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“Stupid, the pair of you, not a brain between you, and now I’ve lost Danny Malone.” He slapped each one across the face. “You’ve got your orders, so stick to them. Do you understand me or do you want to go off the end of China Wharf into the Thames?”

They didn’t have a word to say, he was a figure of such menace, and his ferocious reputation preceded him.

Tod said, “Go on, get out of it and go to bed.” He turned to Kelly as they went out. “Are we still on?”

“Of course we are. There’s no reason for Sean to suspect anything. Even Malone doesn’t know why we’re here, so tomorrow we’ll go for a run in the country. Let’s have a drink on it.”

At Huntley Hall, the meal in the old oak-paneled room had been impressive by any standards. All of Selim’s dietary requirements had been taken care of, although Ferguson had worked his way through roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with all the trimmings. Dalton and Miller acted as waiters, standing quiet and watchful, between the courses. Ferguson had drunk Burgundy, Selim mineral water.

Ferguson said, “Was the meal satisfactory?”

“Excellent.”

“You can thank the Army Catering Corps.”

“I’m impressed. There’s not much sign of staff.”

“Oh, they’re there in their unobtrusive way. Let’s go into the hall.”

The hall was impressive, a floor of stone flags scattered with rugs, deep comfortable sofas, a log fire burning on a wide hearth. To one side, French windows with heavy curtains looked out over a terrace with a balustrade.

Selim sat in a wing-backed chair. “You do very well.”

“Yes, it’s a nice place.” Ferguson turned to Miller. “I’ll have a port if you don’t mind, Staff Sergeant, a large one.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Miller went to a sideboard to get it and Ferguson sat opposite Selim. “I won’t bother to offer you one.”

“There was a time when I would have accepted with pleasure. In those days I didn’t take my religion seriously. Public school, Cambridge and all that, and then, a few years ago, I changed.”

“I can see how awkward that would have been for you.”

“That I turned to Islam? Not at all. I’m British, General Ferguson, but also a Muslim. I have no difficulty with that. These islands have been home to an infinite variety of people since the Romans occupied them two thousand years ago.”

“I suppose you’re right. After all, I’m half Scots, half Irish.” Ferguson finished his port and stood. “Let’s have a breath of air on the terrace.”

“That would be nice.”

Dalton pressed a button and the French windows opened. Ferguson led the way outside. The air was fresh and damp, the shrubbery dense on the other side of the lawn, trees beyond. There were half a dozen garden statues out there, Roman figures revealed by security lights.

“We had a good start today,” Ferguson said. “Our chat about Ashimov and Belov was very interesting.”

“In a strange sort of way, Ashimov is angry with the world, and this manifests itself in his willingness to kill people. Belov simply wants to control the world. Power, ultimate power, is everything to him. He is someone to beware of much more than me, General.”

“You’re important enough. The list of organizations you’ve mentioned and the coded computer details of the young men that have been sent to Al Qa’eda training camps, that’ll all be extremely helpful.”

“May Allah forgive me.”

It was then that Ferguson came to the important part. “You could be of enormous use to us, you know – not just now, but in the future.”

“In betraying my own people?”

“What a shame,” Ferguson said. “You’ve spoiled it. I thought you were British.”

Selim groaned. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m speaking on behalf of my religion. I’m British, but a Muslim. In Tudor times, many people were Catholics at a time when this was forbidden, but still English. In fact, when some of them were trained for the priesthood in Rome…”

Ferguson broke in. “It was called the English College and they produced Jesuit priests known as ‘Soldiers of Christ,’ the best in the business.”

“Many of whom died here in England for their faith.”

“Well, let’s try and see nothing like that happens to you,” Ferguson said. “In we go. A decent night’s sleep and we start again tomorrow.”

The French windows closed behind them as they went inside. There was only the quiet and then an owl hooted, and there was a rustle in the shrubbery where a garden statue of some Roman emperor stood half revealed. Harold Laker peered out beside it, gazing toward the terrace at the scene inside the house through the French windows. He smiled, then disappeared back into the shrubbery and it was quiet again.

12

The following morning around ten, after breakfast, Kelly and Tod Murphy left in the Ford Transit and Fahy and Regan sat at the kitchen table, disgruntled, ribs aching.

“Now what?” Fahy asked.

“Don’t ask me, Brendan,” Regan replied.

“Maybe we should split up. I’ll go and have a look at Roper’s place, while you check out Dillon’s cottage or the Bernstein woman’s address.”

“I thought Ashimov and Novikova were seeing to her?”

“Come off it. You’re just trying to avoid anything to do with Dillon,” Fahy said.

“That’s a damn lie. Anything could happen. It’s a sound idea to have a look at Bernstein, though.”

“Okay, we’ll use cabs,” Fahy said. “We’ll meet back here in two or three hours. It’s better than sitting round here like a gorilla in its own shit while Dermot and Tod go and have all the fun. I’m telling you, though, I’m not setting a foot out the door without a pistol in my pocket.”

“Well, I’m with you there, so let’s get on with it.”

On the outskirts of Horsham, Kelly and Tod pulled in at a fuel station, filled up and went into the small café and ordered coffee.

Kelly lit a cigarette. “I wonder what those two idiots are getting up to. I don’t trust them an inch. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea bringing them along.”

Hmm. Let me check,” Tod said, and called Regan. “It’s Tod. Where are you?”

“We’re out and about. I’m checking Dillon’s place and Fahy’s having a look where Roper lives. I thought I might take in Bernstein’s pad, too.”

“Weren’t you listening before? Ashimov and Novikova are on her case, so stay out of there. Familiarize yourself with Dillon’s and Roper’s places, but don’t hang around, and don’t try anything serious until you’re told to.”

“It’s like talking to children,” he said to Kelly after he’d clicked off.

“They’ve lost their edge,” Kelly said. “Money in the pocket, too much booze and sitting around on their fat backsides at Drumore.”

The mobile went and he answered. It was Ashimov. “Where are you?”

“Horsham. Quit worrying. We’ll be there soon.”

He rang off and said to Tod, “To hell with all of them. Let’s you and me get on with it,” and he led the way out.

Tod said as they walked to the Transit, “Why haven’t you told him about Sean, and Danny Malone doing a runner?”

“Why bother the man? He might lose faith, and we can’t have that.” He unlocked the Transit. “Next stop, Huntley.”

Greta Novikova left the Russian Embassy on foot from Kensington Palace Gardens, crossed to the pub on the other side and went in. Ashimov was seated at the bar reading a newspaper.

“Ah, there are you. Would you like a drink?”

“Not at the moment. What’s going on?”

“I’ve spoken to Kelly. They were at Horsham.”

“That’s no more than half an hour to Huntley from there. Things ought to be happening soon.”

“I hope so. But I’ve been around a long time, Greta. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, something else will come along. Survival is the name of the game.”