…"

'Tell me about Peter.'

'They snatched him coming out of a pub in South Armagh, Barry and his men. They tortured him, and when he wouldn't talk, beat him to death. They were building a new bypass road nearby, down to the Irish Republic. It had one of those massive concrete mixers that works all night. They put his body through it.'

She sat there, staring, silent, then suddenly swallowed the rest of the whiskey.

He carried on. 'They blew up his car with the heavy charge to make it look as if he'd gone that way. I mean, they needed us to know he'd gone, but couldn't send us a postcard saying how.'

He was a little drunk now. She cried out and put a hand to her mouth as she stood and ran for the door. She made it to the toilet in the hall and vomited into the basin again and again. When she finally wiped her face and came out, Hedley was there.

'You heard?'

'I'm afraid so. Are you okay?'

'I've been better. Tea, Hedley, hot and strong.'

She went back into the sitting room and sat down. 'What happened? Why was nothing done?'

'They decided to keep it black, which was why you weren't told the truth. We had operatives check Republican circles in New York and Washington. We discovered there was indeed a New York dining club called the Sons of Erin. The names of the members are all in the file, along with their photos. They're prominent businessmen, one's even a US Senator. It all fits. There had already been examples of privileged information from London to Washington ending up in IRA hands.'

'But why was nothing done?'

Emsworth shrugged. 'Politics. The President, the Prime Minister – no one wanted to rock the boat. Let me tell you something about intelligence work. You think the CIA and the FBI keep the President informed about everything? Hell, no.'