“And here, Natalya? Do you belong here?”

“My name is Madeline.” She said nothing for a moment. “What will happen if I go back to Russia?”

“I suppose they’ll spend several months wringing every drop of knowledge out of your brain that they can.”

“And then?”

“Vysshaya mera.”

“The highest measure of punishment?”

“I thought you didn’t speak Russian.”

“A friend told me about that expression.”

“Where’s your friend now?”

“He’ll find me.”

“And then Quinn will kill him.” Katerina struck her lighter again. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“I think they left us some meat pies.”

“I adore meat pies.”

“God, but you’re so English.” Katerina unwrapped one of the pies and placed it carefully in Madeline’s hands.

“It would be easier if you cut away the duct tape.”

Katerina smoked contemplatively in the darkness. “How much do you remember?” she asked.

“About the camp?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing,” said Madeline. “And everything.”

“I have no photographs of myself when I was young.”

“Nor do I.”

“Do you remember what I looked like?”

“You were beautiful,” said Madeline. “I wanted to be exactly like you.”

“That’s funny,” replied Katerina, “because I wanted to be like you.”

“I was an annoying little child.”

“But you were a good girl, Natalya. And I was something else entirely.”

Katerina said nothing more. Madeline raised her bound hands and tried to eat more of the meat pie.

“Won’t you please cut away the tape?” she asked.

“I’d like to, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a good girl,” she said, crushing out her cigarette on the floor of the shed. “And you’ll only get in my way.”

75

UNION STREET, BELFAST

IT WAS A FEW MINUTES after noon by the time Billy Conway came through the door of Tommy O’Boyle’s on Union Street. An ex-IRA man named Rory Gallagher was polishing pint glasses behind the bar.

“I was about to send out a search party,” he said.

“Long night,” answered Conway. “Longer than I expected.”

“Problems?”

“Complications.”

“More to come, I’m afraid.”

“What are you talking about?”

Gallagher glanced toward the stairs. “You have company.”

Keller’s feet were propped on Billy Conway’s desk when the office door opened with a groan. Conway stood motionless in the breach. He looked as though he had just seen a ghost. In a way, thought Keller, he had.

“Hello, Billy. Good to see you again.”

“I thought—”

“That I was dead?”

Conway said nothing. Keller rose to his feet.

“Take a walk with me, Billy. We need to talk.”