Edge of Danger

George took careful aim just as Dillon came back up over the rail. 'Let him go and let's get out of here. See to Kelly,' he added to Kate, then moved to the wheelhouse and started the engines.

On the way down from the Royal George, Bell and Casey saw what was going on below on the boat.

Bell said, 'That shite Quinn. He's going to ruin everything. Come on,' and he ran down the hill to the harbour.

They saw the action, Dillon taking to the water and shooting Quinn's two sidekicks, Quinn being shot by George Rashid and running for cover. Bell and Casey paused, watched George cast off and the Aran move out of the harbour, saw Quinn stumble between the boats on the beach.

'I've had it, Liam,' Bell said. 'The Provisional IRA can go to hell. This is my patch and this bastard has come close to screwing up the biggest job of my life. This time he goes down.'

He ran, followed by Casey. In working his way round the beach, Quinn had to wade through water, and when he turned around the stern of a fishing boat, he found Bell and Casey facing him.

'Aidan?' he said.

Bell smiled. 'You've been a stone in my shoe too long, you bastard. Let's end it now.' He drew a Browning from his pocket and double-tapped Quinn in the heart. Quinn fell back in the water, his body floating, half submerged.

Casey said, 'You want me to do anything?'

'No need, the tide's on the turn. It will take him out, and in Drumcree, who'll ask questions?'

The Aran moved out to sea. Kate went to the stern and sat in the rain using her coded mobile. Paul Rashid answered.

'It's me, darling.'

'How did it go?'

'I'll tell you when we meet. Bell will go for it.'

'Good. How was Dillon?'

'Well, he and Bell turned out to have shot at each other in the old days.'

'So, Dillon bought your story?'

'God knows. He's a devious bastard. What he did do was save my life.'

There was a pause and Paul Rashid said, 'Explain.'

Afterwards, he said, 'He doesn't take prisoners.'

'No. Mind you, George didn't let you down, either.'

'I'm proud of him. Tell him so for me. I'll see you soon.'

The Aran was plunging out to sea through strong waves. Dillon and George were in the wheelhouse, and Kate arrived with tea.

'How's Kelly?' Dillon asked.

'He'll be all right. A bash to the head, that's all. He'll have a headache for a while, but he's a tough nut.'

'Good,' Dillon said.

Dillon said, 'Now, Kate, there's half a bottle of Bushmills under the chart table.'

She found it, got it out, and poured into two mugs of tea. Dillon said, 'George, boy, as my Jewish friends would say, you're a mensch. My thanks.'

'Dillon, I've been through Sandhurst and One Para. Sometimes I forget the estate management.'

'Go on.' Dillon laughed. 'Get him out of here, Kate.'

When she was gone, he used her coded mobile phone to reach Ferguson. When the Brigadier answered, he gave him a rundown of events.

'Christ, Dillon, you've been killing again.'

'The ranks of the ungodly, Charles.'

'All right. Did you believe that story of hers, hiring Bell for protection for Rashid Investments?'

'Not for a moment.'

'So why involve you?'

'I've told you. I know Down and I knew Bell in the old days. I knocked off guys who wanted to knock her off. She hired me as a minder and mind her I did. Without me, she'd be dead.'

'And you still think there's something going on?'

'Absolutely. Something big, but I've no idea what.' 'Come home, Sean, and we'll think on it.'

At Aidan Bell's house, Casey was in the kitchen making tea. Suddenly the door opened and Bell appeared, a magazine in his hand.

'I was right, I found the story in Time magazine. It tells me exactly how to shoot Jake Cazalet.'

'You're mad,' Casey told him.

'Not at all, Liam. This could work. Trust me.'

Manhattan

London

West Sussex

White House Aidan Bell and Liatn Casey shared a suite at the Plaza Hotel beside New York's Central Park. They had flown over earlier on Concorde, the seats provided by Rashid Investments, and found a chauffeur-driven limousine waiting to take them to the hotel.

'This is the life, Aidan,' Casey said.

'Well, don't let it go to your head. Shave, shower and put your best suit on. It's like we're visiting royalty tonight. I don't want him to think we're straight out of the bogs.'

He showered in the second bathroom, then dressed in a white shirt, blue tie and an easy-fitting dark suit. When he went out to the sitting room, Liam Casey was standing at the window, looking out.

'Jesus, Aidan, what a town.'

He turned, wearing a black suit and shirt and black tie. \ 'Will I do?'

'You look like a bouncer at the Colosseum,' Bell said. 'Now let's go. We're only a couple of blocks away. Just behave yourself and do as I say, and this ought to go as smooth as butter.'

At Trump Tower, they went up in a private lift to the Rashid penthouse, where Kate opened the door. She wore a black dress and a gold chain round her neck, very understated.

'Mr Bell.'

'Lady Kate. What do I give to the woman who has everything?' He opened his briefcase and took out a cheap plastic box. 'A present from County Down. A sign of good luck. A four-leafed shamrock.'

'Well, we can do with lots of that, Mr Casey.' She nodded. 'In you come. My brothers are waiting.'

Paul Rashid sat by the fire in the drawing room with Michael and George. Kate made the introductions.

'Aidan Bell and his associate, Liam Casey.'

'Mr Bell.' Paul Rashid didn't shake hands. 'My sister tells me you almost had me shot in Crossmaglen.'

'True, but Allah was good to you,' Bell told him.

'I like that – I like it very much. You want a drink?'

'Perhaps later. For now, let's get to business, I think.'

'Fine. You wouldn't be here if you didn't think you could do it, am I right?'

Bell said, 'Yes, you are. Now, there are two common types of assassination. One is by nutcases who press through the crowd and shoot the President up close, with no chance of getting away. Often, they don't even want to get away. That's not for me. Two is the clever, complicated kind, the Day-of-the-Jackal thing, meticulously organized, every possibility accounted for – like I did in Chechnya when I got Petrovsky and his staff. That takes a long time to plan, however, and I sense you want results a little sooner.'

'You're quite right,' Paul said. 'So what's the answer?'

Bell smiled. 'There's a third way.'

There was silence. It was Kate who said, 'What, for God's sake?'

Bell was enjoying himself. 'Well, to shoot the President of the United States should be an impossibility- or could it be absurdly simple?' He opened his briefcase and took out a magazine. He held it up. 'America, like Britain, is a democracy. You can write anything you want about the great and the good. There's an article in here on Jake Cazalet, everyone's favourite President. It was in my head, so I looked it up, and it's all I need for a general plan. Now I only need to finish working out the details.'

The silence was profound. He smiled, feeling his power. 'I think I'd like a large Bushmills Irish whiskey and then we'll talk.'

A few minutes later, he stood on the terrace looking down at the traffic while Paul Rashid read the article, then passed it to the others.

'All right,' Paul said. 'Now, tell us your plan, Mr Bell.'

'As the article says, Jake Cazalet loves to spend his weekends at that old beach house on Nantucket. They helicopter him straight from the White House lawn to the house late Friday, and he spends Saturday and Sunday there before coming back Sunday night. He has no family, just that one daughter in Paris.

'Cazalet doesn't like a big fuss: he's notorious for it. At the house, even the cook and the housekeeper come in on a daily basis; they live in town. There are staff quarters, but he refuses to have more than two Secret Servicemen there at the weekend. I did a little extra research and learned that one is called Harper, he's the communications officer. The other is his favourite, a big, black, former Marine named Clancy Smith, who served in the Gulf War. Smith is devoted to Cazalet. He'd step in the way of the bullet if he had to. And then there's Blake Johnson.'