“You’ve been very frank, Major,” Ferguson told her. “Why?”

“Well, to be practical, I suspect you know most of what I told you. I might have done a little filling in, but that’s all. Anyway, what happens now? You can’t arrest me. That would be terribly inconvenient.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Every job you and your people do is a black operation. It never happened, never existed. Dillon and Billy would never dream of going out there under orders and killing everybody on sight, but they do, which leaves me in the clear. So what happens to me?”

“If he sends you back, love, I think old Volkov would either shoot you or send you to the Gulag.” That was Billy.

“Of course, you could claim asylum,” Roper said.

“If I found myself on the pavement, the most you could do is ask Colonel Luhzkov to send me home. I have diplomatic immunity.”

“How boring,” Ferguson said.

“And what a bleeding waste,” Harry put in.

“What if I made you a proposition?” Ferguson said.

“Throw in my lot with you?”

“Oh, no, something much more subtle. What if I gave you a chance to return to the fold, your own people?”

“What, hand me over to Luhzkov? Tell him to fly me out?”

“Much, much better than that. Now listen to me. There’s one thing I suggest you do first, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“First, let me ask you where you think Levin might be.”

She frowned. “Drumore Place, probably.”

He handed her his Codex Four. “I’m sure you know his number. Give him a call. Tell him what you think of him. After all, he dumped you at Khufra.”

She sat looking at him, then shook her head. “What would be the point?”

“I’d like to know if he is there. I’d like to know if Ashimov is still there. I want them, and don’t kid yourself, I intend to have them. Dead or alive, it makes no odds to me.”

“So what does that mean?”

“If you won’t join in, we’ll go and find out for ourselves. Dillon, young Billy here. Come to think of it, I’ll go.”

Billy said, “Not another bleeding beach drop.”

“Any approach from a plane would alert them,” Ferguson said. “No, we’ll do what we’ve done before. A passage by night, Billy. Oban to the Irish coast. It will do me good, a little rough weather and sea air. Does it suit you gentlemen?”

Dillon was smiling, Billy shrugged and Harry said, “Only if I can come, too.”

Ferguson said, “That’s it, then.” He smiled at Greta. “You, my love, will be left in limbo with Major Roper at Holland Park.”

“That’s actually illegal,” she said.

“Well, I could just as easily have you deported via the Russian Ambassador, direct to Moscow. I don’t think it would do your career plans much good, do you?”

“My God, you’re just as bad as they are.”

“True. It’s the nature of the game we all play, and in my own way, I’m sure I’m just as unforgiving as General Volkov. You see, there’s one unfortunate thing about this whole wretched business which won’t go away.”

“And what would that be?”

“Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein.”

There was a moment of terrible silence, as if a chill had touched everyone there.

Dillon’s face was white, skin stretched, the eyes dark holes. It was as if Death had come to meet them. Strangely, it was Billy who spoke in a gentle voice.

“She was a special lady. She deserved better.”

There was nothing Greta could say, and Ferguson sighed. “You could have joined the team, Major. You blew it. So, we’ll leave you in limbo.”

Levin sat in the Royal George as rain swept in from the sea, finished his fish pie and ordered another vodka from Patrick Ryan, who had only half a left ear: a row of surgical clips holding it together, the whole lot glistening with surgical spray.

“When did you say he’d be back?” he asked Ryan, referring to Ashimov.

“Two, maybe three. He and Liam Bell went down to Dublin. I heard them talking. It was something to do with the Russian Embassy.”

There was a roaring overhead. Levin said, “That sounds like an approach to Ballykelly.”

“It could be.”

He went off to the kitchen, and a moment later, Levin’s phone rang. Ashimov said, “I’m still at the Embassy in Dublin awaiting orders, God knows why, but I’ve news for you.”

“And what would that be?”

“Volkov wants you in London. They’re sending a Falcon.”

“I think it’s just flown in.”

“You’re to report to Luhzkov and await orders.”

“Have you any idea why?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Is it safe, for God’s sake?”

“Of course it is. You’re a commercial attaché at the Embassy, Ferguson can’t touch you. It would cause a diplomatic incident, and they wouldn’t like that at the moment.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do as you’re told.”

He switched off, Levin sighed, went behind the bar, found a glass and reached for the vodka. The door burst open in a gust of rain and wind, and Liam Bell swept in with one of his men, Connor.

“There you are. How was Ibiza?”

“Hardly noticed. Algeria was crap.”

“Give me one of those.”

Levin dosed it out and one for Connor. “So you’ve come back alone? I’ve just had Ashimov on the phone from Dublin.”

“He was closeted with the Ambassador, all highly bloody secret and not for the ears of a peasant like me. Told me he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow and sent me packing.”

“And me thinking you were such good friends.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Bell grabbed the vodka bottle and poured another.

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

He walked round the bar, and Connor, a brawny individual, grabbed him by the jacket. “Don’t you talk to Mr. Bell like that, you Russian prick.”

“Actually, my grandmother on my mother’s side came from Cork.” Levin tossed the vodka in his glass into Connor’s eyes and head-butted him, sending him back against the bar.

Liam Bell reached under his armpit, and Levin had his Walther out and under his chin in a second.

“I wouldn’t – I really wouldn’t. They’ve sent a plane for me. I’m needed in London.” He patted Bell on the face. “Try and be good while I’m away.”

Lacey and Parry delivered Ferguson and his party to the RAF Air Sea Rescue Base at Oban on the west coast of Scotland, where they were picked up by a couple of RAF sergeants who took them by Land Rover to Oban itself.

One of them said, “That’s the Highlander, two hundred yards out. The inflatable at the jetty is yours. I know it doesn’t seem much, sir, but it’s got twin screws, a depth sounder, radar, automatic steering. It just looks bad because it’s meant to.”

“I get the point, Sergeant.” Ferguson smiled. “Actually, we’re old friends.”

“Safe journey back.”

“I don’t care what he says.” Harry shook his head. “It looks like a bummer to me.”

“I agree it doesn’t look like it’s nosing into the marina at Monte Carlo, but I suspect it will suit our purposes adequately,” Ferguson said. “Now let’s get our gear on board.”

A great deal of Oban seemed to be enveloped in a blanket of mist, and rain swept in. In the distance, clouds swallowed the mountaintops and bay and Kerrera, and there was heavy weather as waves dashed across the Firth of Lorn.

“I’ve said it before,” Billy moaned. “What a bloody place. It rains all the time, it’s cold…”

“Nonsense.” Ferguson patted his shoulder. “Some of the finest views in the Highlands here. Now let’s stow our gear and think about food.”

Ferguson, everything stowed, went up on deck and found Dillon in the wheelhouse with Harry and Billy. He was taking weaponry from the Quartermaster’s bag and passing pistols across.

“One for you, Charles.”

He gave him a Walther, then dropped a flap beside the instrument panel, disclosing some clips screwed into place. He put a Walther in one, a Browning with a twenty-round clip in the other, and pushed the flap back into place.