'I still say Ireland's the place to go,' Dillon said. 'Visit the scene of the original crime.'

Ferguson opened his briefcase, took out a book and put it on the table next to Roper, who picked it up and examined it. 'From Waterstone's. A history of the IRA, with a detailed account of the Warrenpoint ambush of Nineteen seventy-nine. Anybody can read about it, Sean – it doesn't have to be somebody who was there.'

'And as I've already mentioned,' Miller said, 'I've used the Warrenpoint disaster in my lectures at Sandhurst for ten years. Hundreds and hundreds of officer cadets have heard that lecture.'

'Let's move on,' Ferguson said. 'By chance, Major Miller and I bumped into an old comrade of mine today, General Sir Hedley Chase, Chairman of Talbot International. He was with his Managing Director, Major Justin Talbot, who was just back from Pakistan. I presume you know the firm,

Daniel?'

'Of course I do. It's one of the biggest in the business. Family-owned – the Chairman for years, Colonel Henry Talbot, was involved in Ulster politics.'

'And that's a polite way of putting it,' Dillon said. 'The kind of old-fashioned Protestant politician who'd have welcomed another potato famine just to reduce the Catholic population to manageable proportions.'

'You appear to feel strongly on the matter, Sean,' Ferguson said.

'And why wouldn't I, living only a few miles up the road at Collyban for some years in my youth? It was with my uncle on my mother's side, Mickeen Oge Flynn – good man; still has a garage there. And I can assure you, Colonel Henry Talbot was one of the most hated men in County Down. The grand house he had where he lorded it over the Catholic "scum of Kilmartin", as he described them. The only thing that kept someone from shooting him was his wife, Mary Ellen. Mickeen Oge used to say, if ever a saint walked this earth, it was her, even if she was a Protestant.'

'He certainly sounds a real old bastard,' Harry Salter said.

'Warrenpoint must have been a bitter pill for him to swallow,' Ferguson said. 'Only a few miles away.'

Dillon said coldly, 'Enough of the ould sod, and back to our problem. We know there are British Muslims in the Taliban ranks: we have recordings of them. I'm with Billy in thinking that most of them simply make their own way to Pakistan and join up there. I shouldn't imagine there is any organization as such. Information about where to join is probably available at any local mosque.'

'So what is your point?' Ferguson demanded.

'That the job comes down to one thing: find Shamrock. The President asked me if I thought we could, and I said yes. He said, don't let me down and, with all due respect to you, General, I don't intend to.'

Ferguson turned to Holley. 'For twenty-five years, behind the respectable front of Malik Shipping, you've sold arms to anyone who could pay. You must be one of the most experienced dealers in the business. Who would we get in touch with? In our discussion with Talbot and Sir Hedley, we kept it general, made no mention of Shamrock. They both felt that if the government was concerned about the situation, they should send someone to take a look. Talbot said he had an excellent staff who would be willing to help.'

'They wouldn't be much help for what you're looking for,' Holley said. 'They're far too respectable. I could provide two or three names, the kind of people who have their hands in everything. But you really have to do it face-to-face: it's the only way. Peshawar International may not be the biggest airport in the world, but it'll handle an RAF Gulfstream, I should think.'

Harry Miller said to him, 'What a splendid idea.'

Ferguson turned to Miller, 'By heavens, I could go with you. I've excellent contacts with Pakistan Intelligence.'

'That's up to you,' said Holley, 'but be careful what you say. Pakistan Intelligence is riddled with corruption and Taliban sympathizers. As for Shamrock, I'd keep that for the lowlifes whose names I'll give you.'

'Thanks for the warning, Daniel. Give Roper the names of the dealers you suggest we meet in Peshawar, if you would.'

'I can do more than that. They all have laptops, I'll give you their email addresses. Just remember: these are ruthless men, all out to make a buck. They don't know what a scruple is. I'd go armed at all times.'

'Give me the names of this unsavoury lot,' Roper said.

'Dak Khan, Jose Fernandez and Jemal Hamid. I'll give you their emails later.'

Billy Salter said, 'So while you and Harry are over in Pakistan, what do we do?'

'Try to behave yourselves,' Ferguson told him. 'And watch Dillon for me. We won't be away long.'

Holley's Codex sounded. He answered it and found Josef Lermov. Holley waved frantically at Roper and mouthed 'speaker'. Roper turned it on and Lermov's voice boomed a little.

'I thought I'd let you know that there's been a terrible accident in Chechnya. Mullah Ibrahim Nadim met a bad end on a country road outside some small town with an unpronounceable name. A car bomb killed him, two bodyguards and his driver.'

Holley felt no remorse for the part he had played in the affair. 'Well, he wanted paradise, so at least he got that. Inshallah. It was his time.'

'You know,' Lermov said, 'during the Battle of Algiers, Muslim girls threw away their traditional clothes, cut their hair and wore make-up and pretty frocks to fool French paratroopers into believing they were Europeans. That way, they were able to visit coffee shops and leave bombs under the seats.'

'Yes, I know that. Very ingenious,' Holley said. 'What's the point?'

'The point, my dear Daniel, is that Chechnyan Muslim women appear to have adopted the same idea. An unfortunate Colonel in the GRU's Planning Cabinet apparently made the mistake of enjoying the charms of such a woman.'

'And how is he?'

'Dead. He shot her and then shot himself.' 'Well, there you are, that's the way it goes,' Holley told him.

'Prime Minister Putin has asked me to tell you he owes you one, Daniel.'

Holley laughed. 'Now that really does frighten me, Josef. Thank him for the kind thought, but I think I'll still lock my door at nights.'

Lermov hung up. Harry Salter said, a kind of admiration in his voice, 'What a cool bastard you are, my old son. I'll have to keep my eye on you.'

'Well, that will keep me safe, if nothing else,' Holley told him. 'What happens now?'

'Luncheon,' Ferguson said. 'Is that all right with everybody?'

'Not me,' Roper said, 'you've given me the rush job of all time. I've got a million things to do. You lot just get on with it.'

'So where shall we eat?'

Ferguson asked. 'What about the Al Bustan in Shepherd Market?' Holley said. 'Great Lebanese food.' 'Let's go,' Ferguson said. Selim Lancy had been keeping an eye on his namesake at his shop, which was easy enough to do in the congested and narrow streets of the market. There were also numerous cafes with tables outside, and he was sitting at one, observing the shop, when the party from Holland Park arrived at the Al Bustan, which was just on the corner. It was a surfeit of riches, for the Preacher had followed up his photo of Holley with further ones covering Ferguson's most important people. And now here they were, just dropped into his lap.

The waiters pushed tables close so they could sit together under an awning outside the restaurant, and wine was ordered. It was all very good-humoured.

Lancy sat down at a small table on the edge of things, but not too close. He didn't need to be close, for the hearing enhancer he slipped into his right e eavesdrop. He ordered wine himself and began reading his newspaper.

It was Ferguson who gave it away by asking Holley, 'How long since you were last in Peshawar, Daniel?'

'Five months ago,' Holley said. 'Flying visit. I was only there three days. Long enough to complete business, then get out. You wouldn't want to linger, and you shouldn't, General.'