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

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

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

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

12

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

“Now what?” Fahy asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not at the moment. What’s going on?”

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

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

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

“And you always do.”

“Because I take precautions. For example, I have a company Falcon on standby at a flying club called Archbury about half an hour out of London. On standby until I tell it to stand down. Why? It’s insurance. It means that if anything goes wrong, I can get the hell out of here quickly.” He smiled. “I know, nothing will go wrong, you will say. And as a tribute to your faith, I intend to take you to lunch at the Ivy. Come on.”

“But that’s impossible to get into.”

“The magic name of Belov works wonders, even at the Ivy.” He had a hand on her elbow as they went out. “Let’s go over to the embassy and pick up your Opel. I’ll show you Bernstein’s house on the way.”

“That should be interesting. I’ve only seen a photo.”

“A lady of some wealth, I’d say. You’ll be surprised.”

Regan had checked Stable Mews, but there was no sign of Dillon’s Mini car outside the cottage. He didn’t linger, but moved out to the square and hailed a cab. With a grin, he told the driver to take him to the end of Lord North Street, which was where Hannah Bernstein lived. When he got there, he walked a bit down the street toward Millbank and Victoria Tower Gardens and stood looking across.

In a way, he was just being bloody-minded, because he was angry at being put down by Tod as he had been. It was particularly unfortunate, given the circumstances, that Ashimov and Greta came down Lord North Street at that moment.

Ashimov, who was driving, said to her, “Impressed?” as they slowed at Hannah’s house.

“Very,” Greta told him. “I see what you mean.”

They picked up speed, passing Regan on the corner, and she recognized him.

“My God, it’s Regan, one of Kelly’s men.”

Ashimov pulled in at the curb. “Stupid bastard, he’s not supposed to be here.”

He got out of the Opel, Greta joined him and they advanced on Regan. “What in the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

Regan, of course, recognized them instantly. “I was just having a look at the Bernstein woman’s place.”

“It’s not your affair,” she said. “You and your friend were told to check out Dillon’s and Roper’s places. We’re seeing to Bernstein.”

“All right,” Regan told her. “I was just trying to get the job done. I’ve been to Dillon’s.”

“Just do as you’re told,” Ashimov advised him. “You understand me?”

“Okay, okay.” Regan spread his hands. “No need to make a big case out of it.” He turned, walked away and crossed through traffic to Victoria Tower Gardens, very angry indeed.

Ashimov drove away and was just as angry. “Peasants. Totally unreliable.”

“You’re right, they’re clodhoppers,” Greta said. “But, Yuri, the important thing is what’s happening in Huntley. We can check on Bernstein later.”

“And Dillon. I wonder what he’s up to?”

“Never mind. Just get me to the Ivy. I’m starving.”

At that moment, Dillon was entering the Piano Bar at the Dorchester Hotel, where he was warmly greeted by Guiliano, the manager.

“She’s waiting for you,” Guiliano said and led him to where Hannah Bernstein was sitting.

Hannah was looking terrific in a black Armani trouser suit. Dillon ordered two glasses of champagne, kissed her on the forehead and sat down.

“I’ve had a morning of paperwork,” Dillon said. “It was intensely boring.”

“Me, too. I didn’t see you at the office.”

“I did it at home. Any news?”

“Yes, Ferguson’s phoned me twice. He’s very pleased with the way things are going with Selim. Apparently, he had a real breakthrough and it’s going well this morning.”

“I had a minor development of a personal nature last night,” and he told her what had happened to Billy Salter’s Range Rover and his call on Danny Malone.

“There couldn’t be any significance to it,” she said. “We all know who Malone was. I helped put him away. He wouldn’t do anything stupid enough to send him back to complete his sentence.”