'It would be as if the whole thing really had never happened,' Blake put in.

There was a pause before Cazalet said, 'That still leaves Lady Helen. She killed six men that we know of.'

'I see,' Dillon said. 'You mean she must pay for sending out of this vale of tears a bunch of absolute bastards, directly responsible for many deaths and the appalling circumstances of her son's death.'

'She broke the law and about as badly as it could be broken,' Cazalet pointed out.

'I've killed many more in my time and sometimes for worse reasons,' Dillon told him. 'Come to think of it, you earned a few medals in ' Nam, Mr President, and Blake, too. What was the body count?'

'Damn you, Dillon,' Cazalet said. 'Right. But it still leaves us with the problem: what do we do about her?'

'She's out of your jurisdiction now,' Blake reminded him.

'But she's still partly my responsibility.' Cazalet hesitated. 'Okay, get me Brigadier Ferguson.'

A moment later, Ferguson was taking his call. ' Mr President.'

'Dillon tells me you know the worst. The thing you don't know is that Lady Helen Lang has left Long Island in a Gulfstream for Gatwick. This is a mess, Brigadier. Let me tell you of my conversation just now with Dillon and Blake Johnson.'

'So, it never happened, Mr President,' Ferguson said, his voice clear over the speaker. 'All right, I think I can work with that over here. But what about Lady Helen?'

'I'm hoping you can think of something for that. You can speak to the Prime Minister, if you want. I'll talk to him later, but what we need is a solution from you. Tell you what. I'll send Dillon and Blake post-haste to London. I've got a plane here they can use.'

'Leave it with me,' Ferguson told him. 'God knows what, but I'll come up with something.'

Cazalet turned to Blake and Dillon. 'You heard. In view of what we've said, I think we can keep the lid on what happened here.'

'I'll stay in touch,' Blake told him.

'Minute by minute, preferably.' The President smiled. 'On your way, gentlemen.'

The Gulfstream rose to fifty thousand feet and turned out over the Atlantic. Lady Helen Lang, an old Foreign Office hand, phoned the Ministry of Defence and asked for Brigadier Charles Ferguson, most immediate. She also remembered a code number from her husband's day. It all worked surprisingly well, and she was patched through to Ferguson at Cavendish Square. 'Who is it?' Hannah Bernstein asked.

'Lady Helen Lang.' Helen smiled. 'Ah, I know you. That very nice lady policeman.' Hannah pressed the audio button and waved frantically to Ferguson. 'Are you there, Charles?'

Ferguson said, 'This is not good, my love.'

'Charles, insufferable as you are, I've always liked you, but for once, just listen. They've all paid the price. The chief of staff was a bonus. I didn't know he was the Connection. He tried to shoot me and I shot him. Not that it matters. He was blown to pieces in the end, in a rather large explosion. Your Mr Dillon was very kind. Told me it was all over. Tried to help. Such a nice man.'

'In between killing people.'

'My dear Charles, that's what you've been doing for years.'

'Helen, tell me one thing. How did you know?'

'Oh, that was poor Tony Emsworth. Riddled with guilt and dying of cancer. He had an illegal copy of the file from the SIS that told the whole story. Gave it to me just before he died. Everyone was in it. You, Mr Dillon, that nice police lady. Barry. The Sons of Erin.'

'I see,' Ferguson said. 'So what now?'

'Back to Compton Place. I've guests to receive, Mr Jack Barry and friends. He couldn't resist the invitation. I've spoken to him again. He's promised to come flying in to see me. I shouldn't think that means by scheduled airline.'

Ferguson was stunned. 'You can't do this, Helen.'

'Oh, yes, I can. He's the last one, the one who really did butcher my son. If you want to join us, Charles, you're very welcome, but if it's the last thing I do on earth, I want to face him.'

Ferguson felt a chill. 'Why do you say that?'

'My heart, Charles, it's not good. Amazing how whiskey and pills keep you going. Anyway, if I can't get him, I'm sure your Mr Dillon will.'

'For God's sake, Helen.'

'For my own sake, Charles.'

She switched off, and Hannah said, 'What do you think, sir?'

'Well, what do you think I should do? There isn't one fact, including the shooting of Tim Pat Ryan, which would allow us to arrest her even on suspicion.'

'So?'

'I'll be at Gatwick to greet her. We'll see then.'

At Doonreigh, Docherty was having breakfast when his phone rang. Barry said, 'I've got a big payday, I want to fly to the North Norfolk coast. A village called Compton, a house called Compton Place. An in-and-out.'

'How many?'

'Four, maybe five. This afternoon.'

Docherty hesitated. 'I don't know. There's military traffic in North Norfolk.'

'Listen, you shite. There's ten thousand pounds cash in a supermarket bag for you in this. Make up your mind.'

'Just give me time, Jack,' Docherty said. 'Let me check the charts. I'll be back.'

'How long?'

'An hour.'

Barry slammed the phone down, and instead of reaching for a drink, poured a cup of tea. He lit a cigarette and stood at the window, staring out at the rain, but he wasn't angry, he was actually excited. What a woman.

The President's plane lifted off at Westhampton. As always, Dillon was surprised at the luxury. The enormous club chairs, the maplewood tables. The flight attendant was Air Force, a Sergeant Paul. He brought coffee for Blake, a Bushmills for Dillon, and then the portable phone.

'For you, Mr Dillon. A Brigadier Ferguson.'

'Early breakfast, Brigadier?'

'Shut up and listen,' Ferguson told him. 'I've had her on the phone.'

'And?'

'She found out about the whole thing from Tony Emsworth before he died. He had an illegal file. Had all of us in it, including you. The whole rotten details of her son's death, kept under wraps by the Secret Intelligence Service. Told me she shot Thornton before the explosion. She's told Barry she's going to Compton Place. She's pulling him in.'

Dillon nodded. 'Yes, she would do that. He's the last, you see. Thornton was a bonus. Is she serious?'

'She's told me she's got a bad heart,' Ferguson said. 'Pills and whiskey keeping her going, she said. She's hanging in there, Dillon. A marvellous woman like her taking on that swine.'

'Hey, take it easy.'

'You know what she said? "If I can't get him, I'm sure your Mr Dillon will."'

'Really?' Dillon said, ice cold.

'God knows what I'll do at Gatwick.'

'I can tell you now,' Dillon said. 'Nothing, because she won't be there. Put the Chief Inspector on.'

'All right, Superintendent now.'

Dillon said to Hannah, 'You finally made it. If I said good for you, you'd say I was being patronizing.'

'Get on with it, Dillon.'

'I checked with the weather people at Westhampton before we left. Weather for the UK was poor. Big front, fog, Gatwick not too good. That's why I just told the boss she won't be there, but then I don't think she intended to. I think she'll land elsewhere.'

'Right, I'll check on that.' 'You do. We'll speak later.'

Docherty, on the phone to Barry, said, 'Okay, I can do it. The Chieftain again. Just like the guy we used last time. I've a connection in North Norfolk called Clarke. Ran a flying school at a place called Shankley Down, an old World War Two feeder station. The flying school went kaput. He's been doing illegal flights to Holland in a Cessna 310.'

'I don't give a stuff if he flies to Mars. Is it on?'

'Yes, I've spoken to him. Shankley Down is an hour at the most to Compton Place.'

'Good. You're on. I'll be there in two hours.'

Barry slammed the phone down, picked it up again and dialled a number. A voice said, 'Quinn here.'