“I’ll make my peace. All I need is a chance to tell my side of the story. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

“And you’ll stay?”

“I’m never going to leave again.” He grinned. “Find me a nice girl in the village and I’ll settle down.”

At that moment, Bell and Barry were approaching Tullamore in the BMW. Their meeting with the Chief of Staff had been brief.

“I’m concerned Riley’s been up to no good. He was last heard of leaving Wandsworth in the company of Brigadier Charles Ferguson, and we all know what that means. I want the bastard, so go back and get him for me.”

As they entered the village, it was Bell who noticed Colin and Peter emerging from the post office. “That’s interesting,” he said. “The two old men from the farm. Why aren’t they working?”

“Maybe they’re part-timers,” Barry said.

“But they’d still work mornings, that’s when all the hard work’s done,” Bell said. “Driving in the cows, milking, and so on. I know about these things, I was raised on a farm. I’m going to have words.”

Colin and Peter had vanished into Murphy’s Select Bar, and Bell followed them. At that time in the morning, there was only Murphy, the two old men with a pint of stout in front of each of them already, and a hard-looking young man in cloth cap, jacket, and jeans at the bar.

The old men stopped talking, frozen with fear, and Murphy, who knew very well who Bell was, turned pale. The young man drank some of his ale and frowned.

“Now then, you old bastards,” Bell said, “I don’t think you were telling the truth when we spoke yesterday.”

“Jesus, mister, I swear we were.”

“Then tell me one thing. Why aren’t you working?”

“It was the missus wanted to give us the day off,” Peter said.

“Hey, you,” the young man at the bar called. “Let them alone.”

Murphy put a hand on his arm. “Leave it, Patrick, this is IRA business.”

Bell ignored him. “So you haven’t seen Riley?”

“I swear to God I haven’t.”

Patrick moved in and tapped Bell on the shoulder. “I said leave them alone.”

Bell swung his right elbow backwards, catching him full in the mouth, and as Patrick staggered back, Barry, who had appeared in the doorway, gave him a vicious punch to the kidneys, which sent him on his knees. He stayed there until Bell pushed him over.

“Silly boy,” he called to Murphy. “Tell him to mind his manners in future,” and they left.

Barry took the wheel and drove out to the farm. He paused at the entrance where the truck from the dairy was parked, two men manhandling Bridget’s milk churns on board.

“Interesting,” Bell said. “She’s given her laborers a holiday, so how in the hell did that old woman manage those milk churns?”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Barry told him and drove along the track.

Bridget happened to be in the storeroom at the back when they arrived, so she didn’t hear them, and the Alsatian was up at the barn at High Meadow where Dermot was checking on some ewes. She came into the kitchen carrying a bag of flour and stopped dead in her tracks. Barry and Bell were standing just inside the kitchen door.

“You’re back,” she whispered and placed the bag of flour on the table.

“Yes, we are, you lying old bitch,” Barry said. He took a pace forward and slapped her across the face. “Now where is he?”

She was terrified out of her mind. “I don’t know, truly I don’t, Mr. Barry.”

“You’re a bad liar.” He slapped her again. Blood ran from her nose and he grabbed her hair and nodded to Bell, who lit a cigarette.

She started to struggle. He pushed her down across the table and Bell blew on his cigarette until it was red hot and touched her right cheek.

She screamed, writhing in agony. “No – please! I’ll tell you.”

Barry let her get up. “You see, everything comes to he who waits,” he said to Bell and turned to Bridget, who was sobbing bitterly. “Where is he?”

“Half a mile up the track, the barn at High Meadow. There’s a room with a secret door above the loft. He sleeps there.”

Barry smiled. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?” and he and Bell walked out.

“Oh, Dermot, what have I done?” Bridget said and started to cry bitterly.

At High Meadow with the ewes, Dermot saw the flash of silver on the track below and knew he was in trouble. He hurried into the barn, Karl following. He couldn’t take the dog with him to the secret room, for any kind of a whine would give him away, never mind barking.

“Off you go, boy, home to Bridget.” Karl hovered uncertainly. “Go on, get moving!” Dermot told him.

This time, the Alsatian did as he was told. Dermot climbed the ladder to the loft, then clambered over bales of hay and got the secret door in the wood paneling open. He climbed inside. It was dark, just the odd chink of light, and he waited.

When Barry and Bell got out of the BMW, the Alsatian sat looking at them. “Get rid of that for starters,” Barry said, and Bell took out a Smith & Wesson revolver.

The moment he pointed it, Karl took off, scattering the sheep, making for the valley below. Bell laughed and put the revolver back in his pocket.

“A smart bugger, that dog.”

“Well, let’s see if Dermot is,” Barry said and led the way inside.

They stood looking up at the loft crammed with the bales of hay and Barry called, “We know you’re there, Dermot, so you might as well come out. Bridget was very forthcoming after a little persuasion.”

Dermot, in the darkness, almost choked with rage, but he didn’t have a gun, that was the thing, couldn’t take them on.

It was Bell who spoke now. “There’s a lot of straw in here, Dermot, not to say hay. If I drop a match, you’ll be in serious trouble. Of course, if you want to end up like a well-done side of beef, that’s your affair.”

A moment later, the secret door opened and Dermot scrambled out. He made his way to the edge of the loft and stood looking at them.

“You bloody bastards,” he said, “if you’ve hurt Bridget, I’ll do for you.” Then he climbed down the ladder.

Barry grabbed his arms from the rear. “You shouldn’t talk like that, you really shouldn’t.” He nodded to Bell. “Just his body. I want his face to look normal when he’s sitting in the back of the car on the way back to Dublin.”

“My pleasure,” Bell said and punched Riley very hard beneath the ribs.

When the rental car pulled up in the farm yard, Blake Johnson was at the wheel. The kitchen door was open and Karl erupted, jumping up at the car, growling fiercely. Dillon opened a window and whistled, a low and eerie sound that put the teeth on edge. Karl subsided, his ears flattening.

“Jesus, but I taught you how to do that well,” Devlin said.

As they got out of the car, Bridget appeared in the doorway. She looked terrible as she tried to staunch the blood from her nose with a tea towel.

“Liam Devlin, is that you?”

“As ever was,” Devlin said and put an arm around her shoulders. “Who did this to you?”

“Barry and Bell. They were here yesterday seeking Dermot. I told them he wasn’t here.”

“But he was,” Dillon said and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m Sean Dillon. I fought with Dermot in Derry in the old days.”

She nodded vacantly. “They turned up a little while ago, beat me and burned me with a cigarette.”

“The bastards,” Devlin said.

“The thing is, I told them where Dermot’s hiding. Half a mile up the track. The barn at High Meadow.” She was crying now. “I couldn’t help it, the pain was terrible.”

“Go in, make yourself a cup of tea. We’ll be back with Dermot, I promise you.”

She did as she was told, and Devlin said grimly, “I think a lesson is in order here.”

The three men got in the car, Blake taking the wheel again. Dillon took out his Walther, checked it, and screwed on the silencer.