Edge of Danger

Dillon said, 'Don't screw me around, Patrick. Bell wouldn't be over here with you lot if you weren't up to something big.'

Costello said, 'Go on, stuff yourself.'

'Oh, I like that,' Harry Salter said. 'I mean, that's elegant. Don't you think that's elegant, Billy?'

'No. Actually, Harry, I think it's rude and stupid and self-destructive.'

'You've been reading those books on philosophy again.'

Dillon said, 'It's a waste of time. I thought there might be some sweet reason here, and obviously there isn't.' He went and picked up a length of chain by the stern rail and handed it to one of the divers. He said in Arabic, 'Round his ankles and over.'

Costello cried out as they put him down and started with the chain. 'Here, what's going on?'

'You're going down,' Dillon told him. 'You can join Kelly and the two Arabs who tried to finish me and Billy off.'

'You wouldn't.'

Hal Stone got up. 'For God's sake, Dillon, you can't do this.' His part in the good policeman/bad policeman routine was impeccable.

'Well, I'm tired of being Mr Nice Guy, Professor. Killing, bombing, you name it, he's done it. He can go for the deep six and who cares.'

He nodded at the two divers. They upended Costello and put him over the stern rail. He screamed in mortal fear and his head went into the sea.

Harry Salter said, 'Pull the bugger back. Maybe he's learned sense.'

Costello lay on the deck, sobbing. Dillon squatted beside him. 'So what's it about, Patrick?'

'I'll tell you, I swear it,' Costello said. 'There's this bunch of Arab leaders called the Council of Elders, and tomorrow morning, they're going to this place called the Holy Wells and we take them out.'

'Dear God in heaven,' Hal Stone said.

'Where?' Dillon asked.

'Rama. It's called Rama.'

Dillon removed his chain, Costello still sobbing. 'Put him in the hold,' Dillon said in Arabic to the divers.

'What did you say? What did you say? Oh God, you're going to kill me,' Costello said, turned and hurled himself over the rail.

He surfaced on the pale yellow stern light and Dillon said, 'Billy.'

Billy took careful aim and shot him in the back of the head.

'Was that strictly necessary?' Hal Stone asked.

'It was if we want the fact that we know what they're up to to stay private,' Harry Salter told him.

Bell and Kate Rashid waited while Tommy Brosnan and Jack O'Hara went looking for Costello. They came back with no result, and Bell was furious.

'The bastard. I'll cut his balls off. He can't resist skirt. Probably holed up in some whorehouse and drunk.'

'What do we do?' Kate asked.

'We can manage. I'll kick his arse later, but right now let's get moving.'

Ben Carver ran the air taxi firm at the airport. He was fifty, an ex-RAF squadron leader with a DFC from the Gulf War. He was tending to overweight these days. His boys were loading the Golden Eagle. Bell and his men and Kate Rashid approached.

'I heard you lost a plane, Carver,' Kate said. 'A private charter.'

'Yes, a Mister Dillon,' Carver said. 'It crashed in the Empty Quarter, but Colonel Villiers and the Hazar Scouts found them.'

'Well, that's good. I hope you have insurance.'

'Absolutely, Lady Kate.' 'Let's get going then.'

Fifteen minutes later, the Golden Eagle took off, climbed to five thousand and headed for Shabwa.

Dillon caught Villiers on his coded mobile. 'I've got bad news – really bad news – as to why they're here.'

'Tell me.'

Which Dillon did.

Afterwards, Villiers said, 'Have you told Ferguson?'

'No. He should be on his way out here by now.'

'Dillon, I'm a hundred and fifty miles to the south of that road to the Holy Wells and I've split my command, sent Bronsby east. We each have fifty men. I'll never make it.'

'All right. So warn the Council of Elders to turn back.'

'Dillon, it won't happen. They're obviously doing the whole thing on the quiet. These are very old-fashioned people. I tried to speak to the advisers earlier, a routine call, and the mobile phone was out.'

'You mean we sit here and let them drive up through one of the worst deserts in the world to their deaths?'

'I'll go like hell, but through that terrain, fifteen miles an hour is tops. I'll call in Bronsby for support.'

'That's not good enough.' Dillon thought about it. 'What if we fly to that airstrip at Shabwa?'

'It's surrounded by Rashid Bedu at the moment.'

And Dillon saw it then. 'Leave it. I'll call you back.'

Hal Stone called Ben Carver. 'I heard you'd gone up-country, so you're back?'

'Obviously.'

Stone said, 'I want a flight to a position east of Shabwa, to drop two men by parachute, a thousand-foot job.'

'You must be mad.'

'Ten thousand sterling.'

Carver hesitated and there was silence. Stone looked at Dillon, who nodded. 'All right, Ben, fifteen thousand. Come on, just a one-hour flight, drop them and come back.'

Greed, as usual, ruled the day. Carver said, 'Okay, I'll do it.'

Dillon took the phone. 'Carver? Dillon here. We might need you later to pick up Major General Ferguson from Haman military airfield and take him up-country.'

'Now, look,' Carver said.

'Twenty thousand,' Dillon told him. 'How about that?'

Carver took in a deep breath. 'I've heard of Ferguson.'

'Well, you would. He runs things for the Prime Minister.'

'So it's all kosher?'

'It's just like being back in the RAF, so have the plane ready and two 'chutes.'

Dillon went to the rail where Billy and Harry were having coffee.

'So what gives?' Harry asked.

'This is me and Billy,' Dillon told him.

Billy said, 'Come on, Dillon, what are we into now.-'

'I've spoken to Villiers. He's split his command. He'll drive hard through the night, but it's a hell of a way to cover at fifteen miles an hour. Besides that, that airstrip at Shabwa is in Rashid hands. The Council of Elders seem to have a security blackout, according to Villiers.'

Hal Stone said, 'So they'll simply drive through the night to certain death some time tomorrow morning.'

'That's not the way I see it.' Dillon turned to Billy. 'In Cornwall last year, you did brilliantly. Jumped from six hundred feet without any training. Somebody should have given you wings.'

'Here, come off it, Dillon,' Harry said. 'You're talking about jumping from a plane up there? The two of you trying to screw things up until Villiers and his cowboys get there? Am I right?'

'Harry, it's what I'm doing. Billy's a free spirit, and Billy and I share a love of philosophy.'

'What in the hell is that supposed to mean?'

'Plato. Remember him, Billy?'

And Billy Salter, London gangster, four times in prison, a killer in his time, smiled the coldest smile possible. 'Sure, I remember: "The life which is unexamined is not worth living". Which means to me: the life not put to the test. Time to put ourselves to the test, Sean.'

'Good man yourself. I'll fly up with Carver in his Golden Eagle, just like Cornwall, Billy, except it's headfirst at one thousand feet in this case. Some say I'm mad, Billy, unhinged, you might say. I've done bad things in my life, but the Rashids have done worse and I'm going to stop them.'

'No, you've got it wrong, Dillon,' Billy said. 'We are going to stop them.'

'Billy, you're mad, too,' Harry told him.

'What else do I do? Go home to Wapping? Chase birds, get so frustrated I finally do one job too many and pull five years?' Billy smiled. 'I'd rather go down for something worthwhile.'

Harry Salter was astonished. 'What can I say?'

'Nothing,' Dillon said. 'Just come along for the ride.'

In London, Charles Ferguson was clearing his desk when the doorbell rang, and Kim showed Blake Johnson in.

'Good to see you, Blake.'

'The President wanted me here. This latest news has shocked him greatly.'

'You realize, Blake, that Hazar is neutral. The border with the Empty Quarter is disputed territory. You could have a war there, butcher the Council of Elders, do what you like and be totally untouchable by any other country.'

'Yes, we know that, Charles, but the ramifications would be far-reaching.'

'Which is why the President has sent you?'

'Yes.'

'And has spoken to the Prime Minister.'

'So I believe.'

'Well, we're going to Downing Street to speak to him now. You've done well, Blake – the President and the Prime Minister on the same day.'

At the door of the most famous address in the world, an aide greeted them.

'General Ferguson, Mr Johnson. The Prime Minister is waiting.'

He took them upstairs, past the pictures of previous Prime Ministers, knocked and opened the door of the Prime Minister's study. He was working at his desk in shirtsleeves, the youngest Prime Minister for more than a century. He glanced up, the face firm, and then smiled in a familiar way.

'General Ferguson.' He got up, came round the desk and shook hands. 'And Mr Johnson? About time.' He clapped Blake on the shoulder. 'The President has brought me up to date. I'd like to hear it from you two.'

Later, someone brought tea and coffee, and the Prime Minister sat there, his face very calm. 'It defies belief that the Rashids would behave in such a way. I know the Earl well.'

'It's a fact, Prime Minister,' Ferguson said.

'It's appalling. He tries to assassinate the President and now the Hazar Council of Elders.' The Prime Minister turned to Blake. 'Would you agree with me that this would be a disaster?'

'In our opinion, sir, that's exactly what it would be.'

The Prime Minister sat there, face calm, brooding. 'Well, you may act with my full authority.' He stood up. 'I have another appointment. Do what you have to do, General.'

They were ushered out. It was over.

Ferguson said, 'Hazar next stop, Blake.'

In Hazar, Kate Rashid and Bell had landed at the airstrip near Shabwa. Four hours later, they were waiting for the Rashid Gulfstream at the military base at Haman. Early in the Southern Arabian dawn light, the plane glided down and several Land Rovers moved forward. Kate got out of the first one, wearing a khaki bush shirt and slacks and an Arab headcloth.

Paul Rashid embraced her. 'Where's George?'

'With his men on the road to the Holy Wells, with Bell and his people. Is Michael well?'

'Holding the fort in London.'

Rashid warriors had emerged from the Land Rovers and stood there with their rifles in total silence. Kate turned and snapped her fingers. A young boy ran forward, holding a robe, helped

Paul Rashid into it, and then offered a headcloth. Rashid fastened it, then turned and raised his right arm, fist clenched.

'My brothers,' he called in Arabic, and put his arm around Kate.

They brandished their rifles and roared approval.

'So, let's get on with it.' He helped her into the lead Land Rover and got in beside her.

He lit a cigarette. 'So, Bell and his team are definitely on schedule?'

'Yes. As I told you, George and his warriors are supporting them. The only problem is that one of Bell's men went missing. A drunk and a womanizer. They tried to find him, but Bell thinks he's holed up in some whorehouse.'

'I don't like that. When a pattern is disrupted, I wonder why.'

'Well, he's that kind of guy, Paul.'

'And Dillon?'

'Still on the Sultan with Professor Stone and the two London gangsters.'

'Totally out of their element.'

'Whatever Hazar is, it's not Wapping. Over there they are something, here they are nothing.'

'True.' Paul Rashid brooded. 'And Shabwa is ours?'

'Absolutely. Dillon couldn't fly up there and land even if he wanted to.'

'And why should he? He doesn't know what's going on.' Rashid nodded. 'So, I go with an escort, to the Holy Wells ambush site, join George and his men and Bell.' He turned and smiled. 'Would you come with me?'

'It'd be a privilege, brother.'

'Good.' He lit another cigarette. 'We'll set the world on fire, little sister.'

She took his hand and held on tight.

At the airport, just after dawn, Carver checked out the Golden Eagle. Hal Stone was there with Dillon and the Salters. Dillon had opened the weaponry bag from London, the best the Sergeant Major could supply. Titanium bulletproof waistcoats, AK-47S, a couple of Brownings with silencers, half a dozen fragmentation grenades, two Parker-Hale machine pistols.

Dillon and Billy got kitted out. Carver said, 'What's going on here?'

'Are you still on the RAF Reserve?' Dillon asked.

'So what?'

'Well, you've got a DFC. After this, you might get another one. We're the good guys, Ben. Your guys. Does that give you a problem?'

Carver's smile was instant. 'No, it bloody well doesn't.'

'So let's do it.' Dillon turned. 'Are you coming, Harry?'

But it was Stone who said, 'Dillon, they won't believe this at high table at Corpus – but I'm coming, too. Billy was right. A life not put to the test is not worth living.'

Up in the high country, Bell, O'Hara and Brosnan worked on the road through the defile, laying packs of Semtex, stretching wires to a detonator. It was early, the real heat of the day still to come. Bedu squatted and watched. George Rashid crouched close by.

Bell said, 'Funny, isn't it? Back there in South Armagh, you were trying to stiff us.'

'Of course I was. I held Her Majesty's commission as a Second Lieutenant in One Para. You were the enemy. I shot two of your people personally.'

'Bastard,' Brosnan snarled.

Bell said, 'Don't be silly. He was doing his job. Now get on with the wiring.'

An hour and a half earlier in the dawn light, Carver had flown in at five thousand feet and descended. Dillon leaned over his shoulder.

'Is that it?'

'Rama, that's all I know.'

'Go down and let's make sure they're not there.'

The Golden Eagle descended to a thousand feet. Carver said, 'It looks clear to me.'

'Good. Go round again and we'll jump.'

'You're crazy, you know that?'

'Yes, but it does make life interesting, Ben.'

Dillon went back and nodded to Billy. 'Time to go. Get the door open.'

It was Harry who moved first as he wrestled with the locking bar. The airstair door opened, the steps went down and there was a huge intake of air. Stone and Harry hung on and Billy and Dillon moved forward, the AK-47S and Parker-Hales across their chests.

'After you,' Dillon shouted above the roaring. 'You're a younger guy.'

Billy laughed. 'You're an older guy, so I'll be on the ground first to protect you.'

He stepped out onto the airstair door, went headfirst and Dillon went after him. The Golden Eagle started to turn away, and Stone and Harry wrestled with the door and finally got it closed. Harry ran to a window and, as they banked, saw the two 'chutes land way below.

'They made it.'

'Good,' Professor Stone said. 'So let's get out of here before the other people notice us and start asking questions.'

At Northolt, Ferguson had found Lacey and Parry waiting with the Gulfstream, plus the Sergeant Major with two AKs and four Brownings.

'You're going into battle again, General?' he said.

'Well, it's not exactly good where we are going, so let's be ready.' He turned to Blake. 'You can handle an AK?'

'Charles, that's like asking if your grandmother can cook. I was in Vietnam.'

Ferguson shook hands with the Sergeant Major and turned to Lacey.

