Marie screwed up her face like she was trying to remember and replied, 'I don't think so.'

'You look familiar,' continued the barman. 'You ever lived in Montgomery, or got family there?'

'Is that where you're from?' asked Marie.

'Not originally, but I've lived there for a long time,' he replied. 'You go to high school there maybe?'

'No,' replied Marie. 'I've only ever been there once to visit the Rosa Parks memorial. I was ten years old.'

The barman said, 'My memory don't stretch back ten minutes, so it ain't that. Never mind. Sorry to trouble you.'

'If it comes back to you, let me know,' said Marie, smiling up at him. 'I'm hoping we weren't lovers.'

The barman laughed as he headed off to serve another customer.

Marie turned back to Finn and could tell immediately that something was wrong. He'd pushed his chair back and was standing with his back to her, his body ridged and tensed.

'You okay?'

She followed his line of vision up through the palm trees, past the overhanging Victorian wall-lamps, to room 261.

The light was on and there was a figure moving around in the room.

'Let's just get in the car,' said Marie. 'We haven't heard from Hud or Ardel yet. It might be Lee Croll up there.'

Danny threw his holdall onto the bed and headed into the bathroom to wash his face. He really needed to shower, but there was no time.

Hud had stood in the apartment giving him the stare the M10 pointed at the middle of his chest while Danny tried to convince him he wasn't a threat to O'Hanlon. It was fairly easy to tell something close to the truth; from Lep's message about Finn, to landing in Boston flying to Birmingham then the train journey to Tuscaloosa. The only detail he left out was the contract with E. I. O'Leary to kill O'Hanlon. When Ardel appeared from the hallway a few minutes later holding Danny's gun he had to go over it all again. If it hadn't been for the police sirens squealing in the distance he reckoned he'd still be there. It was only when Hud asked him if he'd cleared his prints from the knife sticking out of Croll's throat that Danny knew for certain they believed him, and he was allowed to leave.

Danny checked himself in the mirror. The cuts on his face were largely superficial, but there were still some small slivers of glass left that he had to remove.

Back in the bedroom Danny slid the balcony doors open to let in some air. If he'd looked down at the Hawaiian-style shack in the far corner of the courtyard, he'd have seen the woman calling herself 'Delores' sitting there on her own, staring anxiously up at the window, but he was too preoccupied.

He moved over to the bed and loaded twelve shells into the staggered-line clip of his Walther before sliding it back into the handle. Ardel had thrown it to him just as he was leaving. 'This piece is hot now, bro. Better take it with you,' he'd said.

Danny grabbed a couple of beers from the minibar and left the room.

He crossed the corridor to room 260 and let himself in.

He flipped the tops off the beers and placed them on the carpet by the door, then pulled over a chair from beside the small writing desk in the corner and sat down.

All he could do now was wait.

The first beer was still half full when he heard the now-familiar hum of electric motors from the elevator at the other end of the hall. There was a single chime as its doors rattled open.

Danny flipped the safety off, stood up and pressed his eye to the spyhole in the centre of the door.

Finn moved warily along the corridor checking the room numbers as he went. He held Marie's Snub Nose loosely by his side. When he got to room 261 he stopped.

The door had been left open: inviting him in. But it was an invitation he was suddenly reluctant to accept. Finn looked up and down the empty corridor then knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

After a few seconds he tried again, but there was still no response. Warily Finn pushed the door ajar, and entered the room.

The light was on in the bathroom and there was a grubby-looking holdall lying on the bed: aside from that, there were no other signs of life.

Finn picked up the holdall and looked inside: empty except for a plastic bag and some bubble wrap. He checked the wardrobes . . . empty too. The sink in the bathroom had some blood smeared around the bowl and the towel hanging over the bath was stained red, but where was 'Mr Leonard'?

Finn walked out onto the balcony. He looked down through the dimly lit trees and saw Marie taking a sip of cocktail. When she saw him she stood, and held up her thumb as if to say 'Everything okay?' Finn shrugged his shoulders: everything fine so far.

