‘Well, OK. Me then. I’m scared of him and what he might do. Not that he has any reason to want to harm you or me, for that matter.’

‘Look, I think you better tell me the truth. And remember, I know a lot more than you think, and I know you – I’ll know if you lie.’

Tom McGarry switched off the mobile phone having collected his messages – again.

‘So, you’re desperate to speak to me now, you little bastard. Well, it’s too late, my son. It’s payback time.’

He turned his attention to the horseracing on the television and snarled as the winner was announced.

‘Just as well I couldn’t get to the bookies. Lucky Again – would be better off in a tin of dogfood than on a racecourse.’

He cut off the sound and stared at the screen. It was time to get out of Glasgow. Back to Ireland was the best bet. Out of harm’s way there were one or two people who could make good use of his special talents, as they had done in the past.

McGarry was the archetypal mercenary. He had no interest whatever in the politics of the North or the South. He favoured neither Protestant nor Catholic and worked for each against the other, sometimes simultaneously.

He looked around the depressing bedsit. It was not of the standard he preferred but as boltholes went, it was passably comfortable. Compared with the rat-infested barns he had hidden in near the Irish border, it was verging on the luxurious. But it was undoubtedly time to go.

His escape route was in place. He had dyed his hair and his beard. He was well aware that the police were crawling over the City looking for him. Not that this was a cause for concern. He had spent his life outwitting smarter opponents than the Glasgow polis. He had a car garaged less than a hundred yards away, and had stolen it himself – a piece of Japanese crap which was indistinguishable from every other piece of Japanese crap. The tax disc had been skilfully altered to match the new number plate which in turn matched the number of a car which he knew to be owned by a newsagent in Paisley. Only a very thorough examination would disclose the forged disc and nothing in a Police National Computer check would suggest the car was stolen. When he was ready, he would drive to Stranraer. He had false identity documents. He would walk casually onto the ferry and then home. No problem – he had done it many times before.