sweeping reception desk in the lobby of UTV the local television station heading for the exit. Frank had just recorded an interview for the evening news and was in a sombre mood.

'How did that come across?'

'Better than the six o'clock the other night: not so much on the back foot. Are we really launching an official inquiry?'

'Are we fuck,' replied Frank.

The three men pushed through the revolving door and headed out across the car park. The rain had eased but the cold April wind buffeted and blustered around them as they walked towards their car.

Frank pulled his heavy black woollen coat tight.

'Got a call from Sheena, Chief,' said DI Holden. 'Lep McFarlane's body's been found on the Omeath Road with a bullet in the back of the head. At least they think it's him . . . there's not much left of his face: difficult to make a positive ID.'

'Christ, he didn't last long, did he?' replied Frank. 'Poor bugger's only been back in town for a few days.'

'That's not the best bit, sir. You'll never guess who was the last person to see McFarlane alive spotted leaving St Patrick's in Newry just a few minutes after McFarlane on Tuesday morning.'

'If I'll never guess,' replied Frank, 'just bloody tell me.'

'Have a go.'

Frank was in no mood for playing guessing games. 'The Pope,' he replied flatly.