'Four Brownings, Squadron Leader. That's one each for you and the Flight Lieutenant. Hazar may prove a serious problem as regards your health. I thought you should be ready.'

'Very considerate of you, General,' Lacey said. 'We've got a young lady on board to handle catering. Flight Sergeant Avon.'

Ferguson turned to the Sergeant Major. 'Find another Browning.'

'Of course, sir.'

Later, sitting in the plane, the door closed, ready to go, the young Flight Sergeant appeared, not wearing an RAF uniform but an international-looking navy blue job.

As the plane moved away, she said, 'Anything you gentlemen would like?'

'Later, Sergeant.' Ferguson smiled. 'You know who I am?'

'Of course, General.'

He picked up the extra Browning the Sergeant Major had given him. 'I presume you've had basic weapon training?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Good. Take this. We're going into harm's way. I'd like to think you can defend yourself if needs be.'

She was so cool, he could feel the ice. 'That's very good of you, General. I've got prawn salad, Lancashire hotpot, smoked salmon and game soup.'

'Sounds fine,' Blake said.

Ferguson smiled. 'Mr Johnson works for the President of the United States, but do be prepared to use the Browning. The people on the other side aren't nice.'

'No problem, sir. I've a bottle of Tattinger in my fridge if you'd care for a glass of champagne.'

She left. Blake said, 'I wonder how it's going for Dillon?'

'The question should be, how is it going for the other lot,' Ferguson said.

On the ground, Dillon divested himself of his 'chute, covered it with soft sand and went looking for Billy. He clambered up the nearest sand dune and found him below on his knees, burying his parachute. Dillon ploughed down to join him.

'You're okay?'

'Fine,' Billy told him. 'We should do this more often.'

Dillon took out his mobile and called Villiers. The Colonel replied almost instantly. Dillon said, 'Billy and I are on the ground in one piece.'

'Any sign of the opposition?'

'Not when we flew over. We'll make for Rama, see what the situation is on the road. Where are you?'

'Twenty miles.'

'And Bronsby?'

'About thirty miles, maybe forty, to the east.'

'Good. Billy and I will push hard and cut the road. The minute I get a smell of them, I'll call you.'

He stuffed his phone into a pocket of his bush shirt, turned to Billy, took out a compass and checked it.

'Right, let's move it. Once we find the road, we'll climb one of the dunes and see what we can see.' He took a headcloth from his backpack and pulled it on. 'Do the same, Billy, it's going to get hot.'

They cut the road an hour later and moved along it at a half run. There was a fine covering of sand, but no sign of tyre tracks, no sign of anything. Finally, Dillon stopped. The defile was before them.

'This has got to be it. Let's go up there.' He pointed to a sand dune that was at least five hundred feet high. 'We'll see anything that's coming.'

It was hard going, the heat increasing as they toiled up the steep side of the dune, and then they were on top and sat down. Billy produced a bottle of water, drank some and passed it to Dillon, who drank deeply, then took out his Zeiss glasses and scanned the horizon.

'That's it.' He pointed and passed the glasses to Billy. 'They're to the east, the farthest part of the road.'

Billy looked, adjusted the glasses and the lead Land Rover sprang into view, the column behind.

'Jesus,' Billy said. 'The Rashids are coming up fast.'

'I'd say you're right, Billy.'

'And two of us.'

'Let them get closer, then I'll call in and let Villiers know where we are.'

Down in the defile at Rama, Bell, O'Hara and Brosnan worked on their bomb. George Rashid sat waiting with some of his men. Up above on the edge of the defile, a handful watched. Suddenly, one of them fired a shot into the air, stood up and waved. A moment later, two more Land Rovers appeared and braked to a halt. Paul and Kate Rashid got out.

Rashid went forward and spoke to Bell. 'So, it goes forward?'

'It will if we can get on with it instead of having a lot of idiots in bed sheets interfering.'

Beside him stood a plastic bottle of water. Suddenly, there was a single shot and the bottle jumped into the air. Two of Paul Rashid's guards ran forward and pulled him and Kate to one side, turned them, and ran them to the Land Rover column. There was another shot and one of them, a bullet in his back, fell on his face.

On the top of the sand dune, Dillon looked through the glasses. 'It's Paul Rashid down there and Lady Kate. Who wrote this script?'

'I don't know, Dillon. What I do know is there's forty down there and two up here.'

'So live dangerously, Billy. I'll take the one on the left doing the wiring. You do the one on the right.'

He took careful aim and shot O'Hara, who had stood up, in the back. Brosnan was running, weaving, toward the column, and Billy got him in the lower spine, driving him forwards onto his face.

Paul Rashid looked up to the top of the sand dune, calm, controlled, adjusting his glasses, and caught a glimpse of the two men.

'Dear God, it's Dillon.'

He turned and called to his men as Bell arrived. 'Surround the dune,' he said in Arabic. 'And I want them alive.'

Dillon got his mobile out, called Villiers and brought him up to date.

Villiers said, 'Won't be long now, but can you hold?'

'There's two of us, Colonel, that's all.'

'Just hang on there, Dillon, I'll push like hell.'

'And Bronsby?'

'Trying just as hard from the other direction.'

'Well, I hope you all make it. They're coming up to get us right now.' He put the phone back in his breast pocket. 'Here we go, Billy.' He took careful aim and started to shoot at the Arabs climbing the dune.

Billy joined him. 'Listen, Dillon, if the Council of Elders lot turn up, all this shooting's going to put them right off.'

'Exactly, Billy. Let's pray Colonel Villiers gets here soon.'

But Villiers had done better than that. He cut the road ahead of the Council of Elders convoy, stopped them and spoke to their escort commander. The convoy turned and went back. Villiers carried on to Rama with his men.

Dillon and Billy burrowed in, confident of only one thing: they had the high ground. They shot several of the Rashid Bedu as they came up the sand dune, but they were still only two… and then in the far distance on the road, Villiers appeared.

One of Paul Rashid's men ran to his side and pointed. Rashid turned, focused his glasses and saw Tony Villiers in the lead Land Rover.

'Damn,' he said to Kate. 'It's the Hazar Scouts.'

'So, all we have down there is a totally useless bomb,' Kate said.

'Let's get out of here,' Paul Rashid said. 'And live to fight another day.'

His men retreated to the column, some firing up at the top of the sand dune. Billy and Dillon fired back, and then the column moved away and turned out into the desert.

Dillon lit a cigarette and checked the approach of Villiers and his men. 'Just in time, isn't that the phrase?'

They went down and found Villiers, as the Land Rovers rolled to a halt. Dillon said, 'We've got a bomb here. If you've got a pair of wire cutters, I'll take care of it for you.'

'So kind.' Villiers spoke to one of his men in Arabic. After a while, Dillon was supplied with what he needed.

Later, they sat beside the lead Land Rover, drank bitter black tea and smoked cigarettes.

'So, the Elders are safe,' Villiers said.

Dillon produced a pack of Marlboros and lit another one, Tony Villiers reached over and helped himself. 'I'll tell you, I may have commanded that man in the Gulf, but I'd still like to know what goes on inside his head.'

'Rashid?' Dillon said. 'Tell me, Colonel. You did Irish time. Remember Frank Barry?'

'Who could forget?'

'He also had a title. An Irish Peer, the Lord of Spanish Head up there on the Down coast, pots of money. But all that was important was what went on in his head. The game.'

'And you think that's true of Paul Rashid?'

'He's done everything else. He's got everything else. Yes, I'd say the one thing he's seriously left with is the game.'

'So, Bosworth Field is Rama today.'

It was Billy, the London gangster, who said, 'Dauncey, that was the family name?'

'That's right,' Dillon said.

'Well, they lost with Richard III and they lost with us.'

Dillon sat there thinking about it, then smiled. 'True, Billy, very true. Are you trying to make a profound point?' He turned to Villiers. 'Billy and I share a love of moral philosophy. So does Paul Rashid.'

'What I find really interesting is Sean Dillon, pride of the IRA, loving moral philosophy.'

'You didn't approve of my cause, Colonel, but I was just as much a soldier as you, and you know damn well that soldiers go beyond position, beyond money, beyond normal success. They stand up and take the sword.'

'To hell with you, Dillon,' Tony Villiers said. 'You're too damn good.'

They started west now, following the tracks of Rashid's column, and gradually the light changed, things got darker. Some miles away, Cornet Bronsby of the Blues and Royals approached with his men toward an improbable rendezvous and was suddenly under fire.

They responded at once. There was an exchange. The column they had reached head-on was Paul Rashid and his group on the retreat from Rama.

There was a brief return of fire, but Rashid's men held them off. Then Bronsby decided enough was enough and ordered his men to retreat. At some time in the confusion, men rushed in from the shadows and overwhelmed him.

Paul Rashid, his sister and Bell pushed south and finally made contact with George Rashid, and dis-covered Bronsby. Paul Rashid was not happy. He sat their with Kate and George and Bell, and Bronsby was brought forward.

In a way. it was like being back at Sandhurst.

This young decent Englishman was a soldier just doing his job. In many ways, so like Rashid. It was a kind of turning point he couldn't really explain to himself. All he knew was that this wasn't the way it was supposed to have happened…

'I know where they are,' Villiers said to Dillon. 'My spies out ahead are earning their money. One of their wounded has confirmed that they've caught Bronsby.'

Dillon said, 'That isn't good, is it?'

'No. They're a very cruel people by nature. What you and I think of as horrific, they think of as normal in a strange kind of way.'

Dillon said, 'So they're going to give him a hard time.'

'I'm afraid so.'

Dillon sat there, smoking a cigarette and thinking about it.

'I don't like that.' He said to Billy, 'Bronsby is what you'd call a posh git, but he was just doing his job.'

'Yeah, well, I don't like it either.'

He turned to Villiers. 'So where do we go?'

'I'd say Shabwa.'

'And what do we do? Take Rashid and the good Kate on face-to-face?'

'To a certain degree.' There was a pause and Villiers said, 'You like her, Dillon.'

'Who the hell wouldn't?' Dillon laughed and lit another Marlboro. 'Go and stuff yourself, Colonel, and let's press on, just in case we can help Bronsby.'

Outside Shabwa Oasis, cooking fires glowed and the Rashid Bedu held the high ground. Villiers and his men were exhausted, but they had enough energy to make something to eat. And then the screaming started. It was just after midnight and continued at intervals.

Up there on the hill, Paul Rashid, George and Kate approached to where Cornet Bronsby was tied down.

Kate said, 'Is this what you want, brother? He was one of your own, a Guardsman.'

'Yes, but that isn't the point.'

'It doesn't bother you?'

'It bothers me a great deal,' he said bitterly, 'but other things are more important.'

A full moon bathed the mountainside in a harsh white light. The men of the Hazar Scouts waited impassively behind what cover there was. They smoked cigarettes and drank the English version of coffee provided in self-heating cans.

Tony Villiers sat behind a boulder with Dillon and Billy, drank tea and topped it up with Bushmills whiskey from a bottle provided by his servant Ali.

'This suit you, Dillon?'

'Perfectly.'

'Not me. I don't drink,' Billy told him.

Villiers said to Ali in good Arabic, 'I'd offer you one, but I know the Prophet forbids it.'

'But the Prophet, whose name be praised, is always understanding,' Ali told him. 'And the night is cold.'

'Then two whiskey sups,' Villiers said. 'One for you and the other for the radio operator.' He nodded to Aziz.

Ali passed the bottle to Aziz, who restricted himself to one swallow, then passed it to Ali, who wiped the neck and had a drink.

Above them there was another scream. It faded away. Billy said, 'What are they doing?'

Ali said, 'The skin – they slice the skin, Sahb. His masculinity they take later.'

The screaming started again.

'I could do with another,' Dillon said. Villiers splashed Bushmills into the Irishman's cup. Billy said, 'It's enough to make me ask for one, but I won't. What I'd like to do is put a bullet in Paul Rashid.'

Villiers said to Ali, 'You know the Sahb up there is twenty-two years?' 'A baby, Colonel.'

The radio crackled. Aziz listened, then turned. 'Visitors, Sahb, a British General named Ferguson and two others.'

'Excellent. Make sure your people are alerted.' Coming up the hill in a Jeep, Ferguson, Blake and Harry Salter wore combat gear and Arab headcloths. The Jeep paused in the shadows and the three men got out. Billy went forward and his uncle put an arm around him.

'So you made it, you young bastard? I hear it was a load of shit. You must be rivalling Billy the Kid.' 'You look interesting.' Billy smiled. 'You didn't get that lot in Savile Row.'

'Billy, I feel like I'm an extra in a Christmas pantomime at the Palladium.'

'Blake Johnson, Colonel Tony Villiers,' Ferguson said, and there was a cry of agony from above. Ferguson was horrified. 'Who's up there?'

'Cornet Richard Bronsby, of the Blues and Royals, Second Lieutenant in the Household Cavalry. He could have been riding around London in a breastplate and helmet. Instead, he's out here being tortured to death by Rashid Bedu.'

The scream that followed was prolonged and appalling. Villiers added, 'I wish we could interfere, but there are too many of them and they have the high ground.'

And up there, Paul Rashid, Kate, George and his men waited beside their own fires, and beyond, in the shadows, Cornet Richard Bronsby lay stretched out and endured torment.

Aidan Bell sat beside the fire, shivering, drank whiskey and smoked a cigarette. Paul Rashid crouched beside him.

'I want you out of here. The staff will expect you at South Audley Street. The Russian Premier arrives in London next week. I'll be hard on your heels. Work something out.'

'Jesus, wasn't Nantucket enough for you? Wasn't this?'

'No, not until I get my revenge. Not until I am satisfied. Land Rovers will take you. Leave now and work fast. I want a plan ready when I get there.'

He stood up and walked away and joined Kate and George at the fireside. She was upset; the screams from Bronsby were hard to take.

'Paul, is this necessary?'

'My people expect it, Kate. It is hard, but it is what they expect.'

She sat there, unhappy, upset. Bronsby cried out again, quite dreadfully, on and on before stopping.

Ali said, 'I think he has gone, Sahb.'

Villiers sat there brooding about it. Ferguson said, 'Dear God.'

Dillon turned to Blake. 'Well, there you go. It must remind you of the joys of the Vietcong in the Mekong Delta.'

Harry Salter said, 'And we let people like these into the country.'

Dillon managed a hard smile. 'Why, Harry. You're a racist.'

