'An old friend, this one. A folding stock, and you have a silencer.'

'It's not completely silent. What would you want to do?'

'Shoot a tyre out, get all of them at the same time.'

'That sounds good. Let's see if you can do it. Whatever happens, return to the flat. I'll expect to find you there.'

'Good. Now find me some sort of road map.' Bell found an old raincoat with capacious pockets so that the Armalite, with its folding stock, was easily concealed. He walked down South Audley Street until he found the restaurant, and there was the parked Daimler, the chauffeur sitting with the light on, reading a newspaper.

He had worked out from the map that, on leaving the restaurant, they would have to turn left down Park Lane, then make a U-turn into Curzon Gate to make for Cavendish Place along the other side of Park Lane. So, Bell crossed the road to the shadows of Hyde Park, scrambled over the fence and stood in the darkness of a tree. He had a pair of night glasses, which he clipped to his head, and he watched the front of the restaurant.

When Ferguson, Blake and Dillon emerged, they walked to the Daimler and got in. Bell took out the Armalite, unfolded it and waited. There was little traffic at that time of night and the Daimler turned out of Curzon Gate and picked up speed. Bell aimed at the rear wheel on the passenger side and fired. At that moment, Dillon happened to turn his head and saw the flash. The tyre burst and the Daimler slewed across the road, then back again, bumping over the kerb. Ferguson was thrown against the passenger door, Blake on his knees.

'This is a hit,' Dillon said, 'I saw the flash. I'm going.'

He jumped out, vaulted the fence and drew his Walther. Aidan Bell turned and ran, holding the Armalite across his chest.

Dillon went after him, chasing him through the shadows. They came to a huge monument, suffused with light all around, and Bell tripped and fell, and the Armalite went flying. Dillon came to a halt and stood there, chest heaving, holding the Walther to his side.

'Why, Aidan, it's you, old son. How much did the Earl offer?'

'To hell with you, Dillon.'

He grabbed for the Armalite and Dillon shot him twice in the heart.

He went back to the road and the car. Ferguson was holding his arm. 'I think it's broken.'

'What happened, Sean?' Blake asked.

'It was Bell. I shot him. He's by the monument. I don't know how you want to handle it, General. Do you want to leave a famous IRA terrorist to be found shot dead in Hyde Park or call in the disposal team?'

'In the circumstances, let's make it low-key. You call in, explain where you are and wait. Frankly, I need to get myself to Rosedene.' He got out of the Daimler with Blake and said to his chauffeur, 'Call in recovery for the car. Mr Johnson will see to me.'

Later, sitting in the shadows of the monument, Dillon rang Paul Rashid on his mobile. 'It's me, Dillon. Aidan Bell tried to take us out, but I'm afraid he's failed for the very last time.'

'You've killed him?'

'Yes.'

'Well, if you hadn't done it, I would have.'

'That doesn't surprise me. I'm looking forward to the funeral, Rashid. If you think you can take me, you're welcome to do it. This thing's gone on long enough.'

'I look forward to it as well, Dillon.'

Kate, sitting opposite him, said, 'What is it?'

'Bell's dead.'

'Dillon?'

'Who else.'

'So, he'll come to the funeral?'

'He'll come to his death as far as I'm concerned.'

Dillon sat on the steps of the monument, smoking a cigarette, and after a while, the disposal team arrived.

Dauncey Place Blake went home the following morning. Bell vanished off the face of the earth. Dillon visited Rosedene and found Ferguson with his left arm in a sling by Hannah's bed.

'How are you?' Dillon asked.

'I've been better.'

Dillon turned to Hannah. 'And you?'

'I'll survive. General Ferguson has filled me in. So, you killed Bell?'

'You sound disapproving. For God's sake, woman, he tried to kill us.' He smiled. 'Ah, I see it now. You're not in favour of capital punishment.'

'Damn you, Dillon. The General says you told Rashid you'd attend the funerals of his brothers tomorrow.'

'So? You told me he'd challenge me. I figured I'd just challenge him first.'

'You stupid man. I told you, he's crazy. He'll do anything to finish you off now.'

'And as I've told you many times, Hannah, I just may be crazy, too.'

'I really don't think you should do it, Dillon,' Ferguson said. 'In fact, that's an order.'

Dillon said, 'And if I say no, what will you do, lock me up in Wandsworth Prison?'

'I could. Your past record condemns you.'

'Really? When you got me out of a Serbian prison, blackmailed me to come and be your enforcer, the important part of the deal was that my IRA slate would be wiped clean. Now, in effect, you tell me no. If you're serious, all I can say is that Billy Salter may be a gangster, but he's got a grip on morality that's far better than yours.' He reached over and kissed Hannah on the cheek. 'God bless, girl, and take care. As for Rashid wanting me dead, well, the British Army wanted that for long enough and I'm still here.' He nodded to Ferguson. 'You know where to get me if that's what you want to do. Otherwise I'll go down to Dauncey tomorrow to that funeral. I'll give Rashid his chance.'

He turned and went out.

Hannah said, 'Are you going to have him banged up, sir?'

'Of course not.' Ferguson sighed. 'I just wanted to see if I could bluff him out of it. These past eight or nine years, I've grown rather fond of him. You, too, I think.'

'You could say that, sir, but I'd appreciate it if you'd promise not to tell him.'

'Of course, my dear. Now, as I'm feeling perfectly wretched, I think I'll go home,'

Paul and Kate Rashid went into the Dauncey Arms at lunchtime. Betty Moody was behind the bar and all the usual locals were there. Everyone stood up.

Rashid said, 'No, my friends, sit down. Get a drink for everyone, Betty, but I'm hungry as a hunter. Whatever you've got.'

There were tears in her eyes. She reached and touched his face. 'Oh, Paul,' and then Kate was crying, too, and Betty took her hand and lifted the bar flap. 'You stop snivelling, girl. I've told you that since you first learned to listen. Come and do some useful work in the kitchen.'

Later, they ate, she opened a bottle of champagne for them and they sat by the fire.

'Tomorrow,' she said hesitantly. 'The funerals. You haven't said much.'

'Service at the church is eleven thirty. We're scaling it down this time, Betty. No general invitation like the last time. The villagers are welcome, though. You could do us a buffet here at the pub. We don't want a fuss. I don't even want staff at the house after the funeral.'

'Whatever you want, Paul, leave it with me.' She moved away. Kate said, 'Will he come?' 'Oh, yes, he'll come,' her brother said. 'I've never been more certain of anything in my life.'

Dillon called in on Harry at the Rosedene and found him propped up in bed, Dora hovering, the epitome of the barmaid turned nurse.

'Watch it,' Dillon told her. 'If you keep doing such a good job, the old bugger might decide to marry you.'

Her eyes gleamed. Harry said, 'Don't give her ideas above her station!' He slapped Dora's bottom. 'Go and find me a bottle of Scotch, there's a good girl.'

She went out. Dillon said, 'You think you've got her, but she's got you by your bits and pieces, Harry. Mind you, you're a lucky sod. She's actually a damn nice woman and she'd kill for you.'

'You don't need to tell me.' 'Then treat her right.'

Salter looked at him. 'Why do I get the impression you're not exactly on top of the world?'