‘If that is so, Mr Hennessy, could you tell me who in the IRA would tell me?’

Hennessy marvelled at the man’s stupidity. ‘Offhand, I can think of no one who would be in a position to help you. And I would add that the sort of men you are talking about are not the sort who would take kindly to being approached with such accusations.’ Hennessy kept the threat veiled, aware as always of the possibility that the security forces had his lines tapped. ‘I suggest that you speak to the police, I am sure they are doing their best to identify the men responsible. But I can assure you that I do not know.’

Nguyen fell silent for a while. Hennessy was just about to hang up when he spoke again. ‘I am afraid I do not believe you, Mr Hennessy. You are their adviser. You know who they are.’

Hennessy snorted angrily. ‘I have already explained, I advise politicians, not terrorists. There is a world of difference.’

‘I think that IRA politics and IRA terrorism are different ends of the same snake,’ said Nguyen. ‘It does not matter which end you seize, you still have the snake.’

This, thought Hennessy, was like talking to a fortune cookie. ‘Using your analogy, I would suggest that it makes a great deal of difference which end you attack,’ he replied. ‘One end will fight back.’ Hennessy felt pleased at the turn of phrase. It had given him the same sort of buzz that he got in court demolishing his opponent’s legal arguments.

Nguyen was not deterred. ‘I have chosen, Mr Hennessy. You will tell me who is responsible.’

Hennessy’s temper flared. ‘You are wasting my time. Goodbye.’ He cut the connection and then buzzed Beth on the intercom.

‘Yes Liam?’

‘If The Chinaman rings again just tell him I’m unavailable. I don’t want to speak to him again. Ever.’

Nguyen knelt down in front of the red-painted wooden shrine and lit a stick of incense with an old Zippo lighter. He snapped the top of the metal lighter back in place and then held it with both palms pressed together. He rubbed his hands slowly, caressing the smooth metal. The sweet-smelling smoke curled upwards, drifting in the air, and he breathed it in. He opened his hands and looked at the lighter. On one side there was an insignia etched into the metal. There was a short-handled dagger, superimposed on a badge the shape of the blade of a spear, and across the dagger were three bolts of lightning. Above the badge was a banner containing the word ‘Airborne’. Nguyen had had the lighter for many years, but it had never let him down. His wife had carried it out of Vietnam and had proudly presented it to him when they were reunited in a refugee camp in Hong Kong. She had never let him down, either.