Andy McNab - Brute force

The link looked cast-iron, which was why I was going to Duff's to see what I could see. The police had probably bagged everything up and taken it away, but I might see something that they had missed.

As I drove, the same question ricocheted around in my head. Who knew both how to find me, and how to construct and plant a device? Unless it was some totally random hater of tourists or Merc drivers, he probably knew how to find me again. That was a good thing, as far as I was concerned. Next time I'd be waiting.

I pulled into town and parked outside the Spar. Before getting out of the car I checked for anyone watching or waiting. I memorized the last three digits of any passing plate for later.

I got out, zipped up my muddy fleece, and headed into the shop. The old guy behind the counter didn't look startled or surprised to see me alive. It was a fair assumption he wasn't the tout. He asked me how my Christmas was going, which was probably a superfluous question given that I was clutching a pack of manky, two-day-old sandwiches, some ready-salted, and a can of Coke. No, mate, this ain't quite the way I'd imagined the festive season turning out.

Back out on the dimly lit street I didn't stop to check who was looking and waiting, just got back into the car and drove. If they were there, I'd soon know about it.

Maybe it was Dom they were after? Maybe they'd confused us. There were a good few people who might feel they had a score to settle with him. Dom had lifted a lot of lids over the years that everyone from PIRA to the Firm would have preferred to remain sealed. It was Dom who'd reported the story about the busting of the drug-smuggling ring the Yes Man ran over here. But he was only the messenger. He didn't claim any credit for it. I was the one who'd made enemies of the drug chain that would have to start all over again…

After fifty minutes I turned off the main road and onto a narrow lane. The track that led to Duff's house was a mile and a half further north.

Maybe my enemy was inside the Firm. Maybe the bomb-maker hadn't been shown how to use pigtails in one of the Middle Eastern camps before coming home to put it into practice; maybe he was one of the original trainers now working for the Firm?

The Firm had the motive. Sundance and Trainers were small fry, low life like me. No one would be pissed off about them becoming history. But the Yes Man?

I came to the track leading to Duff's cottage, and carried straight on. Parked right across the gate was a white Ford with the word Garda emblazoned in black across the fluorescent yellow flash along its side. The two officers inside watched me intently. I was probably the first sign of life they'd seen all shift.

I'd have to carry on north. I couldn't turn round and come back past them again. They'd probably already logged my number.

I pushed the Merc another three or four miles before I finally hit the junction I wanted. I turned right and had gone no more than half a mile when my mobile rang. It was Dom.

'Nick, I've just received a really weird message from the station… A man called, fifties maybe. English. He said-'

'Don't say it. Have you got to where I thought you were going?'

'Yes.'

'I'm on my way.'

The first time I'd gone to Dom's house, the cab driver told me that on the Dublin Monopoly board, the streets in his area were the purple squares. As soon as we'd got there, I could see why. These were big, fuck-off, four-storey houses set back from the road. They had huge rectangular windows, so the grand could look out on the less fortunate. Raised stone staircases led one floor up to very solid and highly glossed front doors.

It was just coming to first light as I drove down the road. I wasn't going to try and hide the car or be covert. What was the point?

Lights were still on in several of the houses and curtains were open to display the gilded furniture and big chandeliers to best effect.

I was still trying to work out what to say to Tallulah and Ruby. I'd keep up the dud boiler story until it went to rat shit.

I drove past 6 Series BMWs and shiny 4x4s. The last time I'd walked past so many brand-new cars I'd been in a Middle East showroom. This place was knee-deep in euros.

The hall light of No. 88 shone through a glass panel over a wide, shiny wooden door. I couldn't see any light or movement through the front windows or upstairs. I guessed they'd all be in the kitchen area at the back.

I parked right outside the house. I wanted to be able to keep an eyeball on Mr Avis's forty grand's worth.

A car went past. Its last three digits weren't any of the combinations I'd memorized. I got out and went and knocked on the heavy iron lion's head on the front door.

The voice that answered a few seconds later was female and Irish. 'That you, Nick?'

'Yup. Failed Boiler Maintenance Man of the Year.'

It wasn't just the housing jackpot Platinum Bollocks had hit. Siobhan looked stunning even in jeans, trainers and a black sweatshirt.

She stepped aside. 'Come on in.'

I crossed the threshold and started wiping my shoes on a big square of matting until I noticed Tallulah's and Ruby's shoes lined up next to a pair of men's trainers. The highly polished black and white chequered tiles looked clean enough to do surgery on. This was a no-shoes zone.

'Dom explained about the boiler. I'm so sorry. It's never happened before.'

'He should try paying the bill. It works for me.'

She was already walking down the chandeliered hall. 'Tea or coffee?'

'Coffee – strong. I might be back on the road.'

'Stay here, there's-'

'Hot water?' I laughed a bit too long.

Subject dropped. Mission accomplished.

We passed the open door to a reception room and finally arrived in the kitchen.

It was a large knock-through that took up the whole of the rear of the building. I was in a world of stainless steel and glass, limed oak and spotlights. Four gas rings seemed to float in a polished granite island in the middle of the room.

Dom and Tallulah were on stools. Ruby was tucking into a bowl of cereal at the table in the corner.

I gave an exaggerated gesture of surrender. 'Well, I tried. No chance of a plumber this side of New Year. But I've got a mate coming over from London. I'll meet him off the ferry and take him up there. Soon as it's fixed, I'll give you a call.'

Dom looked at me as if I'd barked at the moon.

Ruby looked up from her cornflakes. 'I like it here.'

'You mean the TV's bigger?'

She grinned, caught out. 'Can we stay, Tally?'

Siobhan jumped in. 'Yes, why don't you stay a bit longer? We three girls could have a good catch-up.'

Dom got off his stool. 'OK, Nick – let's you and me go do some boiler talk.'

I followed him through double doors that had been punched through the dividing wall. He offered me a blue velvet two-seater one side of the low coffee table and sat down opposite. I had a good view of the car. Good; that meant they had a good view of me.

The fireplace to my left was tiled. The black grate was far too shiny ever to have been used. The mantelpiece was covered with all the usual pictures of two people's lives together, but no framed prints of Dom being heroic with a microphone. There was, however, a gold award that looked like the Flying Lady on a Rolls Royce. Veiled Threats, the documentary that had made Pete and Dom famous, had scooped the Emmys a couple of years back.

'OK, Nick, let's cut to the chase. This isn't about the boiler, is it?'

'Something's come up. I've got to go back to London and I didn't know how to tell them.'

'Work?'

'Sort of. I don't know how long I'll be. Just a couple of days, with any luck. Do you mind letting them stay, keeping an eye on them?'

'They're not in any danger, are they?'