Davin leaves his answer for a while. 'Now you need to know.'
        They slow down as they go over some rough ground. Eamon can hear the faint crash of the sea; he feels the wind as it buffets the van. Davin, ever conscious of cover, has arranged to stop near the campsite, a natural place to see a camper van parked by the sea during the season.
        'We'll have a cup of tea,' Davin says. He takes a thermos jug from a cupboard, puts tea bags in two mugs and adds hot water. 'Not perfect tea, but it will do.' He waits for the bags to infuse, prods them around with a spoon until he is satisfied, then fishes them out.
        'Just milk, 'Eamon says.
        Always a careless dresser, Davin is wearing baggy corduroy trousers, a cheap jacket, over a grey pullover and shirt. He looks as if he has slept in the same clothes for a week. Davin sips his tea, grimaces and puts the mug on the table.
        'Flash Gordon vanished. Nobody heard from him. Nothing. Never made contact. We sent people to try to find him. We left all the contact channels open. He may as well have been dead. Probably we accepted that he was. Latin America is pretty uncharted territory for us, Flash was the only expert we had on the place. Then we got a contact, a whisper that he was in Bogotá.' Davin stops. He leans against the sink opposite Eamon and looks at him, with the intense penetrating scrutiny Eamon knows so well. He says nothing, sips his tea and continues to stare. It is unnerving except that he is used to the technique over the years he worked closely with Davin. The wind rocks the van, the sea sucks and hisses and crashes over the pebbles.
        'Another splinter group has appeared, taken some of our renegades, and suddenly they appear to be in funds.'
        'I did hear something, not a lot. Just the usual whispers and rumours. I didn't pay much attention.'
        'They call themselves the True IRA.' For a moment, Davin is lost in some other place, staring at the curtains, as though he can see through them. 'The money has to come from somewhere. None of it is from our sources. Okay, they can squeeze a bit here and there, but only enough to keep them in petty cash. Nothing like the sums they now have.
        'So where is it coming from?' Davin puts the mug down. 'Question. Where does an organisation raise funds? Exclude the donations, the income from clubs and other legitimate businesses. Bank raids, sure, but there have been none, we know that. The big money has to be dirty money. Which means drugs, or hoors, or smuggling people into Europe. Slavery. Flash Gordon wouldn't do sex or slavery, not his style, too complicated. Drugs is much more his kind of business,' Davin growls. 'Small bundles, easily transported, a readymade market, dealing in cash. Just the job for Flash Gordon,'
        'Proof?' Eamon says.

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