Jack Higgins - The wolf at the door

She was amazed. "But how do you know that?"

"I just do, as I know the names of those men-Barry, Flynn, Pool, Costello, who changed to Docherty, Cochran, and Murray. A hell of a long time ago. I wouldn't imagine they're still round?"

"Until two years ago, they all attended our weekly meeting, but unfortunately Barry and Flynn had a severe brush with the law. They were both too handy with a gun. Finally, an armed robbery they took part in went sour. They would have probably gotten seven years if caught, but I used a certain influence I have, obtained false American passports for them and other necessary documentation, and packed them off to the States."

"And you stay in touch?"

"On a regular basis. We have a Hope of Mary Hospice and Refuge in New York, too. They are both security men there."

"And the remaining four?"

"We meet as we've always done, united by prayer and a common commitment to the PIRA. I was recruited at London University, the others in various ways. Liam Coogan used to arrange trips to training camps in the west of Ireland. The IRA version of a holiday, he used to say. We did that many times over the years. Bonded, you might say."

"But really only got to do your work with that twelve-bomb jolly in Mayfair in 1991. Was it enough?"

"It always is, if your resolve is strong and you are committed."

"But you need more than that, I think, some deep-seated reason, perhaps some great wrong that urges you on."

"That's true. Take Henry Pool. He's a self-employed private-hire driver. Like you, he had an English father and Irish mother, but her father was murdered by English Black and Tans in 1921 when she was only six months old and her mother fled here to Kilburn. It was a strong motive for him to not exactly care for the English."

"I shouldn't imagine his mother would ever let him forget it."

"Is there something wrong with that?" she asked.

"Not at all. For a ten-year-old child to see her father gunned down by masked intruders in front of her and her mother would, I imagine, be a memory that would last forever."

Her face was surprisingly calm. "So you know about that? Exactly who are you, Daniel, this half Irishman who claims to have been a member of the Provisional IRA? You not only sound Yorkshire, you look like some prosperous businessman. What on earth would ever have made you join?"

So he told her all about Rosaleen Coogan.

Afterwards, she sat down on the other side of the desk from him, her face like stone, her eyes burning, and it was obvious that she accepted the truth of what he had told her.

"Those foul creatures. God's curse on them for what they did to that poor girl."

"Some kind of curse on me ever since," Daniel told her. "I've killed a number of times for the Provos and other times for myself." He stood up, put his foot on the chair, and hitched his trousers up, revealing the ankle holster. "The way of the gun has become rather permanent in my life."

"But you don't regret what you did, you can't!" She banged on the desk with her clenched fist. "Damn all of them."

And now she was really upset, and Daniel said, "Take it easy. It's not always good for us to let the past intrude."

"You don't understand. It's brought it all back to me. The night the men with guns smashed their way in and murdered my father. They forced themselves on my mother, two of them. It was only my age saved me."

Holley, aghast at the horror of it, could only say, "I'm so sorry, girl."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "What I need is a drink, and I don't think it a sin in the circumstances to raid Monsignor Murphy's cupboard in search of Communion wine." She found a bottle and two coffee cups and poured a generous measure into each. She handed one to him and drank deeply herself. "Now, tell me everything properly, who you are really and what you're doing here."

"There's a man named General Charles Ferguson who runs a special security outfit for the Prime Minister. His right-hand man is Sean Dillon, once a top enforcer for the PIRA, and a good one. In 1991, he was in a Serb prison when Ferguson turned up and made him an offer he couldn't refuse: to join him or face a firing squad."

"So Dillon chose the traitor's path?"

"You could put it that way."

She poured more wine for both of them. "There's no other way of putting it. Tell me more-everything."

"You're quite a man, Daniel," she said an hour later when he was finished. "Probably the most remarkable one I've met in my entire life."

"So what do you think about the Russians?"

"A means to an end. I've nothing against them. In the early years of the Troubles, they provided arms for the PIRA on more than one occasion. I know that for a fact."

"And Charles Ferguson and company?"

"To hell with him. Over the years, as you tell it, he's been responsible for the death of many of our comrades one way or the other. Major Giles Roper may look like a tragic and romantic hero in his wheelchair, but his exploits in bomb disposal did us great harm."

"By God, but you're a hard woman, Caitlin."

"As for Dillon, a damn traitor, and I've no time for him. The fact that his own father was killed by British soldiers should have been bad enough for him."

"He did great work for the cause for years until Ferguson appeared on the scene."

"He's the worst kind of turncoat, I can't see it any other way, and these gangster friends of his, the Salters, they've done us great harm also."

"And then we have Harry Miller?"

"The Prince of Darkness himself. He appears to have made a hobby out of murdering members of the PIRA for years."

"His luck is obviously good. His wife's wasn't, but that's the price you pay. What do you think of his sister?" Holley asked her.

"From what you tell me, she killed a Provo. The kind of upper-class English woman who thinks everything's a jolly jape. She deserves to meet the same end as everyone else."

"And you really mean that?"

It was as direct a challenge as he could make. She said, "I'm very old-fashioned, Daniel. I still believe in a United Ireland, and the Peace Process hasn't given us that, so to hell with it. You and your problem, if I can put it that way, mean there's a chance to go active once more and dispose of some very bad people who've done my side nothing but harm."

"So you're with me on this?"

"You can depend on it," she said firmly.

"And what about the others? Can you talk them round?"

"I don't think I'll have much trouble. Pool has lived on his own since his mother died. Docherty is on his own. He served time as Costello, so I obtained an Irish passport for him as Docherty. He's a drunkard every so often, so no woman will put up with him. Matthew Cochran lives in one lodging home after another since his wife died of breast cancer, and Patrick Murray is a long-distance truck driver. He's never married. Just has one girl after the other. Barry and Flynn, I've already told you about, but, as they're in New York, whatever you're planning won't concern them."

"An assorted bunch."

"But committed, Daniel, committed. The oath, our special prayer, the comradeship-all these things make us what we are-and going active again would only affirm it."

Daniel said, "I'll take your word on that." He stood and took a Codex and its charger out of his raincoat pocket. "This is an encrypted mobile. I've stuck a tab on it with your number and mine. Memorize them and destroy. Call me anytime, and I'll be in touch with you very soon. When will you speak to your people?"

"I'll start phoning round tonight. Daniel, it's been marvelous to see you again." She meant it, her eyes shining, and actually shook hands.

Outside, it was pouring, so he raised his umbrella and walked down the path through the gravestones and effigies of the cemetery, pausing for a moment in the roofed gateway to the street.