Finn scrambled back inside the bar and launched himself over the counter, leaving Cola struggling to his feet. Bottles and empty glasses came crashing to the floor next to Marie who was cowering by the coolers, whimpering and sobbing, all her earlier confidence and self-assurance gone. 'Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me.'

Finn grabbed her by the shoulders 'Where's the shotgun?' but Marie was in shock, too terrified to answer.

She pleaded with him, 'Please don't hurt me, please don't hurt me.'

Finn was desperate. He shouted at her, 'Where is the fucking shotgun?'

Cola Conrado was back inside, blood pouring from what was left of his nose.

One of the office workers who had been cowering under a table stood up and tried to make a run for the exit.

'You leaving, motherfucker?' screamed Cola as he started firing wildly round the room. 'There you go.' The force of the impact blew the office worker out through the front window and onto the sidewalk. The television over the bar exploded above Finn's head, showering hot glass and splintered wood everywhere. The large glass-fronted cooler to Finn's right ruptured, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Finn shouted at Marie again. 'Where's the shotgun?'

Marie pointed a trembling finger at a shelf just below the till.

Finn saw the butt of a Mossberg 590 and pulled it out from under the counter.

There was no time to check if it was loaded: he racked it and stood up.

The guy was standing just a few feet away on the other side of the bar: the twisted gold frame of his Aviator sunglasses hanging limply to one side of his face. A large black fragment of lens protruded from the skin just below his left eye.

As he turned, Finn pulled the trigger.

The blast from the shotgun lifted Cola Conrado off his feet and slammed him against the wall; his chest ripped wide open.

Finn swiftly rounded the bar and made his way over to where Cola lay slumped against the back of one of the leatherette booths.

Without hesitating, he lifted the shotgun and fired another cartridge into the guy's head. Blood and tiny fragments of bone splattered up the wall.

Finn reached down and grabbed the Magnum from Cola Conrado's twitching hand.

The fire-exit door creaked behind him. Finn turned quickly and fired three times in rapid succession, all three shots penetrating the door at head height, leaving ragged holes the size of tennis balls.

Without waiting to see if any of the shots had hit their target Finn strode out of the bar. Pushing his way through the small crowd that had already started to gather on the sidewalk outside McHales, he crossed as casually as possible to the other side of the street.

He waited till he'd turned the corner into Seventh Avenue before breaking into a run. He headed east to Riverview Drive, then cut left into an alleyway behind a neat row of shops. The air was thick and heavy in his lungs: stifling, choking, leaving him gasping for air.

He was blinking rapidly as streams of sweat ran down his forehead into his eyes.

It was only when he lifted his hand to wipe away the perspiration that he became aware of the pain in his shoulder.

Finn pulled his jacket aside and winced. His shirt was already covered in a dark, glistening slick of blood.

Finn O'Hanlon had always known this day would come. What surprised him most was the overwhelming sense of relief he felt: finally something was happening.

They wouldn't stop until he was dead, but at least it would all be over.

Finn stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Over the years he'd come to realise that running to save your life was only worthwhile if you had a life worth saving.

Chapter 4.

Newry Holy Tuesday morning

Lep's face etched with deep lines and covered in scraggy stubble revealed little more than a faint smile of recognition as he crossed himself and slid along the pew to sit behind Danny McGuire.

McFarlane had aged a lot since Danny had seen him last. His eyes were sunken and lifeless, his dark gabardine suit stained and threadbare, its elbows and cuffs worn to a sheen. He looked more like a peasant worker in an old black-and-white photograph than a young man of just thirty-four the same age Danny's brother Sean would have been were he still alive.

'I know what you're thinking,' said Lep as he shifted around uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat.

'If you knew what I was thinking you wouldn't have shown up,' replied Danny as he pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

'C'mon now, don't be like that Wub,' said Lep, acting offended. 'I'm the first to admit that this is an odd one, but when you've heard what I have to say you'll see there's no reason to be setting yourself against me right from the off. Hear me out, that's all I'm asking.'

Danny didn't like being called Wub, particularly by Lep. It was a reference back to a shared past to which Lep McFarlane had given up all rights. If he said it one more time Danny would drag him out of the church and kick his skinny arse up and down Hill Street, but for now he let it pass.

