'Are you okay, Major?'

'Aches and pains, Tony.' He checked the time. 'No wonder: two o'clock in the morning. Mug of tea, please.'

He lit a forbidden cigarette and checked his screens for the overnight news, and there it was, the death of Colonel Henry Talbot. He hesitated, then called Ferguson on his Codex, who replied at once and sounded perfectly civil.

'Is it something important, Roper? We'll be landing in an hour and a half.'

'Two o'clock in the morning here, General, and a news report's beginning to filter through which I thought might interest you. Colonel Henry Talbot died a few hours ago at Talbot Place in County Down.'

'Did he, by Jove?'

'What do you think will happen now?'

'My dear old chum, General Sir Hadley Chase will bow out gracefully as Chairman of the company and Justin Talbot will become an extremely wealthy man. Eight hundred million, I hear. Thanks for letting me know. We'll talk later, I'm sure.'

'Before you say over and out, there's also been an incident you'll want to know about.'

'Then tell me about it.' Roper told him about what had happened at the Dark Man and, when he was finished, Ferguson said, 'Damn sinister, wouldn't you agree?'

'The hint of Al Qaeda certainly makes one think.'

'More than a hint,' Ferguson said. 'Allah is great and Osama is his Prophet. That would seem a clear indication to me.'

'I agree, General. Though to many Muslims, it would be counted as blasphemy.'

'You've got a point. All I can say is, it would be sensible for us to conclude that we are being targeted and act accordingly. We'll talk about it when I return, but I want all of you to take care.' Doyle brought the tea and Roper sat there, considering the matter. Eight hundred million. It didn't bear thinking about, so he dismissed it and went back to the news.

It was eight-thirty in the morning as the Gulfstream descended towards Pakistan. As Holley had said, Peshawar International wasn't the biggest of airports, but it did belong to the modern world. The mountains of Afghanistan and the North-West Frontier made an impressive backdrop and, unusually, a railway crossing stood at the end of the main runway.

'What about that?' Miller said to Ferguson as they peered out.

'Days of the Raj, I suppose.' Ferguson suddenly felt nostalgic.

They landed, and Squadron Leader Lacey, following instructions from the tower, taxied to a corner of the airport where two Chinook helicopters were parked. The ground personnel who waved them in wore air-force overalls.

Ferguson and Miller got out of the Gulfstream, and Lacey and Parry joined them, passing out the luggage. A few yards away, two army officers were engaged in conversation and turned to greet them. One was a Captain wearing a khaki summer uniform, a line of medal ribbons above his left pocket, carrying a swagger stick. He was a handsome man, possibly Pathan, although he was wearing a cap, not a turban, and the belt at his waist carried a holstered Browning pistol.

'General Ferguson, Major Miller.' He saluted. 'A pleasure to meet you. My name is Abu Salim, Military Police. I'm here to welcome you and take you to see my commanding officer, Colonel Ahmed Atep.'

'Very civil of you, Captain.' Ferguson shook hands.

Salim turned to Lacey and Parry. 'My colleague, Lieutenant Hamid, will see to your needs, gentlemen. There is a guesthouse close by which takes care of visiting pilots.'

Lacey turned to Ferguson. 'We'll get a full engine check and refuel, sir. We'll be ready to move on whenever you like.'

'Very good.' Ferguson turned to Salim. 'Ready when you are, Captain. Customs, immigration, security.

Salim picked up his bag. 'Good God, no.' He smiled. 'Diplomatic privilege. If you could manage your bag, Major Miller.'

He walked across the tarmac to a gate between hangars. The two soldiers waiting patiently were Military Police Sergeants in crisp khaki uniforms, both bearded and wearing scarlet turbans.

'I must say they look perfectly splendid,' Ferguson said. 'They certainly look imposing.'

'Our own version of a British Army redcap,' Salim said. 'It's supposed to intimidate the tribesmen. Colonel Atep insisted on trying it out. Sergeants Said and Nasser.'

The two men saluted, picked up the bags, walked out of the gate into the parking area and approached an armoured vehicle. There were three banks of seats. A canvas roof rolled back to cover the rear two, which was necessary because of the general-purpose machine gun mounted on the front beside the driver. It was painted in a wavy khaki pattern, a sort of desert camouflage.

'What is this?' Ferguson asked.

'A Sultan armoured reconnaissance car.' It was Miller who answered. 'Where did you get it?'

'The Russians left more than a few lying around when they left Afghanistan. We got hold of what we could. The armour is stronger than it looks. It gives some sort of protection against improvised explosive devices. A damn sight more than a Jeep or a Land Rover gets.'

The luggage was stacked at the back, Ferguson and Miller took the rear seat, the Captain the second, half turning towards them so they could talk. Said sat at the gun and Nasser took the wheel and drove away.

'Nothing like I imagined, Peshawar,' Ferguson observed. 'Far bigger.'

'It used to be about five hundred and fifty thousand people,' Salim said, 'but it's more now. Lots of refugees from the tribal areas.'

The congestion in the streets was incredible. Every kind of vehicle – from ageing taxis to motor rickshaws, mopeds and light motorcyles, sometimes with two passengers on the pillion seat, hanging on to each other and the driver – thronged the road. Hundreds of people on bicycles weaved between market stalls, mounting pavements where there was one. The military and police presence was very visible.

Salim said, 'There's a war out there, and not just over the border in Afghanistan, but in the tribal areas. This is a military city now. It has to be. We can't say the barbarians are at the gates, but real trouble waits out there. If you and the Americans lose to the Taliban, God help my country.'

'I think you have a point,' Ferguson said.

The Captain nodded. 'Military Police Headquarters coming up, General.' The Sultan swung in between sentries guarding a wide double gate, drove towards an imposing three-storeyed building with a red-tiled roof and a pillared front door that looked as if it might have been a relic of Empire. Ferguson and Miller got out and stood looking at it.

'I know,' Salim said. 'It used to be quite impressive. This way, gentlemen.' Colonel Ahmed Atep was sitting behind his desk examining some papers and managing to look busy, when Selim ushered them into the office. He jumped to his feet, came round the table and shook hands.

'General Ferguson, Major Miller. What an honour. Be seated, please. Perhaps you would care for some tea?'

'A kind thought, but after such a long flight, the prospect of a shower and a good hotel have quite a pull,' Ferguson said. 'Especially breakfast.'

'Of course, but sit down for a moment. I shan't keep you long. First, I've allocated Captain Abu Salim to take care of you during your visit. One of my finest young officers. A Sandhurst man.'

Salim managed a modest look and Ferguson said, 'So we have something in common.' He carried on, 'This is only a flying visit, Colonel. A day, two at the most, then we'll carry on to Islamabad.'

Which wasn't true, but Atep appeared to accept it. 'You wish to visit the Afghan border area, I believe?'

'Certainly. In London, we hear all sorts of stories about arms-smuggling, obviously to the benefit of the Taliban.'