July 2000, Worcester, Massachusetts.

Sitting in his room at the Holiday Inn, FBI and MI5 spy David Rupert recognises the knock of the door,

the one that signals the arrival of real IRA assassin,

Smith.

Hey, big man.

Hey, killer.

Rupert's joke covers up his real anxiety.

Of all the real IRA members he has met, Smith is the only one he feels killing would come to

as naturally as drinking a

beer. In fact, Rupert doubts he'd even put his beer down while he was putting a bullet in your

forehead. He tries to keep their meetings as short as possible. This is the rocket launcher software

McEbbett wanted you to look at. Rupert is still the real IRA's money mule, despite his name appearing in the Sunday Times newspaper

a month ago. Some in the group wanted to cut ties with him after that, fearing he was now a liability.

But real IRA leader Michael McEvitt decided the need for US money outweighed the risks of continuing to use him.

But McEvitz also got Rupert helping Smith access weaponry.

Smith pockets the software disc.

Thanks.

I'll organise to give it back to you in a week or two.

Makeet also wants to know why you're not in Mexico, testing the weapons.

Smith looks sheepish.

I met a girl. She's bloody gorgeous, and I think she might be the one.

We did a long weekend to go back because I speak French for my days in the Legion.

...