Eamon sees a man with gelled black hair, a deep tan, very white prominent teeth. He can understand why the appearance of Fernando Griffin irritates Ignatius Davin.
        McAllister resumes. 'We managed to find out he stays at the Reis Católicos, where he is a regular visitor, comes in for a couple of nights every month. A businessman is his cover, which I suppose is true. We're fairly sure he is the liaison, the treasurer. He checks the merchandise, pays the money, collects and then ships it over here.'
        'He does all this himself?' Eamon asks.
        'No. The drugs come in from Colombia by ship; they are collected by the local gangs, who store them someplace along the coast.' McAllister flashes a map on the screen. 'This is the northern coast of Galicia, the most western part of Spain, sticking out into the Atlantic. Here you have Finisterre, literally the end of the earth. This stretch of coast is known as Costa da Morte, the coast of death. It's well named. The coast is littered with submerged rocks and hidden coves and inlets. You need to know it like the back of your hand – otherwise you can soon be in the shite.
        'We are fairly sure Griffin has a house somewhere along the coast, and a speedboat he uses to make his contacts. The drugs are shipped back here in different ways, by ship, by light aircraft, in trucks and cars. That is the easier part. The hinge is Griffin. He has a pilot's licence, so more than likely he flies the stuff in himself from time to time. As you know there are plenty of places along the coast of Ireland where he could drop them.'
        Eamon nods. This makes sense. He remembers how he was piloted to and from the UK on clandestine visits.
        'It's possible he uses a variety of networks to shift the stuff.'
        'How long has he been there?'
        Davin says, 'We're not sure. Maybe a year at the most. Our last contact with him was almost two years ago. He will have had to work his way back from Colombia.'
        'Why does he use that coast all the time? It must be crawling with Spanish police and undercover people.'
        'It is,' McAllister says. 'However, until recently Galicia was the poorest part of Spain. The Galicians were like the Irish, famous for the export of people. There are more Galicians in Havana than in Spain. They have a reputation for clannishness, for being tight-lipped. With all that poverty, the drugs money has bought silence. They use all sorts of scams. For example, furniture shops that only open for a few hours a month, where people go and “buy” a three-piece suite, or furnish a dining room for twenty euros. There is so much cash the police only capture a fraction of what gets through. In addition, there is a long history of smuggling in the area. What has happened is that drugs replaced tobacco, alcohol, white goods. And you also have the worst weather in Spain.' He puts a map of Spain on the screen. 'See how it sticks out into the Atlantic? It is very green, gets more rainfall than any other part of Spain. Given the coastline, unpredictable weather, and a close-knit community with a history of smuggling, it is difficult to police.'

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