“Not that I know of,” Keogh said. “A few cousins scattered here and there. I came back on a whim. Nostalgia, if you like. A bad idea really, but I can always go back and get another berth.”

“I could offer you a job,” Ryan said, and the girl brought a taper from the fire to light his pipe.

“What, here in Belfast?”

“No, in England.”

“Doing what?”

“Why, the kind of thing you did tonight. The kind of thing you’re good at.”

It was very quiet. Keogh was aware of the girl watching him eagerly. “Do I smell politics here?”

“Since nineteen sixty-nine I’ve worked for the Loyalist cause,” Ryan said. “Served six years in the Maze prison. I hate Fenians. I hate the bloody Sinn Fein, because if they win they’ll drive us all out, every Protestant in the country. Ethnic cleansing to the hilt. Now if things get that bad I’ll take as many of them to hell with me as I can.”

“So where’s this leading?”

“A job in England. A very lucrative job. Funds for our organization.”

“In other words we steal from someone,” Keogh said.

“We need money, Keogh,” Ryan said. “Money for arms. The bloody IRA have their Irish-American sympathizers providing funds. We don’t.” He leaned forward. “I’m not asking you for patriotism. I’ll settle for greed. Fifty thousand pounds.”

There was a long pause and Ryan and the girl waited, her face somber as if she expected him to say no.

Keogh smiled. “That’s a lot of money, Mr. Ryan, so you’ll be expecting a lot in return.”

“Backup is what I expect from a man who can handle anything, and from the way you’ve carried yourself tonight you would seem to be that kind of man.”

Keogh said, “What about your own people? You’ve as many gunmen out on the street as the IRA. More even. I know that from army days.” He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “Unless there’s another truth here. That you’re in it for the money, you’re in it for yourself.”