'Christ, Jesus.'

'Down!' Barry called, and they all obeyed him.

He crawled to Quinn. 'You okay?'

'I think so.'

'I recognized the sound. A silenced AK. I heard enough of those in Vietnam.' He spoke to the others in low tones. 'She's there and she's waiting. Take care. Now fan out and move forward.'

The Lear jet went down and down, passed through fog at one thousand feet, then broke clear, Horseshoe Bay below, surf creaming in, a touch of early evening grey.

Flight Lieutenant Lacey said over the intercom, 'It's not good. Half-tide at the moment. Better to abort.'

Dillon and Blake in parachutes, jump suits, shoulder holsters, AKs suspended across their chests, glanced at Ferguson and Bernstein.

The Brigadier said, 'Your call, gentlemen.'

'What the hell.' Dillon reached for the lever and dropped the Airstair door. 'Who wants to live for ever?' He grinned at Blake. 'Hell, you're an older guy. You can go first.'

'You're so kind,' Blake said, and as Lacey made a pass at eight hundred, dived out headfirst and Dillon went after him.

The sky was turbulent, fog swirling to the horizon, the evening light fading. Dillon, aware of Blake in front of him, went down the Airstair door and allowed himself to fall, turning over in the Lear's slipstream. He pulled the ring of his rip cord, looked up and saw the plane climb steeply.

Below him, Blake landed on the sand just in front of the surf. Dillon, further behind, plunged into six feet of very salty water, surfaced and ploughed forward with difficulty because of the parachute trailing behind. He punched the quick release clip, let the harness slip away and waded to the beach.

Blake came to meet him. 'You okay?'

Dillon nodded. 'Let's do it.'

They went up the beach, paused in the pine trees, then started towards the house. They stood together, looking down, and there was a sudden explosion and smoke drifted up.

'I'd say that was a smoke grenade,' Dillon said. 'Let's go,' and they charged down the hill.

Barry stayed back, some instinct telling him to. Quinn led the others down towards the barn, and Hedley focused on Mullen and shot him through the head. Then he tossed a smoke grenade. The others flung themselves down and sprayed the first floor of the barn with fire. Hedley lay there at the top of the steps, head down, a round creasing his right shoulder.

Lady Helen crouched behind him. 'Are you all right?'

'Slightly damaged. Don't worry.'

Barry said, 'Get on with it, Quinn.'

Quinn stood up. 'Let's get to it,' he urged and they all stood and followed him. Lady Helen, behind Hedley, raised the Browning and fired it repeatedly, blowing Quinn away. They retreated, she reached down for Hedley.

'Come on, inside.'

Dolan and McGee crawled back. Barry said, 'Right, lads, into the barn. They've nowhere to go.'

'Christ, Jack, it's a bad scene,' Dolan said. 'Walk in the door and get your head blown off.'

Barry took out a Beretta. 'Well, you fucking well get in or I'll blow your head off myself. Go on, up those steps.'

Dolan, terrified, started up, and Blake, arriving in the courtyard at the same moment, sprayed him with his AK, sending him headfirst to the cobbles below.

Blake crouched, and Barry moved closer to McGee. 'Don't worry, we'll manage.'

Dillon appeared on the other side of the courtyard and fired his AK. 'You there, Jack?'

Barry called, 'So it's you, Sean. You always arrive too late.'

Blake fired in the general direction of Barry's voice, and there was return fire. He felt a red-hot poker in his left arm and fell back. Dillon fired in reply, three rounds, catching McGee in the face.

There was silence now, only the rain and the fog. Barry crawled forward, eased open the bottom door and passed inside. He saw her, up there on the barn platform, pulling Hedley back to safety, hay drifting down.

'I'm here,' he called.

She turned, dropping Hedley. Barry had his gun hand raised, as she pulled out the Colt without hesitation.

His Beretta jammed. He worked the slider desperately and she took deliberate aim. And then something strange happened. She seemed to struggle for breath, staggered back and fell to her knees. Barry ejected one magazine, rammed another in and took aim, and Dillon burst in through the barn door.

'No!' Dillon cried and fired, and his bullet creased Barry's face, sending him lurching back with a cry.

Barry recovered, and fired back repeatedly, sending Dillon down, then vanished through the back door. There was silence. Dillon stood and went up the stairs.

Hedley lay there, blood on his shoulder, Lady Helen beside him, face grey. Dillon kneeled beside her. 'What is it?'

'My heart, Mr Dillon. I've been on borrowed time for a while. Did we get them?' Dillon hesitated. 'The truth now.'

'From the looks of it, his gang, but not Barry.'

'What a shame.' She closed her eyes.

A moment later, an RAF Land Rover drove into the courtyard with Charles Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein.

Dillon worked his way from one body to another. Quinn, shot several times, was only just alive. Dillon said, 'Jesus, Quinn, I haven't seen you in years.'

'Dillon?'

'All down, your mates finished.'

'And Jack?'

'Oh, the Devil always looks after his own. He's away out of it as usual.'

'Bastard.'

'Where would he be going?'

Quinn managed a ghastly smile. 'It'll cost you a cigarette.'

Dillon got his silver case out. The cigarettes inside were still dry in spite of his ducking. He gave Quinn one and a light from his Zippo.

Quinn said, 'We flew from Doonreigh in a Chieftain with Docherty. Remember him from the old days?'

'Surely.'

'Landed on an old airstrip not far from here. Shankley Down, run by a man called Clarke. Docherty was to wait.' His voice was tired. 'A bastard, Jack, he always thought of number one. Flying back to Ulster and to hell with the rest of us.' He was wandering now. 'Back to Spanish Head. Always his bolt-hole.'

He was going fast. Dillon said, 'Hang on, Quinn, I could still get him. Remember that special thing about me? I can fly anything with wings. This Shankley Down. Was there another plane there?'

Quinn nodded. 'Small plane, but two engines. The kind where you walk over the wing to get in.'

'Cessna 310,' Dillon said.

'Get him, Dillon, fuck the bastard.' The cigarette fell from Quinn's fingers and his head lolled to one side.

Dillon went to Ferguson, who was speaking into his mobile. He switched off. 'I've sent for a disposal unit. I shouldn't think they'll make it in this weather in less than four hours. What about him?'

He nodded to Quinn and Dillon said, 'Dead, all four dead.'

'Anyone I should know?'

'Oh, you'll be delighted. Four to cross off your most-wanted list.'

Hannah Bernstein had got the medical kit from the RAF Land Rover. She had wrapped a field service bandage round Blake's arm. Hedley was holding another to his shoulder as he crouched beside Lady Helen. Dillon dropped to one knee and she smiled.

'So he got away, Mr Dillon, what a pity.'

Dillon took her hand, never so cold, never so calm. 'He only thinks he has. I'll get him for you, my love, I swear it.' He stood up and helped her to her feet. 'Take her inside,' he said to Ferguson.

They stood there, Hedley and Blake, Ferguson and Lady Helen, Hannah with an arm around her. Blake was obviously in considerable pain and Hedley didn't look good.

'Terrible mess, all this, Charles,' Lady Helen said. 'It won't look good in the papers.'

'It won't be in the papers,' Ferguson said. 'My disposal unit will take this trash back to London where they will be processed in a certain crematorium. They'll be several pounds of grey ash each by the morning, and they can dump it in the Thames as far as I'm concerned.'