chest, which rose and fell in time with his breathing. Hennessy went behind him and looked up at his bound wrists. The hands were clenched into tight fists, the wrists red raw and the fingers white as if drained of blood. He was a tall man, a little over six feet, and with his arms stretched up above his head his fingers were out of reach. She tapped the shears against her hand, her lower lip jutting forward as she frowned like a little girl. After a few seconds she knelt down in front of her victim like a nun praying for penance before a life-size crucifix. She looked up at him but he was still unconscious, his deep-set eyes like black circles in his ashen face. Slowly, almost sensually, she undid the laces of his training shoes and slipped them, and his socks, off his feet. Joker groaned and coughed, and Hennessy sat back on her heels, watching him. The coughing spasm opened up the wounds on his chest and fresh blood began to flow. Hennessy kept her eyes on his face as she removed his jeans and shorts. She threw them into a dark corner and then squatted down, pushing the blades of the shears around the little toe on his left foot. She pressed the handles together and felt the shears bite into the skin. They met resistance, and she knew she’d reached the bone, but there was no reaction from the man. She released the pressure and took the shears away, watching the blood blossom from the two deep cuts on the toe. She wanted him conscious and able to appreciate the full horror of what she was about to do. She stood in front of him and slapped him, the blows echoing around the basement like pistol shots. His eyelids fluttered open and she saw his eyes focus on her face. She grabbed his hair and yanked back his head. “Wake up, Sass-man,” she hissed. “It’ll soon be over.”
Joker snorted as if he was trying to laugh. Hennessy walked away. She leant against the workbench and studied the injured man. Joker lifted his head and squinted at her. “What do you want from me now?” he asked, his voice faltering.
Hennessy smiled and shook her head. “You’ve told me everything I need, Cramer. You know nothing. Nothing that can prevent me from succeeding, anyway.”
Joker swallowed. “So now you’re going to kill me, right? Why don’t you just get on with it, you bitch?”
Hennessy threw back her head and laughed as if someone had told a joke at a cocktail party. “Oh no, Cramer, we’re not going to rush this. But I wanted to talk to you first. You and Newmarch were both part of the Government’s shoot-to-kill operation, weren’t you?”
Joker licked his lips. “Water,” he said.
Hennessy could see that talking was an effort because his throat was so dry and she wanted him to speak, so she filled the tumbler from the bucket of water. As she walked towards him she saw his left leg tense as if preparing to try to kick her. She stopped and wagged a warning finger at him.
Joker grimaced. Hennessy kept her distance as she walked around behind him and as she held the beaker to his lips she kept a wary eye on his legs. She let him drink all of the water before taking it away. “After the airliner went down, the British Government initiated a shoot-to-kill operation, Cramer, and you were part of it,” she said, putting the tumbler back in the bucket. It gurgled as if filled with water and sank to the bottom. “Newmarch told me how he was involved, but I never got round to asking you,” she said. “Who did you assassinate, Cramer?” Joker said nothing. “Newmarch told me who he’d killed. But you know that, don’t you, because you were there? He murdered three members of the IRA High Command, remember? My husband was murdered in that shoot-to-kill operation, Cramer. Three men wearing ski-masks surrounded his car as it arrived home one night. They shot his driver first, then they pumped a total of twelve bullets into his body. Two of them were into his head at close range. I heard the shots, and I knew before I even opened the front door what had happened. I held him in my arms, even though he was already dead. There was so much blood, Cramer. So much blood.”
Her cheeks were reddening and she put up a hand to her face as if testing the temperature of her face. “It took the ambulance half an hour to get there, as if they knew that he was dead and they didn’t care. The police didn’t want to know, either. The RUC didn’t even send a forensic team around to survey the area. They just towed away the car and took a statement from me. Case closed. Like they didn’t care, either. Like they expected it. So, Cramer, were you one of the men in ski-masks?”
“I didn’t kill your husband,” said Joker, his voice little more than a whisper. “And I didn’t kill Sean Morrison, either.”
At the mention of Morrison’s name, Hennessy’s head jerked up. Her eyes narrowed. “How do you. .?”
“I read your file,” he said before she could finish.
“Do you know how they killed him?” she asked quietly.
Joker shook his head.
“He died here, in the States. In New York. Sean was found in his bath, with his throat cut. There was a razor blade in his hand and blood everywhere. The New York City Police Department said it was suicide.” She raised her eyebrows. “Sean always used an electric razor. I never saw him with a razor blade. Ever. They killed my husband. And they killed the man I loved. You and your cronies did that, Cramer.” She walked up closer to him, but kept her distance from his legs. “You want to know something, Cramer? Liam and Sean had nothing to do with the bombing of the airliner. They were trying to stop the bombings on the mainland, they were doing all they could to get the IRA to negotiate with the British Government. There was no need to kill them, no need at all.” Her eyes were blazing with anger and her small hands formed tight fists by her side. “You bastards killed them, and if it takes me forever I’ll have my revenge. On you and the rest of your kind.” She picked up the pruning shears and waved them under Joker’s nose. “I’ll make you bleed like they bled, until there’s not a drop left in your body.”
She knelt by his feet and grabbed at his left ankle, forcing the blades down towards his toe. As the metal touched his skin the door to the basement was flung open and Bailey came down the first few steps, shouting. “Mary! Mary!”
Hennessy’s head jerked up and the blades of the shears sliced together, narrowly missing Joker’s toe. He pulled his foot back and it slipped from Hennessy’s grasp. She stood up, alarmed. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The television,” he shouted. “We’re on the bloody box.”
Hennessy frowned, totally confused. “What do you mean?”
Bailey leant against the rail and gripped it with both hands. His face was pale and his eyes were wide and manic. “Just come and look. They’re bloody well on to us.” He scrambled back up the stairs and Hennessy followed him.
Carlos was in the sitting room, sitting the wrong way on a wooden chair, his arms clasped around the back as if he was giving it a bear hug. Rashid was curled up on a green sofa, her legs tucked up under her chin. Both were facing the television screen on which were two colour photographs: Hennessy and Bailey. Underneath their pictures was a 1-800 number.
Carlos looked up as she came into the room. “We have a problem, Mary.”
“What did they say?” she asked. “Do they know what we’re planning?”
Carlos shook his head. “They said the FBI wants you in connection with a drug-smuggling operation in Florida.”
“What?” Hennessy was stunned. She looked at Bailey, who was equally astonished.
“Why didn’t that woman Armstrong tell you about this?” Carlos spat.
Hennessy ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. She’s only just made contact with the agents in Washington. Maybe they didn’t tell her.”
“Or maybe they don’t trust her. Maybe she’s blown?”
“I arranged to meet her tomorrow, I’ll be sure to ask her then,” said Hennessy, her voice loaded with sarcasm.
Carlos looked as if he was going to argue, but he calmed himself down. He stood up and swung the chair back so that it was against the wall. “Okay, okay, let’s sort out what we do next,” he said. “The FBI obviously don’t want to give the real reason that they’re looking for you. The drugs story doesn’t mean anything. What matters is that they know that you’re in the country and that they’re looking for you.”
“We have to call it off,” said Bailey, his voice trembling.
“No,” said Carlos.
“Definitely not,” said Hennessy.
“But they’re onto us. . they know we’re here, they. .”
“Matthew, they think we’re in Florida. Not Baltimore.” Hennessy could see that the younger man was starting to fall apart. He was physically shaking and his eyes were darting between her and Carlos.
“Maybe they followed me there, maybe they know where I am now. .”
Hennessy went over and put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me, Matthew, if they knew where we were they wouldn’t be putting our photographs on national television. They don’t know where we are, and they
