“It’s me, Uncle Michael,” he said again.

Michael gave him a brief hug. “Good man yourself, Benny. Is your aunt well?”

“Very well. Looking forward to seeing you.”

The words came out with difficulty, slow and measured.

Ryan said, “My niece, Kathleen. You and she will be cousins two or three times removed.”

Benny pulled off his cap revealing a shock of untidy yellowing hair. He nodded, beaming with pleasure. “Kathleen.”

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “It’s good to meet you.”

He was overcome, nodding eagerly, and Ryan introduced Keogh, who held out his hand. Benny’s grasp was so strong that Keogh grimaced with pain.

“Easy, son – easy does it.” He turned to Ryan. “I see what you mean about running the farm. This lad must be up to the work of ten men.”

“At least,” Ryan said. “Anyway, let’s get going.”

Benny took Kathleen’s suitcase and Ryan’s and raced ahead to the Land Rover. Ryan said to Keogh and Kathleen, “He could beat five men in any barroom brawl, but in the heart of him he’s a child. Mind that well and give him time when he speaks. Sometimes he has difficulty getting the words out.”

Benny put the luggage in the back and Keogh slung his duffle in. Benny ran round to open the front passenger door. He pulled off his cap and nodded eagerly again to Kathleen.

“In you go, Kate,” Keogh told her. “Make the big fella’s day. We’ll sit behind.”

They all got in and Benny ran round and climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine and Ryan said, “A great driver, this lad, make no mistake.” He patted Benny on the shoulder. “Away we go, Benny. Is the truck all right?”

Benny nodded. “Oh, yes.”

He turned into the main road and Ryan’s niece said, “What truck would that be?”

“Later, girl, later. Just sit back and admire the scenery. Some of the best in England.”

WHEN THEY REACHED the coast road it started to rain. Ryan said, “It does that a lot up here. I suppose it’s the mountains.”

They lifted up on the right, a spectacular sight, the peaks covered by low cloud. On the left the sea was angry, rolling in fast, whitecaps everywhere, a heavy sea mist following.

“The Isle of Man out there and then dear old Ireland,” Ryan told them.

Keogh said, “I don’t know whether you’ve had a forward weather forecast for Friday, but one thing’s for sure. If it’s rough weather, that Siemens ferry is in for one hell of a ride.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Ryan told him.

About forty-five minutes out of Barrow they came to an area where there were marshes on their left stretching out to sea, vanishing into the mist. There was a sign up ahead and Ryan touched Benny on the shoulder.

The big man slowed down and Ryan said, “Marsh End. Let’s take a quick look, Benny.”

Benny turned down a track and drove slowly along a causeway through a landscape of total desolation, reeds marching into the mist. There was an old cottage to the right and then a jetty about one hundred yards long stretching out into the sea. Benny cut the engine.

“So that’s it?” Keogh said.

“That’s it.” Ryan nodded. “Only something like the Siemens with its shallow draught could get in.”

“You can say that again. When the tide’s out, I’d say it’s nothing but marsh and mud flats.”

Ryan tapped Benny on the shoulder. “Off we go, Benny,” and the big man nodded obediently and reversed.

TOWARD THE UPPER end of Eskdale Valley, mountains rearing before them, Benny turned into a broad track and dropped down into a low gear. There were gray stone walls on either hand, sheep huddled together in the rain.

“A desolate sort of place,” Keogh said.

Ryan nodded. “A hard way to make a living.”

They came to a wooden sign post that bore the legend Folly’s End. “And that just about sums it up,” Ryan observed.

A moment later and they came to farm gates wide open, and beyond it the farm, two large barns, the farmhouse itself, all built in weathered gray stone. Benny turned off the engine and got out. As they followed, the front door opened and a black and white sheepdog bounded out. A moment later a woman appeared. She wore a heavy knitted sweater, men’s trousers, and green Wellington boots. Her hair was iron gray, the face strangely young looking. Ryan went forward as she held her arms open. They embraced warmly and he turned.

“Here you are then, my cousin, Mary Power.”

THE BEAMED KITCHEN had a stone-flagged floor, a wood fire burning in an open hearth. She served them herself, ladling lamb and potato stew from a large pot, moving round the table, then sat at the end.

“It’s good to see you, girl,” she said to Kathleen. “When you reach my age relatives are hard to come by.”

“And it’s good to meet you,” Kathleen told her.

“And you, Mr. Keogh, what would your speciality be?” Mary Power asked.

“Well, I like to think I can turn my hand to most things.” Keogh spooned some stew to his mouth and smiled. “But I’ll never be the cook you are.”

Ryan pushed his plate away. Mary Power said, “More?”

He shook his head. “Tea would be fine.”

She got up and started to clear the plates and Kathleen helped her. Keogh said, “Could we all know where we stand here?”

“You mean where Mary stands?” Ryan said. “Simple. She’s backing me to the hilt on this. If things go well, she gets a hundred thousand pounds. That means she can kiss this place goodbye and go back to County Down.”

She showed no response at all, simply took plates to the sink, then reached for the kettle and made tea. “Everything’s in order. The truck is in the back barn. I’ve aired the cottage at Marsh End and there’s a fire in the stove. Somebody will have to stay there.”

Ryan nodded and accepted a mug of strong tea. “Perhaps Kathleen could stay with you, and Martin and myself could make out at the cottage.”

“Fine.” She opened a tin box and took out a cake. “Try this. I made it myself,” and she reached for a knife and cut it into slices.

THERE WAS A motorcycle on its stand just inside the barn, a black leather biker’s jacket draped across it, and there was a helmet. Keogh recognized it at once. “Heh, where did you get this beauty, Benny, a Montesa dirt bike?”

“You know this model?” Ryan asked.

“Of course. Spanish. They’ll do half a mile an hour over rough ground if you want them to.”

“And is that good?” Kathleen asked.

“It is if you’re a shepherd operating in hill country,” Keogh told her. “These things will go anywhere.” He turned to Ryan. “You bought this for Benny?”

“Not really. A bit small for him. I thought it might suit our circumstances. I’ll explain later.” He said to Mary, “Let’s have a look at the truck.”

She turned to Benny. “Show us, Benny.”

He nodded eagerly, almost ran to the back of the barn, tossed some bales of hay to one side, then felt for a hidden catch. The wooden wall swung open. Inside in an extension of the barn stood a large truck painted green and white.

THE LEGEND ON the side of the truck read Shelby Meat Importers. Keogh said, “Is this what I think it is?”

“An exact replica of the truck we’re going to heist.”

“So what’s the point?”

“A decoy, that’s all. Benny will dump this down on the coast road, all doors locked and so on. That should hold the police up nicely while they try to get inside. It’ll give us extra time, if we need it, to get away with the real McCoy.”

“Very ingenious. And Benny can handle this?”

“Benny can handle anything with an engine like you wouldn’t believe. Benny should be a Formula One driver only he’s too big.” Benny nodded delightedly.

“Right, let’s go back inside and have a cup of tea and then Benny can take us to the front line, so to speak.”