Sonja had been paired with Sergeant Bruce Jones. The SAS man had been assigned to the Det, supposedly to boost numbers. Sonja wondered if the presence of the extra special forces soldiers on the surveillance teams was more about being in position to deliver a killing blow, if the opportunity arose, than manpower.
The world had been outraged by the chillingly casual admission by the True IRA of their actions, and the public and press across the water in the rest of Britain was baying for blood.
‘Lost eyeball,’ Bruce said into the microphone concealed in the sleeve of his bomber jacket. ‘He’s gone into the pub. Following him in.’
Sonja pulled the Ford Escort into the pub’s car park and stopped at the far end of a row of cars, away from Byrne’s battered van. He was a plumber by trade and t
