One evening in February 1982, Bertie Ahern drove Charles Haughey to a modest building on Summerhill Parade, at the edge of the city bounded by the Royal Canal. Ahern stayed in the car while Haughey went inside, to a threadbare office lit by a bare lightbulb. “I know what I want,” he told the three men there. “What do you want?”
Two and a half weeks later, Haughey would return to this...
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