Again, she glanced at Ashimov. “Yes, I did, particularly to Kelly and his people.” As if trying to make up for the damage she was causing, she added, “Kelly and Murphy should have been well aware of what they were taking on. They were close associates of Dillon once. It’s not like they didn’t see him firsthand.”

At that moment, Hamilton, an old man from the village who acted as a kind of butler, came in.

“Excuse me, sir, Dermot Kelly and Tod Murphy are here.”

“Are they, now? Show them in.”

They sat there waiting, and the two of them entered.

“Back from the wars, I see,” Belov said.

Kelly, roused by drink, was aggressive. “We did a grand job for you. We killed Selim and clipped Ferguson.”

“And left one of your own men dead and the other one giving every scrap of information Ferguson wanted in complete detail. Not your best day’s work, Kelly.”

Kelly was speechless with fury. It was Tod who said smoothly, “These things happen. The fact is we did get Selim, as Dermot says, and we wounded Ferguson. We did our job. Do you need anything else?”

“Yes, we’re leaving in the morning for Moscow. I want you and what’s left of your men to stand on watch tonight. As to your future – we’ll discuss it another time.”

Kelly started. “Now, look here.”

Tod caught his arm. “That’s grand, sir, thank you for being so understanding.”

He took Kelly with him out to the hall. “Shut up, Dermot. Our day will come, isn’t that what we said in the Provos in the old days?”

“I could kill the bastard.”

“Not now. We go down to the Royal George, have a drink with McGuire and O’Neill and then we’ll come back and do what Belov wants. It’s to our advantage, Dermot, and that’s all that matters.”

In the hall, Belov said, “So, Moscow tomorrow.”

“And then what?” Ashimov asked.

“We see if there are any repercussions and we consider our options.” He looked hard at them both. “Mine and yours.”

At Farley Field, Lacey was waiting as they drove up. The first thing he said was, “We’re using the Lear-jet, Sean, no RAF rondels. We’re flying into a friendly country, remember? Don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“Fine. What about weather?”

“We’ll be all right. There’s intermittent sea fog in the area, but it’ll be low tide, so there’s plenty of beach.”

“Good enough.”

“What about the return?” Lacey asked.

“I’m glad you think there’ll be one. Since we don’t want any trouble with the Republic, you land at Belfast Airport. Park in the usual high-security patch and make arrangements to receive us.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. It could be a hard one. On the other hand, the border is open these days. Billy and I should have no difficulty in getting to Belfast one way or another.”

“I hope that’s a given.”

“When have I ever let you down?”

“All right, let’s get moving.”

In the operations room, the Quartermaster, an ex-Guards sergeant major, waited. There were a couple of AK rifles, stocks folded, on the table, two Brownings and a jump bag.

“The extras Major Roper suggested are in the bag, sir. Your equipment is in the next room.”

“Good, we’ll get on with it.”

When he and Billy reappeared, they wore jumpsuits, boots and single parachutes, the Brownings in shoulder holsters, the AK rifles slung across their chests. Dillon carried the jump bag. The others were gathered at the chart table.

“There it is,” Lacey said. “Plenty of sand with the tide low.”

“I know it well,” Dillon told him.

“There might even be more moon than we’d like, but that chance of sea mist could help you. Mr. Salter tells me he’s coming along for the ride. Is that all right?”

“No, it isn’t,” said Billy. “Sorry, Harry. I’ve got enough on my mind.”

Harry looked resigned and hugged him. “You young bastard. You look like you’re in a Vietnam War movie.”

“You’ve said that before,” Billy told him.

“Go on, get out of it.” As Billy went up the steps, Harry nodded to Dillon. “As for you…”

“I know. Bring him back, or else.”

He followed Billy into the Lear. Parry closed the Airstair door. They settled down, unclipping the parachutes and putting the rifles to one side. The Lear started to roll down the runway.

“So here we go again,” Billy said. “Are we supposed to be some kind of heroes or something?”

“No, Billy,” Dillon said. “We’re handing out rough justice, the kind of thing other people can’t face up to. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Maybe you have a point.”

“Oh, I do, Billy.” Dillon took half a bottle of Bushmills from a pocket, unscrewed the cap and drank. “To you and me, Billy, the only truly sane men in a world gone mad.”

15

At Rosedene, Ferguson woke up to find Roper seated at his bedside in his wheelchair reading the Evening Standard. Ferguson took a deep, shuddering breath and Roper, alerted, pulled the alarm button. It was the matron herself who hurried in.

“Now then, General.” She raised him, plumped up the pillows and eased him back. “A little water.”

She passed the container, he sucked on the straw. “How was it?”

“Some of the best work I’ve seen Sir Henry do. Twenty-two stitches and the bone was chipped.” She had known him many years and used the privilege. “If I may say so, you’re a bloody old fool to put yourself in such situations at your age.”

“I consider myself reprimanded. What about Superintendent Bernstein?”

“Sir Henry’s gone over to the Cromwell. Professor Dawson’s in charge now. She couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Excellent. Will you be serving supper later? It’s always so good here.”

“Well, we’ll see. The best I can manage for the moment is a nice cup of tea.” She turned to Roper. “And you, Major?”

“It’s better than penicillin, and I’m proof of that.”

She went out, and Ferguson said, “Fill me in. He’s gone, I suppose?”

“He certainly has, General, and taken young Billy Salter with him.”

“Tell me.” Roper did, and afterward Ferguson said, “It’s a kind of madness that gets into Dillon. He and Billy against at least four IRA old hands, plus Ashimov and the woman – and she can pull a trigger with the best of them – and Belov himself. He’s capable of anything.”

“I know, sir.”

A young nurse brought tea on a tray and poured it. Ferguson went on, “There could be more. It’s an old-fashioned IRA area, Major, that sort of place.”

Roper sipped his tea. “Don’t forget, though, sir – Sean Dillon is a legend to many of those people.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Still, I’d feel easier if I could talk to him. Is that possible?”

Roper lifted a kind of handbag. “I have a Codex Four in here. As you know, you can use it even on an aircraft in flight.”

“Then get Dillon for me.”

Roper said, “It’s me. Where are you?”

“Halfway across the Irish Sea. How’s Ferguson?” Roper told him. “I’m putting him on.”

Dillon said, “I’m glad you’re in one piece, Charles.”

“Oh, never mind me. It was worse on the Hook in Korea when I was eighteen.”

“Which would mean you’re past your sell-by date, Charles. Time to consider.”

“Cheeky bugger. You’re hardly a spring chicken yourself, and you’re going into harm’s way again.”

“Can’t help it, it’s my nature.”

“Then think of the boy. Young Salter’s been through the mill if anyone has.”

“It’s his nature, too, Charles. He’s a warrior.”

“Only the two of you,” Ferguson said. “It’s not on, Sean.”

“Well, it will be in about fifteen minutes. What about Hannah?”

“In good hands. But about her future in our line of work – I don’t know.”

“Well, there you go. Give me Roper.”

Ferguson did. “Sean?”

“Fifteen minutes. Almost a full moon, as it happens, but sea fog below. Lacey will make one pass at six hundred.”