Villiers picked up an AK. 'All right. That's enough, Ali, let's take a look. I've waited long enough.'

Dillon said, 'Would you mind some company?'

Villiers hesitated, then said, 'I suppose that at the end of the day we are from the same side of the street. Let's do it.'

They went up the hill, Villiers, Dillon, Billy, Harry, and Blake, and they found Cornet Bronsby pegged out. He was quite dead, his skin peeled down from the chest, his private parts stuffed in his mouth.

'There was no need for that, Sahb,' Ali said. 'I am ashamed. There is no honour in this.'

He was carrying an old British Lee Enfield bolt action rifle. As he turned to lead the way, he stumbled, tripped and fell over, the rifle flying from his hands. Dillon helped him to his feet and Villiers picked up his rifle.

Ali held his arm. 'Ah, it's bad, Sahb, maybe broken.'

'We'll see,' Villiers told him. 'We'll go back to the camp. Tell half a dozen men to carry him down, but tell them to be careful.'

'No need, Sahb. The triumph up on the hill is in what they have done. They will kill no more. We are of the blood. I know.'

'Well, I'm not,' Dillon said.

They brought Cornet Richard Bronsby down the mountainside to the camp and loaded the corpse into a body bag and onto a Land Rover.

Ferguson had a look. 'Why on earth would they do such a thing?'

Villiers said, 'This kind of mutilation is a warning. With all respect to Dillon, I've seen as bad in Ireland.'

Dillon lit a cigarette. 'He's right, but he's wrong in one respect. I was IRA for more than twenty-five years. I killed soldiers, I killed Loyalists, but always as a soldier, never like this.' He turned to Villiers. 'They'll taunt you as the sun comes up, you know that.'

Villiers nodded. 'And that will be five hundred metres away. It's a funny thing, Dillon. I was never much good with a rifle. That's why I used Ali. Now, he's cracked his arm, and in the morning, they'll stand up, scream and shout, and give us a hard time.'

Dillon smiled. 'I hope they do, Colonel, I hope they do.' He picked up Ali's Lee Enfield. 'My grandfather used one of these in 1917 in the trenches of Flanders. He was awarded a medal for bravery in the field. It's a bolt-action, single-round, Three-oh-Three.'

Tony Villiers lit a cigarette and passed the packet across. 'I also remember that the preferred weapon of IRA snipers in South Armagh was the Lee Enfield.'

'Well, I'm from County Down myself, but I would agree with you,' Dillon said.

In the morning, Dillon, Ferguson and the others drank coffee as light filtered through. The orange globe of the sun slowly arose, suffusing the dawn light.

Suddenly, six figures appeared on the hill five hundred metres away. Dillon looked through the Zeiss glasses. Paul Rashid sprang into view, George and three Bedu and Kate with him.

'Guess who,' Dillon said and passed the glasses to Villiers.

Villiers said, 'Christ.'

One of the Scouts was behind him holding Ali's Lee Enfield. Dillon snapped his fingers and said in Arabic, 'Now.'

On the hill, Paul Rashid looked through his own glasses. 'It's Dillon,' he said. 'Tony Villiers and Ferguson, Billy Salter and his uncle.'

One of the Scouts passed Dillon the Lee Enfield. Dillon secured its belt around his wrist. And then, for some perverse reason, he fired to miss, kicking up sand between Paul Rashid's feet. Rashid dived for cover, pulling Kate with him. Then Dillon shot the man on the end of the line, then shot another one.

Ferguson said, 'They're running scared, Sean. We'll have a go back home in London. Leave it.'

'Like hell I will. I've just shot those two. I'll make it four. Watch.'

He took number three, then four, and four was George Rashid.

It was quiet, and on the ridge Kate fell on her knees in horror. Paul said, 'Leave him,' and grabbed her hand. 'Come with me now.'

They made it to a Land Rover and departed. Villiers led the way up the hill. The four Arabs were all very dead, eyes staring, arms outstretched.

Villiers said, 'You're one hell of a marksman, Dillon.'

Harry Salter said, 'Christ, they should call you the Executioner.'

Villiers and Ferguson were looking at the four Arabs, and it was Ferguson who said, 'Dear God, this one is George Rashid.'

'Have we got a problem?' Dillon asked.

'Well, Paul Rashid won't be pleased.'

'Neither will Mrs Bronsby, so stuff Paul Rashid and his bloody money.' Dillon stood up and walked away.

At the Rashid villa at the port, Kate Rashid stood in a shower letting the heat soak into her, a futile attempt to make herself feel better. She had lost a brother, but more than that, this girl who was half English aristocrat, an Oxford MA, had been forced to confront Bronsby's truly dreadful torture.

She dried herself, pulled on a robe and went out. Paul Rashid sat by the open french window, working his way through papers. He looked up.

'How are you?'

'How should I be? George is dead.'

'Yes, and it was Dillon who killed him. Do you still like him, Kate?'

'We killed Bronsby, and in a terrible way.'

'True, and the good book says an eye for an eye. I don't mean the Koran, I'm referring to the Bible.'

'So now we get home to what?'

'We don't go home, not yet. This is Hazar. I still rule the Rashid, not the Council of Elders.

The attempt was in the Empty Quarter, disputed territory. No one can touch us.'

'So what do you intend, brother?'

'Dinner at the Excelsior. If I were a gambling man, I'd say that's exactly where our friends will go this evening. I think that of all of them, it's Dillon who will expect it. You know I love old movies. So often they depict life in a way life itself doesn't.'

'So what happens? There's a confrontation, guns are pulled?'

'Not necessarily. What happened to me at Shabwa?'

'The assassins?'

'These people are always available. They take quat, they would kill their grandparents for the right price. If we take out Dillon and his friends, to a certain degree it pays for George.'

'And afterwards?'

'We return to London.'

'To what?'

'Oh, I'll think about it. Now get dressed. Wear a nice frock and we'll go to the Excelsior and see if I'm right.'

On the Sultan, they sat under the stern awning and had a drink.

Ferguson said, 'What happens now, Tony?' Villiers said, 'You can't touch him, but then you know that.'

'We couldn't even touch him in Manhattan,' Blake said.

Dillon nodded. 'Or London.' Ferguson asked, 'So what happens?' There was a sudden flurry of rain and Ali, who had accompanied Villiers, reached for a bottle of champagne, his left arm in a sling, and refreshed the glasses.

Dillon said, 'I'd ask Harry. He's a student of human nature. The Krays and Al Capone couldn't hold a candle to him.'

Harry drank some champagne. 'I'll take that as a compliment, you little Irish so-and-so. As you said, the bastard can't be touched here or apparently anywhere else, but you, with the Colonel and Billy behind you, screwed up Rashid's plans and killed his brother. Now, it's just like Brixton in the old days. Eyes everywhere. We go into Hazar to have dinner at this Excelsior place and he'll know in ten minutes.' Professor Hal Stone said, 'Correction. Five minutes.'

'Sure,' Dillon said. 'Just like Belfast on a bad Saturday night.'

Ferguson said, 'So what do we do?'

It was Billy who answered, 'Well, actually, I'm hungry myself. I say let's go ashore to the Excelsior and take them on. If they're not there, we have a decent meal.'

Villiers laughed out loud. 'You young bastard. It's marvellous to find you confirm everything I've heard.'

'Only one thing,' Harry Salter said. 'If we go, we go tooled up.' He turned to Hal Stone. 'You know what that means, Professor?'

'I used to work for the Security Services, remember? You mean a pistol under my arm? I'm quite happy with that.'

Dillon laughed. 'If only they knew about you at high table at Corpus Christi.'

'I put up with it,' Hal Stone said. 'The wine list is excellent.'

Ferguson said, 'So we're going to eat and we're all going armed?'

'You old bugger,' Dillon said. 'You'll be disappointed if they're not there.'

They sat on the terrace at the Excelsior, the awning flapping, a light rain drumming. There were Ferguson, Dillon, Billy and his uncle. Hal Stone had decided to stay to watch things on the Sultan. There were lights on ships across the harbour, lights up in Hazar town.

'Looks like a TV programme about package holidays,' Billy said.

It was at that moment that Paul Rashid walked in with his sister.

Dillon stood up. 'Kate, you're looking grand.'

'Dillon,' she said.

Paul Rashid wore a tropical linen suit and a Guards tie.

Villiers stood up. 'Paul.' He offered his hand.

Rashid took it. 'Colonel Tony Villiers, Kate. You know the story. The Gulf War.'

Villiers turned on his considerable charm. 'Guardsmen are all the same, Lady Kate. You see the tie and always ask which regiment.'

'And you and the Earl and General Ferguson were all Grenadiers,' Dillon said.

'And Cornet Bronsby,' Billy put in. 'Let's not forget him. The Household Cavalry, Blues and Royals.'

There was a pause. It was Rashid who said, 'So I believe.'

Tony Villiers said, 'The trouble with the Households is that all that people see are those glamorous uniforms. They don't see them in places like Kosovo, in Challenger tanks and armoured cars.'

'They also provide a lot of volunteers for G Squadron in Twenty-Two SAS,' Ferguson put in.

'Well, that's a bleeding show stopper,' Harry said. 'I'm Harry Salter. Can I get you a drink?'

'I've heard about you, Mr Salter. You used to know the Kray brothers,' Kate said.

'They were gangsters, love, and so was I. It was what we were, only I got smart and turned legitimate.'

'Almost,' Billy said.

'Okay, almost. Glass of champagne, love?'

'No. With all due respect, there is a limit,' Paul Rashid told him. He turned to Dillon. 'I saw you, I knew it was you. With George, I mean.'

'And Bronsby, that means nothing?'

'George meant more.'

'The Arab side rising to the surface.'

'You couldn't be more wrong, Dillon. The Dauncey side.'

It was Ferguson who said, 'I'll be formal, my Lord. Leave it. It's gone too far. I would hope you have no expectations.'

'Of course he has,' Dillon said. 'That's why Aidan Bell isn't here.'

'Really?' Ferguson turned to Rashid. 'Could that be true?'

'Wait and see.'

'I've spoken to the Prime Minister about you. He was very angry.'

'And so was the President,' Blake Johnson said.

'What a pity.' Rashid smiled, a smile that could chill the heart. 'And I so much wanted to please the both of them. Well, I will just have to think of some other way. Good night, gentlemen.' Paul Rashid walked out, his sister on his arm.

There was silence and it was Harry Salter who said, 'I just hope you've got the message. We're going to get fucked when we leave here.'

'Really?' Ferguson opened a menu. 'Well, the kebabs they mention sound delicious. We might as well eat and enjoy ourselves.'

'And then walk down the dark streets of Hazar shoulder to shoulder?' Blake said.

'Yes, something like that, so make your choice,' Ferguson told him.

The Rashid Gulfstream took off from Haman and Aidan Bell sat back, accepted a whiskey and started to read a supply of English papers which had come out from London on the trip in.

The Premier and the Prime Minister were going to take a trip down the Thames to the Millennium Dome. The two-page article in the Daily Telegraph carried an itinerary. A night trip down the river. The major television companies would be involved and the two leaders, everything you could want.

Bell sat back, a half-smile on his face. It was like Time magazine and Cazalet all over again, not that Nantucket had worked out as expected, but this could be different. He'd always done well in London. All right, he'd lost the team, but this could be one of those jobs where you were better on your own.

He called to the steward for another drink and started to work through the article again.

Ferguson was right. The kebabs were excellent, and they ate with enthusiasm.

Billy said, 'All right, so we survive, which I certainly intend, we survive and get back to Wapping in one piece. What happens then, General? What's Rashid's next move?'

'Dillon?'

Dillon sat back. 'It has to have something to do with Bell. That's why he isn't here.'

'Seen getting onto a Rashid Gulfstream at Haman military airbase, booked for London,' Villiers said.

'Nice of you to tell us.'

'I decided to save it in case you didn't want dessert.'

Blake said, 'Come on, Sean, what is his agenda?'

Dillon lit a cigarette. 'He failed with the American President. He failed with the Elders. Maybe this time his target really is the obvious one. The Russian Premier's due soon in London, isn't he, Charles?'

Ferguson said, 'Come on, even he wouldn't try that now. With all the new security? Impossible.'

'You think so?' Blake shook his head. 'It should have been impossible to get as close as Bell got to the President on Nantucket. With the greatest respect to my fine Irish friend Sean Dillon here, if I gave him the job, he'd find a way. People like him always do.'

'Thank you. I love you, too,' Dillon said. 'But he's right. Rashid would go for the Premier without a second thought.'

'And that's where Bell comes in?' Harry Salter asked.

'Well, the other year, we had the President in London. Two people, Loyalist terrorists, a man and a woman, tried to knock him off. I managed to stop them, with some assistance, and I still bear the scars.'

'What's your point?' Blake said.

'That, to use an English underworld phrase Harry and Billy know well, you don't need to go in team-handed. One person is enough, two at the most.'

'And that's true,' Billy said.

'Yes, but we're talking as if Rashid had this agenda,' Ferguson told them. 'Maybe he's had enough.'

'General,' Sean Dillon said, 'if you think that, you'll believe anything.'

'All right,' Ferguson said. 'Coffee, then let's go.'

'Tea,' Dillon said. 'I'm Irish. It goes with the rain, General.'

From the Gulfstream, Bell called Rashid on his coded mobile and caught him at the villa.

'Listen, I've had a thought.'

'Tell me.'

Bell went through the article in the Telegraph. 'There's a real opportunity here.'

'All right, but not the Prime Minister,' Rashid said. 'Just the Premier. The minute you're in London, go into the situation. I'll be over in a day or two anyway. I'll send instructions to give you any support you need.'

'And Dillon and company?'

'Well, I'm hoping they'll be distant history after tonight.' Bell laughed. Rashid said, 'You find this amusing?'

'Only the idea of Sean Dillon being distant history. If he's on your case, he's your worst nightmare. Having said that, I'll get on with it.'

On board the Sultan, Hal Stone stood in the stern, drinking a glass of cold beer, and Ali hovered. It was raining again, a fine spray, and Stone was enjoying it. He'd have to go soon, of course, back to Cambridge and students instead of being here and what he was involved with.

There was a splash in the water as Ali poured him another beer, and as Stone turned, a man pulled himself over the rail, a knife between his teeth. Ali cried out, 'Sahb!'

