“What kind of weapon?”

“A weapon that Hezbollah could use against Israeli tanks and armored vehicles in southern Lebanon.”

Keller looked at Gabriel, who appeared to be contemplating a crack in the ceiling. Walsh, unaware of the true identity of his small audience, was still talking.

“The Iranians set Quinn up in a weapons factory in a Tehran suburb called Lavizan. He built a version of an antitank weapon that he’d been working on for years. It created a fireball that traveled a thousand feet per second and engulfed the advancing armor in flames. Hezbollah used it against the Israelis in the summer of 2006. The Israeli tanks went up like kindling. It was like the Holocaust.”

Keller again cast a sidelong glance toward Gabriel, who was now staring directly at Liam Walsh.

“And when he finished designing the antitank weapon?” asked Keller.

“He went to Lebanon to work directly with Hezbollah.”

“What kind of work?”

“Roadside bombs, mainly.”

“And then?”

“The Iranians sent him to Yemen to work with al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula.”

“I didn’t know there were ties between the Iranians and al-Qaeda.”

“Whoever told you that?”

“Where is he now?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“You’re lying, Liam.”

“I’m not. I swear I don’t know where he is or who he’s working for.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Six months ago.”

“Where?”

“Spain.”

“Spain is a big country, Liam.”

“It was in the south, in Sotogrande.”

“An Irish playground.”

“It’s like Dublin with the sun turned up.”

“Where did you meet?”

“A little hotel down by the marina. Very quiet.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted me to deliver a package.”

“What kind of package?”

“Money.”

“Who was the money for?”

“His daughter.”

“I never knew he was married.”

“Most people don’t.”

“Where’s the daughter?”

“In Belfast with her mother.”

“Keep talking, Liam.”

The combined services of British intelligence had assembled a mountain of material on the life and times of Eamon Quinn, but nowhere in their voluminous files was there any mention of a wife or a child. It was no accident, said Walsh. Quinn the operational planner had gone to great lengths to keep his family a secret. Walsh claimed to have attended the ceremony at which the two were wed, and later he helped to manage the family’s financial affairs during the years Quinn was living abroad as a superstar of international terrorism. The package Quinn gave to Walsh in the Spanish resort of Sotogrande contained one hundred thousand pounds in used bills. It was the largest single payment Quinn had ever entrusted to his old friend.

“Why so much money?” asked Keller.

“He said it would be the last payment for a while.”

“Did he say why?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

“I knew better.”

“And you delivered the payment in full?”

“Every single pound.”