Trike Patrol - Irish | LIMITED – Roundup |

"Fuel laundering," Byrne mutters. It is always fuel laundering out here. The diesel from the pumps is dyed green for agricultural use, taxed low. The criminals run it through a filtering process using bleaching clay to strip the dye, turning it "green diesel" into "white" road fuel. They dump the toxic sludge—a vile, acidic clay—into the nearest river or bog. The Environment Agency has a list of sites a mile long. The Revenue Commissioners have a list of suspects. But catching them in the act requires silence, patience, and a vehicle that can navigate a bog path at two miles an hour without waking the parish.

He vaults back onto the trike. Aoife is already on the rear seat, the drone stowed. Byrne twists the throttle. The trike surges forward, the front suspension soaking up the rutted ground. They burst out of the pallet yard and onto the grass verge. One of the men is running toward a white van. Another is throwing buckets into the back of a pickup. Trike Patrol - Irish

Byrne kills the speaker. "They bought the trike. Not me. The machine." "Fuel laundering," Byrne mutters