Hal Stone saw, and in the same moment reached for the Browning under his left arm. He pulled it out and as the man took his knife from between his teeth shot him so that he went back over the rail. Another appeared. Stone fired again, but the Browning jammed. He grabbed Ali by the shoulder. 'The cabin. Come on.' Then he pulled him away.

Inside, he slammed and locked the door, then unloaded the Browning and took out the clip. As he discharged his bullets, someone started to kick the door in.

Dillon and the others walked down through Hazar, ready for anything and finding nothing. They reached the harbour, found the motor launch, got in and cast off, making for the Sultan. They coasted in.

The stern light was on under the awning, and it was quiet as Billy climbed up the ladder to tie up. Harry followed him, then Ferguson, Blake and Dillon.

At that instant, Hal Stone managed to reload the Browning and fired through the cabin door. The next moment, four Arabs ran out of the darkness to attack Ferguson's party.

Dillon fired at one of them, but the man, in a drug-crazed frenzy, rammed into him and drove him over the rail. Dillon took a deep breath, went under the Sultan and surfaced on the other side.

There were a couple of shots. He pulled himself up the ladder, moved in behind a crouching Arab with a knife in one hand, took his neck and twisted. There was a crack and the man slumped.

Silence. Someone said in Arabic, 'Hamid, are you there?'

'Of course,' Dillon answered and stepped forward.

He took the man, broke his right arm so that the Arab dropped the pistol and put him over the rail. It was quiet. Dillon said, 'It's me. Are you all there?'

Ferguson called, 'On the deck, but in one piece.'

Dillon said, 'Let's check if the Professor is all right, then I'd suggest we get out of this sodding place.'

'An excellent idea,' Ferguson called.

Later, Rashid came into the living room at the villa and said to Kate, 'No go. The attack on the boat failed. Ferguson, Dillon and the others have just left for London.'

'So what do we do now?' Kate Rashid asked.

'Go home, my darling… and try again,' her brother said.

London

The Thames In London, Bell spent time travelling up and down the Thames, following the itinerary for the Russian Premier as laid out by the Daily Telegraph.

He went on a trip to the Millennium Dome, then returned to the Savoy Pier. He thought about it and did the same trip the following day. There was another article discussing the visit, this time in the Daily Mail. He read it meticulously, noted that the riverboat for the trip was called Prince Regent, and that the catering was in the hands of the Orsini brothers.

He sat by the fireplace in the drawing room on South Audley Street and a plan began to form in his mind.

Rashid and Kate left in the second plane after he had made various deals with his people in the Empty Quarter. What he was leaving was a situation so difficult that neither the Council of Elders nor the Americans, nor the Russians, would be able to handle it themselves. He also arranged for the retrieval of George's body and its return to England.

In London, Dillon went to check on Hannah. She was sitting up in bed, and by chance Bellamy was there, checking her over. Dillon excused himself and waited outside. Finally, the Professor came out.

'How is she?' Dillon asked.

'Better. It's still a wait-and-see situation as to how much back to normal she'll be. On the other hand, I remember when Norah Bell stabbed you in the back. You made it through.'

'I know. On a good day, you're a genius.'

Bellamy sighed. 'How many times have I saved your hide, Sean? I can't always succeed. Try and take care.'

He went out and Dillon thought about it, then knocked on Hannah Bernstein's door. 'How are you?'

'Pretty rotten. But I've only got to look at you to see it's been pretty rotten for you, too. Tell me about it.'

He opened the window, lit a cigarette and sat beside her as he talked. When he was finished, she said, 'Young Billy's turning out to be a star.'

'You could say that. Bellamy says you'll make it.'

'So does my father, though I may not be able to run around Hyde Park again in the morning.'

'Well, you can't have everything.'

'As to Rashid, you might want to take a look at the papers. I read a lot of them every day out of boredom. Look at the pile over there. You should find a Daily Telegraph. I'd say it might interest you.' He read it and sat there thinking. 'It could fit,' she said.

'I'd say so. Do you remember the Norah Bell affair?'

'How could I forget? I shot her dead.'

'She and her boyfriend found it no problem to join the crew of that riverboat…'

'Waiters,' Hannah said. 'It's easy enough to carry the canapes around.'

Dillon stood up suddenly. 'I'd better go. God bless, Hannah.'

'Take care, Dillon.'

He got a cab to Cavendish Place and found Ferguson and Blake sitting on either side of the fire, talking. He explained what he had found.

'Are you suggesting the same script as with Norah Bell?' Ferguson asked.

'Hannah thinks so, and so do I. What do we do? Inform the Security Services?'

Ferguson snorted. 'That bunch? They'd only screw it up royally. You know that, Dillon.' 'All right, so what do we do?' 'Tell you what,' Blake said. 'I love rivers. Take me on the same trip tomorrow, Sean, and let's see what we can see.'

The next morning was typical London, the rain drifting down as Dillon and Blake boarded the Prince Regent at the Savoy Pier. A grey morning out of season, there were no more than fifteen people on the boat.

'It's a great city,' Blake said, as they stood under the awning at the stern. 'Even in the rain.'

'Dublin's not bad, and Manhattan has a feel to it, but, yes, the Thames is special.'

'Tell me about this business with Norah Bell, Sean.'

'An Iranian fundamentalist group called the Army of God didn't like Arafat's deal with Israel over the new status of Palestine. They also didn't care for the President presiding over the meeting at the White House and giving the agreement his blessing. So they approached a Loyalist hit man from Ulster and his girlfriend, names of Michael Ahern and Norah Bell, characters so bad that even the Red Hand of Ulster had thrown them out.'

'And what was the deal?'

'Five million sterling to kill the President.'

'My God, even I never heard of that,' Blake said.

'Oh, it was kept under wraps. The Prime Minister cooked up an evening of frivolity and cocktails for the President, cruising the Thames past the Houses of Parliament and ending up at Westminster Pier. Ahern and Norah got on board by pretending to be waiters. A confederate had left a couple of Walthers for them.'

'And?'

'Well, I managed to work it out and at the last moment joined the boat with Charles and Hannah. I killed Ahern, but Norah gutted me with a spring knife. Hannah shot her dead.' Dillon lit a cigarette. 'It was a bad scene. For a while, it looked as if I was finished, but with the help of friends, I made it.'

'A hell of a story.'

The door opened behind them and a waitress came through. 'Coffee, gentlemen, or the bar is open?'

'Coffee for me,' Blake said.

Dillon smiled. 'I'll have tea and an Irish whiskey or Scotch, if you insist.'

They stayed under the awning and the young woman finally came back with a tray.

Dillon said to her, 'So, you must be pretty excited about this big event coming up.'

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'In fact, you're lucky. Today's our last day before the company pulls the Prince Regent out of service to titivate it up for the big night.'

'Will you be working?' Dillon asked.

'I'm afraid not.' She was obviously disgruntled. 'Believe it or not, they're bringing in a Royal Navy crew to run the boat and some firm to do the catering. We can't even get near the place.'

'That's a hell of a shame,' Blake said.

'Yeah, but that's life. Excuse me, gentlemen.' Blake drank his coffee and Dillon poured his whiskey into his tea as the rain increased in force. The American said, 'What do you think?' Dillon sighed. 'There's just something… I can't put my finger on it. It's just – look, I did my time on jobs like this, right? And I never liked my left hand to know what my right hand was doing. You tried to get people to look one way so they'd miss what's happening the other way. This – it's all just flat in our face.'

'I agree, but you can't afford to take the risk, Dillon. You've got to get the security people out here in full force. All your efforts have got to be focused on this boat.'

Dillon turned, smiling, his personality almost changing. 'Jesus, son, you're right. All our efforts. It's so obvious, it's too obvious. What was I thinking?'

He pulled out his phone and got through to Ferguson. 'Blake and I are on the Prince Regent.'

'So you think that's where they'll hit?'

'Nope. Not in a thousand years. Have you got the itinerary there?'

'Yes.'

'Where's the Premier staying?'

'At the Dorchester, that suite on the top floor.'

Dillon said, 'Perfect. I'll get back to you.' He turned to Blake. 'He's staying on the top floor of the Dorchester. I know that suite. It's got the best rooftop views in London from its terrace. You stand out there and you can see everyone – and everyone can see you.'

'You think that's it?'

'I could be totally wrong, but if I wanted my left hand not to know what my right was doing – that's where I'd do it.'

In the drawing room at South Audley Street, Paul, Kate and Michael sat at a table with Bell. It was the moment Aidan Bell disclosed the truth.

'Ferguson's going to be on tenterhooks. He's expecting a hit, and by now he's convinced himself it'll be on the boat trip. But it won't.'

'What? Then what's your plan?' Kate asked.

'The Premier's staying on the top floor of the Dorchester. There are some lovely flat roofs below, with perfect lines of fire. I'll climb up there and do it myself.'

There was silence. Michael said, 'I'll go with you.'

'Hey, that's not necessary.'

'Bell, this time I want to make sure. I was trained as a marksman myself. I'm going with you.'

Paul Rashid said, 'And so am I.'

Kate said, 'For God's sake, Paul, what are you thinking of? Three people? It's much too dangerous.'

'I don't care. This is our last chance, Kate. If we fail this time, then it doesn't matter if we get caught anyway.' He turned and smiled, and for the first time she thought it the smile of the truly mad. 'This is for George, Kate, and for our mother. There's no turning back.'

Dillon, Blake and Ferguson visited the Dorchester and were shown up to the suite. The views from the terrace were as advertised. They were extraordinary – and extraordinarily dangerous.

'Dillon's right,' Ferguson said. 'The Premier can't stay here.'

'How will you handle it?' Blake asked.

'No need to make a big fuss. I'll just tell the Prime Minister's office that I'm not happy with the overall security.'

'Which means you won't need to explain the plot,' Blake said.

'Exactly. Low key, that's how we'll keep it. I'll see the Prime Minister again.'

At Downing Street, Dillon sat in the Daimler while Ferguson and Blake were taken to the Prime Minister's study. He was sitting with a small man in his early fifties, with white hair and the look of the academic he'd once been. He was Simon Carter, the Deputy Director of the Security Services, and no friend of Ferguson.

'So what happened in Hazar?' the Prime Minister asked.

'Well, for one thing, the Council of Elders is still intact, thanks to Dillon.'

'Not that little Irish swine again,' Carter said.

'Carter, we're not friends, but I've never disputed your efficiency in the past. Let me tell you what Dillon achieved, if you'll allow me, Prime Minister.'

'Of course.'

Afterwards, the Prime Minister said, 'Extraordinary,' and even Carter had to agree.

'Now tell him about Nantucket,' the Prime Minister said.

This time, when Ferguson had finished, Carter said, 'It's incredible, the whole damn business.' He looked more shaken than Ferguson had ever seen him. 'Well, it's clear we'll have to cancel everything with the Premier, wipe it all out.'

'Hold on,' Ferguson said. 'We have a better idea.'

'What is that?' the Prime Minister said.

'Russian security must be told we might have a problem. I would handle it this way, if the Deputy Director approves. Allow the arrangements at the Dorchester to go through. That would be for the media.'

'And then?'

'Cancel the cocktail party on the Prince Regent, but only at the last moment. Any excuse will do. Change the dinner venue to somewhere like the Reform Club. I'm sure they'd love to have you, sir.'

The Prime Minister smiled. 'I'm certain of it.'

Carter said, 'And then?'

'The Premier is taken back, not to the Dorchester but to his Embassy.'

'But what would the final point be?' the Prime Minister said.

'That I would wait in the suite at the Dorchester with people of my choosing.'

'Dillon?'

'Yes, sir, and some friends of his. They did great service in Hazar. However, you wouldn't put them on the New Year's Honours List.'

'And they'd wait to see if Rashid or this man Bell turned up?'

'Yes, sir, but it's even better than that. I think the Deputy Director already sees what I'm getting at.'

Carter smiled. 'Yes.' And he turned to the Prime Minister. 'There's been no indictable proof against Rashid up to now. But if he comes, or one of his men, and we get him alive, he won't be untouchable any more. He must be getting desperate by now. At last, we can lay a trap for him instead of the other way around.'

'Then so be it.' The Prime Minister stood. 'It's in your hands, gentlemen. Mr Johnson, I'll speak to the President.'

Outside, it was cold. Dillon stood beside the Daimler smoking a cigarette as Ferguson, Blake and Carter approached.

Ferguson said to Carter, 'Can I give you a lift?'

'No, I feel like a walk, and sitting in the car with someone who once mortar-bombed Downing Street is more than I can take.'

Dillon said, 'Jesus, sir, the grand man you are, and absolutely right.'

In spite of himself, Carter laughed. 'Damn you, Dillon.' He moved away toward the Downing Street gates, paused and turned back, and he wasn't smiling. 'I don't care who he is, I don't care about his medals or his money. Stop him, Dillon.'

He walked away.

Ferguson phoned Rashid at the company offices and found he was not available. A secretary asked him to wait, and after a moment, Kate Rashid came to the phone.

'General Ferguson. What can I do for you?'

'I'll be in the Piano Bar at the Dorchester at eight o'clock.'

'Am I supposed to be interested?'

'I'd earnestly advise it, Lady Kate. Bring the Earl.'

He put down the phone.

She reported to Paul, who was down at the Dauncey Arms with Bell and Michael, and told him of her conversation with Ferguson. 'I'll handle it, if you want me to,' she said.

'No,' Paul said. 'We'll come up this afternoon. I'm not going to leave you on your own with Dillon and Ferguson. Never underestimate the General. I'll see you later.'

He switched off his phone. Michael said, 'Trouble?'

'Ferguson wants a meeting. We'll go back.'

'All of us?'

'Oh, yes.' He turned to Bell. 'You'll have to keep your head down.' He smiled at Betty Moody. 'We're heading out, love.'

As they sat in the Rolls-Royce, the glass divider closed, the Earl said to Bell, 'I think you'd better not stay at the South Audley house.'

'Where would you suggest?'

'Michael has a motor cruiser parked at a place called Hangman's Wharf at Wapping. You can stay there overnight.'

'That sounds good to me.'

'This meeting, brother,' Michael asked. 'What does Ferguson want?'

'Whatever Dillon wants. We'll see.' Paul Rashid closed his eyes and leaned back.

