“Take it nice and easy and let’s see the lay of the land. It could be a hot one. They’ll be carrying, and they’re good. What about you, Liam?”

Devlin grinned. “And what would I be needing with a shooter, with a couple of desperate individuals like you two to look after me?”

They climbed up toward the crest of a hill, Blake choosing a low gear. There were trees along the edge of the track and a row of trees bordering the meadow, the barn beyond them.

“They’ll see us coming,” Blake said.

“Which is why I’m going to bail out on the bend and take to the trees,” Dillon told him, “so slow down for me. You take care of the confrontation, Liam, and don’t worry. A hard man, this one with all that FBI training. He’ll manage, especially with me coming in the back door.”

“Well, that’s a comforting thought,” Blake said and slowed on the bend.

Dillon opened the door and made for the ditch as Devlin closed the door behind him. The car picked up speed and Dillon hurried through the trees.

Aware of the sound of the engine as the car approached, Bell left Barry clutching Riley and went to the door, drawing his revolver.

“What is it?” Barry demanded.

“Don’t know. Black saloon car, driver and one passenger.”

“Get in the loft.” Bell did as he was told, climbing the ladder, and Barry dropped Riley to the ground and kicked him. “Stay still.” He moved behind the open door.

He heard the car stop outside and steps approaching. Devlin appeared in the doorway, Blake Johnson at his back. He paused, then came forward.

“Well, now, Dermot, you don’t look too good.”

“Watch yourself, Mr. Devlin, the bastard’s behind the door,” Riley told him.

Barry stepped out, holding his revolver. “Easy, the both of you, or I’ll blow your spines out.” He rammed the barrel into Blake’s back, patted his pockets and found the Beretta. “Would you look at that now? And what about you, Devlin?”

“Don’t be daft. Would a seventy-five-year-old man like myself be carrying a pistol?”

“Add ten years to that, you lying old bugger.”

Devlin sighed and said to Blake, “Neanderthal man come back to haunt us. He only learned to walk erect this morning.”

“I’ll do for you, you old sod.” Barry was furiously angry. “You’ve had your day. You’ve been due for the knacker’s yard for years.”

“Well, it comes to us all.” Devlin gave Riley a hand. “Up you get, Dermot. Don’t let bastards like this grind you down.”

Barry exploded in rage. “I warned you. I’ll put you on sticks.”

“And why would you want to do that, I wonder?” Sean Dillon called.

He stood just inside the other door to the barn, rain increasing in a great rush at that moment. His left hand was behind him holding the Walther against his back. With his right, he shook a cigarette from his pack, put one in his mouth, and lit it with his old Zippo.

Barry was totally thrown by the change in Dillon’s appearance. “Sean Dillon, is that you?”

“Your worst nightmare,” Dillon said.

“The loft, watch the loft, Sean,” Riley croaked.

Barry kicked him. “Take him!” he cried.

Bell stood up on the edge of the loft, gun ready, and Dillon’s hand came round in one smooth motion. He fired twice, catching Bell in the heart, the sound of the silenced weapon flat on the damp air. Bell fell headfirst.

In the same moment, as Barry raised his revolver, Liam Devlin shot him in the back with the Walther he was holding in his raincoat pocket, sending him into the ground. There was silence, only the sound of the rain on the roof.

Blake Johnson said, “My God, that was something.”

Dillon pocketed the Walther, went and stirred Bell’s body, then checked Barry. “Well, we’ve done the world a favor.” He looked at Devlin and shook his head. “You told me you weren’t carrying.”

“I know,” Devlin said. “I’m a terrible liar.” He turned to Dermot. “Are you all right?”

“My ribs don’t feel too good.”

“You’ll live. This is Mr. Johnson, an American and former FBI, so mind your manners. He and Dillon are working on the case you were involved in. You’ll go back to London with them.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because it’s the safest place for you at the moment,” Dillon told him. “Ferguson will keep his word. All you have to do is look at the security video for the day that phoney lawyer, George Brown, visited you in Wandsworth and put a face to him. Stay here and the Provisional IRA will have your balls.”

“Maybe not,” Devlin said. “I’ll speak to the right people, Dermot, explain the truth. You haven’t done anything against the organization. I still have influence.”

“With two enforcers lying here dead?”

“Scum, Dermot, and the Chief of Staff knows it. Sometimes you have to dirty your hands. Now let’s get out of here.”

Devlin phoned Michael Leary on his mobile. “Is it yourself, Michael? You’d better get a disposal squad down here to Tullamore. You’ll find Bell and Barry in the barn at High Meadow, very dead. I had to stiff Barry myself. Sean took care of Bell.”

“Liam, what have you done?”

“Nothing that hadn’t been coming to those two animals for years. A disgrace to the organization. Dillon is taking Riley back to London this afternoon. Nothing affecting the IRA. Afterwards, I want you to allow him back.”

Leary sounded shocked. “You must be crazy.”

“I’ll see you in the Irish Hussar late afternoon and I’ll explain and you can tell the Chief of Staff. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Dillon said, “Still the hard man, Liam.”

“Hard enough.” Devlin led the way back into the kitchen. Blake stood by the open door and Bridget was at the table. “You’ll get the doctor, Bridget, promise me.”

She nodded. “All right.”

“Later, some men will turn up in a hearse or a truck, something like that. They’ll take the bodies away. Bell and Barry never existed. Just forget about them.”

“And Dermot?”

“He’s going to London for a day or so with Sean, then he’ll be back. I’ll fix it with the IRA.”

“God bless you, Liam.”

Riley came in wearing corduroy trousers and a jacket and tie. He looked very respectable. “Will I do?”

“Definitely,” Dillon said. “Let’s get going.”

Riley hugged Bridget. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll pray for you, Dermot,” and then she flooded with tears and rushed out of the kitchen.

In his office at the Ministry of Defense, Ferguson switched off the Codex, frowning, then pressed the old-fashioned buzzer on his desk. Hannah Bernstein came in.

“Brigadier?”

“Just had Dillon on the phone. They’ve got Riley. They’re on the way back to Dublin now.”

“Was it messy, sir?”

“Always seems to be where Dillon’s concerned. Two IRA enforcers went down, one to Dillon, and would you believe Devlin got the other?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.”

“Apparently, they’d tortured Bridget O’Malley into saying where Riley was hiding. No great loss.”

“Then we should be able to show the video to Riley this evening?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Excellent.” Hannah nodded. “Then if you’ve no objection, I’ll take a few hours off, go home and freshen up. I’ll be back at five.”

“Off you go then,” Ferguson said.

In the Oval Office at the White House, the President took a call from Blake Johnson on his Codex line. He pressed the special buzzer that brought Teddy in. Teddy stood by the desk, waiting, as the President listened and then said, “Excellent, Blake, I’ll await a further report.”

He switched off and Teddy said, “Good news?”

The President nodded and gave him a quick rundown on what had happened at Tullamore as related to him by Blake.

“So they’re on their way back to London with Riley so he can look at the video to try and identify Brown?” Teddy asked.