'And you have the power to do that, Charles.'

He took her from Hannah and put an arm around her. 'I can do anything.'

Dillon said, 'I'll leave you to it. I'll be away. I'll take the Land Rover.'

Ferguson said, 'What is this?'

'Quinn told me they flew into a place called Shankley Down in a Chieftain piloted by an old acquaintance of mine called Docherty. I should imagine Jack's taking off about now, if he hasn't already.'

'But what can you do?'

'The place is run by a man called Clarke and there's a Cessna 310 there. I'm going to chase Jack Barry to the hob of hell. Oh, the 310 is a bit slower than a Chieftain, but I think I can take care of that. You see, I know his ultimate destination.'

And it was Blake who saw it. 'Spanish Head?'

'Got it in one.'

'But it would be crazy for him to go there.'

'He is crazy.'

'But where can you land, Sean?'

'I know the place well from the old days. Great beaches off the Head with the tide out.'

'In weather like this?' Ferguson said. 'You're mad.'

'I always was, Brigadier.'

Hannah Bernstein said, 'In the circumstances, I'd better go with him, sir.'

'Like hell you will,' Dillon told her.

'Let me tell you something, Dillon. To leave here in the Land Rover, you need the keys and I have them. Secondly, you have no authority to proceed without a police presence, which as a Detective Superintendent of Special Branch I will provide, Northern Ireland being part of the United Kingdom.'

'Jesus, but you're a hard woman.'

'I'd have thought you'd have realized that before now,' Ferguson said. 'All I can say is stay in touch.'

When Barry arrived at Shankley Down, Docherty and Clarke were standing inside one of the two hangars, smoking. The Transit braked to a halt and Barry got out, face bleeding where Dillon's bullet had creased him.

'Right, let's be moving,' he said.

'What about the others?' Docherty asked.

'They won't be coming,' Barry said. 'All dead.'

Clarke said, 'Just a minute. What are we into here?'

Barry took out his Beretta and shot him between the eyes, then he leaned over him, searched in his bomber jacket and found the envelope with the two thousand pounds. When he looked up, Docherty's face was haggard.

'Jack?'

'It went wrong. Load of shite. Now let's get moving,' and he pushed Docherty towards the Chieftain.

A moment later, they roared down the runway and took off into the fading light.

It was forty minutes later that Dillon and Hannah arrived in the Land Rover, Dillon driving. They pulled up beside Clarke's body and got out.

'He certainly passed this way,' Dillon told her. 'Call Ferguson on your mobile and tell him you've got another candidate for his disposal unit.'

He went into the second hangar, mounted the wing of the Cessna, climbed over to the left-hand seat and checked the instruments. She joined him a few moments later and followed him in.

'Everything okay?'

'The tanks are full, if that's what you mean. Look, he's on his way and the Chieftain is a lot faster than we are. Docherty's place at Doonreigh is about forty miles from Spanish Head and Quinn thought that's where the bastard will go. I'll catch up with him by making that beach landing below the cliffs I spoke about.'

'Is the tide out or in?'

'We'll check on the way.' He switched on. 'If you're not happy, leave me to it.'

'Go to hell, Dillon.' She closed the cabin door and buckled her seat belt and reached for the spare headphones.

'Just turn that dial to five,' he said. 'That's UK weather, then trawl through it for Ulster.'

He put his own headphones on, started first the port engine, then starboard and taxied out into the rain, moving to the end of the runway. She spoke to him over the mike.

'How long?'

'An hour and a half with a tailwind, two if it's the other way. Why?'

'According to the weather report, the tide is turning on that coast in just over an hour from now. Fog clearing, half moon.'

'Sounds interesting.' He smiled at her, boosted power and roared down the runway.

The Chieftain turned in to land at Doonreigh, darkness falling, and taxied up to the hangars and Nissen hut. Barry had been into Docheity's bar box and had demolished half a bottle of

Paddy whiskey on the way, sitting on his own in the cabin. He hadn't taped his face with anything from the medical box, had simply swabbed it with raw whiskey. When the Chieftain rolled to a halt, he unlocked the Airstair door and went down the steps. The fog had cleared, but it was raining hard.

'Back on the old sod,' he said.

Docherty, getting out behind him, said, 'Ten thousand pounds cash in a supermarket bag you promised, Jack.'

'And me forgetting. Isn't that the terrible thing?' Barry pulled out his Beretta and shot him twice in the heart. A few moments later, he was driving away.

As darkness descended, the sky cleared and there was the light of the moon, as Dillon flew over the Irish sea.

Hannah said, 'Will we make it, Sean?'

'Ah, keep the faith, girl.' There was strange intimacy between them.

He was low now, no more than fifteen hundred and there was the coast, the cliffs of Northern Ireland, black in the moonlight, and Dillon checked the chart book on his knee and turned slightly to port.

'That's it. Dead ahead now.' He descended to six hundred. 'Only one problem. The tide's coming in fast down there.'

He crossed the cliffs, the castle below. 'Is that it?' she asked.

'Spanish Head as ever was.'

He turned out to sea again, banked and dropped his undercarriage. 'Here we go. Try praying. It might help.'

Whitecaps were pounding into the surf and there wasn't much beach left there. Dillon levelled, no more than fifty feet above the water, then dropped her in. The wheels bit into wet sand no more than two feet below the water, the Cessna careered forward, then nosed up to the strip of beach left.

It was very quiet when he switched off and removed the headphones. From that position, the sea looked relatively calm in the moonlight. Dillon smiled. 'Nice view.'

'Don't do that to me again,' Hannah Bernstein said. 'Not ever. Can we get out?'

'It's a thought. Any minute now and you'll get your feet wet, so let's go.'

They crossed the beach and found a path that climbed up between two cliffs. When they reached the top, the castle was quite close.

'What now?' Hannah asked.

'I'd have thought that was obvious,' Dillon said. 'We'll make for the lodge,' and he led the way.

Old John Harker was in the kitchen at the lodge, waiting for the kettle to boil, when there was a sudden draught on his cheek. He turned and found the door open and Dillon there, Hannah at his shoulder.

'Remember me?' Dillon said.

'My God!' Harker said.

'Has his lordship turned up?'

'Ten minutes ago. How did you know?'

'I know everything. Now this is how it is. Get your lantern and take us up through the garden. I'll decide what to do when we reach the castle.'

'Whatever you say.' Harker hesitated. 'Is this the end of him?'

'If I have anything to do with it.'

'Thank God for that.' Harker took an electric lantern from a peg. 'That secret passage from the panel in the library. It comes out in the front hall. Let's get to it then.'

Barry, in the study off the main entrance hall, helped himself to a large whiskey, then went upstairs to the library. He stood, drinking the whiskey and glanced up at the portraits of his ancestors. All Francis, but not himself. He looked at the one in Confederate uniform. He seemed to be smiling in a kind of amusement.

'Bastard,' Barry said. 'Arrogant bastard, but a good soldier.'

He toasted the portrait and behind him the door opened and Dillon and Hannah entered. Dillon was unarmed, but she carried a Walther in her left hand.