But in London, Dillon had been doing some thinking himself. He had hooked up to Ferguson's computer and trawled the list of the Rashid company's assets. Then he called Harry Salter at the Dark Man.

'Harry. Michael Rashid has this boat parked at Hangman's Wharf in Wapping. You know everything that's going on along the river. What's the story?'

'Let me check my computer.' After a while, Salter came back, laughing. 'It's called Hazar.'

'Well, that fits. Is Billy there?'

'Yes.'

'Put us on conference.'

After explaining the situation, Dillon said, 'So he must have Bell tucked up somewhere. What do you think? South Audley Street or Hangman's Wharf?'

'Could be either,' Billy said. 'I'll check out South Audley for an hour or two this evening. If there's no result, I'll try the Hazar.'

That evening, Kate Rashid arrived first, to find Dillon waiting for her.

'What? No piano this evening, Dillon? I'm disappointed. I came all this way just to hear you play. You'd never know that your true vocation is for killing people.'

'But not torture, Kate. Not killing a young, decent man in the most horrific way. Bronsby deserved better.'

'Well, fuck you, too,' she said.

'Jesus, girl, did they tell you that at Oxford?'

In spite of herself, she showed a glimmer of a smile. 'Oh, posh girls can be worse than the tarts.'

'How exciting.'

He lit a cigarette, and she reached and took it from his mouth and smoked it for a moment. 'You killed my brother.'

'Who'd arranged for Bronsby to be skinned, and you and the Earl were there. Do you mean to tell me you approve of one and hate the other?'

She took a deep breath. 'Not really. I just hate you for George's death.'

'No, Kate, no, you don't. That's the problem.'

Billy and his uncle sat in a Shogun in South Audley Street, Billy at the wheel, Harry reading the Evening Standard. He happened to glance up and saw a Mini emerge from a side entrance to the house.

'It's Bell and Michael Rashid, Billy. Get moving.'

Paul Rashid appeared in the Piano Bar just as Ferguson and Johnson walked in. He looked well, tanned from the Hazar sun, in a cream linen suit and the usual Guards tie.

'General Ferguson.' He didn't shake hands. 'Dillon. Mr Johnson.'

They all sat down.

Ferguson said, 'It's over.'

'What is?' Rashid asked.

'You know very well. I thought I'd give you one last chance: Stop it now. You've got away with a great deal, but not again, I can promise you.'

Paul spoke softly and deliberately. 'I'm a great believer in family. I had a brother, a greatly loved brother, killed in Hazar.'

'If you'll excuse me, My Lord,' Dillon said. 'The fact that you can make such a fuss about that after what you did to Bronsby indicates that you're seriously disturbed.' Kate tossed her glass of champagne in his face. Dillon ran his tongue over his lips and reached for a napkin. 'What a waste.'

Just then, his mobile rang. 'Excuse me.' He got up and walked away. 'Dillon.'

Billy said, 'Harry and I have followed Michael Rashid and Aidan Bell to Hangman's Wharf. They've boarded the Hazar. Do you want to tell Fergiison?'

'No, this is our business. I didn't want Ferguson to know, in case he says don't do it. I'll be with you in half an hour.'

He returned to the table. 'Sorry, I've got to go. I'm sure you'll handle things here, General. Tell them we know about their plans for the boat trip, and they'll never get away with it. They've come to the end of the line.'

'Do you need me?' Blake asked.

'Not this time, old son.' He looked at Paul Rashid. 'I'd listen to the General, I really would.' Then he turned and went out. Smiling.

It was raining, driving in across the Thames at Hangman's Wharf, as Billy and Harry parked. Billy went round and opened the tailgate of the Shogun and produced an umbrella.

'Well, that's nice,' Harry said. 'I tell you what. It doesn't make you look like Bogart in The Big Sleep.'

'Yes, well, I do have a shooter in my pocket,' Billy said. 'So I suppose that's all that matters.'

On board the Hazar, Bell and Michael Rashid had a drink. Rashid said, 'Right, you have a quiet night. I'll be in touch tomorrow, and tomorrow night, unless things change, will be the big one.'

'Well, we'll see,' Aidan Bell told him.

Outside, a voice called, 'Hey, are you there, Rashid, and that Irish fuck with you?'

Bell and Rashid drew Brownings and approached the companionway.

Dillon had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, parked behind Billy and Harry, and joined them. He called Ferguson on his mobile.

'Where are you?' Ferguson asked, so Dillon told him. 'For God's sake. What are you playing at?'

'We still can't confirm the hit, the river or the Dorchester, so I'm taking the initiative. I'm with Billy and Harry. Bell left the Rashid house with Michael, they followed to Michael's boat at Wapping, and I've joined them.'

'Dillon, just listen to me.'

'No, I'm going to listen to me, General. I'll let you know how it goes.'

He switched off.

'He wasn't pleased?' Harry asked.

'Not really. He might be if we get a result.'

'How do we play it?' Billy asked.

Dillon took off his jacket and loosened his tie as he told them. He took but his Walther and slipped it into the waistband of his trousers at the rear.

'So you do the face-to-face, Billy, and you cover him, Harry.'

'Christ, Dillon, it's going to be cold in there.'

'Never mind that. Just watch yourself, Billy. Bell's tricky.'

'Don't worry about me. Think of yourself, Dillon. You're the one at the short end.'

'Fine. Just let me go in, then do your bit.'

Harry Salter crouched behind a bollard on the wharf. Dillon went down a ladder from the edge of the wharf and sank into the water. It was bitterly cold. He swam round to the other side of the Hazar and discovered, as he'd expected, a boarding ladder. It was then that Billy Salter approached the Hazar and called out.

'Hey, are you there, Rashid, and that Irish fuck with you?'

Bell said to Michael Rashid, 'You go to the stern, I'll take the bow, and don't screw around.'

Rashid said, 'I can hold my own.'

'Get on with it, then.'

Bell left him to go up the steps to the deck and Rashid went back through the cabins and pulled himself up the transom into the shadows of the stern.

Several things happened at the same time. Harry, behind the bollard, moved and Aidan Bell fired and hit Salter in the right shoulder. The force threw him back and Bell pulled himself over the edge of the wharf and scrambled away in the shadows.

Michael Rashid fired several times and Billy returned fire. Rashid moved back against the rail… and Dillon reached up and pulled on his ankles and Rashid toppled over. Dillon got an arm around the neck, took a deep breath and reached for the anchor line to pull himself under. Rashid struggled, kicking, and Dillon hung on until the struggling stopped. From the shadows, Bell watched, then faded away.

Dillon released the body and pulled himself up the ladder to the wharf. Harry was on his feet, groaning, Billy supporting him.

'Sorry, Dillon, we've lost Bell.'

'Michael Rashid is dead.' Dillon turned to Harry Salter. 'Get in the Shogun. You drive, Billy. Take us to Rosedene. I'll call Ferguson. He'll pull in Professor Henry Bellamy.'

'Dillon, I'm getting too old for this,' Harry said.

'Nonsense. We'll get Dora in to nurse you.'

As they drove away, he called Ferguson. 'You're going to need the disposal team. Yes, Michael Rashid, You'll find him in the water off Hangman's Wharf by his boat, the Hazar.'

'You did it yourself, I suppose.'

'Bell got away after shooting Harry in the shoulder. We're on our way to Rosedene. Get Bellamy. If he's not available, Hannah's dad. Only the best.'

'Consider it done, but Dillon, it would be nice if you talked to me sometimes.'

At Rosedene, Dillon waited with Billy. Bellamy was busy doing a bypass operation at Guy's, but Arnold Bernstein had been available.

Dillon said, 'Let's look in on Hannah.'

'Suits me,' Billy said.

She was sitting up, reading the Evening Standard, and looking far better than when Dillon had last seen her.

'So, the two musketeers. Bring me up to date.'

Which Dillon did.

Afterwards, she sat there brooding. Dillon said, 'What do you think?'

She was silent for a moment before she answered. 'Did anyone ever tell you the details of how Paul Rashid got his Military Cross in the Gulf War?'

'No, what about it?'

'Well, I've read the file. Villiers took twenty men behind the Iraqi lines in two Russian sand cruisers.

Rashid was in charge of group two. Ten men. But he made a mistake. He radioed Villiers on a clear line when it looked like there was an emergency, and the Iraqis picked it up, homed in and took out every man in his command.'

Billy said, 'Except Rashid?'

'Exactly. However, when Villiers got to where Rashid was, there was no one there. Just seven Iraqi soldiers, all dead and all emasculated.'

'And Rashid?' Dillon asked.

'Reached the Allied lines ten days later, walking on his own.'

Dillon said, 'Tony Villiers never mentioned this. Why not?'

Hannah smiled and shook her head. 'That's a comfort – even the great Sean Dillon can be naive. Look, Rashid is an Earl. And the product of Sandhurst, the Grenadier Guards and the SAS. Now, whatever else those outfits taught you, it wasn't how to cut off your opponent's cock. So that we keep quiet about.'

'This is all interesting stuff, Superintendent,' Billy said, 'but what's your conclusion?'

'He is mad. And he believes very much in revenge, in the harshest possible terms. Dillon has killed his two brothers, so Dillon must die.' She turned. 'It's the only certainty, Sean. He would be incapable of living with himself, with you alive.'

'And Kate?' Dillon asked.

'Empathetic inclusion. To aristocratic people, family is everything, and in this case there's a double dose, with the Dauncey on one hand and Rashid on the other. Kate is aware of her heritage and looks up to him as head of the family. It couldn't be otherwise.'

Billy said, 'So even she might want to kill Dillon off?'

'I would say so.' Suddenly, she looked tired. 'I need to rest.'

The door opened and her father looked in, still wearing his operating gown. 'They told me you were here.'

Billy said, 'How is he?'

'Well, my recommendation is that at your uncle's age, he should try not to get shot. Having said that, he's not going to die on us.' He moved to his daughter. 'How are you?'

'Tired.'

'Then go to sleep.' He turned to the other two.

'Out.'

They moved, Dillon got the door open, and she called, 'Sean, take care, for God's sake. Rashid is obsessed; he must kill you. In fact, he'll challenge you. It's like being back in the desert, Sean. He wants you for himself.'

She was crying. Arnold Bernstein pushed Dillon and Billy through the door and said, 'I'll be back, my love.'

Dillon said, 'She's taking it very hard. Why? She never approved of me.'

'You're such a smart man. You must be to have got away with killing people for the last thirty years. On the other hand, if you can't see why she's crying, my little Irish friend, then you really must be stupid.'

He walked away and Billy said, 'I think he means she likes you, Dillon.'

Dillon lit a cigarette. 'Yes, I did get that impression. Let's have a cup of tea. We'll hang around and maybe they'll let you see Harry before we leave.'

They went into the reception lounge, gave one of the girls an order and sat down.

Aidan Bell made it up from the river to the High Street and caught a cab to Mayfair. He walked the last few hundred yards to the back of the South

Audley Street house, where he rang the bell at the kitchen door. It was Kate who answered. Her face dropped.

'What's wrong?'

'Everything. Is he here?'

'Yes.'

'Then lead the way.'

She suddenly looked fearful. 'Where's Michael?'

'Get on with it.'

She took him to the great drawing room, where Paul Rashid sat by the fire. He looked up.

'What are you doing back here? Where's Michael?'

'There's no easy way of telling you this. Dillon turned up at Hangman's Wharf with the Salters. I managed to shoot Harry Salter, but Dillon got your brother over the rail. The last I saw, he had an arm round his neck and was taking him under the water.'

Kate let out an agonized cry, turned and stumbled away. Rashid, his face very calm, said, 'Tell me exactly what happened.'

Dillon and Billy were drinking tea in the reception lounge when Ferguson appeared. 'How's Harry?' he asked.

'He'll survive,' Billy said. 'Pay him off with an OBE.'

Ferguson turned to Dillon. 'What in the hell were you playing at?'

'I suddenly realized we didn't have any certainty. We've been talking about the Prince Regent and about the Dorchester and everything sounded right, but we didn't know. So Billy and Harry followed Michael Rashid and Bell to Hangman's Wharf, where Rashid had this motor cruiser. It got a bit frantic then. Bell shot Harry and got away. I pulled young Rashid over the rail and drowned him!'

'What a bastard you are, Dillon.'

'Yes, well, it's the line of work you put me in. Has the disposal team found him?'

'No, the police have. I decided to handle it that way – an anonymous phone call, someone walking the dog on the wharf who saw the body in the water.'

'And Paul Rashid?'

'Must have heard by now.'

'And Bell?'

'God knows. I'd have thought Bell was a closed chapter. You've effectively blocked any of Rashid's aspirations as regards the Premier. If Bell has any sense, he'll be well on his way out of it.'

'That's interesting,' Billy said. 'We had a very illuminating chat with Superintendent Bernstein. I didn't know she had a psychology degree. The way she analysed it, Paul Rashid is a raving loony. He'll have to kill Dillon, because of the family pride, and his sister would probably do it for him.'

'Bell,' Dillon said. 'He's mad, too, and when it comes down to it, maybe so am I. I wouldn't bank on Bell doing a runner. He loves the game, and if Rashid decides he still needs him, there could be a lot of money in it for him.'

At Kensington Mortuary, Paul and Kate Rashid waited in a grim room painted green and white. There was an electric fire, a window over a parking lot. After a while, a male nurse came in. He looked uncertain.

'Mr Rashid?'

It was Kate who said, 'No, my brother is Earl of Loch Dhu.'

'And the deceased, Michael Rashid…?'

'Also my brother.'

'Would you like to see him?'

'Yes,' Paul Rashid said tonelessly.

'There's just been an autopsy. The pathologist is still there. You mightn't find it very pleasant. I'm thinking of the young lady.'

'That's kind of you, but it must be done.'

'The thing is, there are some gentlemen in there. A General Ferguson and two others.'

Lady Kate made an exclamation, but her brother put a hand on her arm. 'That's fine. We all know each other.'

They were led into an operating theatre: white paint, lots of stainless steel. The forensic pathologist stood with Ferguson, Dillon and Blake. The nurse went and whispered to him. The pathologist turned.

'Lord Loch Dhu, I'm very sorry.'

Rashid said, 'Ferguson, if you'd be kind enough to wait outside, I'd appreciate a word.'

'Of course,' Ferguson replied, very formal, very English upper class.