The sky was a deep void of purple and black. The warm night air smelled clean and fragrant after the rain, but something wasn't right.

As Finn turned to go back inside he felt the gun digging hard into the back of his neck.

'You have been found guilty of treason against the republican cause and sentenced to death in your absence. I'm here to carry out the will of the Republican Army council and execute you.'

Finn tried to turn, but the gun was pressed even harder. 'Keep facing the front, you dirty fuckin tout, and let your gun drop onto the floor. The only reason you're still alive is because you know something about my brother. It's the likes of you that got him murdered in the first place; so don't even think about fucking me about. This weapon I've got pointing at your skull has a hair trigger.' Danny could feel his anger rising. He stabbed the end of the barrel into Finn's neck again this time with so much force that it broke through the skin.

A small circle of blood appeared at the base of Finn's skull.

'I've got twelve rounds loaded in here and I'll pump every single one into you if you even think of fucking with me, d'you understand?'

Finn muttered an acknowledgement under his breath.

'Here's what's going to happen,' said Danny through gritted teeth. 'We're going to walk inside and have a wee chat . . . and depending on what you have to say for yourself, you might walk out again. But I warn you, O'Hanlon, it better be fucking good, because I'm your last chance. I'm all that's standing between this life and the next . . . C'mon, move.'

As he was backed in through the balcony doors Finn glanced down and saw that the bar stool where Marie had been sitting was empty: he hoped she wasn't on her way up.

Suddenly Finn's head snapped backwards. Danny had grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off balance. In the same movement he'd struck Finn hard on the side of his face with the stubby end of the Walther's ridged handle. The sharp, stabbing pain made Finn's legs give way underneath him and he collapsed backwards into the armchair. 'Jesus!' He folded his arms over his head to shield his face from any further blows . . . but for now the assault seemed to be over.

Finn could see that the Walther was no longer pointing at his forehead, but dangling limply by Danny McGuire's side. If he lunged forward now he could easily grab it and twist it from his grasp.

Finn slowly lowered his arms and looked up. Danny was staring back at him, his face blank, lacking any expression whatsoever. It was as if he had suddenly been struck dumb. His breathing was short and laboured and the hand holding his gun had started to shake and tremble. The only sounds that could be heard inside the room were the palm fronds, brushing against each other in the gentle breeze outside, and the occasional incomprehensible murmur wafting up from the poolside bar.

Danny tried to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, like they were too difficult. There was a question he wanted answered. It was the reason he'd made the journey to find O'Hanlon. It was the reason his hand was now shaking uncontrollably. But Danny could barely breathe. He had tears streaming down his face.

Sitting in front of him was the man who could give him the answer to the question that had plagued his every waking hour for the last eight years, but now, suddenly, there was no reason to ask it.

Danny recognised the man sitting in the chair, but his name was not Finn O'Hanlon.

Suddenly Finn bowed his head forward and mumbled quietly, 'I'm sorry for everything I've done, Danny, but I had no choice.' He paused for a few moments before slowly rising to his feet and taking a step forward. 'I'm sorry, Wub.'

There were only two people in the world who called Danny by his nickname, and one of them Lep McFarlane was dead: the other was his brother, Sean McGuire, who now stood before Danny with his arms outstretched.

He was speaking again. 'I have no right to ask, Wub, but I need all the forgiveness you have in you.'

'Are you the Thevshi?' asked Danny through his sobs.

Sean's eyes were focused: staring straight back at him, letting him know that this was the truth.

'No.'

Only then did Danny open his arms and accept his brother's embrace. The only thought going through his mind at that moment was to hold on and never let go.

Chapter 29.

Lakeshore Hotel, Tuscaloosa, Easter Sunday 11.47 p.m.

