Dillon folded the computer photo and tried to slide it back into the wallet. It refused to go because there was something there. He fiddled about and managed to pull out a card that was rather ornate, gold around the edges, with a sentiment inscribed in curling type. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, we who are ourselves alone.

Miller came in, ready to go. "What have you got there?"

"Something you missed in the wallet." The card was creased and obviously old, and Dillon held it to his nose. "Candles, incense, and the holy water."

"What in hell do you mean?" Miller held out his hand, and examined the card.

"So Barry is a Catholic, so what?"

"Such cards are very rare. They go back in history to Michael Collins, the Easter Rising. The card begs the Virgin to pray for 'we who are ourselves alone.' The Irish for 'ourselves alone' is Sinn Fein."

Miller stared at the card, frowning. "And you think that's significant?"

"Maybe not, but Barry is an Irish name, and you told me that after you shot him he said, 'They didn't say it would be like this.' "

"That's true, but he claimed he didn't know who'd hired him, even when I threatened to put one through his other knee."

Dillon shrugged. "Maybe he lied in spite of the pain." He took the card from Miller's fingers and replaced it in the wallet.

Miller said, "Are you saying there could be a smell of IRA here?"

Dillon smiled. "I suppose anything is possible in the worst of all possible worlds. You were right not to kill him, though. He'll stick like glue to the story of being the victim of a mugging. He wouldn't want the police to think anything else."

"And the IRA connection?"

"If there was one, it's done them no good at all." He put the wallet in his inside pocket. "An intriguing present for Roper when we get back to London. Now can we get moving? Putin awaits us."