He walked out with Dillon and Blake. Kate walked to the operating table where Michael Rashid lay naked, crude stitching on the body and a line around his skull.

'Was this necessary?'

'Your brother drowned, after falling over the rail of his boat, but the coroner demands a full autopsy. There's no way around that. I've established the cause of death as drowning, and under Section Three of the act, I can issue a certificate releasing the body to you. There's no need for a court hearing.'

'That's extremely kind,' Paul Rashid said. 'I'll make the necessary arrangements.'

When he and Kate went out, Ferguson was in the reception area talking to a middle-aged man in a raincoat and old-fashioned trilby hat.

The General nodded to the Rashids. 'I'll see you outside.'

The man in the trilby said, 'I'm Chief Inspector Temple. There's no evidence of foul play. Just a tragic accident.' 'Of course.'

'I presume the pathologist has told you that in these circumstances, under Section Three, he can release the body without a Coroner's Court hearing?' 'Yes.'

'I have to countersign it as investigating officer, so I'll do that now. After that, you'll be able to have the body at any time.'

There was a look in his eye, and after all, why should a Chief Inspector be the investigating officer in a drowning?

Paul Rashid smiled and took his hand. 'You've been very kind.'

Outside, Ferguson waited on the pavement beside the Daimler, his chauffeur at the wheel. Dillon stood close by with Blake, smoking.

Ferguson said, 'I don't know about you chaps, but I'm famished. There's that nice Italian restaurant next to the Dorchester, you know the one?' He turned. 'Ah, there you are.'

'My brother George's body was delivered earlier from Hazar. They're releasing Michael. We'll bury them at Dauncey in the family mausoleum the day after tomorrow. After that, it's open season.'

'Your brother drowned,' Ferguson told him. 'It's as simple as that.'

Kate walked up to Dillon and struck him in the face. 'And you drowned him.'

'Jesus, Kate, he was trying to kill me. Why is it the Rashids seem to think it's okay for them to shoot other people but not to get stiffed in return?'

She turned away and got behind the wheel of the Mercedes. Paul Rashid said, 'Vengeance is mine, Dillon. You should understand that. It's the Old Testament.'

'Well, I'll tell you what, My Lord, I'll make you a fair offer. Being just as mad as you, I'll come to the funerals. That way, you can try to finish me off, if you can – or I might just try the same with you. What do you say to that?'

Rashid's eyes gleamed for a moment and he almost seemed to smile. Then, with a brief nod, he said, 'I'll be expecting you,' and drove off.

'Jesus,' Ferguson said. 'That was really pushing it.'

Dillon turned to him. 'It's time this whole thing ended, General.' He stared after the departing car. 'One way or another.'

As Kate drove, her brother called the number of a service flat around the corner from the South Audley Street house. Normally, it was for the use of extra staff. At the moment, it housed Bell.

When he answered, Rashid said, 'It's me. Now listen.'

He told Bell exactly what had happened. When he was finished, Bell said, 'What a bastard Sean is, but then that's how he's lived so long.'

'You talk as if you admire him.'

'He's a decent enough stick. We've a lot in common.'

'Well, I'd like to take care of this myself, but if you can do it, so be it. The three of them are on their way to some Italian restaurant next to the Dorchester. Ferguson's car is a Daimler, you can't miss it.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Take them out. Come round to South Audley Street. I'll supply a weapon. I'll pay you, of course.'

'You're on. See you soon.'

Rashid switched off his phone. Kate said, 'You mean it?'

'Kate, I told them when the funeral would be, and I got the reaction I wanted from Dillon. So the last thing they expect is a hit now.' He shrugged. 'This is right up Bell's alley. I'll give him one more chance. If he fails this time, then I'll kill Dillon myself. After I kill Bell.'

He was so calm, so certain, there was no way she could argue and she continued to drive.

Bell arrived at the back door at South Audley Street and was let in by Rashid, who took him upstairs and unlocked a door into what proved to be a gun room. Most things were on offer, but Bell chose an Armalite.

'An old friend, this one. A folding stock, and you have a silencer.'

'It's not completely silent. What would you want to do?'

'Shoot a tyre out, get all of them at the same time.'

'That sounds good. Let's see if you can do it. Whatever happens, return to the flat. I'll expect to find you there.'

'Good. Now find me some sort of road map.' Bell found an old raincoat with capacious pockets so that the Armalite, with its folding stock, was easily concealed. He walked down South Audley Street until he found the restaurant, and there was the parked Daimler, the chauffeur sitting with the light on, reading a newspaper.

He had worked out from the map that, on leaving the restaurant, they would have to turn left down Park Lane, then make a U-turn into Curzon Gate to make for Cavendish Place along the other side of Park Lane. So, Bell crossed the road to the shadows of Hyde Park, scrambled over the fence and stood in the darkness of a tree. He had a pair of night glasses, which he clipped to his head, and he watched the front of the restaurant.

When Ferguson, Blake and Dillon emerged, they walked to the Daimler and got in. Bell took out the Armalite, unfolded it and waited. There was little traffic at that time of night and the Daimler turned out of Curzon Gate and picked up speed. Bell aimed at the rear wheel on the passenger side and fired. At that moment, Dillon happened to turn his head and saw the flash. The tyre burst and the Daimler slewed across the road, then back again, bumping over the kerb. Ferguson was thrown against the passenger door, Blake on his knees.

'This is a hit,' Dillon said, 'I saw the flash. I'm going.'

He jumped out, vaulted the fence and drew his Walther. Aidan Bell turned and ran, holding the Armalite across his chest.

Dillon went after him, chasing him through the shadows. They came to a huge monument, suffused with light all around, and Bell tripped and fell, and the Armalite went flying. Dillon came to a halt and stood there, chest heaving, holding the Walther to his side.

'Why, Aidan, it's you, old son. How much did the Earl offer?'

'To hell with you, Dillon.'

He grabbed for the Armalite and Dillon shot him twice in the heart.

He went back to the road and the car. Ferguson was holding his arm. 'I think it's broken.'

'What happened, Sean?' Blake asked.

'It was Bell. I shot him. He's by the monument. I don't know how you want to handle it, General. Do you want to leave a famous IRA terrorist to be found shot dead in Hyde Park or call in the disposal team?'

'In the circumstances, let's make it low-key. You call in, explain where you are and wait. Frankly, I need to get myself to Rosedene.' He got out of the Daimler with Blake and said to his chauffeur, 'Call in recovery for the car. Mr Johnson will see to me.'

Later, sitting in the shadows of the monument, Dillon rang Paul Rashid on his mobile. 'It's me, Dillon. Aidan Bell tried to take us out, but I'm afraid he's failed for the very last time.'

'You've killed him?'

'Yes.'

'Well, if you hadn't done it, I would have.'

'That doesn't surprise me. I'm looking forward to the funeral, Rashid. If you think you can take me, you're welcome to do it. This thing's gone on long enough.'

'I look forward to it as well, Dillon.'

Kate, sitting opposite him, said, 'What is it?'

'Bell's dead.'

'Dillon?'

'Who else.'

'So, he'll come to the funeral?'

'He'll come to his death as far as I'm concerned.'

Dillon sat on the steps of the monument, smoking a cigarette, and after a while, the disposal team arrived.

Dauncey Place Blake went home the following morning. Bell vanished off the face of the earth. Dillon visited Rosedene and found Ferguson with his left arm in a sling by Hannah's bed.

'How are you?' Dillon asked.

'I've been better.'

Dillon turned to Hannah. 'And you?'

'I'll survive. General Ferguson has filled me in. So, you killed Bell?'

'You sound disapproving. For God's sake, woman, he tried to kill us.' He smiled. 'Ah, I see it now. You're not in favour of capital punishment.'

'Damn you, Dillon. The General says you told Rashid you'd attend the funerals of his brothers tomorrow.'

'So? You told me he'd challenge me. I figured I'd just challenge him first.'

'You stupid man. I told you, he's crazy. He'll do anything to finish you off now.'

'And as I've told you many times, Hannah, I just may be crazy, too.'

'I really don't think you should do it, Dillon,' Ferguson said. 'In fact, that's an order.'

Dillon said, 'And if I say no, what will you do, lock me up in Wandsworth Prison?'

'I could. Your past record condemns you.'

'Really? When you got me out of a Serbian prison, blackmailed me to come and be your enforcer, the important part of the deal was that my IRA slate would be wiped clean. Now, in effect, you tell me no. If you're serious, all I can say is that Billy Salter may be a gangster, but he's got a grip on morality that's far better than yours.' He reached over and kissed Hannah on the cheek. 'God bless, girl, and take care. As for Rashid wanting me dead, well, the British Army wanted that for long enough and I'm still here.' He nodded to Ferguson. 'You know where to get me if that's what you want to do. Otherwise I'll go down to Dauncey tomorrow to that funeral. I'll give Rashid his chance.'

He turned and went out.

Hannah said, 'Are you going to have him banged up, sir?'

'Of course not.' Ferguson sighed. 'I just wanted to see if I could bluff him out of it. These past eight or nine years, I've grown rather fond of him. You, too, I think.'

'You could say that, sir, but I'd appreciate it if you'd promise not to tell him.'

'Of course, my dear. Now, as I'm feeling perfectly wretched, I think I'll go home,'

Paul and Kate Rashid went into the Dauncey Arms at lunchtime. Betty Moody was behind the bar and all the usual locals were there. Everyone stood up.

Rashid said, 'No, my friends, sit down. Get a drink for everyone, Betty, but I'm hungry as a hunter. Whatever you've got.'

There were tears in her eyes. She reached and touched his face. 'Oh, Paul,' and then Kate was crying, too, and Betty took her hand and lifted the bar flap. 'You stop snivelling, girl. I've told you that since you first learned to listen. Come and do some useful work in the kitchen.'

Later, they ate, she opened a bottle of champagne for them and they sat by the fire.

'Tomorrow,' she said hesitantly. 'The funerals. You haven't said much.'

'Service at the church is eleven thirty. We're scaling it down this time, Betty. No general invitation like the last time. The villagers are welcome, though. You could do us a buffet here at the pub. We don't want a fuss. I don't even want staff at the house after the funeral.'

'Whatever you want, Paul, leave it with me.' She moved away. Kate said, 'Will he come?' 'Oh, yes, he'll come,' her brother said. 'I've never been more certain of anything in my life.'

Dillon called in on Harry at the Rosedene and found him propped up in bed, Dora hovering, the epitome of the barmaid turned nurse.

'Watch it,' Dillon told her. 'If you keep doing such a good job, the old bugger might decide to marry you.'

Her eyes gleamed. Harry said, 'Don't give her ideas above her station!' He slapped Dora's bottom. 'Go and find me a bottle of Scotch, there's a good girl.'

She went out. Dillon said, 'You think you've got her, but she's got you by your bits and pieces, Harry. Mind you, you're a lucky sod. She's actually a damn nice woman and she'd kill for you.'

'You don't need to tell me.' 'Then treat her right.'

Salter looked at him. 'Why do I get the impression you're not exactly on top of the world?'

'Ah, well, we all have our ups and downs. I've seen Hannah. You know how it is. She loves me and hates me and worries about me.'

'You're going to do something stupid,' Harry said. 'Christ, Dillon, you really are going down to Dauncey to that double funeral tomorrow.'

'It's a challenge, Harry. He wants to face me. I killed his two brothers. He's entitled.'

'You know what, my old son, that sounds like a death wish to me. Are you thinking of pulling Billy in? There isn't anybody else.'

'No. I'm going to drop in at the Dark Man and have a bite to eat, but Billy's done enough. You know, Harry, he calls himself my younger brother, and in a way that's what he's become. I'm not putting him in harm's way again. I won't ask him to go to Dauncey tomorrow. For all I know, the Earl could set the dogs on us.'

'So you're going to go down there wearing a black suit and stand in the congregation at the Dauncey parish church?' 'It has to be done, Harry.'

'Well, that's nice, isn't it? Just when I was willing to accept you as Billy's older brother, you're going to put your head on the chopping block.'

Dillon got up. 'Harry, you're a diamond, and so is Billy, but there comes a time…'

'Yes, I know. When a man's got to do what a man's got to do. John Wayne, rest in peace.' Dora came in with a bottle of Scotch. Harry said, 'Go on, clear off, Dillon, you're making me angry.'

Dillon went. Harry sat there, absentmindedly fondling Dora's rear, then reached for the bedside phone and rang his nephew's mobile. Billy was at the Cable Wharf office.

'Listen, Dillon's just left me. He said he was going to call in and have a bite of lunch with you. As you know, Rashid's burying his brothers at Dauncey church tomorrow, and Dillon's determined to go and face up to him. Like some kind of Gunfight at the OK Corral. What's more, he's going to go on his own.'

Billy said, 'No way. If he goes, I go with him. I know you might not approve.'

'Actually, Billy, I'm proud of you, only don't tell him. Just say he's stupid. We'll let him go, then catch up later.'

'You say we?'

'Billy, even with Dora, I can't be here for ever. At least I can give you moral support. We'll follow Dillon down.'

At the Dark Man, trade was busy, with plenty of cars parked on Cable Wharf. It was raining on the river again, that season of the year. Dillon found an old umbrella in the Mini Cooper's boot, put it up, lit a cigarette and walked for a while.

He was strangely melancholy, a feeling that he was somehow at the end of things. He didn't hate Paul Rashid, and Kate, as most men would have to admit, he admired tremendously. He had killed many times over the years. It was his nature. He'd excused himself by claiming the death of his father, caught in the middle of a firefight in a Belfast Street between IRA members and British paratroopers.

But what if it really was his nature, his father's death only an excuse? What did that say about him? He could argue that, in his way, he'd been a soldier for years, but could he condemn Rashid and not condemn himself? The only difference between them, the thing that really was unacceptable, was Cornet Bronsby's appalling death.

He lit another cigarette, slightly morose and depressed. 'Oh, to hell with it. What's getting into me?'

At that moment, he was hailed from the door of the pub and turned to find Billy running toward him. He ducked under the umbrella.

'What are you trying to do, drown yourself?'

'Something like that.'

'Oh, I see, a bad hair day. Let's all feel sorry for Sean Dillon.'

'Go to hell,' Dillon told him.

'Yes, well, you need some Dark Man food in you, and a drink. I mean, you're an older guy. You can't go through what we have in the last few weeks and come out of it as fresh as I do.'

