Clancy said, 'Secret Service, presidential bodyguard. I'm doing my job.'

'Not with this lady, you're not.'

And Clancy, a Gulf War veteran, knew trouble when he saw it. He pulled a Beretta from his shoulder holster very fast indeed. To Hedley it was like grass blowing in the wind. His left arm moved with incredible speed, knocking the silenced Beretta to one side. It discharged with a muted cough. Clancy had never known such strength.

Hedley twisted the arm. 'You were Special Forces, right?'

'Hey, fuck you.'

'You couldn't fuck your grandmother, boy. Now, me, I had three tours in ' Nam in the Marines. I made sergeant major. The Gulf War was a joyride. Now drop it.'

Clancy Smith was a brave man, but the strength was terrible. The Beretta fell and Hedley turned him around, felt for the handcuffs Clancy carried, forced up the wrists and cuffed him. Clancy fell on his face.

Hedley said, 'Don't take it personally. I've killed more people than you could ever imagine.' He turned to Helen. 'Let's go, ma'am.'

They hurried away along the path. Clancy scrambled to his feet awkwardly. A moment later, two of his colleagues found him.

Hedley handed her into the limousine, got behind the wheel and drove away. 'You okay?' She was catching her breath. 'Fine, Hedley. Back to the airport.

Phone ahead. Tell them to be ready for instant departure to

London.'

He reached for the phone. 'You saw the President?'

'Yes. A good man, Hedley. And a lucky one.'

He said nothing, just made the call and replaced the phone.

'So what was all the fuss back there? Who was that guy?'

'That was the Connection making a very bad end. He was one Henry Thornton, chief of staff at the White House.' 'Good God!' He shook his head. 'That's unbelievable.' 'There's one more thing I should tell you. They know, Hedley, about me. The President, Blake Johnson, Dillon, Ferguson. It's all over.'

He was horrified. 'But what are you going to do?'

'We'll go back to Compton Place and review the situation.' She lit a cigarette. 'Drive on, Hedley, drive on.'

She pulled out the coded mobile, phoned Barry and found him still in bed. 'It's me again,' she said. 'Just keeping you up to date.'

He sat up, reached for a cigarette and managed to stay surprisingly calm. 'Good news or bad news?'

'All bad, I'm afraid. Your Connection turned out to be a man called Thornton, the White House chief of staff. He enjoyed playing up-the-rebels because he had an uncle shot by the British after the Easter Rising, plus a girlfriend killed in a firefight in Belfast by British troops. Wrong place, wrong time.'

'And how would you be knowing all this?'

'Oh, he was run to earth by Sean Dillon and Blake Johnson. There was a confrontation at the party the President was attending. I happened to be in the garden at the right moment. I overheard everything.'

'And Thornton?'

'I shot him in the back of the head. Afterwards, he was blown to pieces in a rather large explosion. Does that sound familiar?'

There was a long silence. 'Well, now,' Barry said. 'I guess that just leaves you and me. Where would you be now?'

'Still in Long Island. I'm flying out almost at once to Gatwick, then home to Norfolk.'

' Compton Place. I know about that.'

'So I can look forward to a visit?'

'You can depend on it. I'll come flying in.'

'I'm so glad.'

She put the mobile away and Hedley said, 'You're just asking for it, Lady Helen, and others could be coming looking for you, like Brigadier Ferguson.'

'I couldn't care less, Hedley, as long as Barry finds me first.

Just pass the flask.' He did so reluctantly. She shook a couple of pills into her palm and washed them down with whiskey. 'Good. Now get me to the airport.'

On the terrace with the President, Blake and Dillon, Clancy told them what had happened.

'Okay,' Blake said. 'He was big and black and he said he served in Vietnam?'

'That's it,' Clancy said.

Dillon turned to the President. 'It has to be Hedley Jackson. The final proof, I'd say.'

Blake said to Clancy, 'You and the boys go looking.'

'There's more than five hundred people here,' Clancy said.

'Just do it.'

Clancy went out. Cazalet said, 'What happened to Thornton – a convenient accident, wasn't it?'

'If you say so, Mr President,' Dillon told him.

'Except that you don't believe in accidents?'

'Never did, Mr President.' Dillon smiled softly. 'And certainly not with this lady.'

Chapter Fourteen

Not long after Helen Lang had called Barry, Dillon spoke to Ferguson at Cavendish Square. 'I always seem to be phoning you at ridiculous hours in the morning to give you bad news.'

'Tell me.'

Which Dillon did.

'What a mess,' Ferguson said. 'The chief of staff? Who'd have believed it?'

'Doesn't matter now,' Dillon said callously. 'Cooked to a turn and I'm not sorry. He was responsible for many deaths, and in the case of Peter Lang, an atrocity of the first order. Heinrich Himmler would have been proud of him.'

'Where is Helen Lang now?'

'Blake's checking. I'll keep you posted. She certainly isn't here.'

Ferguson put the phone down, thought about it, then called Hannah Bernstein. She answered astonishingly brightly, but then that was fourteen years of police work.

'Bernstein? It's me,' Ferguson said. 'And what a tale I have to tell. Long Island has turned out to be the modern equivalent of a Greek tragedy. Sony, Chief Inspector, but I'm going to have to ask you to make an early start.'

'Of course, sir.'

'There is one thing. The Commissioner phoned me late last night from Scotland Yard.'

'Trouble, sir?'

'Only for some. You are now a Detective Superintendent, Special Branch.'

'Oh dear,' Hannah said. 'The boys won't like that in the canteen.'

'Let me be brutal,' Ferguson told her. 'Forget your Cambridge MA in psychology. To my knowledge, you've killed four times in the line of duty.'

'Something I'm not proud of, sir.'

'If I may stir your Hasidic conscience, Superintendent, Sword of the Lord and Gideon, those people were all worth killing. You took a bullet yourself and I'm damn proud to have had you work for me. Anyway, Kim can get scrambled eggs going and we'll wait together to hear further bad news from Dillon. I'll fill you in when you get here.'

Blake came into the study where Dillon was talking to the President by the fire. Cazalet turned. 'Any news?'

'On Lady Helen Lang, Mr President? Yes. She flew over here from Gatwick in one of her firm's Gulfstreams and landed at Westhampton.'

'And?'

'By the time I'd chased all this up, she'd taken off again just before ten.'

'Destination?'

'Gatwick.' Blake hesitated. 'What do you want done, Mr President?'

'About Lady Helen?' Cazalet frowned, the tough, experienced politician in charge. 'If this comes out, the whole peace process can come toppling over. Let's be practical about this mess.

Thornton 's death can be dismissed as an unfortunate accident. A man tried to attack me, Thornton chased him, and they both died. Brady, Kelly and Cassidy already have explanations for their deaths. Tim Pat Ryan in London?'

'A gangster,' Dillon said. 'And every other gangster in London wanted his crown.'

'Exactly. As for Cohan -' Cazalet shrugged – 'I'm not going to shed tears over that bastard. So he'd had too much to drink and fell from the terrace of his suite.'

Blake said, 'You mean it never happened, Mr President?'

'Blake, it stinks, not only for the White House, but for Downing Street. We're all for peace and yet a thing like this

'Sinks the ship,' Blake said.

'And there's always Jack Barry.' Dillon lit a cigarette. 'The last man standing. Now, if he went down?'