Tod, in the shadowed archway at the end of the Great Hall, stood between Greta and Belov, a Browning in his hand with a twenty-round magazine protruding from the butt.

“It’s too quiet,” Greta said.

“It always is,” Belov told her.

“I knew this was bad news from the start,” Tod said. “I think we should get out now, grab one of the cars and go for Ballykelly.”

“A man after my own heart,” Belov said.

Greta panicked and called out, “Yuri, where are you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tod told her and opened the front door.

Dillon, who was removing the ignition key from the last of the four cars, swung and put a short burst into the brickwork at the side of the door.

“Is it yourself, Tod? No way out here.”

“Damn you, Dillon,” Belov called, and Tod kicked the door closed.

“Follow me,” he said. “We’ll get out through the kitchen tunnel.”

“And then what?” Belov demanded.

“The boat, the Kathleen down at the jetty. Come on, this way.”

“But what about Yuri?” Greta demanded.

“He’ll have to look after himself,” Belov said. “Now, get moving.”

Ashimov, alerted by the noise at the front of the house, moved cautiously into the corridor from the library. At the same moment, Dillon kicked in the front door, went in low, straight through the archway to the Great Hall, and called out.

“Billy?”

Ashimov erupted, firing his pistol, plucking at Dillon’s sleeve, a second round catching the stock of his AK, sending it hurtling from his hands. At the same moment, Billy shot Ashimov in the left shoulder, spinning him around, and then shot him again in the heart.

“Are you okay?” he called to Dillon.

“Thanks to you.”

“Have Tod and the others cleared off by car?”

“No, I’ve got all the keys. I’ve an idea he’s banking on another form of transportation. Let’s see.”

He led the way through the Great Hall to the library and the terrace beyond. There were only wisps of fog now and the moon was incredibly bright, the village below, the houses, the inn, like cardboard cutouts. Tod, Belov and Greta had emerged from the walled garden and were hurrying down the lane.

“What’s going on?” Billy demanded.

“They’re making for the Kathleen. It’s always ready for sea, that’s been the way of it with Kelly for years.”

“But they’re getting away,” Billy said, as he saw them scramble over the rail of the boat. Belov and Greta cast off and Tod went into the wheelhouse. The engine coughed into life, and the Kathleen started down the channel.

“Not really. Haven’t you observed, Billy, that you never really get away from anything in this life?”

The Kathleen passed the point, and produced a bow wave as Tod increased speed. Dillon took a Howler from his pocket, pointed and pressed the button. There seemed to be a moment of hesitation, and then the whole vessel split apart in a huge ball of fire. What was left went down like a stone.

“Christ Almighty.” Billy turned to him. “Semtex?”

“It was Roper’s idea.”

“Pity about Greta Novikova.”

“She shouldn’t have joined, Billy, if she wasn’t willing to take the risks. Maybe I shouldn’t have joined either, maybe you shouldn’t have. I expect our day will come.” Dillon smiled wearily. “For the moment, let’s get out of here. There are four vehicles in the courtyard and I have all the keys. Two hours to Belfast, and then to home.”

Three or four minutes later, they were driving out of the main gate in a Land Rover, leaving Drumore Place, dark and somber, behind them.

EPILOGUE

As the Lear lifted off at Belfast after midnight, Dillon took out his Codex Four and called Roper. There was an instant reply. He said, “Don’t you sleep?” “Not all that much. Where are you?”

“In the Lear. Just lifted off from Belfast.”

“Is Billy all right?”

“Saved my bacon. He’s just tipped his seat and gone to sleep. What about Ferguson and Hannah?”

“He’s been feverish and is now drugged up to his eyeballs. I’m very comfortable in the corner of his room. As I said, sleep doesn’t come naturally to me anymore.”

“And Hannah?”

“Oh, Dawson did marvelous work, but the truth is she won’t be what she was.”

“Will any of us?”

“So what happened?”

“We got a superb drop in the fog by the boys, then we checked out the Kathleen. You were right about that, so I did as you suggested and we went on to the castle.”

“And?”

“We left McGuire and O’Neill in a bad way. I got Kelly permanently. Ashimov almost finished me, but the boy wonder shot him and saved me.”

“And the others?”

“They cleared off to the harbor and the Kathleen. I let them make it beyond the point, then used the Howler.”

“That must have been quite a sight.”

“You could say that. I was sorry about Novikova. She saved my life in Iraq.”

“Only because it suited her.”

“I suppose you’re right. We took a Land Rover from the castle, then drove straight up through the border to Belfast. There’s nobody there these days. All the old barriers are still there, but no troops, no police, you drive straight through. What in the hell did it all mean?”

“Come home, Sean,” Roper told him. “Just come home.”

“Very comforting,” Dillon said. “Give Ferguson my love.”

He sat there, thinking about it all, then opened the bar box, took out half a bottle of Bushmills and poured some into a plastic cup.

Billy, eyes still closed, said, “You’re big on moral philosophy, Dillon. Do you believe everything’s for the best in the best of all possible worlds?”

“Billy, old son,” Sean Dillon said, “believe that and you’ll believe anything.”