“You should have never come back here.”

“Thanks to Quinn, we didn’t have much choice. Quinn led me back here. And you made sure I found the things he wanted me to find. A wife and a daughter. A pile of money. A torn tram ticket. A photograph of a Lisbon Street. Maggie Donahue wanted no part of it. She was too busy trying to survive in a shithole like the Ardoyne without a husband. But you threatened her into doing it. You told her you’d kill her if she went to the police. Her daughter, too. And she believed you, Billy, because she knows what happens to touts in West Belfast.” Keller laid the barrel of the gun along Billy Conway’s cheek. “Deny it, Billy.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to swear that you’ll never go anywhere near that woman or her child again.”

“I swear it.”

“Wise boy, Billy. Now get out of the car.”

Conway sat motionless. Keller slammed the gun into his broken nose.

“I said get out!”

Conway pulled the latch and staggered from the car. Keller followed after him. “Start walking,” he said. “And while you’re walking, tell me where I can find Eamon Quinn.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Sure you do, Billy. You know everything.”

Keller shoved Conway along the track and fell in behind him. From the trees of the Creggan Forest came the crack of a hunter’s twelve-gauge. Conway froze. With a jab from the barrel of the Glock, Keller prodded him forward.

“How did Quinn get out of England?”

“The Delaneys.”

“Jack and Connor?”

“Aye.”

“He wasn’t alone, was he, Billy?”

“He had two women with him.”

“Where did the Delaneys drop them?”

“Shore Road, near the castle.”

“You were there?”

“I picked them up.”

“What kind of car did you have?”

“Peugeot.”

“Stolen, borrowed, or rented?”

“Stolen. False plates.”

“Quinn’s favorite.”

Two more shotgun blasts, closer. A brace of pheasants took flight from a field. Smart birds, thought Keller.

“Where is he, Billy? Where’s Quinn?”

“He’s in South Armagh,” said Conway after a moment.

“Where?”

“Crossmaglen.”

“Jimmy Fagan’s farm?”

Conway nodded. “The same place we took you that night. Quinn says he wants to nail you to the Cross for your sins.”

“We?” asked Keller.

There was silence.

“You were there, Billy?”

“For part of it,” admitted Conway. “The two women are in the same building where Quinn strapped you to that chair.”

“You’re sure?”

“I put them there myself.”

They had reached the edge of the trees. Billy Conway stumbled to a stop.

“Turn around, Billy. I have one more question.”

Billy Conway stood motionless for a long moment. Then slowly he turned to face Keller.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“I want a name, Billy—the name of the man who told Eamon Quinn that I was in love with a girl from Ballymurphy.”

“I don’t know who did it.”

“Sure you do, Billy. You know everything.”

Conway said nothing.

“His name,” said Keller, pointing the gun at Conway’s face. “Tell me his name.”

Conway lifted his face to the gray sky and spoke his own name. Keller’s vision blurred with rage and he felt his legs begin to buckle. The gun provided him a sense of balance. He never remembered pulling the trigger, only the controlled recoil of the weapon in his hand and a flash of pink vapor. He knelt with Billy Conway until he was certain he was dead. Then he rose to his feet and headed back to the car.

77

RANDALSTOWN, COUNTY ANTRIM

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF RANDALSTOWN, Keller’s MI6 mobile phone vibrated. He drew it from his coat pocket and frowned at the screen.

“Graham Seymour.”

“What does he want?”

“He’s wondering why Billy Conway is no longer in the car.”

“They’re watching us.”

“Obviously.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I’m not sure. This is uncharted territory for me.” Keller held up the phone and asked, “Do you think this is acting as a transmitter?”

“Could be.”

“Maybe I should throw it out the window.”

“MI6 will dock your pay. Besides,” added Gabriel, “it might come in handy in Bandit Country.”

Keller placed the phone in the center console.

“What’s it like?” asked Gabriel.

“Bandit Country?”

“Crossmaglen.”

“It’s the kind of place they wrote songs about.” Keller stared out the window for a moment before continuing. “South Armagh was totally under the control of the Provos during the war, a de facto IRA state, and Crossmaglen was its holy city.” He glanced at Gabriel and added, “Its Jerusalem. The IRA never had to adopt a cell structure there. It operated as a battalion. An army,” added Keller. “They would spend their days plowing their fields and at night they would kill British soldiers. Before every patrol we were reminded that beneath every gorse bush or pile of stones there was probably a bomb or a sniper. South Armagh was a shooting gallery. And we were the targets.”

“Go on.”

“We referred to Crossmaglen as XMG,” Keller continued after a moment. “We had a watchtower in the main square called Golf Five Zero. You took your life in your hands every time you entered. The barracks were windowless and mortarproof. It was like serving on a submarine. When I escaped from Jimmy Fagan’s farm that night, I didn’t even try to get to XMG. I knew I would never make it alive. I went north to Newtownhamilton instead. We called it NTH.” Keller smiled and said, “We used to joke that it stood for ‘No Terrorists Here.’”

“Do you remember Fagan’s farm?”

“It’s not something I’ll ever forget,” replied Keller. “It’s on the Castleblayney Road. A portion of his land runs along the border. During the war it was a major smuggling route between the South Armagh Brigade and IRA elements in the Republic.”

“And the shed?”

“It’s situated at the edge of a large pasture, surrounded by stone walls and watchdogs. If the PSNI goes anywhere near that farm, Fagan and Quinn will know about it.”

“You’re assuming Madeline’s there.”

Keller said nothing.

“What if Conway was lying again? Or what if Quinn has already moved her?”

“He hasn’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because it’s Quinn’s way. The question is,” said Keller, “do we tell our friends at Vauxhall Cross and Thames House what we know?”

Gabriel glanced at the MI6 mobile and said, “Maybe we just did.”

They passed beneath a nest of CCTV cameras keeping watch on the M22. Keller removed a cigarette from his packet and twirled it unlit between his fingertips.

“There’s no way we can set foot in South Armagh without someone spotting us.”

“So we’ll go through the back door.”

“We have no night-vision capability or sound suppressors.”

“Or radios,” added Gabriel.

“How much ammunition do you have?”

“One full magazine and one spare.”

“I’m down a round,” said Keller.

“Pity.”

Keller’s MI6 phone vibrated a second time.

“What does he want?” asked Gabriel.

“He’s wondering where we’re going.”

“I guess they’re not listening after all.”

“What shall I tell him?”

“He’s your boss, not mine.”

Keller keyed in a message and returned the phone to the console.

“What did you say?”

“That we’re developing a piece of potentially vital intelligence.”

“You’re going to make a good MI6 officer, Christopher.”

“MI6 officers don’t operate in South Armagh without backup.” Keller paused, then added, “And neither does a man who’s about to be the chief of Israeli intelligence, not to mention a father of two.”

The motorway dwindled into a two-lane highway. It was half past two in the afternoon. Sunset was just ninety minutes away. Keller lit the cigarette and watched as Gabriel reflexively lowered his window to vent the smoke.