Ali Selim said, “If you’d pulled a pistol, old son, you’d have been swimming with him now, but I’ll keep you a bit longer because you could be useful. Ease your piece out and throw it in the water, and use your left hand.”

Bounine did exactly as he was told. “Now what?”

“Back down to the cabin. Walk in front of your friend.” Bounine led the way, and they paused at the end of the table. Selim said, “Sit down for a minute.”

They did, and Kurbsky said, “What happens now?”

Ali Selim opened another wardrobe and pulled out three yellow and black fluorescent jackets. “Each of you put one on, and help him with his arm,” he told Bounine.

He retreated and put one on himself quickly. Then he found a life jacket, pulled it over his head, and tied the tapes at his waist. They had done as they were told, and now he took some plastic ties from a drawer.

“Wrists, both of you, behind the back. Do your friend,” he told Bounine again.

Bounine struggled, but Kurbsky’s left arm wouldn’t bend. “It won’t work.”

“Then tie them in front of him and I’ll do you.”

It was finished and they stood looking at him, and he produced the holdall from behind the bar, put it on the table, and opened it. He leaned over and sniffed. “I love that smell, Semtex. I’ve blown up parts of Belfast in my day with this stuff, and the IRA got the blame. Mind you, it’s no use without these.” He took out the tin box and opened it. “Pencil timers. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?”

He went to work, quickly and deftly, to do what needed to be done, and finally zipped up the bag. “I’m going to blow them all to hell, so let’s get on with it.”

Bounine led the way, followed by Kurbsky, who said as they went up to the stern deck, “Tell me one thing. Why the lifejacket-you won’t need that in hell.”

“But it’s what some nosy River Police patrol boat would expect me to wear, a legal requirement.”

“You think of everything. What are you going to do with my friend?”

“I could shoot him, but I wouldn’t like him down there in the same water as Luzhkov. You and I want to go all the way, and together.” He turned to Bounine. “He’s got cancer like me. It’s better this way.”

“He hasn’t got cancer,” Bounine said. “You’re crazy.”

“Don’t say that. And he does have cancer, he told me. You only have to look at him, anyway.”

Kurbsky said, “Of course I’ve got cancer, Selim, but he hasn’t. Let him go.”

“That’s perfectly correct, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Just before we turn to run into the Garden of Eden, I’ll roll him over the side.”

“With his bloody hands tied?”

“Who knows? If he kicks and struggles enough, he might float. It’s all in the hands of God, though I’m not sure which one. Now, down the steps and sit side by side in the stern. Go on, do it.”

Bounine went first and Kurbsky followed gingerly, and they got themselves settled. Ali Selim followed, put the bag containing the Semtex close to the prow, and cast off. They drifted out a little, the body of Luzhkov in the water a few feet away. Ali Selim crouched down.

“This is it, the big moment. The Running Dog does forty knots tops, so when I turn it up, we fly. It’s all going to happen very quickly, do you understand? I’ll be at Cadogan Pier in fifteen minutes. You’d better believe it.”

“I think by now you’ve made your point,” Kurbsky said. “No Russian flag?”

“Fuck the hammer and sickle. Attempt anything out of order and I’ll just give you each a bullet in the head.” He stood up, the rain pouring, and said cheerfully, “What a terrible day to die on.”

He went and sat behind the wheel, switched on the engine, and moved out into the Thames and turned upriver.

AND FLY Running Dog did, at an incredible speed, particularly considering the weather, the rain like a lace curtain obscuring everything. The Garden of Eden had cast off and was moving out into the channel to proceed downriver toward the House of Commons, when Captain Henderson, on the bridge beside the helmsman, saw the moving dot on the radar screen.

Ferguson, Harry Salter, Dillon, and Monica were below, but Billy, who didn’t drink and found most social gatherings boring, had joined the Captain.

Henderson said, “What the hell is that?”

The helmsman said, “By God, it’s shifting. I’ve never known such a speed on the river.”

Billy reached for a pair of glasses and focused them. “It’s one of those orange jobs like the police and customs use. I think it could be the police. They’re wearing the right jackets. There’s one guy at the wheel and two in the stern. It’s difficult to work out what’s happening. It’s bouncing about, and with all that spray and the rain, you can’t see much.”

“I don’t like it,” Henderson said. “It’s already veering off center. I’ll try the hooter.”

The warning blast echoed in the rain, and Ali Selim laughed. “There they are. Already working out, ready to proceed downriver. Too late. He won’t have time to maneuver.”

On the boat itself, there was no alarm, no panic as the music played and people enjoyed themselves and the Vice President of the United States glad-handed his way through the crowd, followed by Blake Johnson, but on Roper’s screens it was different.

“What in hell is that?” he said to Sergeant Doyle, who was standing beside him. He tried for a close-up, but the curtain of rain and spray defeated him.

Ali Selim, standing up at the wheel, howled with delight. “There she is, ready and waiting.”

Kurbsky and Bounine had been drenched with waves engulfing them, and it had taken time for Kurbsky to wrestle the gutting knife free with his bound hands. He showed it to Bounine, who half turned, holding up his wrists at the rear, and Kurbsky sliced through. He held out his hands, and Bounine freed him and gave the knife back to him.

Kurbsky stabbed into the thwart of the Running Dog, the razor-sharp blade doing terrible damage, and it swerved and immediately started to slow. Ali Selim turned, hanging on to the wheel, trying to keep his balance. Bounine and Kurbsky tried to stand up.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Ali Selim held on to the wheel with one hand and drew his Beretta, loosing off a shot wildly as the boat swerved. Bounine was hit in the right shoulder and knocked back in the stern seat.

“You bastard,” Ali Selim cried, and shot Kurbsky twice, once in the nylon-and-titanium jacket, the second round passing straight through the left hip. He turned back to concentrate on the steering, the boat slowing down, and Kurbsky flung himself against his back, sliding his right hand around and cutting his throat.

Ali Selim fell to his knees, bowing his head across the steering wheel as his life ebbed away. Over to the left, the Garden of Eden was virtually invisible in the rain and mist. The engine suddenly died and the Running Dog drifted, half full of water, pushed by the current.

Bounine was trying to sit up. Kurbsky sliced the waist tapes of Ali Selim’s life jacket, removed it, and went and looped it over his friend’s head.

“Hang on, old lad, we’re going for a swim.”

“The bag, Alex,” Bounine croaked. “The Semtex.”

“Of course.” Things seemed to be happening in slow motion for Kurbsky. “I think we’ll leave it to go down with the ship.”

He was knee-deep in water as he helped his friend over the side and followed him. The tidal current pulled them away, Kurbsky holding on to a strap on Bounine’s life jacket. The Running Dog had disappeared completely now. It was quiet, distant city sounds, the rain muffling everything, and then the surface of the river heaved and an enormous fountain jetted up, the sound echoing with a curious flatness.

In the computer room, Roper said, “And what in the hell was that?” to Doyle, and hurriedly called Ferguson on his mobile, connecting with him instantly. “What’s going on?”