Liam frowned slightly. "What are you saying?"
"That maybe you could use me. I know I'm still on morphine and things are a little fuzzy, but I don't think there's a place in my life for the old Daniel anymore. I killed four men a few hours ago, face-to-face and as close as you could get, and it didn't bother me. God bless Rosaleen, and I hated them for what they did to her, but to be able to do what I did, Liam." He shook his head. "There was a devil inside me, deep and hidden, but he's found his way out."
Liam's face was grave. "Rest, son, that's what you need. I'll take your love to the family, and I can tell you now you have theirs for eternity."
Rosaleen's funeral was on Wednesday afternoon, three days after Liam left with her body, and the following morning, to Daniel's astonishment, there was a knock on his door, it opened, and his mother entered, Liam behind her.
"My God, I can't believe it," Daniel said.
She kissed him, and pulled a chair forward. "Your aunt spoke to me the moment she received the news from Liam. There's a direct flight to Belfast from Leeds Bradford Airport. I was able to be at the funeral. I know, Daniel, the whole dreadful story and what those swine did to my beloved niece."
"And what I did to them?" Daniel said.
"Trouble, violence, the gun, is the history of Ireland, Daniel. I was born to it, and the history of the Coogan family is full of it. What you did had to be done, a terrible deed. How could I love you the less for it, but I agree with Liam. It's best you go away for a while, leave the country, in case there's even the slightest chance of this being held at your door."
It was interesting that Liam had said it to her, but he let that go as she got up. "You're away, then?"
"Yes, Liam has one of his men taking me to the airport now. I love you dearly. Keep in touch any way you can," and she was away.
"The shock of my life, that," Daniel said. "Now, what's all this about me going away?"
Liam now took the chair. "What you were saying about joining us? Now that your head's clear, do you still feel the same way?"
"More than ever."
"I have a suggestion. We can't manage Sandhurst for you, though I know you had an interest in going there, but we do have good relations with our Islamic friends. We've sent people with great success to Algiers, where we have an excellent contact. All this costs money, but we have plenty of that coming in from the States, and Qaddafi's been more than friendly to us."
"What happens when I get to Algiers?"
"You'll be passed from hand to hand until you reach a training camp deep in the desert. By the time they've finished with you, you'll be an expert in weaponry of every description, explosives, the mechanics of bomb making, hand-to-hand fighting, assassination." He shrugged. "What else can I say? You're academically gifted, you could get a job in the City of London anytime you wanted. Or you could do this."
"That was then, this is now. My path has changed, Liam. I must follow it."
"Your choice, Daniel. I've had one of my people in Belfast remove your things from your room, and we've dropped a beautifully presented letter with a scrawled signature to Professor Charles Wilkinson, saying you're having to leave for urgent family reasons."
"Well, that's it, then." Daniel smiled. "When do I go?"
"As soon as Sister Bridget says you're fit."
"Can I keep in touch with you?"
"No problem. I'm your control. You have my card, remember. It was a good thing you had your passport in your pocket that night. I'll be back for you as soon as she agrees, and then it's over the border, and we'll see you off from Dublin."
The person who emerged from the desert oasis of Shabwa at the age of twenty-three bore little resemblance to the Daniel Holley who had entered it. He was a thoroughly dangerous man in every way, as he reported as ordered to the man in Algiers who had received him in the first place, one Hamid Malik, a shrewd businessman whose line was general shipping in the Mediterranean. It was a front for darker matters, and he handled the needs of a number of organizations involved, as he liked to describe it, in the "death business." The PIRA were clients, and their money was good, which was all that mattered, for he was never a man to make judgments.
Sitting opposite Daniel in the heat of his office in Algiers, with an electric fan spinning on the desk, he said, "Remarkable, Daniel. You went in a troubled boy, and the reports from the camp say you are now a man to be reckoned with."
"So what comes next?"
"Thanks to the good offices of Colonel Mu'ammar Qaddafi, the Kantara, with a substantial cargo of assorted weaponry, is waiting in the harbor now for you to board her. Her destination is the coast of County Down in Northern Ireland." He pushed a large canvas bag across. "There are fifty thousand pounds in there, Qaddafi's gift to your cause, and the arms are free. There's also a letter from Liam Coogan for you."
"Which you probably opened?"
"I am a careful man, Daniel, and you have much to prove. Allah protect you."
The Kantara proved to be a rust bucket, with a crew of ten reasonably villainous Arab seamen who showed a certain amusement when he boarded. The captain was named Omar, and he smiled a lot.
"Ah, the moneyman." He nodded at Daniel's bag. "A little large for my safe, but we can squeeze it in." They were standing at the bridge rail.
"That's not necessary," Daniel told him. "Presumably, there's a key for the cabin door?"
"Certainly, you will find it on the inside."
The crew, grouped below, seemed to find the whole thing funny, muttering amongst themselves and laughing. One of them, a Somali in a soiled white T-shirt and jeans, said, "A chicken for the plucking, this one. What will they send next?"
Daniel didn't react. He understood exactly what the man had said and the implied threat. A legacy of his time at the training camp was reasonable Arabic, but, as his chief instructor had always said, it was sensible to keep quiet about it, prepared for trouble armed with information an enemy didn't know you had.
On the first day at sea, lying on the bunk in his cabin with the bag in a locked cupboard underneath, he listened to the drunken voices of the crew, who were squatting under deck lights in the stern. It was obvious that, as far as they were concerned, he was never going to reach his destination. He reached under his pillow, took out a Browning pistol, pushed it into the waistband at the back of his linen slacks, and went out.
The ship's bosun, Hussein, had the wheel, and Omar was in the stern, having a drink and laughing with the men. Daniel slid down the short ladder, hands on the rails, and they all were suddenly aware of him.
The Somali spoke before anyone else. "So here he is, the boy trying to do a man's job."
Daniel produced the Browning and shot him between the eyes, knocking him against the rail, the skull fragmenting. The shock was complete, and the crew cowered, not knowing what to expect. The Kantara itself started to veer to port, and Daniel swung around to find that Hussein had left the wheelhouse and was raising an AK-47 rifle. He shot him twice, and Hussein bounced against the front of the wheelhouse, the rifle flying from his hands. He fell across the bridge rail and tumbled to the deck.
Daniel turned to Omar, and said in Arabic, "I'm sure you like a neat and tidy ship, so I suggest the crew dispose of these two over the side and wash the deck down, and that you get up that ladder and behind the wheel. We appear to be going round in circles, and that won't do, because my destination is Northern Ireland."
Eight days later, they drifted in to the County Down coast, fishing nets draping the deck as per Liam's instructions in the letter that Malik had given Daniel. In the early darkness, two trawlers came alongside and tied up, Liam leading the way, the man with him joining with the crew of the Kantara to transfer the cargo.