‘Take it out nice and slowly,’ said Shepherd. ‘No sudden movements.’

O’Hara took the lighter out, flashed him a tight smile, and then lit a cigarette. She put the lighter back in her pocket and blew smoke at the ceiling, her green eyes fixed on Shepherd.

‘You attacked my family,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s as personal as it gets.’

‘I’m a soldier in the Real IRA,’ she said flatly. ‘We’re at war with the occupying forces, of which you form a part.’

‘You attacked my son and my au pair. You put a bomb in my car knowing that they would use it.’

‘Thousands of Irish citizens have been killed in the fight for independence,’ she said. She took another pull on her cigarette and held the smoke deep in her lungs.

‘My son has nothing to do with any of this, but you made him a target,’ said Shepherd. There was no anger in his voice, he was simply stating a fact.

‘You drove the X3. It was your car. The au pair used the Honda and we left that alone. We put the bomb in the X3 and didn’t go near the Honda.’

‘And I’m supposed to be grateful for that?’

‘I’m just telling you the facts. You’re making it sound as if I was deliberately trying to kill your son, and that’s not what happened. I can understand why you want to believe that.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because it makes it easier for you to do what you’ve come here to do. It gives you the moral high ground.’

‘And you think I need that?’

‘I do what I do because I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in a united Ireland. I believe that Britain is an occupying power that has no right to be in my country and I will do whatever is necessary to drive them out. I have a cause, and I believe in that cause. But you, Shepherd, why do you do what you do? Why did you kill those two men in Belfast? For four thousand pounds a month plus expenses.’

‘A bit more, actually.’

‘But you’re a hired gun. You killed for money. Same as all the bastard soldiers and cops who work for the British. So which of us really has the moral high ground?’ She blew smoke, then leaned over to an ashtray and stubbed out what was left of her cigarette. ‘There’s no point in continuing this conversation,’ she said. ‘Just arrest me and have done with it.’

‘MI5 don’t have powers of arrest,’ said Shepherd. ‘I thought you’d have known that.’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘What’s the worst you can do to me? I’ll spend a few years as a political prisoner and then the negotiations will start and eventually I’ll be released. I might even be an MP one day. Join Martin and Gerry on the House of Commons gravy train. Now wouldn’t that be a fine thing?’

Shepherd said nothing but continued to stare at her, his eyes as hard as granite.