"Right, good thinking." She picked up the phone and got to work, and Dillon walked out to the terrace, lit a cigarette, and looked out into the rain, wondering about it.

He was aware of Hannah's voice on the phone, but was somewhere else, thinking of Ferguson and what would happen to him in Iran and that was too awful to contemplate. Strange, but it was only now in a situation like this that he realized he actually had a certain affection for the Brigadier. He also thought about Morgan with a kind of cold, killing rage, and as for Asta…

Hannah came to the open French windows. "I've got Gagini on the phone from Palermo. I've filled him in on the situation and he wants to speak to you."

Dillon went in and picked up the phone. "Gagini, I've heard good things about you," he said in Italian. "What can we do in this thing?"

"I've heard of you too, Dillon. Look, you know what the situation is like here. Mafia everywhere. If I get a court order, which would be difficult, it would take time."

"What about Immigration and Customs at the airport?"

"Half of them have Mafia connections, just like the police. Any move I make at an official level Luca will know about within fifteen minutes."

"There must be something you can do."

"Leave it with me. I'll phone back in an hour."

Dillon put the phone down and turned to Hannah. "He's calling back in an hour. He's going to see what he can do."

"This is nonsense," she said. "All they have to do is meet the damn plane with a police squad."

"Have you ever been to Sicily?"

"No."

"I have. It's another world. The minute Gagini makes an official request for the police to meet that plane, someone will reach for a phone to inform Luca."

"Even from police headquarters?"

"Especially from police headquarters, the Mafia's fingers reach everywhere. Scotland Yard it's not, Hannah. If Luca thought there was a problem he'd contact Morgan and tell him to go elsewhere, perhaps even tell him to fly direct to Teheran and that's the last thing we want."

"So what do we do?"

"We wait for Gagini to phone back," he said, turned, and went outside again.

And when Gagini did phone just under an hour later he sounded excited. "My sources tell me the Citation isn't booked to land at Palermo."

"They must have a flight plan even in Sicily," Dillon said.

"Of course, my friend, just listen. Carl Morgan has an old farmhouse inland from Palermo at a place called Valdini. He doesn't use it much. There's just a caretaker and his wife in residence. It's an old family property."

"So?" Dillon glanced at Hannah, who was listening on the extension.

"The thing is, Morgan had an airstrip laid out there the other year, probably to be used for drug deliveries. It's grass, but open meadow about a mile long, so it's perfectly adequate for the Citation to land."

"Are you saying that's what he intends to do?"

"That's what the flight plan says."

"But what about Customs and Immigration?" Hannah broke in.

"All taken care of by Luca, Chief Inspector."

Dillon said, "Can we get in?"

"I doubt it. That's real Mafia country. You couldn't pass through a village without being noted, every shepherd boy on a hill with his flock is like a sentry. Troop movements, as with the police, are an impossibility."

"I see," Dillon said.

There was a sudden roar as the Lear from Gatwick passed overhead to make its landing.

"What do you want me to do, my friend?"

"Let me think about it. Our plane has just arrived. I'll let you know. The only certain thing is that we'll be coming to Palermo."

He replaced the phone as did Hannah. "It doesn't sound too good, does it?" she said.

"We'll see. Now let's get out of here."

Lacey came along from the cockpit and crouched down. "An hour to Gatwick. We'll refuel and get straight off to Palermo."

"Good," Dillon said. "Speed is of the essence on this one, Flight Lieutenant."

Kim lay back in one of the rear seats, eyes closed. Hannah glanced back at the little Ghurka. "What about him?"

"We'll drop him at Gatwick. Nothing for him to do where I'm going."

"And where would that be?"

"Valdini obviously."

"But Gagini has just told us that would be impossible."

"Nothing's impossible in this life, Hannah, there's always a way." He reached for the bar box, found a half bottle of Scotch, poured himself a shot into a plastic cup, and sat there brooding. • • • About twenty minutes before they reached Gatwick, Lacey patched a call through which Dillon took. It was Gagini.

"An interesting development. I've got one of my undercover men working at the local garage near Luca's place. His driver came in to fill up the tank. Told the owner they were taking a run out to Valdini."

"That makes sense," Dillon said. "Everything coming together."

"So, my friend, have you had any thoughts on how to handle this?"

"Yes, what about flying in?"

"But they would be alerted the moment you tried to land."

"I'm thinking of something different. A story Ferguson told me once. He had a fella called Egan working for him and he needed to get down fast in a similar sort of situation. That was in Sicily too, about ten years ago."

"Of course, I remember the case, he parachuted in."

"That's right."

"But he was an expert at that kind of thing. He jumped at eight hundred feet, my friend."

"Well he would, wouldn't he, but I can do that. I've jumped before. I know my stuff, believe me. Can you lay on a plane, parachute, weapons, and so on?"

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"We'll see you at the airport then," Dillon said and put the phone down.

"What was all that about?" Hannah demanded, but at that moment the seat belt signs went on and they started to descend toward Gatwick.

"I'll tell you later," Dillon told her. "Now be a good girl and fasten your belt."

The stopover at Gatwick took only an hour. Hannah took Kim across to the small office the Special Flying Unit used and arranged a taxi.

"I would rather come with you, Memsahib."

"No, Kim, you go back to Cavendish Square and make things nice for the Brigadier."

"He will come back, Memsahib, you swear it?"

She took a deep breath and, against every conviction, lied to him. "He'll be back, Kim, I promise you."

He smiled. "Blessings on you, Memsahib," and he crossed to his taxi.

She found Dillon in the waiting room feeding coins into a sandwich machine. "Plastic food, but what can you do? Would you like something? Personally, I'm starving."

"I suppose so. Anything there is."

"Well, you won't want the ham so we'll make it tomato and boiled egg. There's tea and coffee on board. Come on."

As they walked out to the Lear, the fuel truck was just moving away. Lacey stood waiting, the co-pilot already on board.

"Ready when you are," the Flight Lieutenant said.

"We'll get moving then," Dillon told him and went up the steps behind Hannah.

They settled in their seats and a few minutes later the Lear started to taxi. • • • Dillon waited until they leveled off at thirty thousand feet, then made tea in the plastic cups. He sat there eating the sandwiches without saying anything.

Finally Hannah said, "You were going to tell me what you were going to do?"

"There was a fella called Egan worked for Ferguson a few years back, ex-SAS. He had a similar problem about getting somewhere fast and that was in Sicily too."

"How did he solve it?"

"Parachuted in from eight hundred feet from a small aircraft. At that height, you hit the ground in thirty seconds."

There was genuine horror on her face. "You must be mad."

"Not at all. As far as they're concerned it will be just a plane passing overhead, a bit low perhaps, but they won't be expecting what I have in mind, and it will be dark by then."