Nolan flinched. Anonymous he was an executioner carrying out orders. But 'Tommy' was personal. One to one. Man to man.
'Shut your mouth, youse! You's been sentenced. By the army council.
Twenty fockin' years ago!'
'Twenty years! A long time, Tommy.'
Had Lorna set him up? Faked everything? Was she pretending still?
'We's don't forget,' Nolan snapped. But he couldn't forget the weariness either. Weariness of war.
'That's your trouble, Tommy. But you'll have to learn how to if you want peace.'
Alex shot a glance at Lorna. Deathly pale, mouth gaping. No fake. He was sure, almost. She looked destroyed by this.
'How many hundreds have you boys killed in those twenty years?' Adrenalin pumping, now. Fighting for his life. 'Soldiers, police. Women out shopping. Schoolgirls.'
He saw Nolan flinch.
'Suppose every one of your victims had a big brother wanting to get even.
There'd be nowhere you could hide.'
He saw the eyes blink, the weight shift from foot to foot.
'What d'you mean schoolgirls?' Nolan spluttered. 'Those was accidents.
A mistake. We admitted it.'
'Oh yes. Like me and Lorna meeting in Belfast - that was an accident.
Getting mixed up in your troubles - that was a mistake. I'll admit it too.'
'Don't give me that! Youse were different!' But Nolan was rattled. A wedge was being driven between his bluster and his resolve.
'There's a ceasefire coming. You know that?' Alex pressed.
'Don't be so sure . . .'Nolan countered. He didn't like this. Wanted the man to shut up.
'Killing me won't help.'
Tockin' shut it!'
'Not if the Provos want to be taken seriously. Not if you want to be political. Kill me and you could wreck everything . . .'
Alex gulped. Maybe that's what they wanted. Maybe these two hoods had instructions from the hard men to wreck the peace process.
Tuckin' get on with it, Tommy!' McCarthy's voice a growl from ten yards back. The swish of intermittent traffic on the road. With every second the growing danger they'd be seen.
Nolan raised the pistol level with Alex's mouth. First pressure on the trigger, sweat trickling into his eyes. Aim for the chest. It'd be easier to look at ...
'Look me in the eye Tommy if you're going to do it.' Alex's throat bone dry. Heart galloping. 'And tell me why. Tell me what good it'll do. Tell me who'll thank you for it . . . '
Nolan forced his gaze higher, just for a second, just for long enough to register the face of the man they'd called a hero on TV. The man who'd helped save the life of a kid and hundreds more. Someone who'd suffered as much as any of them ... so the Donohue woman had said ... What had she meant? Too late to find out, now.
'I've forgotten your brother's name,' Alex's tone softer now.
'Kieran..'.
'He wouldn't thank you. All that killing, all that hate -didn't get him anywhere, did it?'
'Do it Tommy!' The yell from behind.
Alex plundered his memory for everything the minders had told him about Tommy Nolan.
'You don't have to, Tommy,' Alex whispered. 'Don't let him tell you what to do. He's only young. What does he know.. .'
He saw the gun shake in Nolan's hand. Heard the wheeze of the breath.
'You can forgive, you know,' Alex persisted. 'Like the mother of the soldier-boy you shot?' Gambling again. Gambling he'd remembered it right.
'She forgave you didn't she? Said so on TV the day of the funeral . . .'
Slowly, inch by inch, Nolan's arm dropped down. With his free hand he plucked the sock mask from his head, then used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He turned and looked at Lorna.
'Stupid bitch!' The word flung at her like a gob of spit.
Nolan stumbled towards McCarthy, the Springfield hanging limply at his side.
'Couldn't fockin' do it,' he spat. 'Couldn't pull the friggin' trigger.'
Jesus fucking Christ!' McCarthy exploded. What a waste of time. Risking everything - and for what? He thought of stepping forward, doing the job himself But what would be the point? It had been Nolan's grudge.
'Get in the shagging car!' he growled.
McCarthy pulled his pocket knife out. He paused by the Land Cruiser, crouched by the nearside front wheel, then jabbed its spike into the tyre.
The hiss of escaping air-jerked Lorna from her trance. She turned to see the doors of the VW slam and the car speed away.
Unsure of his legs, Alex stepped forward, bent down to the carpet of pine needles and picked up the snapshot McFee had taken in Bosnia.
He held it in his shaking hand. His face and hers, smiling tensely, neither sure of the other one's thoughts.
'Not bad . . .' he croaked. 'Considering.'
Lorna flung her arms round his neck, quivering with relief.
'I ... I never thought,' she stammered. 'Sent it to my sister with a note saying we'd met again. What I meant was - isn't that unbelievable! She must have imagined I meant something else.'
'I guess she must have,' Alex replied, holding her loosely.
For more than a minute they leaned against one another, each conscious of the other's breathing, thoughts circling like moths round an oil lamp.
'Is . . . is that it, d'you think?' she asked suddenly.
Alex looked up through the crowns of the pine trees. Flecks of blue visible through the grey of the sky.
'I believe it may be . . .' he murmured.
The poltergeists had been exorcized.
'Do you know what I'd like to do now?' she asked.
Alex looked over at the stranded Land Cruiser, praying the spare wheel was inflated.
'Vanish,' she said. 'With you.'
Epilogue
Dr Hamid Akhavi died from pulmonary anthrax the following day, but the Iranian authorities never made it public.
Colonel Pavel Kulikov's life was saved by the vaccine he'd been given in 1991. Finding that his contact with Iran had been cut, he began to look for other markets for the stolen plutonium.
Milan Pravic recovered from his wounds and was transferred to a remand prison to await trial for the attempted murder of Vildana Muminovic.
Kommissar Gunther Linz continued to hope that before long he could persuade him to reveal where he'd obtained the anthrax bacillus. The United Nations War Crimes Tribunal in the Hague announced its intention to prosecute Pravic for the crime of genocide. Two days later he was stabbed to death in a knife fight with another Bosnian prisoner.
The Ramblers were disbanded. There are no records to show that the group ever existed.
Scorpion Trail Page 34