They were sitting in St Patrick's Cathedral: a stained-glass sanctuary in the middle of Newry. Lep believed he'd be safe there, as though the prayer and incense-laden surroundings somehow provided him with protection. Despite everything that had happened, he was hoping that Danny wouldn't try anything stupid inside a church.

He was looking for an indication that everything was all right between them, but behind the glasses Danny's eyes were dead.

'The church is meant to be moving with the times,' continued Lep in a reverential whisper. 'You know, you're still not allowed to light up? I'm gasping here. Been trying to cut back, but as soon as I have a drink I'm screwed. For every fag I don't smoke I eat a bag of crisps,' he said, trying to defuse the tension between them. 'If the tar doesn't get me the saturated fat will.'

Lep was aware that so far he was doing most of the talking. He was doing his routine, firing off a few one-liners, but it wasn't working.

His hands were trembling. He tried to pull a cigarette out of its packet, but it flipped between his fingers and fell to the floor.

'What's this weather all about?' he said as he fumbled to pick the cigarette off the floor. 'It's like living in a Tupperware box, with the lid on.'

'Lep, just say what you have to say then be on your way,' said Danny, bringing him up short.

Lep sat in silence for a long while with his head tipped forward like he was praying, but he was waiting for the words to come.

Eventually he said, 'I want you to know I loved your brother like he was my own. You, your brother and your ma were like family to me . . . you are my family.'

Danny didn't make eye contact. He sat staring at the floor. 'If you're here to offer your condolences, Lep, you're eight years too late,' he said under his breath.

'I understand, Danny, fine. I understand,' replied Lep.

'You understand nothing,' snapped Danny. 'The night of the explosion did you contact rlaith or me and tell us what happened? Did you send flowers to Sean's funeral? Did you even bother to phone my ma to say you were sorry?' Lep felt Danny's dark eyes burrowing into him, searching his face: they both knew the answer to the questions.

'I got it all wrong, I know that Danny, but the situation was crazy. If I could swap places with Sean right now I'd do it in a heartbeat,' said Lep.

'I thought you were already dead. Where have you been hiding? Rumour was you cut a deal with the British and spent the last eight years in Long Kesh praying with the Protestants?'

Lep gave a wry smile.

'Worse. I've been living in Dundalk surrounded by fugitives and farmers that couldn't even spell the word "Protestant". I'd rather have been in Long Kesh, I tell ye. At least in there ye'd get decent books . . . food's better too. Dundalk's like prison without the privileges,' said Lep. 'I know fine well what that big gobshite E. I. O'Leary's been sayin about me over the years, and I'm telling ye, he's way off the mark,' he continued. 'Spreading it round, that I'm an informer: that I was tipped off about the ambush that killed your Sean. Well, it's just not true! I'll be honest with you though, Danny: I don't know what is the truth any more. I have my own reasons for not being there the night your Sean was killed and it's got nothing to do with me being a tout for the Brits.'

Danny watched unmoved as the tears started to roll down Lep's cheek. As far as he was concerned it was an act, and not a very convincing one.

Lep leant forward and whispered, 'If I'd known what was going to happen that night I'd have been there, I swear. I'd never have left Sean to drive that car on his own. I loved your brother like he was my own.'

Danny had to stop himself from reaching behind and grabbing Lep by the throat. He wanted to throttle him, choke the life out of him for betraying his brother.

But at the back of his mind there was something troubling about McFarlane's sudden reappearance. Lep must have known the risks involved in showing his face back in Newry. As far as the IRA was concerned he was a 'Red Light': stop at all costs. A shoot-on-sight prospect. And yet here he was risking everything to meet with Danny.

'How did the SAS know which car was carrying the explosives, eh Lep? How did they know which car to start shooting at? You let Sean drive into an ambush and never said a word. You let my brother die.'

'I didn't know . . . ' protested Lep. 'For Christ's sake Danny, talk to O'Hanlon, he'll tell you. This guy says he knows who set your brother up. I swear on my mother's grave it wasn't me. He called me out of the blue, lives in the States. Says he knows what happened. I've got no idea who the fuck he is or how he tracked me down, but he said things; things that make me think he's the real deal. He mentioned people, places, things that have happened, that he could only know if he was a player.'

