In London the same video image flickered in the op centers of Thames House and Vauxhall Cross—a winking blue light moving westward across Ulster on the A6. When the light reached Castledawson, it turned south toward Cookstown. Graham Seymour sent a third text to Keller’s mobile, but this time there was no reply, a fact he reluctantly shared with Amanda Wallace across the river at Thames House.

“Where do you think they’re going?” she asked.

“If I had to guess, they’re going back to the place where this all started.”

“Bandit Country?”

“Jimmy Fagan’s farm, to be precise.”

“They can’t go in there alone.”

“I’m not sure there’s much we can do to stop them at this point.”

“At least light up Keller’s mobile so we can hear what they’re saying.”

Seymour made eye contact with one of the techs and gave the order. A moment later he heard Gabriel explaining how Eamon Quinn, in a terrorist training camp in Libya, had made the acquaintance of a man named Tariq al-Hourani. No, thought Seymour. There was no stopping them now.

78

CROSSMAGLEN, SOUTH ARMAGH

THEY STOPPED IN COOKSTOWN LONG enough to purchase an Ordnance Survey map, a tin of black shoe polish, and two heavy-duty kitchen knives before driving into the setting sun to Omagh. A light rain fell as they moved south, enough so that Keller had to keep the wipers working all the way to Castleblayney on the Republic side of the border. Just outside the town was Lough Muckno. Keller followed a ribbon of a road around the southern shore of the lake, into a valley dotted with small farmhouses. Each of the houses represented a potential tripwire. Border or no border, they were now in Bandit Country.

Finally, Keller turned the car into a dense patch of blackthorn along the banks of the Clarebane River and killed the lights and the engine. The MI6 mobile lay on the center console, aglow with unread text messages from Vauxhall Cross. Gabriel handed it to Keller and said, “It might be time to let Graham know where we are.”

“Something tells me he already knows.”

Keller dialed Seymour’s number in London. Seymour came on the line instantly.

“It’s about time,” he snapped.

“Do you see where we are?”

“By my calculation, you’re less than a kilometer from the border.”

“Any chance you can give us a little covering fire?”

“It’s already in the works.”

“I haven’t told you what we need.”

“Yes, you have. And one more thing,” said Seymour. “I’ll need a receipt for those knives. The map and the shoe polish, too.”