"Of course, Signorina." He bowed, ushering her into the house, closed the door, and went to the phone.

She went and poured herself a drink and stood sipping it, staring out across the terrace, and was surprised at how quickly Giorgio returned. "I've found Ruffolo, he is on his way and you were right, Signorina. The English Lear has departed. There were two pilots and three passengers."

She stared at him. "Three, are you sure?"

"Yes, a woman, a stout ageing man, and a small man with very fair hair. Our contact didn't get the names, but saw them boarding."

"I see. Good work, Giorgio. Call me when Ruffolo gets here."

Asta stripped and stood under a hot shower. It was like a bad dream, so difficult to believe that Dillon was still alive. Carl, her beloved Carl, and Luca and it was all Dillon's fault. How could she have ever liked him? Dillon and Ferguson, but especially Dillon. They'd ruined everything and for that they had to pay.

She got out of the shower, toweled herself down, then oiled her body, thinking about it. Finally, she pulled on a robe and started to comb her hair. The phone rang. When she lifted it up it was Giorgio.

"Signorina. Captain Ruffolo is here."

"Good, I'll be right down."

Ruffolo was in an open-necked shirt, blazer, and slacks when she went in the sitting room. He came to greet her, kissing her hand.

"Forgive me, Signorina, I'd gone out for a meal, but Giorgio managed to trace me. How can I serve you?"

"Please, sit down." She waved him to a chair, went and started to open a bottle of Bollinger champagne Giorgio had left in an ice bucket. "You'll take a glass, Captain."

"My pleasure, Signorina." His eyes fastened on the ripe curves of her young body and he sat up straight.

Asta poured champagne into two crystal glasses and handed one to him. "This is a delicate matter, Captain. The Capo has given me a special task. I am to go to England tomorrow, but not officially, if you understand me."

Ruffolo sampled a little of the champagne. "Excellent, Signorina. What you mean is you would like to land in England illegally, no trace that you are there, am I right?"

"Exactly, Captain."

"There is no problem on this. There is a private airfield in Sussex we can use. I've done this before. There is so much traffic in the London approaches that if I go in from the sea at six hundred feet there is no trace. Is it London you wish to go to?"

"Yes," she said.

"Only thirty miles away by road. No problem."

"Wonderful," she said, got up and went back to the champagne bucket. "The Capo will be pleased. Now let me give you another glass of champagne."

SIXTEEN

It was just before six the following evening when the Daimler was admitted through the security gates at Downing Street. Dillon, Ferguson, and Hannah Bernstein sat in the back and when the chauffeur opened the door for them it was only Ferguson and Hannah who got out.

Ferguson turned. "Sorry about this but you'll have to wait for us, Dillon. I don't expect we'll be long."

"I know." Dillon smiled. "I embarrass the man."

They went to the door where the duty policeman, recognizing Ferguson, saluted. It opened at once and they passed inside, where an aide took their coats and Ferguson's Malacca cane. They followed him upstairs and along the corridor. A second later and he was admitting them to the study where they found the Prime Minister sitting behind his desk working his way through a mass of papers.

He glanced up and sat back. "Brigadier, Chief Inspector. Do sit down."

"Thank you, Prime Minister," Ferguson said and they pulled chairs forward.

The Prime Minister reached for a file and opened it. "I've read your report. An absolutely first-class job. Dillon seems to have acted with his usual rather ruthless efficiency."

"Yes, Prime Minister."

"On the other hand, without him we'd have lost you, Brigadier, and I wouldn't have liked that at all, a disaster for all of us, wouldn't you agree, Chief Inspector?"

"Absolutely, Prime Minister."

"Where is Dillon now, by the way?"

"Waiting outside in my Daimler, Prime Minister," Ferguson told him. "I feel it the sensible thing to do considering Dillon's rather unusual background."

"Of course." The Prime Minister nodded and then smiled. "Which leaves us with the Chungking Covenant." He took it from the file. "Remarkable document. It raises such infinite possibilities, but as I said at the first meeting we had about this affair, we've had enough trouble with Hong Kong. We're getting out and that's it, which is why I told you to find the damn thing and burn it."

"I rather thought you'd like to do that yourself, Prime Minister."

The Prime Minister smiled. "Very thoughtful of you, Brigadier."

There was a fire burning brightly in the grate of the Victorian fireplace. He got up, went to it, and placed the document on top. The edges curled in the heat, then it burst into flame. A moment later it was simply gray ash already dissolving.

The Prime Minister turned, came round his desk. "I'd like to thank you both." He shook hands with them. "And thank Dillon for me, Brigadier."

"I will, Prime Minister."

"And now you must excuse me, I'm due at the House of Commons. An extra Prime Minister's question time. We must let members have their moment of fun."

"I understand, Prime Minister," Ferguson said.

Behind them, by the usual mysterious alchemy, the door opened and the aide reappeared to show them out.

"It went well then?" Dillon said as the Daimler turned out through the security gates into Whitehall.

"You could say that. He enjoyed the pleasure of putting the Chungking Covenant on the fire himself."

"Well that was nice for the man."

"He did ask the Brigadier to thank you, Dillon," Hannah said.

"Did he now?" Dillon turned to Ferguson, who sat with his hands folded over the silver handle of his Malacca cane. "You didn't mention that."

"Didn't want it to go to your head, dear boy." He opened the partition window. "Cavendish Square." He sat back. "I thought we'd all have a drink at my place."

"Oh, Jesus, your honor," Dillon said. "It's so kind of you to ask us, the grand man like yourself."

"Stop playing the stage Irishman, Dillon, it doesn't suit you."

"Terribly sorry, sir." Dillon was all public school English now. "But the fact is I'd take it as a real honor if you and the Chief Inspector would have a drink with me at my place." He opened the partition window again. "Change of venue, driver, make it Stable Mews."

As Dillon closed the window Ferguson sighed and said to Hannah, "You'll have to excuse him, he used to be an actor, you see."

The Daimler turned into the cobbled yard of Stable Mews and stopped outside Dillon's cottage. "Wait for us," Ferguson told his driver as the Irishman unlocked the front door and Hannah followed him in. Ferguson joined them, closing the door.

"This is really rather nice," he said.

"Come in the sitting room." Dillon led the way in, feeling for the switch and when the light came on, Asta Morgan was sitting in the wing-backed chair by the fireplace. She wore a jump suit in black crushed velvet and a black beret. More important, she held a Walther in her lap, a silencer screwed to the end of the barrel.

"Well this is nice, here I was waiting for you, Dillon, and I get all three." Her eyes glittered, her face was very pale, dark shadows under her eyes.

"Now don't be a silly girl," Ferguson told her.

"Oh, but I've been a very clever girl, Brigadier. I'm not even supposed to be in the country and when I've finished here, my plane's waiting on a quiet little airstrip in Sussex to fly me out again."

"What do you want, Asta?" Dillon said.