"Hurry it up!" Morgan called.

They got the suitcase over and into the bottom of the whaler. The metal was blackened and streaked with green seaweed.

"Get it open," Morgan ordered.

Ferguson tried the clasps on the locks, but they were rigid. "Damn thing's corroded, won't budge."

"Well try harder."

Dillon pulled the knife from his leg sheath and handed it up to Kim, who forced it behind the two clasps in turn and ripped them off, then he worked the point of the knife under the edge of the lid and prised. Quite suddenly, the lid lifted. There were clothes inside, mildewed but in surprisingly good condition. There was a uniform tunic on top, still recognizable with Major's crowns on the epaulettes.

"Come on, damn you!" Morgan was intensely excited as he leaned over the rail. "Empty it out!"

Kim turned the case over, spilling its contents into the bottom of the whaler, and found it at once, a booksize package wrapped in yellow oilskin.

"Open it, man, open it!" Morgan ordered.

It was Ferguson who unwrapped the oilskin, layer by layer, until he held in his hand the Bible, its silver blackened by the years.

"It would seem to be what we've all been looking for," he said.

"Go on, get it open, see if it's still there."

Ferguson took the knife from Kim and ran its point along the inside of the front cover. The secret compartment flicked open, the folded document inside, immediately apparent. Ferguson unfolded it, read it, then he looked up, face calm.

"Yes, this would appear to be the fourth copy of the Chungking Covenant."

"Give it to me," and Morgan reached down. Ferguson hesitated and Marco raised the Uzi threateningly. "You can die now," Morgan said. "It's your choice."

"Very well." Ferguson passed up the document.

"Now get up here yourself," Morgan told him and turned. "As for you, Dillon…"

But Dillon had gone, dropping under the surface. Marco fired a futile burst into the water and Kim ducked and kept hauling on the line and suddenly Fergus Munro's body surfaced, a totally macabre sight.

"God help me, it's Fergus!" Hector Munro called, leaning over the rail. Rory joined him, staring down into the water. "What happened to him, Da?"

"Ask your friend Morgan. He and his henchman here beat him to death," Ferguson said.

"You bastards!" Hector Munro cried and he and Rory turned, their shotguns coming up too late as Marco raked both of them with a long burst from the Uzi, driving them over the rail into the water.

"Get out of it, Kim!" Ferguson cried and the Ghurka dived headfirst from the whaler into the dark water, pulling himself down with powerful strokes as Marco sprayed the water behind him.

There is a technique known as buddy breathing to any experienced diver by which, if there is no alternate source of air available, it is possible to share your air supply with a companion by passing the regulator back and forth between you.

Dillon, at twelve feet, reached up and caught Kim by the foot, pulled him close, took out his mouthpiece and passed it across. The hardy little warrior, a veteran of thirty years of campaigning, understood at once, took in a supply of air, then passed it back.

Dillon started to kick with his fins, making for the shore, pulling Kim along beside him and sharing the air supply as they went. After a while, he raised his thumb and started up, surfacing into a cocoon of mist, no sign of the boats at all. A moment later, Kim came up beside him, coughing.

Dillon said, "What happened after I dived?"

"When the body surfaced, the Munros went crazy. Marco shot both of them with the Uzi."

"And the Brigadier?"

"Cried to me to jump, Sahib."

Dillon could hear the motor cruiser moving away at high speed, but not across the loch in the direction of the castle.

"Where in the hell are they going?" he said.

"There is that old concrete jetty the RAF used just below the airstrip, Sahib," Kim told him. "Perhaps they're making for that."

"And a quick departure," Dillon said and at that moment there was a thunder of engines overhead as Morgan's Citation made its approaches.

Dillon said, "Right, we can't be far from the jetty, so let's get moving," and he made for the shore.

They landed ten minutes later. Dillon stripped off his equipment and ran toward the house, still wearing his diving suit, Kim jogging at his heels. The Irishman flung open the front door, ran into the study and opened the top drawer in the desk. There was a Browning in there. As he checked it, Kim came in.

"Sahib?"

"I'm going up to the airstrip. You get the Memsahib from the cellar and tell her what's happened."

He ran outside and cut across the back lawn. No point in taking the Range Rover, he'd be quicker on foot and the rubber and nylon diving socks he wore protected his feet. He ran into the wood, weaving in and out amongst the trees, aware that the engines of the Citation hadn't stopped. As he emerged from the wood, he could see it taxiing to the end of the runway and turning into the wind. At the same moment, Morgan and Asta, Marco holding the Uzi against Ferguson's back, came round the corner of the main hangar and started toward the Citation. Dillon stopped running and watched helplessly as they boarded. A moment later the Citation roared along the runway and lifted into the sky. • • • When Dillon arrived back at Ardmurchan Lodge and went in the door Hannah rushed to meet him. "What happened? I heard the plane taking off."

"Exactly. Morgan had it all worked out. He didn't even go back to the castle. Not a minute wasted. I arrived in time to see them boarding, he and Asta, Marco and the Brigadier. They took off straight away."

"I've been onto headquarters. I've asked them to check the flight plan they filed."

"Good. Get straight onto them again and order Lacey to get up here in the Lear like it was yesterday."

"I've ordered that too, Dillon," she said.

"Nothing like Scotland Yard training. I'm going to change."

When he returned he was wearing black jeans, a white polo neck sweater, and his old black flying jacket. Hannah was in the sitting room at Ferguson's desk, the telephone at her ear. Kim came in with a jug of coffee and two cups.

She put the phone down. "They were routed to Oslo."

"That makes sense. He wanted to be out of our air space fast. Then what?"

"Refueling, then onwards to Palermo."

"Well, that's what he said his intended destination was. He's taking the Covenant to Luca."

"And the Brigadier?"

"Didn't Kim tell you? He's going to sell him to some Arab fanatics or other in Iran."

"Can't we stop him in Oslo?"

Dillon looked at his watch. "The rate that thing goes he'll be just about landing. Can you imagine how long it would take to go through Foreign Office channels to the Norwegian Government? No chance, Hannah, he's long gone."

"Then that leaves the Italian Government, Palermo."

Dillon lit a cigarette. "The best joke I've heard in a long time. This is Don Giovanni Luca we're talking about, the most powerful man in Sicily. He has judges killed to order."

She was upset now and it showed, her face very pale. "We can't let them get away with it, Dillon, Morgan and that conniving little bitch."

"Yes, she was good, wasn't she?" He smiled bleakly. "She certainly fooled me."

"Oh, to hell with your damned male ego, it's the Brigadier I'm thinking of."

"And so am I, girl dear. You get back to headquarters and tell them you want to contact Major Paolo Gagini of the Italian Secret Intelligence Service in Palermo. He should be more than interested. After all, he's the one who brought the story of the Covenant to Ferguson in the first place. He's also the expert on Luca, according to the file you showed me. Let's see what he can come up with."