Dillon laughed out loud. 'You cheeky young sod.'

'That's better.'

He led the way inside, where the bar was busy, but Baxter and Hall had the end booth. Billy and Dillon found them, and Billy said, 'Scarper, you two, we've got things to discuss. Tell the bird at the bar to bring us a bottle of Bollinger, two glasses and some Irish stew.'

The Irishman said, 'What is this, be nice to Dillon week?'

'Come off it. You killed Rashid's two brothers, and now he wants your balls and expects you to go to Dauncey tomorrow and face up to him, Superintendent Bernstein said, and for some reason, you want to give him his chance. He's the one who's crazy.'

'And maybe me, too, Billy, like I said.' 'Bollocks. I've never known when you didn't know exactly what you're doing. You speak several languages, you can fly any kind of plane, you're a master diver. Harry told me all about it. You were the one who challenged Rashid -and now you've got this daft idea you're going to do it on your own. Well, I won't let you. I told Harry that.'

'He must have loved that.' 'Actually, he approved. He told me to let you go, then he and I would follow you down. "Moral support" was a phrase he used.'

One of the young girls behind the bar brought a bucket of ice, Bollinger and glasses. Dillon nodded to Baxter and Hall at the bar, drinking beer. 'A glass each for those two.' 'You're so considerate,' Billy said. 'I'll show you how considerate I can be. I'm actually going to give you your wish, Billy. You can walk down the street with me just like in a bad movie. I'll supply Walthers and titanium waistcoats, because he means it, Billy. Like Hannah Bernstein said, he couldn't live with me alive. He'd love getting you, too.'

'I know,' Billy said. 'But I'm going to cover your back.'

'There's only one thing, Billy. Ferguson knows I'm going and won't stop me, but Harry, as much as he may joke about it, really is getting older. I don't want him worrying about you.'

'So what do we do?'

'You phone him late tonight at the Rosedene and tell him Ferguson's had me put in the nick to stop me doing anything stupid. You and I can clear off for Dauncey in the morning. You provide the limousine. The service is at eleven thirty. Will you do it that way?'

'He'll never forgive me, but yes, I will.'

Dillon toasted him. 'Cheers, as you say in the East End, and Billy, try and make it a black suit. I will.'

'The undertaker look?'

'Exactly.'

'Terrific' The girl brought Irish stew. 'I can't wait,' Billy said, and called Joe Baxter and Sam Hall to him. 'Joe, I need the Jaguar first thing in the morning. Dillon and I are taking a run down into the country. The Rashid place, Dauncey, so wear a chauffeur's uniform. We're going to a funeral.'

'Whatever you say, Billy.'

Billy looked up at Hall. 'You'll have to take over for me at the warehouse, handle those black-market cigarettes from Calais. Now, another thing. I don't want Harry to know, because if he does, he'll want to come, so keep shtoom. He's already taken one bullet.'

'And we don't want him to take another,' Dillon told them.

Baxter nodded. 'So I'm the kind of chauffeur with a shooter in the glove compartment?'

'Absolutely. This Rashid is bad news, you know the story, boys. Mind you, Joe, if you'd rather not…' Billy said.

Baxter was outraged. 'Don't insult me, Billy. We've been together since we were seventeen.'

Billy kept eating his Irish stew. 'If Harry checks on me, you say I've been called to Southampton about that booze consignment.'

Hall said, 'He'll go crackers when he finds out the truth, Billy.'

'Yes, well, he's gone crackers before. Dora will calm him down, show him he's still a man. Now don't let me down. Go on, get something to eat.'

Dillon said, 'So we're into hard times again?'

'Absolutely.' Billy grinned. 'You've changed my life, Dillon, persuaded me I have a brain. What was I before? Four no-big-deal prison sentences, a kind of gangster of the third rank. How many people have I killed now in circumstances you've pulled me into? As we said before, a life not put to the test is not worth living. I'll con Harry about you later.'

'As he would say, you young bastard.' "I've got a great idea. I hear that fringe theatre the Old Red Lion, is doing this Brendan Behan play about the IRA called The Hostage.' "A masterpiece.'

'Great. Let's go and see it. It'll fill in the evening… and maybe I'll learn something about you.'

'You're on,' Dillon said.

As a performance, it was a huge success, and afterwards in the bar, they discussed and argued about the points Behan had made. Joe Baxter, who had driven them to the Old Red Lion and been forced to watch the play, sat there, bemused.

They dropped Dillon off at Stable Mews and Billy phoned Harry at Rosedene.

'I hope I haven't called too late?'

'I can't sleep, Billy. I've been in bed too long. Now what happened with Dillon? I expected you to get back to me.'

'Well, I saw him for lunch at the pub and he was full of going down there, like you said, but there was a development this evening.'

'What kind of development?'

'Well, Ferguson warned him off going down to the funeral, and when Dillon wouldn't promise to do as he was told, he had him lifted by Special Branch. Something about Dillon's record with the IRA.'

'But Ferguson had that wiped clean when Dillon agreed to work for him.'

'Yes, well, he's had him banged up.' Billy warmed to his story. 'They've got him at West End Central. At least they've got decent cells there.'

Harry Salter was outraged. 'Bloody disgraceful. Ferguson gave his word to Dillon when he got him out of that Serb prison.'

'Yes, well, he's upper class, the General,' Billy said. 'It's the class system, Harry. The country's still riddled with it.'

'And we're supposed to be the bad guys?' Harry was fuming. 'Wait till I see Ferguson again, and I thought he was a true Brit.'

'Harry, this is bad for your blood pressure. Have a decent night's sleep. I'll call in tomorrow.'

The following morning at Stable Mews, Dillon dressed carefully, as he'd told Billy, a black suit, white shirt, black tie.

'Jesus, son,' he said, looking at himself in the mirror. 'You look like you're auditioning for a part as a Mafia hit man in Godfather Four.' He frowned and said softly, 'Is that what it's all about, the theatre of the street? Was that it, Belfast from the very beginning, all those years?'

The doorbell rang. He went down to the hall, found an Armani duster coat in black and the weaponry bag. When he opened the door, Billy was there, black suit and tie, curiously elegant. Baxter stood against the Jaguar in uniform.

'Hey, you're looking great,' Billy said.

Dillon opened the weaponry bag and took out a titanium waistcoat. 'As you know, this thing will stop a Forty-Five at point-blank range. I've already got mine on under my shirt. Come in the cloakroom and put this one on, Billy. We'll wait.'

'If you say so.'

Billy went into the cottage and Dillon nodded to Baxter. 'Open the boot, Joe.'

Baxter obliged. Dillon put the weaponry bag and his coat in, and opened the bag. From the assortment of weapons, he produced a Browning and a silencer.

'With luck, you might not need it, Joe, but on the other hand…'

Baxter smiled coldly. 'Who knows?' He opened the driver's door, reached for the glove compartment and slipped the weapon inside. A moment later, Billy came out, another coat on his arm.

'I figured this was for me, Dillon.'

'It could rain,' Dillon said.

'Great. Mind you, on the other hand you could put an Uzi in one of these pockets. I like walking in the rain. It puts you in your own private world. Let's go.'

They got in the rear and Baxter drove away.

Harry sat up in bed, Dora beside him eating a boiled egg and toast fingers. He'd had a sleepless night, so it was already mid-morning. He said, 'Get me the office. I want to speak to Billy.'

She tried, then turned, phone in hand. 'Billy isn't there. It's Sam Hall.'

Harry reached for the phone. 'Where is he, Sam?'

'There was a problem with the booze consignment and he's been called to Southampton.'

'Well, he might have told me. I'll call him on his mobile.'

Hall, panicky, said, 'I just found it on his desk, Harry.'

'Stupid young bugger. Okay, if he rings in, tell him to contact me.'

Still a major in the Army Reserve, Paul Rashid was entitled to wear uniform on appropriate occasions, and as he pulled on his tunic and adjusted the Grenadier Guards buttons in front of his dressing table mirror, his medals made a brave show. He picked up his dress cap and went out.

The centre of Dauncey Place upstairs was a great circular minstrel gallery; all the main rooms led off;:. A stairway went down to the Great Hall, and above, the curving staircase of the Bell Tower lifted above the old house. Paul adjusted his cap and went down the stairs and found Kate standing by the fireplace, logs burning. Betty Moody stood nearby in a black suit.

Betty came forward, reached up and kissed his cheek. 'Oh, Paul, how wonderful you look.'

'Well, it's the least I could do for the boys. One Para wanted to send an honour guard and a bugler for George, but as I told you, Kate and I want it muted this time.'

'I only came to check the final arrangements. The buffet at the pub is set up and the champagne. You do want champagne?'

'We're celebrating their lives,' Rashid told her. 'But later? You said you didn't want anyone up at the house, not even servants.'

'Kate and I will leave the buffet early after saying hello to everyone. We want to be quiet, we want to be alone.'

'Of course. I'll go now. I'll see you later.' She went out, and the great door clanged. Kate wore a black jacket with a black jumpsuit underneath, a gold chain round her throat, and diamond earrings.

'You look very nice,' he said.

'And you look wonderful. A true hero.'

'It would be nice to think so, little sister. Shall we go?'

They took the Range Rover from the stable block, Kate driving, went down the long drive, turned to the village and parked by the green. A few vehicles were already there.

They got out and moved to the door of the Dauncey Arms, passing the parked Jaguar, Joe Baxter already beside it in his uniform. There were many people, mostly locals, in the saloon bar, and amongst them Dillon and Billy standing by the fireplace in their black suits and duster coats.

Kate gave a sharp intake of breath. 'He came.'

'Didn't you think he would?' Rashid moved through the crowd with her, grasping hands, thanking people for coming.

'Glad you could make it, Dillon.'

'A great performance,' Dillon said to him.

'Glad you approve. I love the coats. Amazing what will go in those big pockets. And very considerate of you to bring your friend here.'

'What do you want to do, pay me off for Rama? Do what you did to Bronsby?' Billy shook his head. 'Just try, that's all I ask.'

Kate said, 'Paul, let's go.'

Betty came up, frowning. 'Is there a problem?'

'Not at all. These gentlemen are friends of mine.' Rashid smiled. 'Buffet and champagne afterwards.' Betty turned away. 'And then I'll expect you at Dauncey Place, if that's your pleasure.'

'Well, it's certainly my bleeding pleasure,' Billy told him.

'Excellent. I look forward to it. Come on, Kate.' And they turned away.

People started to filter into the church from eleven o'clock. Still, only a few limousines were outside this time, unlike the old Earl's funeral and Lady Kate's. As Rashid had arranged it, the great and the good were virtually excluded although, as before, one of the most important Imams in London had agreed to appear with the Rector, a measure of the liberality of the Muslim religion not often appreciated by outsiders.

Dillon moved in, with Billy. People were seating themselves, others walking around examining the marble edifices of the long dead. Billy was walking ahead, joining in. He suddenly paused, then motioned to Dillon.

'Look at this geezer, Sir Paul Dauncey. Says he died in fifteen-ten.'

'He's the original Paul,' Dillon said. 'The one who fought for Richard III at Bosworth, a bad day for his side. He escaped to France and the new King, Henry Tudor, pardoned him.'

'How do you know all this?'

'I looked it up, Billy. It's all in Debrett's – that's the bible of the English aristocracy.'

Billy looked down at Sir Paul Dauncey. 'He even looks like Rashid.'

'That kind of thing happens in families, Billy.'

'I tell you what, he looks a hard bastard.'

'He looks like a warrior, Billy, which is what he was.' He shrugged. 'It's what Rashid is. To be honest, it's what you are. Remember something I once told you? There are men of a rough persuasion who look after those things ordinary people can't handle in life. Usually, they're soldiers of one kind or another.'

'Just like you and me.'

'In a manner of speaking.' Dillon smiled. 'Now let's move to the back of the church.'

The congregation settled, the organ started to play and Major Paul Rashid, Earl of Loch Dhu, and Lady Kate Rashid came through the main entrance, followed by the undertakers carrying the two coffins, one behind the other. Each was draped in the Union flag. George's had his paratrooper's red beret on top, Michael's the cap he'd worn when passing out of Sandhurst, and in both cases, the ceremonial jambiya of a Rashid chieftain. The Rector had moved in from the vestry, followed by the Imam.

There was silence. The Rector said, 'We are here to celebrate the lives of two young men. George and Michael are Rashids but also Daunceys, a bloodline linked to our village that has borne that name since the fifteenth century.' The service began.

Later, it rained as the coffins were taken to the family mausoleum. The congregation followed, one undertaker carrying a huge black umbrella over Rashid and Kate. Baxter had parked the Jaguar by the churchyard gate. Billy ran down to him and came back with a brolly.

'Jesus, I've never seen so many umbrellas.' 'It's life imitating art. I could do with a cigarette and a large Bushmills, in that order.'

'So we're going to this buffet at the pub?'

'Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound.'

He turned and walked away, and Billy followed.

At the Jaguar, Joe Baxter got out, and Dillon said, 'We'll walk. You wait by the green, Joe.'

Baxter glanced at Billy, who said, 'What he says goes, just do it.'

'As you say, Billy.'

He got in and drove away as Dillon lit a cigarette. Billy said, 'We're not tooled up yet.'

'There's time for that, Billy, plenty of time. Let's take a walk.' And they moved down towards the green, Billy holding the umbrella over them.

In London, Harry Salter called Sam Hall but had difficulty in contacting him. A young woman secretary informed him that Sam was taking care of a consignment down the river. In truth, Sam was well and truly keeping his head down.

Harry, totally frustrated, told Dora to arrange his car and a driver and got dressed. She had to help him because his shoulder wound needed its sling. As she finished, the matron looked in.

'Are you discharging yourself, Mr Salter?'

'No, I'm just going home. I'll come back any time you want for my check-up.'

'Well, Professor Bernstein's here at the moment, having a look at General Ferguson, but I don't think for long.'

'You mean Ferguson's here?'

'Certainly.'

'You show me where.'

A little while later, he sat in a reception area, turning. A door opened and Ferguson emerged, followed by Arnold Bernstein, briefcase in hand.

'Why, Harry,' Ferguson said.

'Don't Harry me, you old sod.'