Lep reached inside his jacket.

'Hands out,' said Danny, in case Lep was reaching for a weapon.

Lep ignored him.

'Hands out yer jacket,' barked Danny again as he reached over the pew and grabbed him by the hair, but Lep twisted round and managed to break Danny's grip. He was strong for his size. As he pulled away Lep lost his balance and toppled backwards, catching his cheekbone on the edge of the bench.

'I'm trying to get a piece of paper Danny. For God's sake, what's got into you?' Lep was back on his feet.

Danny was taking no chances. He leapt over the pew and grabbed hold of Lep's arm. As he twisted it up Lep's back a Beretta fell onto the floor at Danny's feet.

Danny grabbed it up and held it to the back of Lep's head. Lep suddenly stopped struggling.

'Over the years I've murdered you in a million different ways, you treacherous little bastard. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull the fucking trigger right now.'

'It's for my own protection, Danny, I wasn't going to use it. I was reaching for a bit of paper I swear to God. Just let me get it okay, please.'

Danny could hear the fear in Lep's voice: see it in his eyes. Whatever Lep said next would be the truth.

'Do you think I'd risk everything if I didn't think this was genuine? Talk to this guy. I'm wide open here, trying to make amends . . . please. I knew nobody would believe me: that's why I disappeared after they murdered your Sean, but this guy O'Hanlon can back me up. There's something else I need to tell you. This is why I wanted to see you. The security forces didn't tip me off about the ambush, I swear,' continued Lep. 'I don't know how he could have known, but . . . ' Before Lep could finish he was interrupted by a loud metallic clunk, ringing round the thick chapel walls.

Both men quickly sat down: acting as if nothing had happened.

Danny and Lep watched as a man wearing a green waxed jacket pushed open the large oak door and made his way down the aisle to sit in one of the rows towards the back of the church.

Everything about the guy was average: average height, average weight, average build. His hair was cropped short and he looked to be no more than thirty years old, but he'd already made a mistake.

Lep didn't seem to care that someone else was within earshot. 'Maybe someone tipped him off . . .' he started to say, but Danny interrupted him.

'Shut up Lep.'

Danny had noticed straight away that something wasn't right.

'Just let me finish,' continued Lep, but Danny stopped him again with an urgent whisper.

'Shut your mouth Lep.'

The man in the green jacket sat with his hands clasped together deep in prayer.

Danny turned to Lep and said in a hushed tone, 'If you move from this seat I'll shoot you, understand!'

Danny then stood up and started to make his way to the back of the church.

Lep wasn't the only one wondering what Danny McGuire was up to.

Undercover agent Al Ballantine watched McGuire walk to the back of the church and disappear from view.

When he thought it was safe Al turned to look.

A thin metallic click from a hammer being cocked just to the side of his left ear made him spin back the other way. He couldn't see who was sitting behind, but he didn't have to. The hard, blunt end of a gun barrel was pressed roughly into the base of his neck.

Danny held his finger up to his lips.

'Shh! Here's something to think about. If you want your future to be as long as your past you'd better not say a word: understand?'

Al Ballantine nodded.

Danny reached across, grabbed the green, waxy lapel of Ballantine's jacket and ripped it open. He pulled a length of cable and a tape recorder from the inside pocket and dropped it on the floor at his feet, then stamped down heavily, crushing it into pieces on the hard stone floor.

'You didn't cross yourself,' said Danny.

Al stared straight ahead and said nothing.

'You should always pay your respects to the big fella when you enter his house, but you just walked in and sat down. You walked in and sat down like it was your own house you were walking into. You didn't genuflect and cross yourself or even light a candle. How many self-respecting Catholics do you know would do such a thing?' continued Danny. 'Now, that lad over there and I are having a very important talk so why don't you head back to your pals in E4A and tell them how your lack of respect for God blew your cover. I know you're recording my every move at the moment, but this is a private conversation, so if you don't mind . . .'

A voice from the other end of the church stopped Danny.

'That's enough!'

Father Anthony strode down the aisle towards them. 'Please,' he continued. 'If you can't behave properly in here then you'll have to leave. Remember where you are.'