'Take your dirty Proddy hands off me or you'll have to learn to type using your toes,' said Crazy-Pete, wrenching his arm free from the officer's grip.

'Here, slow down Peter, for God's sake,' said Tony-O, still trying to stop the situation getting out of hand. 'Show the man what he wants to see and let's be on our way. Sorry, officer, he's had a few too many. We're on our way to represent Northern Ireland in the Tug-of-War World Championships and we don't want any trouble, we really don't. Need every man we've got, you know what I'm saying even the pished ones. We were having a wee celebration. The pair of us had a few too many lagers when we heard about those four SAS lads that never made it for breakfast yesterday.'

Danny had reached the check-in desk. He could see Crazy-Pete and Tony-O in the middle of the terminal surrounded by RUC officers and at least two or three soldiers. As he handed over his tickets to the girl behind the desk he heard Crazy-Pete let out a roar.

Danny turned to look over his shoulder just as one of the RUC officers went reeling backwards, blood pouring from his nose. Suddenly the tall, corrugated roof of the terminal building was echoing with the dull, sickening thud of flesh on flesh. Screams and shouts bounced off the grey brick walls as the remaining officers weighed in to restrain Tony-O and Crazy-Pete.

The girl at the check-in desk tore off a section of Danny's ticket and handed back his passport and boarding pass. 'There you go, Mr Leonard, that's you all checked in.' She looked past Danny to where the fight was now well under way. 'Friends of yours?'

'Never met them before in my life,' replied Danny. 'You any good at tug-of-war? Looks like we're going to be a few men short.'

The girl raised her eyebrows. 'Is that what you call "men"?'

Danny tried the telephone number again. He let it ring for over a minute before hanging up and putting the scrap of paper that E.I. had given him back in his pocket.

He dialled another number.

'Hello, 752416, can I help you?'

'Angela?'

'No, she's just left for work, son. Can I take a message?'

'It's all right, I'll try her again later, thanks.'

Danny was about to hang up.

'Who will I say called?' asked her mother.

If Mrs Fitzpatrick knew it was Danny she wouldn't be too pleased.

'If you could just tell her that the Legend called.'

'No worries, son.'

The phone went dead.

Danny looked around the departure lounge and made his way over to a quiet table in the corner with a view overlooking the runway.

'Sure I can't get you a pint of something, big fella?'

Danny looked round as Owen O'Brien placed two pints of Guinness on the table and sat down beside him.

'No thanks, I don't drink and fly.'

Owen raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment. 'D'you have a pen and a piece of paper handy?'

'What for?' asked Danny.

'I'm going to give you the number of the hotel the boys and me are staying at in Oshkosh. E.I. doesn't want you phoning him from the States, for obvious reasons, so you can contact me when you've done what you have to do. All you have to do is let me know "It's sorted" and I'll tell E.I. when I get back. Does that make sense?'

Danny nodded.

He was sure E.I. would have discussed the reasons for his trip with O'Brien, but nevertheless the conversation unsettled Danny.

'Terrible news about Eamon Ruairc, eh. Did you hear?'

'Hear what?' asked Danny.

'It was just on the telly there,' continued Owen. 'Shot dead on his front doorstep. Tragic, eh? Says on the news he had three kids under five. Is that not bloody awful?'

Eamon was one of the two volunteers involved in the operation to steal the list from the headquarters of Special Branch the other being a schoolfriend of Danny's called Quig McGuigan. Danny had seen Eamon briefly on the night of the break-in, but hadn't heard from Quig in a while.

'When did it happen?'

'Yesterday morning,' replied Owen, picking up his Guinness and taking a sip. 'I just heard it on the news when I was at the bar there. Two in two days: where's it going to end?'

'Two?'

'Aye sure, Lep McFarlane too.'

'Lep McFarlane?' Danny tried not to sound surprised.

'They found his body up the Omeath Road with an OBE.'

That was the reason Danny had been unable to contact him the night before. The poor bastard was lying in a ditch with a bullet in the back of his head.

O'Brien was staring at him.

'What're you looking at me for? It wasn't me that did it.'

'Here, relax Danny, I know it wasn't you. Sure I caught the wee fucker myself didn't I? Got a call from someone saw him drinking in the Mountain Bar in Camlough. Started crying like a fuckin baby when I walked in. Took him out the back and shot him there and then.'

'What was he doing back in Newry?' asked Danny, wondering if Lep had said anything to O'Brien about their meeting.

'Exactly what I asked him: "What the fuck are you doing back here?" D'you know what he said?' O'Brien looked at Danny as if he was expecting a reply, but Danny just shrugged. 'He said he'd come back to say sorry to his family. I mean, what's all that about, eh? I know for a fact the wee shite was brought up by his grandmother. Sure his ma and da died when he was still in primary school and his granny was buried about twenty years ago. Lep McFarlane RIP . . . "Rest In Piss" more like, eh?'

