“We need to talk.” He moved in and followed her upstairs.

She led the way into Moon’s office and turned. “What is this?”

“Moon and Harold made a big mistake. You’ll be hearing from them quite soon. They are, as we speak, seeking treatment in the accident and emergency department of some third-rate National Health hospital.”

“I’ve just heard. Had a phone call from the hospital. It said they’d been mugged by a black street gang. Is it bad?”

“Gunshot wounds to the legs and so richly deserved, just like the IRA. I’ve never seen such incompetents. The story about being mugged does two things. It keeps them out of court and it doesn’t involve the people I work for. If it did, George and Harold would be dead in the near future, one way or the other.”

“So what do you want here?”

“Two thousand, Ruby?”

“You’ve got cheek.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. I’ll do you a favor. Give me a thousand and you can tell Moon I came back and took it all. A thousand for you.”

She thought about it, then went and unlocked a cabinet at the end of a bookcase, took out a packet of banknotes and tossed it to him.

“He’s my husband, you know.”

“Then I’m sorry for you.”

“It’s not as bad as you think. He swings the other way.” She smiled. “I’d get out of here if I were you. I’ll be getting callers.”

He turned to the door, turned again and tossed the thousand pounds on the desk. “Oh, what the hell. Tell him I took the lot,” and he went downstairs and moved back along the alley to his limousine.

Dillon and Billy arrived with a People Carrier, loaded Roper inside and a number of personal effects he needed, and took him to the Holland Park safe house. This had happened before in times of stress. Because of this, Ferguson had had all the right computers and technical equipment installed to suit Roper’s special needs.

So, Roper was settled in and the Military Police sergeant on duty, Doyle, said, “General Ferguson will be along soon, Mr. Dillon. There’s a message from Special Branch. It seems George Moon and Harold Parker insist they were mugged by two men at pistol point and they can’t identify them because it was dark, it was raining and they were black.”

“Black, my arse,” Billy said. “I’ve known Moon for years. He’s a slimy toad. There’s more to this, Dillon.”

“So let’s go and find out what it is. We’ll be back later,” he said to Roper, and went out.

At St. Michael’s, Dillon and Billy found Moon and Harold under sedation and awaiting surgery. Billy flashed his new warrant card from Ferguson and forced his way in. It was amazing the power it made him feel. Moon and Harold were waiting in a side ward.

“It’s me, George, Billy Salter.”

“What in the hell do you want?”

“Mr. Dillon here and I are working for the Intelligence Service.”

“Fuck off, Billy. They wouldn’t employ a thief like you.”

“Now you’re upsetting me, George. No big black’s shooting you and Harold.”

“Well, the police are happy. That takes care of it.”

“Unfortunately, the guy who stiffed you, George, the guy you were trying to do away with, is a very good friend of ours, so we know what you were up to. Who put you up to it?”

“I’ll say one thing for old times’ sake, Billy. They could snuff you out like a match, swallow you whole. Now, Harold and me was mugged by two big black men. They had Cockney accents, so they must have been born here.” He raised his voice. “Nurse, I feel terrible.”

Billy said, “You deserve to, you toad. I’ll pay you back.” He nodded to Dillon. “Let’s go.”

Of course, it was another failure he had to report, whichever way you looked at it. In the GRU files, there was quite a list of IRA people like Moon available for employment. It occurred to Levin that reliability was not their strongest feature. The whole affair had been farcical, but it would still look like a failure to Ashimov, never mind Volkov.

The truth was, you could never rely on anybody but yourself, so he drove to Hangman’s Wharf and parked close to the Dark Man, but not for any particular reason. Just thinking about it. There was the Bentley parked there, Harry Salter’s pride and joy, according to his file, and as Levin watched, Joe Baxter came out of the pub, unlocked the door, rummaged around, then went back into the Dark Man. The thing was, he didn’t bother to relock the door.

It was a wild card, crazy, but he might get away with it. Levin opened the glove compartment, found the mini-tool kit, opened it and selected a pair of wire cutters. He moved fast, darting along the pavement, and opened the door of the Bentley, reached inside and released the catch to the bonnet. When it sprang open, he went round, raised it and went to work, slicing at cables, brake fluid already spurting out. The bonnet went down with a thump, and he turned and went back to his Mercedes. There was no point in waiting, it could take forever, but then, as he reached for the key, Harry Salter appeared with Joe Baxter and got into the Bentley. Baxter was driving and switched on. The engine roared. He moved away, tried to turn the Bentley. It glided back and bumped against another car. There was the sound of the engine revving again as it moved away, and he obviously tried to brake. The Bentley proceeded at speed toward the edge of the wharf, ready to go straight into the Thames. At the last moment, it skidded, bounced off a bollard and ended up with the front wheels over the edge of the wharf.

Baxter and Salter managed to extricate themselves. There was much shouting, people poured out of the pub, and Levin drove away laughing. Salter and Baxter should have been choking to death, drowning at the bottom of the Thames. It was unbelievable what had happened. Life was just a farce after all, a comedy, a dark one, but still a comedy.

At the Harvest Moon, Ruby answered the bell at the side door and found Billy Salter, Dillon behind him.

“What do you want, you sod?”

“And I always thought you liked me, Ruby. Just a word. Me and my friend Mr. Dillon would appreciate that. You see, we’ve been to Saint Michael’s, and George and Harold have told the police they were mugged, a racial attack in reverse. They’ve got nothing else to say.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Well, you see we know who shot them, a friend of ours who was actually attacked by George and Harold in his wheelchair. The thing is, he was armed, Ruby, he’s that kind of man.”

“So?” She still stood there, holding the door.

“George is a hit man, that’s what he’s done for a living for years.”

“So what we’d like to know is who paid him,” Dillon told her.

“I don’t have any idea who he was.” She flinched, aware that she’d been caught out.

“Come on, Ruby, I’ve got a warrant here. We could take you in.”

“Okay, a guy came, spoke to George. No names, no pack drill, George said. He knew the man’s principals and they were frightening people. I mean, he’d obviously worked for them before.”

“But he didn’t know the man?” Dillon asked.

“No, there was one funny thing, though.”

“What was that?”

“When I was told to get him a drink, George said that considering the gentleman’s antecedents, he’d probably prefer a vodka.”

“So he was Russian?” Dillon said.

“No, a real gent. Drop-dead good-looking, public school voice. He was back here a little while ago. Told me what had happened, but I’d already had the police on.”

“Why did he come back?”

“His money. Two grand. Took the lot,” she lied.

They were still standing in the hallway. Billy glanced up and saw a security camera. “That appears to be on.”

“It is.”

He reached up, switched it off and removed the tape. “Upstairs, Ruby. We’ll have a quick look on your TV.”