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his shoulders; as if this gesture proved his statement.
    “Your pretend father and his sister are illegal immigrants. They’re remnants from a bad time in Ireland and wanted over most of Europe.”
    “Brother and sister …? How do you know this?”
    The man handed Tom several sheets of official Europol mug shots. One for his surrogate father and another for the man’s sister; the woman he’d known as his mother. The third sheet contained lists of their unlawful behaviour, including terrorist activities and murder.
    Tom felt his face flush. He became aware of a hand squeezing his shoulder and he pushed it aside. Terrorists? Murderers? These words didn’t belong in his world.
    “So if they’re not my parents, then who is?”
    “You get that information when we have an agreement.”
    “Yeah, right. Just tell me who they are and what you know about the killings.”
    Tom experienced a moment of desperation. He needed answers. Not being a McKnight didn’t bother him; it felt like relief; a kindness, yet an irrelevance compared to his current situation.
    Another two shoppers drifted into their aisle, which only added to his frustration. He looked over at Noah, who nodded towards a smaller area to their left; a section provided for readers.
    “I’ll give you some of the information, but it comes at a cost.”
    Tom closed his eyes and shook his head.
    “Here comes the rub.”
    “Wake up, lad. You’re in trouble. Yes, the courier belonged to me. He’s dead … because of you.”
    Tom tried to shut out the images, but the memory of the young man’s terrible demise forced its way back into his mind.
    “My organisation is willing to give you protection, but you’ll have to earn it. We’ll need your assistance with certain matters.”
    “And what if I don’t?”
    “I know what you’re thinking, Tom. You’ll just forget the whole thing and hide. That’s a mistake. Whoever killed your friend and my man, knew their business. They’ll find you, use you and kill you, lad. If you want to survive, your only real choice is me.”
    “Bullshit. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
    “Don’t play games, Tom. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. Killing means nothing to these people.”
    “You’ve got to be joking. Why me?”
    “You get your answers when we have an agreement.”
    “Come on, help me out here.”
    Noah began to speak and Tom shifted closer. Simple answers, that’s all he needed. The idea of an agreement made him suspicious. This fellow sounded convincing, but he could just as easily be his enemy.
    “Alright, Tom, I’ll give you this much. Your real father had an involvement in a restricted project. We’re talking about weapons development that superseded everything else; it provided the ultimate power for its owner. That’s why they want you so bad. You’re connected to these weapons.”
    Noah stopped and looked around, as another reader drifted by.
    “Make up your mind, Tom. I can’t tell you any more than I have. Not here; we’ve stayed too long already.”
    “It sounds like crap to me.”
    “For God’s sake, lad …”
    “Alright then, tell me who you are; who you represent. And, I want to know exactly why you’re helping me and what you want in return.”
    Noah leaned further forward and lowered his voice.
    “We’re a group called the PMSG, which means ‘The People’s Movement for Secular Government’.”
    “I’ve heard of you. You’re that anti-government group that I read about in the news … because of …’
    Atrocities.
    More words appeared in Tom’s mind.
    Stupidity, mistake, danger.
    “Surely you realise that the papers are government owned, Tom. They only print what serves them.”
    Tom stood and looked around. He felt anxious. Anyone in this shop could be one of them.
    “Look, you’re probably right. They don’t seem to be my real parents, but I’m no radical either. Please. Don’t contact me anymore. I don’t want your help. I don’t need