“Why don’t the FBI infiltrate this group of yours? It’s their country,” I asked for starters before moving on to the main course.

“The FBI won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole,” Samantha said, her eyes narrowing.

“Why?”

“Our plan is to insert an agent as soon as possible. Before the Sons of Cuchulainn begin their campaign, which we strongly believe will commence once the cease-fire announcement comes. In other words, we have to have an agent in their ranks in the next couple of weeks. The FBI feels that an attempt to hurriedly insert an agent in this manner and in this climate would be too rushed and too dangerous,” Samantha said calmly.

“The FBI, in other words, thinks it might be a bit of a suicide mission,” I said, my smile broadening.

“Er, yes,” she muttered, embarrassed.

“And just to be clear, if the operation weren’t dumb enough already, of all the people in the world, you want me- a man who has a contract on his head from the Irish mob in New York-to attempt to infiltrate an IRA splinter group,” I said and laughed at her.

“Mr. Forsythe, I don’t think-”

“Don’t Mr. Forsythe me, Samantha; thanks for thinking of me, thanks for taking the trouble to fly out, but I think I’ve heard just about enough. Run along now. I’ll do my time quietly in Seville. I’ve been in a lot worse places than that. Nice to have met ya,” I said.

I leaned back on the cot and put my hands behind my head. I closed my eyes. Let them sweat for a bit. Let me think.

Samantha considered the situation.

“Perhaps I have oversold the problems. All we want you to do is gather evidence that would lead to a prosecution. The fact that you are from Belfast but have experience in America, the fact that you’ve been in the British army, the fact that you come highly recommended by the FBI. All this is to your advantage.”

“I think, Samantha dear,” I said with sarcasm, “you’re barking up the wrong tree, love. As I’ve patiently explained, I’m already wanted by the Irish community in America. Seamus Duffy has a million-dollar bounty on my head.”