Marie had a recurring nightmare. She was a lawyer defending a major criminal. The judge would ask questions she didn't know the answer to. When her client was in the dock, she couldn't remember his name and constantly had to refer to her notes, but the pages in front of her were always blank. She'd been given the case by mistake, but there was no one to tell. When she woke up she was always left with the vague sense that she didn't really know what the hell was going on in her life.

It was the same feeling she had now: only this wasn't a dream.

Marie was frowning. She couldn't figure out what was bothering her more: the rising body count and the fact that Vincent Lee Croll had found them so easily, or what had happened earlier in the motel room, when Finn had avoided making love to her.

He wanted her, no doubt about it, but something was holding him back. They'd started to kiss, the attraction and intensity definitely there, but suddenly Finn had pulled away, saying, 'No, this is not what you want.' She had to stop herself from shouting at him, 'It is what I want, please just fuck me.' Maybe she was reading too much into it all, not seeing the situation as it really was. But Marie was certain of one thing: she was falling in love with this man.

On the journey from Finn's apartment he'd wanted to hear every detail of what happened with Croll and the other guy calling himself Mr Leonard. When she mentioned Lep's name Finn's whole demeanour suddenly changed. He had smiled and nodded to himself like somehow he'd been expecting this news. The idea had been to head for Cherokee Falls lie low for a few days before crossing the state line but straight away he'd asked her to turn the car round and head back to Tuscaloosa. He didn't say why, in fact he didn't say another word for the rest of the journey.

She'd tried to ask him what the hell was going on: why were they heading back? But it was like Finn disappeared right in front of her: no longer available, his mind switched on to something else. Eventually she'd given up.

He didn't come alive again until they were sitting at the bar.

'Just to let you know, we getting to last orders. You still got some in here.' The barman was holding the silver shaker in his right hand and Marie's glass in his left. 'You want to finish it off and order another, or you all done?'

'I'll just finish what's in there,' she replied.

'You live in Tuscaloosa?'

'I think so. I'm not sure any more.'

'You want me to call your mommy: get her to come pick you up? You're looking like you is lost.'

Marie smiled. 'You're very perceptive, but I'm fine, thank you.'

'You here on a visit?'

'Sort of.'

'What you work at?'

'I used to be a barmaid.'

'No kidding.'

The guy was short and heavy-set with dark shiny hair and a moustache: his accent was either Mexican or Spanish. The way he pronounced 'kidding' like 'keeding' gave Marie a kick.

'If I was kidding I'd come up with a better vocation than barmaid. No offence,' said Marie.

'Ees okay,' replied the barman. 'I trained as an accountant, but for some reason no one in America wants a Mexican looking after their money.'

Marie didn't feel much like talking, but the guy seemed okay and she knew herself how tedious serving drinks could be.

'I didn't think you were from Montgomery,' said Marie, giving the guy an opening.

'Lived there from when I was thirteen. I'm from Chimalhuacn in Mexico originally: right bang in the middle. It's so hot there in the summer you climb into the oven to cool off. Your husband looks like he got something big weighing him down. Making his head sag.'

'He's not my husband,' said Marie.

'Your boyfriend?'

'I don't know how you would describe him. I don't think there's a category for what he is.'

'So long as he treats you okay, ees the main thing.'

'You still got the accent pretty strong.'

'My wife's from there too. We speak Spanish to each other every day is probably why.'

'That where you learned to mix such great sours?' she said.

'Thank you! It's the egg-white finishes them off. My grandma showed me how to do it. She used to travel to the coast every day and make them on the beach for the tourists.'

'What did she do with the yolk?'

'You're the first person's ever asked me that. Hangover cure: very popular. In Chimalhuacn everybody likes to drink: round here's the same, but here everyone pretends they don't.'

'So you punish them with egg-yolks?'

'Mix a shot of brandy, some honey and a couple of egg-yolks in the blender for ten seconds, with a little tomato juice and hot paprika. My grandma called it a "Bloody Headache" . . . Actually it's not so bad.'