Danny stared out at the rain lashing the runway and said nothing for a few minutes. When he turned round again Owen was well into his second pint.

'I thought you'd be more pleased,' said O'Brien, looking over at Danny.

'Pleased? Why would I be pleased? I couldn't give a shit.'

'Sure he's the wee tout that got your brother killed, isn't that right?'

Danny didn't answer. It was time to change the subject.

'What happens to your chances in Oshkosh now that Crazy-Pete and Tony-O have got themselves arrested?' asked Danny.

Owen smiled and took a sip of beer before answering. 'Do you know how many "pullers" there are in a tug-of-war team?'

'No idea' replied Danny.

'There's eight pullers and one extra: usually the coach.'

'Don't you need subs?' asked Danny.

'What for?' replied Owen. 'All you're doing is pulling a bit of fuckin rope. E.I. told us to get you on the plane no matter what. That was just a wee diversion we had planned in case you were spotted. Crazy-Pete and Tony-O didn't even have plane tickets.'

Chapter 22.

Lakeshore Hotel Tuscaloosa Holy Saturday

The girl with too much make-up on working behind the front desk of the Lakeshore Hotel didn't look up at the unassuming figure walking past and into the elevator. She heard the collapsible gate clunk into place and the electric motor whirr into life, but paid little attention. The drive cables clattered around in the lift shaft and the counterweights dropped noisily as the Twenties birdseye-maple elevator cabin lifted to the second floor. When it stopped the man made his way down the long stale corridor that stretched out in front of him, coming to a stop outside room 260. A small set of Wiggler Rakes thin, flexible wires was produced and after careful consideration, the chosen 'rake' was inserted into the lock. With a few deft twists and turns the various cylinders clicked into place and the door swung open.

Danny stood motionless, taking in the dimly lit room. The contrasting decor had a tired, grubby feel about it: none of it quite matched up to the promise offered by the picture postcards of the hotel on sale in the lobby. The bed looked deep and comfortable with large sky-blue satin pillows resting against its tall, pink-velvet, button-fronted headrest: all of it uncomfortably at odds with the pale mustard paper that covered nearly every wall in the building.

In the far corner sat a faux-Victorian bureau, just as it had been described to him. Danny crossed the room and knelt in front of it. He pulled the bottom drawer clear and laid it to one side before reaching in and feeling around the bureau's carcass. After a few seconds he pulled out a small parcel wrapped in white polythene and placed it in his holdall. He then retrieved two boxes of cartridges before sliding the drawer back into place and leaving the room.

The elevator clanked its way back to the ground floor and Danny crossed the lobby to the check-in desk. He had to wait for the girl to finish whatever she was doing before she looked up and acknowledged him.

'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see you standing there. Can I help?'

Danny pushed his glasses up on his nose.

'I have a reservation under the name of Leonard.'

The girl handed Danny a form.

'I have an envelope here for you, Mr Leonard. Someone left the keys to your car for you. If you could fill in this registration form and let me swipe your credit card. You're in room 260, at the front of the building on the second floor.'

'I'll pay cash.'

'I need to take a two-hundred-dollar deposit, I'm afraid.'

'Don't be afraid, that's fine. Is the room across the corridor available?'

Danny was instinctively wary. Room 260 had been booked for him, but he didn't want to sleep in there. If anything went wrong it would be the first place they'd look. He was being over-cautious, but that's how he worked.

'Let me just have a look. 261's free but it's not as nice. It does overlook the pool though.'

'Perfect,' replied Danny.

'Sure. I'll just grab you the key.'

The girl handed Danny a bulging envelope and a room key with an eight-inch rectangular piece of wood attached to it by a small brass chain.

'You use this on muggers?' asked Danny, wrapping his fist round the fob and holding it like a truncheon.

The girl's face was blank. 'It makes the key a little more difficult to lose' she said.

'Could you get a porter to help me carry it up to my room?'

It was obvious from her expression that checking people in and out of the Lakeshore Hotel, Tuscaloosa didn't require too many qualifications. Danny was too tired and hungry to explain that he was joking.

'What time does the restaurant open?' he asked.

'Breakfast is at 7.30 a.m.'

'Breakfast?' replied Danny. 'It's only 9 p.m. I have to wait until breakfast?'

'The main restaurant closes early over the Easter weekend.'

'The bar?'

'Closed too.'

'Anywhere local?' asked Danny.

'Nowhere till Monday night. But there's a minibar in your room.'

'Is there a telephone in my room?'

'Sure.'

'Am I allowed to use it?' asked Danny, only half kidding.

'Sure,' replied the girl earnestly. 'If you ring room service they'll maybe rustle you up a sandwich . . . but nothing hot.'

'Is Alabama a cold state over Easter too?' said Danny, giving it one last try.

This time the girl smiled, but she still answered, 'No, I don't think so.'