Bernstein said, 'I can't remember telling you you could get out of bed, Mr Salter.' "Well, I'm out and I'm going. I'll sign anything you want, only I need a word with his Highness here.' "Oh dear, trouble?' Bernstein sighed. 'I'm going to see my daughter. I'll be back shortly, and I urge you to seek my advice. You need the correct medication at least.'

He walked away and Harry turned on Ferguson. 'What a bastard you are, having Dillon banged up.'

Ferguson said, 'What in the hell are you talking about?'

'Billy told me last night. You had Special Branch lift him, using the old IRA record you were supposed to wipe clean, and banged him up at West End Central to stop him going to the Dauncey funerals and confronting Rashid.'

Ferguson said, 'I ordered Dillon not to go. He wouldn't listen. You say Billy told you this?'

'Yes.'

'Where is he? Phone him now.'

'Well, he's unavailable. A job in Southampton.' A look of horror appeared on his face. 'Oh, God, he lied to me. Dillon's gone down there.'

'And I think you'll find Billy has gone, too, to watch his back. It's the only likely explanation for his absence.'

'I knew he wanted to go and I said I'd go, too.'

'Well, that explains a lot. You've been damaged enough. He wanted to keep you out of it. You see, a face-to-face confrontation with Rashid will probably be like a spaghetti Western.'

'And you're letting this happen? You're worse than me.'

Ferguson said, 'Because of our connection over the last few years, I've really had you checked out. In your days of Empire as one of the most important Guvnors – I believe that's the phrase – you fought off the Corelli brothers, three of them, who totally disappeared. Then there was Jack Hedley, the one called Mad Jack. Found in an alley off Brewer Street. I could remind you of a few more.' "All right,' Harry said. 'That was business. It was only ever that with me. I never did whores, never did drugs.'

I know, Harry, you just killed people who got in your way. I do the same thing or have it done. There's always a good reason. It's my job, Harry, it's business.' "So what are you getting at?'

I've had enough of Rashid. I don't need to go into it. You know what he's been responsible for. His two brothers have gone down, thanks to Dillon. Bell and his cronies are out of it. That only leaves Rashid, and he's got to go, too.' "But you didn't want Dillon to go down to that funeral and face Rashid's challenge.'

'So I'm a liar, Harry. I pushed Dillon a little, but I knew he'd go, and if he finishes Rashid in the right way, it suits me. You see, Dillon is a remarkable man not just because of his many gifts and his good brain and the fact that he can kill without it giving him a problem.'

'So what have you left out?' 'He couldn't care less whether he lives or dies.' 'That's good, that's very comforting, and my nephew's going the same way?'

'Your nephew was, to use London underworld parlance, a right villain. His involvement with Dillon over the past few years has given him a sense of himself. He actually has quite a brain on him.' 'All right, so I know that, but what do we do?' Ferguson glanced at his watch. 'The funeral service started at eleven thirty. There's a buffet afterwards at the Dauncey Arms, mainly for villagers. As it's now twelve thirty, I don't think there's much we can do except rely on Dillon.' 'And Billy?' 'Of course Billy.'

Bernstein came back. 'So, you're still leaving, Mr Salter?'

'I have to,' Harry said.

'All right. Come to the reception desk and I'll arrange the right antibiotics, but I insist on seeing both of you tomorrow at my rooms in Harley Street at ten o'clock. I'll sort you out then.'

People ate and drank champagne at the Dauncey Arms, Betty Moody supervising everything tirelessly. Dillon and Billy joined in, had some salad, smoked salmon, new potatoes. Billy, as usual, only drank water. Dillon tried the champagne and rejected it as reasonably inferior.

A young woman leaned over the bar. 'Are you Mr Dillon?'

'That's right, my love.'

'This champagne is just for you.' She held it up. 'Cristal.'

'The best,' Dillon said. 'Now who would do a thing like that?'

'Why, the Earl, sir.'

As she removed the cork, Dillon looked round the room. There was no sign of Rashid. The girl poured, offered Billy one and he waved it away.

'The Earl doesn't seem to be here.' Dillon emptied the glass in a single swallow.

The girl looked bewildered. 'That's strange, sir. He was at the fireplace with Lady Kate.'

'Did he say anything else?'

'Oh, yes, he said if you'd call in, he'd buy you the other half.'

'Well, that's nice of him.'

'Another glass, sir?'

'No, thanks. I'll have a large Bushmills whiskey. It could be my last. No water.'

She gave it to him. Betty Moody moved in from the back kitchen. Her face was swollen with weeping. Dillon raised his glass.

'A terrible day for you, Mrs Moody.'

'For all of us.'

He said, 'L'chaim' and swallowed the Bushmills down.

'L'chaim? What's that?'

'A Hebrew toast. It means "to life".' He put down his glass and turned to Billy. 'We must go,' and led the way out.

Dauncey Place was quiet when Rashid and his sister went in through the massive door and entered the Great Hall. As he had arranged, there was no staff: it was theirs alone. The logs burned in the fireplace, and on the centre table was an ice bucket with a bottle of Bollinger and four glasses. He helped her off with her raincoat and moved to open the champagne bottle.

'Why four glasses?' she asked. 'Two for Dillon and Billy Salter.' He poured. 'They'll come and I'm a gracious host, both as a Rashid and a Dauncey.' He gave her a glass and raised his own. 'To us, little sister, and George and Michael, and to Dillon.'

She drank a little. 'You don't hate him.' It was a statement, not a question.

He shrugged. 'Kate, our father was a soldier and took a soldier's risks. Sean Dillon is a soldier, I am still a soldier, George took a soldier's risks in Hazar, Michael at Wapping. Each time, Dillon took the same risks.' 'You really think that?'

'Of course.' He raised his glass. 'To Sean Dillon from Paul Rashid, one brave man to another.' She said, 'Do you want to do this, brother?' He refilled his glass. 'My darling girl, I've done everything in my time, put my life on the line, made incredible riches, but at the end of the day how much money can you spend?' "So what's important?'

' I suspect Dillon would say the game.' 'And that's how you see it?'

He swallowed his champagne and laughed out loud. 'Oh, yes, Kate, the only game in town.'

The fire crackled, it was very quiet. She looked around the Great Hall. 'All we have ever been as Daunceys.'

'All our yesterdays is the phrase.'

'So what happens now?'

'Dillon will come with Billy Salter.'

'And what do you do?'

'Face him, Kate, a far more interesting prospect than making another billion.'

There was a long pause, and she sighed. 'You haven't answered, Paul.'

By the champagne bucket, there were two small transceivers. He picked one up. 'These are very simple things. Press the red button and you're in touch with me.'

'But why?'

He smiled. 'I'll explain, but first you must have a final glass with me.'

'I don't like that. It's as if you're saying goodbye.'

'Never, my darling. We'll always be together, always.'

Dillon and Billy found Baxter, drove up to Dauncey Place in the Jaguar and pulled into the stable yard. They got out, Baxter opened the boot and Dillon unzipped the weaponry bag. He took out two Walthers, put one in his belt at the rear, and gave the other to Billy.

"Is this it?' Billy asked.

'No.' Dillon took out two Parker-Hales. 'Just like Rama.' He put one in the left-hand pocket of his coat.

'So how do we do it?' Billy asked. 'Unless he's brought reinforcements, he's in there with his sister, but I'd discount her.' 'How do you know?' "Just a feeling.'

'So we knock on the front door?' Maybe it's open. Let's see. You come with us, Joe, and bring your Browning.'

The three of them went up the steps of the great pillared doorway. Dillon tried the ornate handle, the ring in the lion's mouth. The door opened a couple of inches and he closed it.

'Too obvious an invitation. Let's try the terrace.' Exactly as Rashid had anticipated. They moved along the series of french windows that fronted the library. One of them stood open.

'So, he's giving us a chance.'

Inside, between ornate curtains, was a book cupboard, the kind of thing usually concealed and painted in seventeenth-century Italian style. It stood slightly open, Kate inside.

'Now what?' Billy asked.

'I'll take the front door, you go this way, only try not to shoot me by mistake.' Dillon turned to Baxter. 'You go round the back of the house. Fire the Browning in the air three times and take off the Carswell so he'll hear it.'

'And think we're coming in that way? That's crap,' Billy told him.

'I know, but it's the best I can do. Billy, it's a question of what Rashid wants to do.' He turned to Baxter. 'On your way and we'll go straight in. See you, Billy.'

'In hell,' Billy told him.

'No chance. A bottle of champagne for me and Irish stew for both of us at the Dark Man,' and Dillon moved away.

Kate, having heard everything, closed the cupboard door and signalled her brother. He responded at once. 'What's happening?' She told him. He said, 'Good. I'll draw him up to the Bell Tower, meet him on Angel Terrace. You stay out of it.'

He clicked off. Up there, on the minstrel gallery, he moved to the balustrade holding a silenced AK-47, its butt folded. He was still wearing his uniform, but no cap. He waited.

The shots rang out, Baxter ran for it, Billy pushed the window in and went through. Dillon, at the front door, turned the lion's head handle and moved in.

The hall was a place of shadows, flames from the burning logs reflected in a strange way. Dillon was behind the chairs of the enormous dining table. Rashid saw him for a moment but didn't bother to fire.

'Hey, Dillon. Why the big coat? Parker-Hale in the pocket?' Dillon crouched, the Walther in his hand. 'I can see you. Infra-red sight. I'm up here on the minstrel gallery. Take the main staircase, then what we call the Blue Arch to the circular stairway up the Bell Tower. Angel Terrace is above the leads. I'll wait for you, if you have the courage. If you need a machine pistol, okay, but a Walther's fine with me, or bare fists.'

He laughed and the library door creaked open. Billy whispered, 'You there, Dillon?'

Using his infra-red sight, Rashid targeted the chest and fired twice. Dillon recognized the distinctive muted crack of a silenced AK-47 at once. Billy was hurled back.

'One down,' Rashid called, and his laughter faded away.

Dillon crawled to Billy, who moaned, gasped for breath. Dillon tore his shirt open, felt around and found the two rounds sticking in the titanium waistcoat.

'Take your time,' he whispered. 'You've got traumatic shock to the cardiovascular system, but the vest stopped penetration. Buy shares in the Wilkinson Sword Company.' Billy gasped, 'I'll make it.' 'Hang on until your breathing is right. I'm going up this Bell Tower after him.'

He stood, took off his coat and left it with the Parker-Hale. When he crossed the hall and went up the stairs, his only weapon was the Walther in his right hand.

Billy lay there, trying to steady his breathing. The library door behind him creaked again. Lady Kate Rashid peered down at him, then dashed across the hall and went up the great staircase after Dillon.

Dillon took no particular precautions going up the circular stairway of the Bell Tower. Rashid wanted him on top, wanted to face him, that was an essential part of the situation. Beside the door at the top was a slit window. He peered through. What was obviously the Angel Terrace curled away, with no sign of Rashid.

Dillon opened the door, flattened himself to one side and looked out. The rain had increased into an almost tropic downpour. There was a curved railing and on the other side, the old-fashioned roof, made of sheets of lead, sloped down to an edge that looked like a foot of granite.

Behind him, although he didn't know it, Kate Rashid mounted the circular stairs. Dillon took a deep breath and moved out into the rain, Walther extended. Nothing. He took another breath, and from above, the top of the cover over the door, Paul Rashid dropped on him, sending him to his knees. He chopped Dillon across the right wrist, so that he dropped the Walther. Dillon raised his elbow back into Rashid's face and managed to stand. He turned, and Rashid faced him, that magnificent uniform soaked in rain.

'Now then, my friend, at last.'

He launched himself at Dillon and they met breast-to-breast. Behind, the door opened and Kate appeared. She cried out as Rashid's greater weight forced Dillon back against the rail. There was a moment of struggle, then they went over together on to the leads, sliding apart.

The pouring rain had made the wet leads almost as slippery as ice. Rashid slid one way, lurched and went over the edge of the granite. Dillon slid a few yards away, but was more fortunate, his feet slamming against the granite.

He started to work his way along and held out a hand. 'Come on.'

'Go to hell.'

Down below, Joe Baxter and Billy looked up.

Dillon said. 'For God's sake, just take my hand and argue later.'

'No, damn you.'

There was a cry, and above them, Kate Rashid appeared. 'Paul, no.' She ducked under the rail and slid down the wet slope of the leads, finishing with her feet against the granite edge. Rashid was slipping further. She braced herself, reached and grabbed his left hand.

'Come on, Paul, just hang on to me.' He did for a moment, and his weight pulled her forward so that she almost went headfirst over the edge.

He smiled up at her, nothing but love and understanding and a strange kind of grace, a most heartbreaking thing that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

'Hey, little sister, enough is enough. Not you, too.'

He pulled his hand free, almost floating away from her, turning over once in mid-air before hitting the terrace below beside Billy and Baxter.

There was no scream from her, nothing like that. It was as if every possibility of such a reaction had died for all time, such was the shock. Dillon caught her right hand and reached up for the first edge on the leads.

'Come on.' For a moment, she hesitated, and he tried again. 'Come on, unless you want to go, too.'

Something went out of her in a shuddering sigh, and he reached again, pulling them up to the railing.

She broke away from him and then ran down the stairs and through the Great Hall. Dillon picked up his coat and went after her. He paused on the steps and put the coat on her as she knelt over her brother. Billy, slightly dazed, and Baxter stood beside her. She looked up, her face incredibly calm.

'He's gone. You've done for all of them, Dillon, all my brothers.'

'I'm sorry.' It was the instinctive reply, empty and stupid. 'Go away.' 'For God's sake, girl.'

'This is my business, Dillon. Just go, you and your people. I'll deal with you later at a more suitable time.'

Dillon hesitated, then nodded to Baxter and Billy. 'Let's get out of it.'

They got in the Jaguar, Baxter started the engine and drove away. Dillon turned and looked. She was still kneeling.

'Are you all right?' he asked Billy. 'Sore as hell. What happened up there?' 'At the end, it was hand-to-hand. We fell across the rail, down the roof, and he went over. I offered my hand when he was hanging there, but he didn't want it. She slid down to join us, but he pulled away because he thought she'd go over, too.' When Dillon lit a cigarette, his hand shook. 'He said, "Hey, little sister, enough is enough. Not you, too."'

'Jesus Christ,' Billy said. 'What did she mean, I'll deal with you later at a more suitable time?'

'Simple, Billy, it means it's not over. Now I'd better phone Ferguson,' and he took out his mobile.